If the Verplichting was a dark ship, the very darkest point was the brig, where creaks and clangs from the cold iron echoed like a metallic cave, in keeping with the dankness. Jack could escape-- he had proven that much a half-dozen times by now, but he was given fewer bonds to escape from if he behaved himself and stayed in one place. At least, that was his own explanation for why he was still in the brig, whistling as he whittled away at a bit of driftwood.

It was a fucked thing, being down here in the steel belly of the beast. But, the things he'd done lately all seemed to be aimed at one thing, spit his fears in the face and show them who's the boss.

At least that was jochy's explanation why he was down here, leaning agains tthe bars.

Tiny. Cramped. Couldn't straighten properly without feeling the roof overhead. All his instincts screamed to run, but he'd started to take a certain pleasure in that. In denying himself that option. Suck it up.

"So, yer actually were serious. I half expected yer'd only wait until we had pulled out to be gone, so we couldn't chase down yer sorry arse. Instead yer still here. Whittling. And who the hell gave you a knife anyways?"

The man's eyes glimmered for a moment, and he looked up, cracking a lopsided grin. "Ye couldn't stay away, could ye?" he asked him cheerily, holding up the knife. He inspected both sides of it. "Gave me?" he asked. "Ye think that lot's goin' t'give me anythin' sharper'n a baby blanket? I nicked this'un, right 'ere, is what I did. Pretty l'il blade, i'n't she?"

Jochy kept an eye on the blade, looking more than a little suspicious. But he didn't move away from the bars. "And I could stay away. Just choose not to. Don't fancy running from something if you get my drift. I'm not afraid of you." That had the tone of being in denial, or perhaps it was the place itself he feared more.

"And who e'er said ye were afraid?" Jack asked, as he slipped the knife into his pocket and stood up, sauntering over toward the younger man with an easy gait. "So what ye're sayin' is ye wanted t'see me, is that it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he stroked his beard. "Any particular reason?"

"To see if you still were here. I dunno... yer still about the one person that doesn't glare when they talk to me. With Andre, Spider and the old man remaining behind, the rest of the crew is either indifferent or actively loathes my ass. The latter being in the vast majority. And it grows bloody tiresome at times."

He did look tired, it was always a bitch adjusting to sleeping on this ship, luckily it was warm enough to find a spot on the deck for now.

Jack smiled, and pushed at the door to his cell-- it swung open easily. "Ye want t'come in and talk about it, matey?" he offered, pulling a flask out of his jacket. "Ye sound like ye could use a pick-me-up."

"I'll have the drink, but no way I'm getting in there." He settled for leaning against the doorjamb, letting the door remain open. To get in the cell? No bloody way. Fodder for nightmares that was.

"Sticking you on an island seems to be the only way to get you to stay put, or are you a good swimmer as well?" He said the words jokingly, forcing himself to relax as he rubbed his ribs.

"I'll come out, then," Jack offered, slipping out of the cell. He handed the younger man the flask. "Ye ever seen Refuge?" he asked. "Nobody's that good a swimmer, mate, 'cept maybe a whale." He chuckled, then slapped Jochy's shoulder. "Ye want t'tell me why ye're really here?"

Jochy took a deep drink without wiping the bottle down, then handed it back. "No, never seen it. Just heard the stories. An enemy of a friend of sorts spend a few years there... doesn't seem to be a pleasant place."

He jerked a bit at the clap but didn't pull away, eyes regarding the other man thoughtfully. "Maybe I ain't sure myself."