Chapter 4: A Day in the Life of the Enemy

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You may be wondering what the heck the picture is for. You'll find out later in this chapter and also through out the story. (Also it's starting to get annoying trying to find random pictures of England or whatever.)

So without further ado...

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The next couple of weeks at sea passed quickly. Where you were going, you had no idea. There was only one thing to do: stay out of everyone's way until you were rescued.

And that meant avoiding Arthur like the plague.

The first day you had arrived on the ship had been quite eventful. Kiku had even let you in on a little secret.

"We're docking in a couple months. Can't tell you where, but the whole crew's going to be off the boat. Including the captain."

He makes to walk away, but you grab his arm.

"Why're you telling me?"

"So you can be prepared," he says without turning.

You walk in front of him, realizing that wasn't the only reason.

"Why are you telling me?" you reiterate.

He looks you dead in the eye.

"Because you deserve to be out here as much as he does."

Whatever. The little Japanese man was nice and all, but he was kind of weird. What did he expect you to do? Escape? Into a land you knew nothing about? Man the ship? With one person? Psh.

Your mop swishes back and forth as you ponder the man's hint.

That was your favorite part of the day (though that wasn't saying much, seeing as how you hated every day). Mopping the deck was a menial job, but it was one that always helped you clear your thoughts. You had even preformed the job yourself back on your own ship. Man, that had driven your first mate crazy.

"Captains should not have to lower themselves to a servant's job!" Alfred would always say in exasperation whenever he caught you out on the deck. You chuckle at the memory. No matter how hard you tried, you could never seem to convince him that menial work was a good stress reliever for you.

Of course, it wasn't always beneficial. Mopping was the reason you didn't notice the huge man standing in your path.

You run into him with an unceremonious oomph. Your head snaps up, eyes widening at the terrifying sight in front of you. You are very aware of the fact that he has a dangerous look in his eye. You are also very aware of the fact that you are armed with, in essence, a stick. Perhaps you could mop him into oblivion.

Before you can even think about stammering out an apology in an attempt to avoid conflict, your arm is roughly grabbed by the other man. He pulls you close to his face and gives you a sick smile, complete with rotting teeth and horrible breath. Your mop falls from you hand in shock as you lean as far as you can from him.

"Ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" he snarls, his grip unrelenting. Your mind is racing, trying to think of an escape. At the moment, you were unarmed. As far as hand to hand combat, well, you didn't want to overstay your welcome and risk being thrown overboard for beating up a crew member.

"I-I apologize, sir," you manage to get out, still trying to keep from breathing in his horrible case of halitosis. "I promise I'll watch where I'm going."

You try to tug your arm away from his in the hopes he would accept your apology and walk away.

"Who's to say I minded," the man says, eyeing your figure appreciatively. You shiver, starting to pull from his grip in earnest now.

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