"Hey," Bratter floats after a moment, "You want to get something to eat from the canteen? Vitek keeps the fire running all day long, even when we're docked, 'cause someone's always hungry."

Arber considers the idea, then shrugs. "I guess." It's not going to be as good as Juraj's, but. He might as well start getting used to it, right? And it's probably a good idea to meet the cook anywho. One of the funny things about pirate ships that nobody tells you is just how much power the chef has. It's weird - he's not even really a sailor, so you'd think he'd be almost useless, but it's the complete opposite. A good chef can make scraps into a filling meal to push the ship that extra day to get to shore; a great chef can make that meal taste, if not amazing, then at least passable. Wise captains know to befriend the cook. A good dinner can convince a disgruntled crew not to vote their captain out of power, but a bad one can sway them to maroon that captain.

Dougie pulls himself up, offering a hand to Arber, who takes it, steadying himself as he stands. Jesper leads the way through the maze of hammocks, opening the door into the ship and holding it for the other two.

Arber takes a moment to appreciate the woodwork of Jersey Devil as he walks, hands in the pockets of his shore suit (side note: make sure to bring his shore clothes here later). She's much smaller than Santé, the only other ship Arber's used to, and her insides don't carry as strong a stench of gunpowder from so many battles won and lost. Yet, if he looks just right, he can spot the areas that had been patched over, the black singes where shells had ripped through Jersey Devil's sides. Whoever's doing the patching is doing a fine job of it.

The trio spot two men chatting in the corridors. The blonde tugs at the brunette's sleeve, causing him to fall quiet as both nod in the direction of Jesper. "Master Gunner," the blonde smiles.

"Boqvist, Sharangovich," Bratt nods in return. "Enjoying your shore leave indoors, I see."

"Ah - " the blonde chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. "We were just heading out, actually."

"Is that so," Bratt hums. "Enjoy that, then." He sticks his hands in his pockets, gesturing with his head in the direction of the stairs. The blonde drags the brunette behind himself as he scurries away.

Huh. Well then.

Jesper rolls his eyes at Dougie and Arber, clearly showing his amusement (or lack thereof - Bratt seemed to be quite the blank slate emotionally). "I don't have all day. Neither does Vitek. We get there late, we'll be eating scraps."

"Right, sorry," Dougie mumbles, quickening his stride to catch up to Jesper. Arber tails them, one step behind, keeping a hand on his hat to prevent it from flying away.

Once he verifies that the ship's not going anywhere, Dawson heads into the sailors' quarters. Most of the crew is finishing up - he sidesteps Mikey and Nate who are laughing together about God knows what, then spots Boqy and Mac whispering about something in the corner close to his hammock.

"Hey boys," Dawson waves, sliding over - Mac freezes up, midway through putting on his coat.

"Mercer," Boqvist greets, pivoting their conversation. "How're you planning to spend your share?"

The pilot's mate shrugs, changing into his shore clothes - old, scuffed boots swapped for new, shiny ones; baggy brown trousers replaced with white stockings and navy breeches; worn off-white sailor's shirt becoming a fancy white ruffled shirt; simple blue fearnought changed into a noble navy coat and gold-trimmed navy waistcoat, both with gold buttons. "Don't have much to buy," he mutters. "I'll probably look for some extra paper, some ink, a few pens to spare, maybe a book or two if there are any I haven't seen." Dawson considers it for a moment. "Could go look if there's a pocketwatch or pin or something that catches my eye."

"You're not gonna come to the pub with us?" Mac asks. "Get a drink, get three, maybe get a girl for the night..." He grins. "Chicks dig scars."

Dawson flinches, hand coming up to rub at the left side of his face instinctively. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Got a girl back home, then?" Mac sidles up to Dawson, elbowing him in the side. "Ooh, are you going to write to her?" He lifts his hand to his forehead, mimicking a fainting lady. "Charlotte, my love, I'll be home from war soon!"

Dawson stiffens further, turning around with a long, drawn-out sigh to snatch the small bag of coins from his hammock. He ignores Mac laughing, ignores the stabbing pains of his throbbing headache, ignores the swirling of the Voices getting louder and louder around his head, and slips past the small clusters of pirates to reach the door, opening it and escaping the sailors' quarters.

"Hey," Nico calls Dawson over to where the captain stands in a huddle with the other officers. The circle opens slightly to make room for Dawson, who presses himself to Dougie's side. "We're discussing who's doing what - we didn't come here just to drink and gamble, despite what Woody might tell you, but to get supplies as well." Nico rolls his eyes. "Ondrej and Vitek already agreed to restock food for us. Akira and Damon were going to get the ship-maintenance materials. We need someone to accompany Johnny to check for medical supplies, then the rest of us should deal with the hostages and keep an eye out for miscellaneous items."

"I'll go with Marino," Dougie interrupts, almost automatically.

Nico looks at him for a second, then nods. "I expected that. So that leaves me, Jonas, Jesper, Jack, and Dawson on hostage duty. Jack, Dawson, you can take the letters and send them off?" He holds a stack of envelopes out.

"Yes sir," Jack salutes, snatching the letters and pushing them into the pockets of his coat. He turns back, looking as Curtis and Miles drop the gangplank to the dock while the rest of the gunners cheer.

Jack dashes over the gangplank and jumps onto the dock, coat billowing behind him as he runs into the town of the Cove. Dawson looks at Nico, who shrugs (clearly having given up), then to Luke, who nods to follow. The two younger pirates jog behind Jack, who tears through the main street, only skidding to a stop at a tavern. The Master-at-Arms pushes the door open, the tavern's sign swaying in the breeze he's made.

"Quinn!"

Dawson just sits there for a while, ruffling the hen's feathers. She seems to have calmed down after a few minutes, mostly chirping every now and then whenever the pilot's mate hits a spot she doesn't want touched. A few feet away is a barrel with a hole, some grain for feeding the poultry spilled onto the wooden floor. Dawson leans over, swiping up some of the grain in a hand, then offers it to the hen, who pecks at it approvingly. The pressure mounts further, trickling down his shoulders towards his biceps. The Voices get louder and louder, mumbling about nothing and everything.

They're not responding to him. Dawson's pulse quickens. They're not responding. Usually, they respond. Maybe not immediately, but it never takes them this long. If anything, it's usually Dawson who ignores them, not the other way around. It's usually Dawson who brings this pain onto himself; the Voices try not to inflict it on him.

They will talk, he tries to remind himself. They will. Soon. Even saying it just makes himself feel better. Even pretending, right now, is good.

The hen chirps up at him and Dawson reaches to scoop up another handful of grain, offering it to her. She nudges his hand, causing it to spill onto the wooden planks; seeming pleased with this, the hen watches the pirate as he sighs and collects the food in his palm.

The boards of the ship creak. They shouldn't be, not like that. Not from footfalls. A soft conversation trickles through the closed door and Dawson cranes his neck to listen.

"God, Boqy, I don't know." That's Mac. "I mean, you think it's a good idea?"

Jesper Boqvist makes a noncommittal sound, pausing to lean on a wall. "Anything's a good idea if you plan it well enough, Mac."

Mackenzie Blackwood, too, stops walking. "How do you even know it exists?"

Boqy drops his voice. "Harmonia existed, didn't she?"

"Shit, Boqy, I don't fucking know," Mac defends himself. "I'm not that smart, okay? For Christ's sake, I could barely make my mark on the contract."

Jesper sighs. "Harmonia existed - and her ruins exist still. It's just a matter of finding them." He crinkles something. "Nico's never going to stray too far. That's the problem with him - he's too cautious, protects what he has instead of what he could have. But if I - "

"Isn't it bad luck?" Mac whispers, even as he starts walking again, tugging Boqy along by how there are two sets of footsteps.

Boqvist laughs. "You're not that smart," he reminds Blackwood, before they disappear from earshot.

The hen looks up at Dawson, undisturbed. Dawson looks back down, very disturbed. And the Voices aren't shutting up on top of it, only getting louder and more painful as time passes. Wonderful.