Hannibal had taken the monkey. The thought still brought a little smile to the pirate's face. Young master Hannibal was alright, in Jack's book--anyone willing to deal with that goddamn monkey (although he understood fully, or as fully as he possibly could, given the amount of rum the pair of them had imbibed, what the boy planned to do with it) was capital.
He still had not seen the Widow Washburne, and he was getting a little bit worried. What right, though, had he to worry about a warrior woman who just happened to amble off of his ship and not come back?
It was late. It was dark. The streetlamps were lit. Streetlights, the captain mentally corrected himself. And someone was shouting.
Jack wouldn't have heard the yell at all, were he not coming up to the deck. But hear it, he did. And it sounded... it sounded like a woman.
There was another, more insistant yell.
Not just any woman.
Jack strode over to the Pearl's railing and smiled, sort of hoping he'd just gone insane. And he leaned over, slightly, to see who was screaming on the docks below.
"'Ey!" Jack yelled back down, before he really saw fully.