It was curiosity - all right, fine, perhaps tinged with a dash of the desire to evade the most distressing shadow of boredom - that had lured him out to the cemetery. Did the captain hold a certain fondness for spending time with those who no longer drew breath? No. Hardly. If the talk was true and their newest companions were indeed popping up here, of all places, then it would only stand to reason that it was because the Seal had tethered itself to the location. If the Seal was intertwined with the cemetery, it was possible that they could find some way to locate the massive power source itself. Find the magic portal? Mess with the magic portal. Well, not him. Not personally. Hook rather fancied not being blown to bits or turned into a one-winged chicken. No, he'd leave all the heavy lifting to the magic users. Rumplestilstkin, probably. Lily, too. They'd get their fingers into the whole damned mess of it all, work it out, and soon they'd all be able to decide if they wanted to venture back to their lands or stay behind to deal with whatever it was that this world turned up next.
Hook was rather undecided on the matter. Would he leave, if given the choice? He certainly didn't have much of a place here. His ship wasn't in Lawrence - nor the sea, for that matter - and his heart's desire had long since been spoken for.
Yet Storybrooke was now complicated. Different. Going back...it would be costly. Perhaps more so than he could afford. Hook scowled, burrowed a hand into the folds of his long, leather coat, and dug up his flask. With his teeth, he pried the lid open. Before taking a drink, he peered off across the rows of stone jutting from the earth. Nothing. No one. It seemed as though the Seal didn't have any intent on bringing him a fresh face or two that evening. Hook lifted his drink, almost in a sort of half salute to the dead around him, and downed a rough swallow of rum.
That was when he heard it: the movement of feet on grass not far off behind him. Unless the dead had chosen to rise for a taste of rum, it seemed all too likely that he had not been the only person who had decided on searching the cemetery for new arrivals that evening. Or...perhaps?
Hook turned and, almost immediately, his gaze fell upon an unfamiliar figure. Flask returned to his jacket, Hook arched a brow and greeted the man with a simple: "Lost, are we?"
He could have been local. Visiting a friend or relative. But if the look on his face was any indication? Hook found that he was more than comfortable with the assumption that he was staring down new blood.