A Pirate's Life For Me

Difficult Company

A/N: ees looooooooooooong

I open the door slowly, limping inside and shutting it quietly behind me. Jackson rockets from the couch in the next room.

"Where the hell is the bedroom?"

I take a moment to give him a quiet stare before turning to lock the door behind me. "Hello to you too."

The door opens into a rectangular living space, an opened living area to my left, a dining area to my right, and a hallway and divided kitchen in my front. I can see two doors; one's propped slightly open and I can just see the edge of a tub. The other's probably a closet.

"There's a kitchen and a table to eat at and a couch and a goddamn toilet but no bedroom? What, do we sleep on the floor?"

"Well, my day was wonderful," I scoff, limping past his outraged scowl, hugging the wall. "Thanks for asking, how was yours?" There's a moment of silence before Colette snickers. I send her a softer smile and continue to scan the living space.

There's the couch they were sitting at, a mahogany side table with a lit lamp on top, an unlit fireplace, and the wide open widow showcasing the world. My first order of business is to close it.

"I'm not asking about your fucking day, pal, I'm asking where the fucking bedroom—"

"Declan said there's a basement." Dropping the stack of ratty clothes in my arms to the empty couch cushion, I turn and face Jackson for the first time, watching him fold his arms and lean against the wall.

"No stairs, hot shot," he snarls.

I roll my eyes and spin around, gesturing to the thick rug behind the couch, covering the walk way from the living space to the partially walled in kitchen. "This rug is scarily close to the back of the house, don't you think?"

They're shocked when I kick it over and a wide, thick trap door is underneath.

"Yahtzee," I mutter, tottering haphazardly into the kitchen. "You see any liquor in here?" I can hear them talking to themselves, voices dulled by the clattering of cupboards. Mostly empty, a day-old loaf of bread and a single set of silverware. No booze. "You deaf?" I call out again, gripping the edge of the counter to poke my head around the corner. "I want a drink, did you see any liquor?"

"No," Colette says softly. "There's not...there's no alcohol."

I sigh. Oh, well. I'll get it in the morning. "Alright, lets shimmy on down. Lift it open." A few grunts and a muttered curse in my direction later, I can peer into the musty space below the trap. A six or seven runged ladder leads down into the dim light, leaving a foot-wide walkway along the edge of the knee-high bed. It's giant; a single square of mattress that spans the walls of the room.

"It's huge," Colette observes. "Is it...it's all under here."

She's right; the bedroom is pretty much the basement to the living area, 200 square feet of cushion.

"Been a while since I've slept on a bed, eh?" I chuckle, glancing at Jackson. He seems more angered than amused.

The door bangs open, Declan's mutter ringing through the house. "Caspian! Let's talk."

My stomach rolls, but I usher the two into the living room, pointing at the couch. "Sure, Dec, being two chairs over, would you? My...I'm dying over here."

Three faces stare back at me, one unamused, one angry, and the other timidly disapproving.

I swallow. "So."