Day 47
Dear Journal,
I'm starting to lose track of the hours. The only thing that even relates to time is when the cabin-clock comes down to bring some scraps of food. I've definitely lost weight since I was thrown in this confounded cell. I just sit here, day after day, counting the seconds and the minutes, waiting. For what, I have no idea. Just something, anything that can get me out of here.
Why did I have to go up against the Armada? Because I was bored? Because I was looking for something exciting to happen? Yeah, sitting in a cell for the rest of my life definitely goes along that category.
Why couldn't I have just kept my sword in its sheath? Or kept my spark thrower at my waist? No, I had to go and shoot that one Battle Angel and all hell broke loose. I just don't understand why-
Hold on a minute. Am I starting to hear things? It sounds like someone is trying to get down here, but the cabin-clock only came down a couple of hours ago with the daily bread and dirty water. Other than that, no one comes down here. I think I'm starting to lose it. It's about time I did. I might as well just waste away in here.
No, wait...That's not voices in my head. They would have disappeared by now. I can't really make out what they're saying yet, but...they're definitely getting closer.
He pressed his ear against the wooden wall, immediately reeling back at the sound of a loud explosion from above deck.
What the heck is going on up there?
Was the ship being attacked by some Cutthroats? Those stupid sharks were always looking to pick a fight with someone completely out of their league. The rats back at the docks would always tell me about their fights with the Cutthroats, especially Fin Dorsal. I'd heard a lot of stories about him. I believe he's a friend of Captain Avery. Avery's in charge of Skull Island, though the rats there never listen to what he says. They don't even pay taxes. That's sort of why they live on the docks, much to the ship owners' dismay. They were always bound to get robbed sooner or later.
The thin pirate immediately stopped writing in his book once he was able to make out what the two voices were saying. One had a deep, pirate accent, the other having a thick Monquistan accent. He stuck his tongue out in dismay. He completely despised the Monquistans.
Conceited little furballs...
"Get down, she's going to blow!" Bang!
"Cough cough. It's one of these prisoners!" Slam!
"Check the ones down there, monkey!"
"I'm on it."
The boy's eyes widened as two beings stepped into his line of view through the steel bars. One was very overweight with a bulky white beard and a red captain's uniform, the other a Monquistan monkey clad in a commander's armor. The old pirate continued walking past him, but the monkey immediately stopped and gave him a questioning eye.
"Is this the prisoner we're looking for?"
He wearily crawled up to the bars and gripped them tightly, staring down at the monkey as if he were a hallucination. "Y...You're real? Not a figment of my imagination?" He slowly stuck a hand through the bars, reaching out to see if he would fade away.
The monkey chuckled. "No, young one. We are real as can be. Captain, do you think he is the one we are looking for?"
The pirate walked back to the cell the poor boy was locked in and inspected him closely. The boy noticed that he seemed to be staring right through him. Could he not see? "Hard to say. You there!" He pointed next to him, as if trying to point to him but failing miserably. "You're standing on me blind side! Are ye a boy or a girl?"
