#pirates!!

The crew of ghost pirates cried out in agreement and rushed towards the team.

Callie, Gary and Phoebe raised their wands up and aimed at the crew, ready for fire. But even Trevor knew that the four of them together was futile against an entire pirate crew. So, he could do the only thing he can think of: pull an Elizabeth Swan.

“Parley!” He yelled.

The pirates stopped and looked at him in confusion.

“What??” One of them asked.

Welp. No turning back now.

“You heard me.” Trevor began as he stepped in front of the others, looking at the pirates and ignoring the incredulous stares from his family. “I invoke the right to parley. That means you must take us to your captain.”

At the crew’s stunned silence, Trevor got a bit nervous, wondering if he got that rule wrong.

“That-that is how it works, right?”

There’s a loud cry behind Scar as another sailor goes down, and he winces. Poor guy. Was probably four days from retirement, or whatever people are when they’re killed.

He can’t stay and ponder death unfortunately, because he’s got his own life threatening situation to deal with. A cutlass to his throat, and more importantly, a mean looking guy holding the hilt.

Scar’s hands are up in a nonthreatening way—up by his head, the universal surrender gesture—as he looks his assailant up and down. White hair, a navy facemask, and a red, glass eye. He can work with that.

"You're going to want to calm it with the sword," he says easily. Stay level and the seas will follow, is what he always said.

"I'm not kidding!" Scar insists when the pirate gives an exaggerated eye-roll. He keeps talking, making sure he can throw the hook before he gets cut short.

“I have a deal you can't resist."

That gets a familiar, curious gleam in those bi-colored eyes. The boost of confidence has him standing taller, because he’s still got his charm. He’s in his element, this near-silent bargaining while violence whirls around them. In fact, he’d say he knows this better than he knows his own name. He talked his way onto this now-sinking ship, and he knows he can talk his way onto another.

"What is it?" The pirate finally replies. Scar finds his smile working its way onto his face.

"That all depends on if you're planning on letting me live long enough to propose it to your captain."

It takes another moment. Scar waits, he’s a patient man, and watches for the first sign that calculation’s crumpling beneath the burning need to know. It always does. The waves fall still, the lack of churning almost unsettling for the ship as his life balances between the two of them.

The pirate's shoulders slump. The sword is lowered just a smidge so the curve's at his collarbone rather than his neck.

Looks like he’s got a bite.