[Her voice is low and rather tired sounding. It's not exactly the best first impression, she openly admits to that.]

I really. Do not. Like sailing.

Even the thought of being on the waters is making my stomach churn. What is a good remedy for seasickness? I am desperate and I will owe you big time.

[Text]

[The writing that appeared was done by a deliberate steady hand and in the elegant script one could only achieve with a quill pen. ]

So far it seems very little of worth has been accomplished. We have found our crews and set sail but for what real purpose? Have any of you given much thought to what you will do in this new land?

I wonder how many will fall to the pirate's life or how many might decide there are far more important endeavors than the pursuit of fortune. If you actually did manage to stumble across one of these missing shards of crystal would you give it back to Davy Jones or do you not think him fit enough to control such power? With that storm we have already seen a small taste of how he would use it.

What of other ships, do you actually intend to sack them, kill their crews and steal their cargo? Even if some of those ships contain fellow travelers brought here against their will and with whom you have spent several weeks speaking to over these journals?

There must be some who believe as I do that war amongst ourselves would serve no one but our captor and that innocent lives might be better protected through an alliance.


[A.k.a. One Templar potentially recruiting. ]

Well, looks like all eyes and ears haven't been deceivin' me. I been wonderin' if it all be true, and here ye lot are. Well fancy that.

My name be none 'o yours, but ye can call me Scurvey Dog. 'Tis my job, much forced upon me by greater pain in the arse powers, that I be givin' you weather and news nigh about once a week. Whether not ye read it is yer own affair.

Weather is of no use to you lads and lassies right now. It be fair sailin' fer several days outside Empieza, but my bones tell me there be a rough patch comin'.

News? Well, ye lot are the news. The Navy hain't stirred yet but they be grumblin' like a sleepin' giant. Most important news for ye right now is to make sail at the latest by Saturday or the natives won't take too kindly too ye. May even bring out the big pitchforks and won't that be a sight?

That be about all, I reckon.

[there is a lengthy pause. Is that all?]

Now I hain't suppose' to be doin' this, but I'll answer one question a week. First question any 'o you lot ask is the first question I'll answer. Rest 'o ye can bugger off. I hain't got time to be muckin' about in this fiddly book.

[and after a while new writing appears looking harsher.]

Let it be known that a certain bilge rat has been banned from question askin' fer a month. I was a frog's breath from bannin' the lot 'o ye, but it hain't yer fault yer in this mess, so I'll be lenient.

In the future, take yer sass somewhere else, ye ungrateful nitwits.

[The first part is handwritten.]

This isn't a request for any crew members, although if someone wanted to think otherwise, I certainly wouldn't object. I need a doctor - or any form of healer, preferably one whose ability is enhanced by magic. My friend went and broke some ribs. You would be paid, of course.

[He's figured out that anything he writes in the journal is seen by everyone, but he has no idea the audio function exists - which is why when a Certain Person comes up behind him and comments on it, he doesn't close the journal. An exasperated sigh can be heard, and then an argument.]

I didn't break some ribs, someone broke them for me. And they're cracked, not broken. I'll be fine without a doctor.

You need help just to sit down.

Because I'm exhausted and the alternative was to fall over. That has nothing to do with my ribs.

Your grimaces and silent glares say otherwise.

I'm silently glaring because you earned a silent glaring. That, also, has nothing to do with my ribs.

Your silent glares are less than a foot above your cracked ribs, so I made the obvious connection.

You need to work on your deductive reasoning skills.

[The last is grumbled in the background, but in a tone of resignation. With that, Skulduggery realises the journals appear to have an audio function, and that every word they've said has been recorded. He hesitates, then continues as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.]

The aforementioned doctor would need to be all right with stubborn patients, obviously. And, come to think of it, biological impossibilities. If you're interested and available, please let me know.

[OOC: Feel free to respond to either Descry Hopeless or Skulduggery Pleasant here - this is a joint post. ^_^]