Yes I am still alive, and just so you know I promise I will never completely abandon this story. Anyway here's the next instalment 

Chapter 6: Just a Little Rum

There was nothing unfamiliar about what Jim saw as he took the last step down into the murky, confined space of the galley.

Most of the bizarrely shaped members of the crew were huddled around one of the long tables. This was a common sight. They talked, laughed and muttered indistinguishably amongst themselves, while habitually swigging glasses of what Jim presumed was rum. 'So they helped themselves to one of the kegs. Silver won't be too happy'

The air was thick with its sickly sweet smell, but by now Jim had grown used to it. He had witnessed their drinking sessions before, of course with no involvement on his part. But he had enjoyed listening to Silver's animated anecdotes while he watched from the staircase.

Apparently the space creatures were so immersed in their drunken gathering that they failed to even notice the cabin boy's presence. Somewhat grateful, he quietly stepped past them and into the kitchen area. He carefully looked around to see if there was anything left of the day's cooking which would be passably edible. He wrinkled his nose at the congealing remains of Silver's signature stew. 'Would be too much effort to heat up anyway' he thought, closing the lid and sighing. He decided instead to settle for the simpler option of bread

But as he picked up the knife, he froze as one of the crew members suddenly slammed their glass on the table.

Instinctively Jim ducked behind the large stove in the centre of the kitchen. He paused. Then when nothing happened he glanced round at the crew's table. To his relief he still hadn't been noticed. Yet the jovial atmosphere of the gaggle of aliens had obviously died down.

One gruff voice resonated more clearly above the rest. Jim didn't move but strained his ears in order to hear what was being said.

"…and if yer ask me, this plan o' his is gettin' to be a nuisance. We've been too bloody cautious fer too long"

"…yeah an' if I have to take another order from that prissy excuse for a captain"

Jim couldn't make out who was speaking, but judging by the serious tone, this probably wasn't something he wanted to be caught overhearing.

"Well…I tells ye one things fer certain. We woulda made a move long ago if it weren't fer that boy"

The group erupted in mumbles of agreement

Jim held his breath and listened more intently, ignoring the heartbeat hammering in his chest, desperate to hear more.

"Well, in any case, they'll be no need worryin' bout Long John's new pet once Scroop's through with 'im--"

Suddenly a loud clatter broke the hushed quiet of the galley. All eyes (or 'eye' in some cases) immediately swerved to the kitchen where Jim had just dropped the knife he'd forgotten he was holding.

Jim, knowing there was really no escaping this situation, steeled himself and stepped out from behind the stove and into full view, facing them all defiantly

The crew's startled expressions very quickly merged into looks of scorn and then as they exchanged glances, they smirked, like they had him cornered. Jim swallowed.

Mr Hands addressed Jim in a deep booming voice "Well well…eavesdroppin' are we? You should know your place, cabin boy"

If Jim was afraid, he didn't let it show on his face. He replied in a surprisingly level voice

"As cabin boy I'd say anything below deck is my place" He gave them all a pointed look

"You guys shouldn't have a problem with that unless there's something you don't want me to hear"

He was playing with fire, and he knew it, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself, curiosity had got the better of him.

The crew exchanged wicked glances once again but did not make a comeback remark.

There was a definite pause 'Was that it?' He maintained his position, although slightly unsure of what to do next. He was about to turn and go back to the kitchen when…

"Ye know what, Jim? Yer right. Ye do have every right to be 'ere." Jim blinked, he didn't realise any of these brutes even knew his proper name.

"But someone really oughta teach ye some manners, boy. If ye wanted ta join us, ye shoulda just asked"

One of them brought an empty glass to the keg and began to fill it with rum.

Jim watched with no small amount of unease and scepticism. They had some nerve talking about his lack of manners. But more importantly he couldn't help but notice this was sounding suspiciously like an invitation.

When the glass was filled a reasonable amount it was slid across the table to the corner closest to him. Jim waited. This was a joke, it had to be. He anticipated some kind of punch line, but it never came. All eyes were watching him expectantly.

Wait…were they serious?

It was inconceivable to say the least, not to mention if Silver found out he had consumed even a drop of alcohol he'd blow a casket.

His response was automatic. "No thanks" he said in the politest tone he could manage, and then he went back to the kitchen area.

This was met immediately by a string of verbal protests from the crew, though it sounded fabricated and was obviously just an attempt to goad him. But he wouldn't be swayed.

"Ah c'mon now it's just a little rum, Silver would never 'ave to know" One of them cajoled.

True, he wouldn't. But Jim was fairly certain they'd have no problem telling on him at the first opportunity. Either way he still wasn't tempted. He didn't even turn around.

They started talking amongst themselves again. Then Mr Hands tried a different angle

"Well 'tis a darn shame. After all…we was just about to raise a toast to Mr Arrow"

That got Jim's attention. He looked tentatively over his shoulder as the hulking creature continued.

"Now wouldn't that be an awful sign o' disrespect if ye turned it down?" Mr Hands grinned knowingly. All members of the crew murmured their concurrence, watching for Jim's response.

Jim was trapped. It was a cheap shot, no doubt about that. Every single one of them hated Mr Arrow. He knew this full well and yet…and yet…

A twinge of fear and remorse had resurfaced. That feeling again, the lump in his throat he got when he was trying not to cry...

'Damn it'

Abandoning the food, along with any hope of considering what he was about to do, Jim strode over to their drinking table and confidently picked up the glass.

But he examined the dark liquid with caution, very aware that he was under the watchful gaze of the entire crew. As he smelled the rum he was expecting something sharp and overpowering, but instead, the aroma was warm, subtle and spicy. 'Well it can't be poisoned' he reasoned, he'd seen them pour it from the keg.

"To Mr Arrow" Mr Hands said "Our fallen shipmate"

"…to Mr Arrow" Jim repeated somewhat mutedly along with the others. Now he had no choice.

Jim took a deep breath, and then in one swift movement he drained the contents. There was a mild burn as he swallowed, but that was just the initial shock effect of the alcohol hitting the back of his throat. Thankfully, he didn't choke.

He slammed the empty glass back on the table with a certain air of triumph. He noticed that the taste the rum left in his mouth wasn't too strong either, nor was it too sweet. It was smooth, very smooth. He liked it.

Something must have shown on his face because not two seconds later another glass was pushed towards him.

Jim raised his eyebrows "What's this one for?"

Mr Hands simply shrugged "How about…" while swilling the glass idly in his reptile-like hand "To a safe an' prosperous voyage"

Jim hesitated. He had managed to down the first without cringing, a surprise in itself. He enjoyed it, but he didn't want to push his luck.

He was still being watched, and against his better judgement he found himself reaching for the glass. 'Well…what have I got to lose?'

The second time he knocked his head back was easier as he'd gotten over the drink's initial strength. And when he slammed the glass back down next to the other one, the movement was accompanied by a slight head rush. It felt good. He felt good.

When he lifted a hand to brush a lock of his dark hair from his forehead, his hand moved with a kind of liquidity of motion. It was an odd sensation, he felt somewhat separate from his body. It was certainly taking effect quickly, which he put down to the lack of food and sleep. Nevertheless he successfully maintained his blasé demeanour

He was probably coming across as smug, but truthfully he didn't care. This time, his unfazed response was met with an appreciative cheer. Though it was hard to tell from their gross features, some of the crew actually seemed genuinely impressed (albeit disappointed) Like they had fully expected him to take one sip of the sinful liquid and fall flat on his face.

Not that he cared what they thought, but this was the first time he had ever received anything resembling positive attention from them

Unbeknownst to Jim, Hands had leant back and begun muttering to Mr Turnbuckle, while they both watched Jim closely.

"Boy didn't even flinch that time" Hands said "'e may be tougher than we thought"

"Seems so…" Turnbuckle replied. Then after a pause "Ow much ye reckon he can handle?"

Hands scoffed "With that scrawny lil body? Not much more I'd say"

"Care to make it interestin?" Turnbuckle began to fill another glass

"How so?"

"Five Guineas says he'll make it to ten o' those"

Hands watched the glass move over to Jim's side of the table. The boy seemed fine but quite noticeably swayed a little as he accepted the third drink. Hands grinned

"…Yer on"

Jim picked up the third glass, no questions asked this time. All the while thinking that this may be exactly what he needs. Something to numb the pain of physical exhaustion, to repel his growing paranoia, quell his frustrations, and dissipate his anger. Just anything to get out of his head for awhile.

Jim brought the third glass to his lips and proceeded to drink the sweet liquid, effectively choking the voice in his head trying to tell him that this was a very, very bad idea.

To be continued…