Stranger Redemption (Davy Jones x Female OC)

VI

Jones gave command to chart a course to Isla Cruces. Demanding to get there first. He knows the only way young Turner could know about the key, know about the chest, was Jack Sparrow. It is now a race to the Island. A race to the chest. And he has to wait. And Davy Jones is not a patient man.

_______________

Anya had wandered down for food. She bit into an apple while she searched for something more filling. She knows not to waste food but she also knows she won't eat again until later in the night and she's no good to anyone if she passes out on the deck halfway through the hot day. The presence that appears behind her where a solid wall is, doesn't frighten her. She's seen Davy's powers. The ones that seem to transport him wherever he needs to be. Even through solid objects.

Anya turns to Davy. He stands and just looks at her. She stares back, unsure if she is in trouble or the poor captain is. After a moment of silence, she holds the partially eaten apple out to him. He takes it graciously but doesn't bite into it yet.

"Where's our next heading?"

"Isla Cruces."

Anya has read of many places but that one didn't strike her as familiar. "Never heard if it. What's there?"

Davy sighs. He should have known she would ask him another hard to answer question. Why had he even come down here again?

"I take it by your reply, nothing good?" She muses.

Davy has no idea how to take this next step. He was never good at stories, especially this one. He had told it so little. He takes a tentative two steps. He started to feel trapped by the wall against his back.

Under the thin tunnel of light above them, Davy pulled aside his many layers covering his chest. Anya barely gets a good look at the scar there before he recoils back. But not so much from her. More from himself.

The girls eyes narrow. As if she's starting to put something together before he interrupts her.

"Can I make you something to eat?"

The young girl burst into a fit of laughter.

Davy twitches, confused by her reaction.

"The ledgendary Davy Jones is offering to cook for me?"

His gaze softens. "If I'm being honest, I'm trying to distract myself. And you need to eat something more than this here fruit." He tosses it casually onto the nearest surface.

She smiles.

"I can cook." The sentence is thick in both accent and annoyance. Like he has to prove himself now.

Anya nods, taking a step back. She's not sure when, while they were talking, she had stepped so close to him. But now she gives him room to work. He stands over the box made safe for a small fire. He takes a thin pan and places it on top. Next was a handful of flour he drops in messily. Then, the smallest bit of oil. Taking a few steps to his left, he places a cup into one of the already open barrels of drinking water.

Much like the food, they didn't need to keep much water either. This barrel had been opened yesterday for Anya... and Will, to drink from.

Scooping the liquid up and bringing it back to the pan with him. Pouring a generous amount in before taking a spoon and stirring the mixture. Davy spent a few moments tentatively adding more water and stirring until the mixture thickened into a paste. A couple of times, it got too watery and he added a bit more flour. Not without voicing his frustration though.

Anya sat herself on an unopened barrel in front of a small table. Leaning on said table in a very unladylike way that would have had her mother throwing a fit. Ladies in society are taught to cook. A skill they're told they need to find a good husband. Though Anya's family had a cook, her mother insisted she learn the skill. Despite the many lessons, it didn't take. Anya knew what to do. It just never came out right.