Ned Low didn't smile -- no, he rarely smiled; only making those crooked smirks upon distant, blank facial expressions. He almost seemed to be impaired in both his emotions and thoughts. 'Succinct' would be a better term to describe such behavior for such a maniacal captain like himself. In these waters, Captain Low was, quoted by both his own crew and other bucaneers, "savage and desperate", "peculiarly cruel", and "a man of amazing, grotesque brutality". These were true to the witnesses, and whether he cared or not, Edward didn't have qualms or morals; he was charismatically claimed to be "an honest man of great strength". 

The medallion he held by the black string, lightly swayed in the dim candlelight; the skull seemingly laughing in the center. "Your father is Lord Peter Ashe, governor of the Carolina colony", the captain [i]stated[/i] in that apathetic voice of his, while both of his "eyes" remained on her. His voice wasn't deep, more like on the baritone scale; not too deep, not too high. "We know him. By [i]'we'[/i], I meant all", he added. "Every pirate who's sailed under a flag [i]knows[/i] him", that one blue eye is looking at her now, his tone grim. 

"I will send a message to your father in the Carolinas; delivered with one of my men, with the following, in my own words: 'You are a prisoner of the pirate Captain Ned Low. Your ransom, if he ever wishes to see you alive again, is £250,000 ($323,190). Whether or not he applies to these terms, a new contact will arrive in Charlestown harbor with you in my possession. If I sense a trap, or if the demands are unmet, I'll kill you, and throw your body into the bay'", and he said it all in those words. Ned watched her look at the medallion in his hand, evident by her constant, flicking glances. 

"I have no gift for politics; navigation is foreign to me", he shook his head lightly, the medallion still in his hand. This time, looking it over, before standing up from the wooden chair he sat in. "'So, what am I good at?', you might ask", Ned would guess, before slowly striding to the girl's side, looking down at her, before bending over, so one of his hands laid on the desk, while the other on the head of the chair she sat in. "This is going to sound absurd but", he paused, his apathetic voice slightly softening, making the conversation be between the two of them. 

"I make the men feel better about themselves. You see, they can spot a lie when a captain is sickened by his own actions; they feel affected. With me, when they see me slaughter the crew of the [i]Good Fortune[/i], when they see me cut out a man's tongue for lying, when they see me burn a boy alive in front of his father's eyes, they know", it sounded a bit rushed, but it was clear. "They can see it in my eyes", emphasizing to the emotionless appendages. "There's no lie there. There's no secret remorse there. I simply don't have it in me", there was that grim undertone again. He looked at the medallion in his hand, settling on the desk. 

"At any rate, I hope that clarifies things, and that it illustrates why it is only fair for me to fully compensate with my men to not touch you, as we reach our destination", the captain stood back up to his full height, continuing to look at the trinket that's in his hand. "Are we clear?"