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The Captain's finger prodded at a lantern that shined a dim, unsuspecting light. The light inside flickered like a flame as the ship rocked from a storm. But inside of the latern was no sort of fire or fuel. No, it was-
"*My little fairy...*" O'Malley offered a lopsided smirk, staring into the glass at the tiny figure inside. They had to be no bigger than his scarred index finger. And, *oh*, they were damn lovely. And they were his. *All his.**Had he not been a wee lad only moments ago, daydreaming about playing with the damn fairies instead of sitting in the rain selling bloody playing cards.* Ah, the innocence of his pathetic fucking youth. The storm was making him think too fucking much about that pathetic sobstory but he had the perfect little distraction in mind.
"Do a little dance fer me, love. Else, I might fancy testin' how delicate those wings really are."
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