The sound of bones being cracked and broken echoed just beneath the deck of the Devil's rock. To anyone new to the ship those may have been an alarming sound, but to who ever spent a single night aboard the ship would know that these sounds should be celebrated not feared. If someone would follow those sounds they would find a hulking man wielding a meat cleaver chopping up a plucked chicken then seasoning it before dumping it into a bubbling pot of water, which already held the parts of at least three other chickens. The large man wiped the sweet from his brow before impaling the cleaver into the wooden wall beside him, which held marks indicating that he had done it many times before. The man then made his way to the deck of the ship, still smelling of spices. Once he was top side he took in the smell of the sea air for a moment before turning to the crew and captain. "Di stew should be reddi inna ten minutes!" He called out in a thick Jamaican accent that most of his shipmates have long come use to. This had been Guyton's routine for a while now and he had come use to be ignored when he gave the dinner call, honestly if the crew didn't eat he didn't care.