They tells me Oi spents me life out t' sea. "You out t' sea, girl," they sez. Even when on lan'.

Mebbe so. Oi likes it so, Oi even slows down on th' bottle-nippin' some. Tis a fresh day, and th' gulls be makin' a cacaphony, and we's still near abouts th' shore. Oi be lookin' o'er at Dan'l, an 'es makin' Mort d' Bloodshot all roight an' 'appy like. Good pick, Oi thinks.

An' I'm roight 'appy to be bunkin' with Mort (not in th' lit'ral sense, mind ye - Oi don' like parrots in me 'air when Oi sleeps at noight - Oi gots me literal bunk in d' women's quarter. Tain't the only female aboard, tho we'se just a coupla-three.) Oi do wonder what become of ole Jack Calico? Er, ahem, Calico Jack? Rumors o' delays and suchlike; can't keeps a girl like me forever waitin', tho.

Ship's outta harbor now; we's got the sails all up and starchy-like, and Oi been pickin' brains on th' other two pirate lasses - good, Ole Mort ain't a one for assignin' the womenfolk only chores like mendin' and fussin' over the stewpot.

It do seem like an odd patch o' fog ahead, by th' island o'er there - th' island bein' just a rock with a coupla-three trees hanging up on it. Somethin' aint' so roight about it, or behinds it. Wanna keep me eyes open, Oi be thinksin'.

Game leg, bright eyes. Tha's another thin' the be tellin' me. But only out t' sea, if y' catch me drift, matey.