Because he couldn’t figure that much out on his own, apparently. He was starting to think this entire venture was more mess than it was worth – but as it was he had no choice at this juncture but to play nice. He was on a ship in the middle of the fucking ocean and the only thing keeping him alive was the information inside his head. There might be something else he could bargain, but the very idea made his skin crawl – which left the lesser of two devils, in the form of playing nice with a monster of a man.
One thing that was refreshing about Flint was that he didn’t conceal his monstrosity, or pretend it wasn’t a part of him. He didn’t fuck around – when he was pissed, there was no game to figure out. Blunt instruments like this were easier to work with than the kind of men he was used to maneuvering, so there was that at least.
“Alright – it’s not like we didn’t establish earlier that I’m not, exactly, a cook.” How was he supposed to know you weren’t supposed to use butter as an oil substitute with that particular fish? The fact he even knew butter could serve as a substitute at all was because Randall had shoved it at him last week. “I mean – I should not have been unsupervised.”
He held up his hands placatingly, “On the plus side of all this – I do know how to fish. So I can get more.” Theoretically, anyway.
Ocean Archive 