Damon chuckled lightly, stepping further into the warm, dimly lit pantry.
"You could say that," he replied smoothly, his silvery-brown eyes glinting as he took in the large iron pots and wooden crates filled with supplies. The scent of salted meats and stale bread filled the air, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked deck outside.
The cook, a stocky man with a gut that suggested he enjoyed his own cooking more than anyone else, kept his back turned as he continued chopping a slab of cured pork.
"Well, 'newbie,' you better learn this quick. The moment you start letting those greedy sods push you around, you'll never get a moment's peace. You'd think they were the ones workin' in here, the way they demand."
Damon leaned casually against a crate with folded arms, watching the man work. "Sounds frustrating, you must have a lot of patience."
