Hooked

3.

Ughhh it hurt. It really bloody hurt. This was nothing like a head ache she'd ever had before.

Ash dared to open her eyes. She assessed her surroundings. She was curled up on the floor- tied up. She was below deck; there was a porthole and water reflected inside. Other than that orangish light, it was dark. The sun was setting. She'd been knocked out for too long. Hours. Shit.

She struggled to break free, stand on her feet, anything. She finally resorted to worming her way across the hard floor. She didn't know what she was planning on doing, but she had to at least reach the door. Wait- no, there was a crate...a crate labeled "rum".

She wiggled her way to the crate. Now to get it open. She could break one of the bottles and use it to cut what bound her hands and feet and she'd be out of there.

She must have looked crazy, she thought to herself, kicking the crate the way she was, with her short hair in a tangle, a line of dried blood sticking to her forehead, and a crazed look in her eye because she was going to get this stupid thing open, no matter what it took.

The door silently swung upon and Pierre stood there, head tilted to the side, watching.

"You know"-Ash jumped out of her skin here- "the door was unlocked. And," he stepped into the room, "you wouldn't have gotten far either way."

Ash looked up at him in horror.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You knocked me out. With your sword's hilt."

Pierre glanced down at the sword on his waist before taking it and placing it on the floor far from him. "Captain's orders, sorry."

While he did seem truly apologetic, Ash wasn't going to buy it.

She nodded up at the plate and cup in his hands. "What's that?"

"Dinner and water."

"Well, get on with it then."

"Sorry."

He placed them on the floor next to her.

"How am I supposed to eat it?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry."

A moment later, he'd cut the ropes from her hands and feet.

She began eating and he sat down a few feet away from her.

She could really see his appearances now. His hair was brown and curly, his skin pale- far to pale for a pirate, if you asked her. He was thin and his arms stuck out of his sleeveless shirt. They weren't exactly muscular, but toned. His brown eyes were smudged with eyeliner. And he had been right about his hat; it looked a bit worn.

"Where are we headed?" She asked through a mouth full of fish.

"I don't really know at the moment. Sorry."

"You say 'sorry' a lot."

"Sorry?"

"Why'd you kidnap me?"

"Well, that was really the captain who kidnapped you."

"What's their name?"

"Captain Asterin."

"Hm."

"What's your name?"

She eyed him, skeptically, before taking a bite of bread. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why'd you want to know my captain's name?"

"Because I wanted to know the name of the person who kidnapped me."