"It is a great pleasure, Captain, to be finally meeting you." A man with long, black, curly hair creeping down his neck smiled as sweetly as he could muster at Morrow. Morrow tapped his foot silently on the ground, fixing his deep green eyes onto the floor. He knew full well that if he didn't have a gag in his mouth, he would be giving this man a piece of his mind. However, the captain of this Godforsaken ship - the Devil's Death Joke - had wasted no time to jab a hankerchief down his throat. The next step down from the insulting scale, after throwing sarcastic comments at him - was to ignore the man.
It seemed fit enough, not to look at him.
"You've caused the aristocrats quite a bit of trouble; killing the head of the Company. The Commodore. Turning one of our finest ladies pirate, and pillaging our ships." Morrow made a muffled laughing noise, shooting his gaze up long enough to flash a sarcastic look.
He'd done good things as well, but by far, all the bad things had been the funnest. But, to be honest, it was a bit sad that he didn't get the credit of killing the certain Judge Davis that had started half of the trouble.
"Look at me. Look into my eyes, and don't you dare give me such a look again." Morrow made the same noise as before, being sure not to look up. Morrow really had no idea why this man in particular was questioning him. He'd rather just be hung; just get it over with. But something told him that he had another thing in mind. He shook his head, and continued to stare at the floor. Get away, she thought. Back off.
When he didn't look up, the man's hand shot out and slashed him across the face. He cried out as blood trickled down his chin. The man stuck his hand under his chin, and lifted it so he would look at him. And in that had, he held a knife.
"If you tell me where your nasty ruffian kind are hiding out, I might let you go." He dragged the gag away from Morrow's mouth. Morrow looked at him, and spat. The man yelped, and retreated to the other side of the brig, wiping his face disgustedly. When he returned, a red spot was growing in his eye. He yanked a vile of gold liquid from his pocket, and, plugging Morrow's nose, he poured it down his throat.
A burning sensation crept down Morrow's throat, and his head felt too heavy for his neck to hold up. He clinched his teeth as pain set in. He was absolutely dying to scream. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His nose was on fire with a deadly smell, like decaying bodies . . .
And he blacked out.
Morrow's head shot up. He could see . . . he twisted his hands around, trying to get feeling back into them. Instead of wearing his leather coat, he wore a General's uniform, and white tights. A little voice in the back of his head was squealing, Oh, I do wonder how I fit in those! But the rest of him... the rest of him found it... normal.
The man - Morrow suddenly knew his name: General Aaron Spinster - stepped forward, and looked Morrow in the eye, his green eyes reflecting off of his pale blue. "Do you know your name, General?"
Why would I not remember my name? Morrow thought. And why is he referring to me as General? I've known him all my life.
Then there was that little voice again. No you haven't! You are not part of the Redcoat's army; you're for the rebels! And you never knew this guy in the first place, you-
The better part of his brain smothered the voice. Yes, Morrow knew his name and his title. He knew Aaron. He hated the rebels, despised the pirates.
The old him was left behind.
The new Morrow looked at Aaron. "General Tomorrow Tately. And I'd like to know why I'm tied up."
Aaron smirked, folding his arms across his chest. The liquid in that vial had worked. This was the next step in his plan to bring down the pirates; and what better way to do that than capture their most iconic leader? Aaron could tell that "General Tomorrow Tately" trusted him completely.
Aaron would be honored by the Company. By the King.
"Aaron?" Morrow stared up at Aaron. Aaron felt another smirk playing on his lips, threatening to break into a smile.
He walked behind Morrow, and, with his knife in hand, cut the ropes. "Welcome aboard the Devil's Death Joke, General. The Company has a mission for you."