The taste of rum had long faded since that late afternoon, a year ago today. The one that landed him in this place. Than again, it might have been an easier prediction if he had been someone else. Theodore never worried about such trivial things. He had had woman on both knees, feeding and giving long drinks of rum at his command. It was his life, and he had loved it. The guards must have been give strict orders that night. They didn't put up with him and his crew as they once did. Maybe one of the young princes had finally grown sick of looking at his smirk as he strolled off the decks and back out to sea, unharmed, as many pirates had before him. Who could tell. However, it wasn't anyone else that night who had gotten captured. It was him. Not even one other member of his crew. He had seem to that, he hoped. After all, he was the only one the guards had seemed to want. That night the crew had spit into a few groups. His first mate had followed him, while others had jumped into the street via window or clumsy ran out the door. Theodore had gone out the back, seemed the best way to get the guards away from his crew members. While running down the alley Theodore had told his first mate to leave without him. Not to wait for him, don't risk everyone for him. Just go.

"Just go" His dry lips whispered, curving into a grin. That is what he had said to them. It had been nearly a year. If not a year than a lifetime. The dungeons were dark, only lit by torches.The torches of course, didn't give the rest of the space any more glory or style, at least not from behind bars of a cell. There was no way of telling the time. No way of letting him know if it was day or night. The entire spaced coated in a thick layer of stone, not even a vent to air out the place of its smells. He could have blocked out on entire year ,without realizing that it had come and gone. Was his crew still alive? Were they looking for him? Maybe they had waited against his wishes and had gotten captured along with him. Thrown in a different portion of the dungeon, or been sent to the gallows and already a pile of ash. He still hoped the best for them. Even if he never saw them again.The crew had build themselves on fear and common factors. Feared by others, with a common love of gold. Over the years they had been able to joke while pillaging, finding an awkward form of friendship.

Now here he lay. His wrists and ankles bound of thick rope, his back flat against the wooden table. He was on the rack. Getting anything out of him had proven difficult as he often said the first sarcastic thing that came to his mind. They asked him his name. He had answered "Prince William, Prince of the Golden Threads", to which he neither wore ,nor bore any such name or apparel. Some questions didn't get an answer, in which he would attempt to brace himself for the next turn of the crank. The next scream that echoed throughout the stone halls, all from his throat alone. He was a stubborn pirate. 

When footsteps descending from the cobblestone stairs behind him could be heard, he gave a holler. "Bring the rum this time ya' fat blub?!" The words tore at his dry throat, and he coughed. His beard, that once was clean and handsome, was now overgrown and matted. The hair on top of his head, once flowing in decent dreads, was not so decent A simple pair of torn cotton pants were all they aloud him to wear. The leggings were ripped off at the knees, such in a way that they wouldn't get in the way when he had been tied to the table. His chest was riddled with wounds, both old and new. Clotted blood that would just be more scars to add to his personal collection. The footsteps grew louder, but they belonged to someone who was much lighter than the person he was excepting.