[And if Jack could speak, he'd simply point out it was the heathen gods, not sorcery. Sorcery (well, and a touch of magic from another heathen God) is what has his master alive and kicking.
Him? His is by choice, and he's perfectly fine with that.
But this isn't the crew from the Pearl, and he's not entirely sure he's exactly okay with the lot of them. There's no Marty, there's no Cotton. There's no Pintel and Ragetti. Really, it's absolutely nothing like home.
He stays where he is a moment, bony hands plucking at what's left of his tiny little shirt, before dropping and making his way over, clucking quietly.
Really, despite his outward appearance, he acts no different than any other capuchin monkey.]
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Him? His is by choice, and he's perfectly fine with that.
But this isn't the crew from the Pearl, and he's not entirely sure he's exactly okay with the lot of them. There's no Marty, there's no Cotton. There's no Pintel and Ragetti. Really, it's absolutely nothing like home.
He stays where he is a moment, bony hands plucking at what's left of his tiny little shirt, before dropping and making his way over, clucking quietly.
Really, despite his outward appearance, he acts no different than any other capuchin monkey.]