𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖳𝖤𝖠|𝖢.𝖡 (𝖿𝗍.𝖩.𝖭)

Chapter VI-Cutler

𝓐 𝓓𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓕𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓼

After a lively exchange of banter and verbal jousting, Ophelia and Cutler found themselves circling back to the initial purpose of their shared dining. The air crackled with tension as they both knew that the negotiation of Ophelia's compensation was the pivotal point that would determine the course of their interaction.
     "We still haven't come to a final agreement regarding my compensation," Ophelia pointed out, her tone laced with a mix of determination and amusement. Cutler's jaw clenched, his patience tested by her audacity to expect compensation in the first place. "We don't need to come to an agreement, Miss Swann," he replied curtly, his words edged with a hint of frustration.
     Ophelia's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Oh, is that so, Lord Beckett?" she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, then I suppose you'll have to find another way to extract the information you desire from me." With a small flourish, she poured herself a glass of red wine, her gaze fixed on Cutler. In a silent invitation, she gestured towards the bottle, wordlessly asking if he wanted a glass as well. However, he remained resolute, his glare unyielding. Ophelia shrugged nonchalantly, placing the bottle back on the table.
     Cutler's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he contemplated his next move. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice low and tinged with a dangerous edge. "I have a better idea, Miss Swann. Either you tell me what you know, or I will ensure that your father does not have a pleasant time." Ophelia's glass clinked against the table as she set it down, her expression transforming into a wicked grin. It was the type of grin one gives when confronted with something they find utterly unimpressive.
     "Very well," Ophelia replied, her voice cool and composed. "Go ahead if you wish to take that route. Just know that resorting to such tactics will not aid you in obtaining any useful information." Cutler's laughter rang out, a mix of disbelief and restrained anger. He wrestled with the realization that the only way to achieve his desired outcome was to come to an agreement with this formidable young woman.
     With a sigh, he yielded to the inevitable, his voice betraying a begrudging resignation. "What do you wish for as compensation, then?" he asked through gritted teeth, his frustration palpable. Ophelia's grin widened, savoring the moment. "How about a favor?" she proposed, her words hanging in the air, drawing his attention.
     Cutler's eyebrows arched in surprise, momentarily taken aback by her unexpected request. Ignoring her initial remark, he inquired cautiously, "A favor? What kind of favor do you have in mind, Miss Swann?"
     Ophelia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a newfound sense of purpose. "I do not wish to claim a favor from you at this precise moment," she clarified, her voice filled with intrigue. "What I mean is that I can call upon you for a favor whenever I need it, regardless of the nature or purpose of my request."
     Cutler's expression shifted, a mixture of curiosity and wariness crossing his face. He contemplated the implications of such an arrangement, weighing the potential risks and benefits. "And why, pray tell, would it be advantageous for me to be indebted to you in such a manner?" he inquired, his tone guarded.
     Ophelia's smile held a touch of mystery as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Because, Lord Beckett, having a favor owed to me by the Governor of the East India Trading Company could prove to be a valuable asset in the future. It grants me a certain level of influence and leverage, which may be useful in navigating the treacherous waters of this world."
     Cutler's eyes narrowed, his mind calculating the potential ramifications. He weighed the risks and benefits, realizing that this unorthodox arrangement might indeed hold some merit.
     "Fine," he finally spoke, his voice laced with a palpable tension. "I agree to your terms. You shall have a favor from me as compensation for divulging what you know about Jack Sparrow."
     He extended his hand towards Ophelia, and as their hands met, a delicate dance of power and subtlety continued to unfold between them. The scene was set and the stakes raised.
     Cutler Beckett took a deep breath, his eyes tightly shut for a fleeting moment. He couldn't believe that the tables had turned, leaving him seemingly at Ophelia's mercy. Anger simmered within him, his teeth clenched in frustration.
     Ophelia fought to maintain her composure, careful not to appear overly smug at her victory over the formidable governor of the East India Trading Company. "Shall we proceed with our meal while you inquire about what you wish to know?" she suggested, her voice steady. Cutler nodded, still seething with anger, but begrudgingly began to eat nonetheless.
     Gathering his composure, Cutler restrained the boiling storm within him, determined not to explode before extracting the desired information. "Tell me, precisely, what you know about Sparrow at this moment," he demanded, his tone edged with impatience.
     "He is on the run," Ophelia replied, her voice cool and collected. "He seeks to evade the gallows that await him should you arrive in Port Royal. Furthermore, he is also fleeing from what he refers to as Davy Jones' pet, though he would never openly admit it."
     Cutler's right eyebrow arched in curiosity and intrigue at the mention of Davy Jones' pet. "Pray, do explain what you mean by 'pet.' However, before we delve into that, I believe it would be prudent to have Admiral Norrington and my assistant Mercer join us. They ought to be privy to this information as well."
     Ophelia nodded in agreement, recognizing the wisdom in his suggestion. "Of course, we should involve them," she concurred, her voice tinged with a sense of caution. "It would be beneficial for all parties involved to be well-informed."