Prison of the Mind

Duality

The brig was made up of six cells, all empty except for the one that he currently sat in. Had this been a pirate ship, the floors would have been covered in a watery grime, and the smell might have resembled that very particular scent of musk that only comes off of a dead body. But this wasn't a pirate ship, this was a Navy ship, and that fact made him all the more displeased that he was sitting in the brig at all.

He had long since thrown his ridiculous wig off because of the sweat that had started to accumulate under it, and every few seconds or so, he would run his hands over the bruise forming on his face. The hit had been entirely unexpected, but he had learned two valuable pieces of information from it. He never desired to put himself in a position to provoke Jack Sparrow's fist again, because the man had a nasty right hook, and he also discovered the extent of the captain's weakness for Elizabeth Swann.

By the instant dark rage that had taken over his eyes from his petty insult, he would almost say that the captain loved her, at least as much as a filthy pirate could love a woman anyway. He most likely confused the desire to bed her as being love, because in his experience, pirates were creatures that only functioned on the most basic of instincts.

And Swann. How much she had changed. Gone was the prim and proper daughter of Weatherby Swann, replaced by a corrupted shade of her former self. In a perfect world, she would have married Commodore Norrington. The girl would have made a good wife for James. He used to think that it was William Turner that had driven a wedge into that engagement, but now he had a sneaking suspicion that she held a misguided affection for Sparrow.

An affection that was perhaps born even before she met the pirate. She was always pestering her father with stories about adventure and whining about attending afternoon tea. Weatherby put up with it, of course, passing it off as the fanciful ravings of a child. But anyone with a keen eye could detect that Elizabeth Swann was cut from a different cloth than the ladies of Port Royal.

Of course, women who believe themselves to be above the societal positions for which they are meant are just poorly educated. He would say that they could just masquerade as men, being unfit for the role of a woman in their state, but he would hate to disgrace his gender in such a distasteful fashion. It was best to try and persuade them to find a suitor, a good respectable man that could train them in the duties expected of a wife.

But Swann was ruined the second the damn pirate had fished her out of the harbor. All of her dreams and fantasies had been validated, realized upon meeting a real pirate. He had been there that day, and he had watched the blatant curiosity on her face just before she begged her father not to send Sparrow to the gallows. How she could not see that Sparrow cared very little for her, due to his trickery in using her to escape, he did not know.

Women were nothing but a tool to improve the world of men, and he was confident that Sparrow held Elizabeth in the same regard. A pretty young thing, infatuated with him, to hang on his arm while he sailed around the Caribbean.

At least, until she killed him. Now he was fairly certain that he wanted very little to do with her. Perhaps she could be steered in James' direction once more.

The door to the brig drug across the floor as it opened, snapping his attention to the figure that was slipping through.

When she stepped into the small amount of light in front of the cell next to him, he was taken aback by how gaunt and exhausted she looked. Her skin was a sickly pale yellow color, her lips were dry and cracked, and her eyes were dead to the world.

"Lieutenant Sheffield," her voice echoed around the room.

"Miss Swann," he replied, inclining his head in her direction, sounding like he wasn't sure of whether he should nervous or curious. "To what do I owe the pleasure? And no captain here to look over your shoulder this time?"