James follows Sparrow's eyes down to the inside of his wrist. He cannot see, for the pirate's arm is turned in, but he knows that on that arm is the puffy, white scarring of the pirate brand Sparrow bears. Not the noose then, but the label of pirate? The eternal threat of the noose hanging over his head? But if that's the case, then that would mean that Sparrow had not chosen piracy, as he so proudly claimed, that he had indeed been forced into the life he now led.

But by whom? That's easy enough to guess- some high-ranking officer in either the Navy or the East India Trading Company, for it is they who carry the political weight in the Caribbean, and they who have the power to brand a man a pirate. And if the man in question had promised to treat Sparrow fairly... a superior then, perhaps. Had Sparrow been in the Navy? That was an unnerving thought indeed, but it made sense, in a way James was not entirely willing to contemplate.

Sparrow, of course, has not told him this much; James doubts that he will- at least not now- but it would explain quite a bit about the pirate. Betrayed by society, he leaps into his new role as pirate, uses it to spite the people who had made him such... it works, and James looks at Sparrow in- if not quite a new light, than at least an altered one.

'I see,' he says, and leaves it to Sparrow to work out whether he actually does or not.

But perhaps a change of subject is in order now. This seriousness of conversation with Sparrow is no end of unnerving- to speak so honestly with a man who boasts about his own dishonesty is unsettling; it throws him off balance.

'So,' he murmurs after a moment, 'Is the offer of first mate still valid, Sparrow?'

Gone is the sobre, serious note in his voice. He hopes Sparrow will take note of it and follow his lead.