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[He's been staring and prodding at the terminal for the longest time, wanting to at least have a basic grasp of its function before fiddling too much with it, though as of right this moment, Barbossa will fully admit (privately) that he really doesn't understand it. Witchery, devilry, some sort of voodoo...He's not entirely sure, and really, given the circumstances, he doesn't really care. What matters is that he's pretty sure it's for communication. And communicate he will.

There are far more important things afoot, thanks to the letter he's tucked haphazardly into the sash around his waist, because in it, the worst is delivered. He cares not for the world, but his ship...That's enough to make his blood boil.

But none of that shows on his face - for now. He's already raged privately, before deciding it is, plainly and simply, false. Instead, he looks more than a little amused at the circumstances, as he taps thoughtfully at the screen with one long, black nail.]

So, it do seem me home managed to get itself blown apart like a dinghy hit with chain shot. Funny, that. [He doesn't believe a word of it, and it's evident in his tone, and the quirk of his mouth.] Ye'd figure there'd be a tad more warning. Trumpets. Horsemen. Jack Sparrow running away from the scene of the crime. Alas, can't say as I remember a speck of any of that.

So what be the truth of it, aye? Did our saviors rapture us from our dying homes, convinced of our purity and contriteness? Be we the lambs before the slaughter? [Hilarious.] Nay, there be more to it than that. And since it seems ye have me at a disadvantage, I'd be thankful for some...Insight.

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[Seriously, what is with you people. It's like you've never seen a guy in a frock coat and big hat before. But...Well, given what he's seeing, he imagines he's gawking right back most of the time.]

Oh, aye, let me rejoice in me lucky fortune. Me ship. Gone. Me crew? Gone. Tortuga? Might as well never have existed. I get me sword and me gun to do naught of what it's used for. Aye, nothing wrong with that at all.

This be not salvation. Better to die on your feet than live the way it's been explained. Except here it's not even dead certain ye'll stay that way. Paradise, I suppose, for a masochist.

[Kyoko listens to all of that...and grins. Interesting reaction from a teenage girl.]

You seem to have it all figured out. What makes you think we need to tell you anything?

[He's getting a lot of those. It's just a little worrisome. Shouldn't you be at home helping your mam with the washing, shoo.]

Only because unlike what I imagine to be the multitude, I use me eyes and the brain that be attached. It hardly takes effort to put those things together if ye oil the gears. [Sarcasm. Sarcasm all over. It's like a sarcasm fondue.]

[family.......hahahahahaha oh, you're funny Barbossa. Also don't talk about fondue with Kyoko, she'll eat your hand right off your body.]

S'what I thought too. You ain't wrong. The only personal paradise this place is suited for is a masochist. That's not what the folks running the joint will say.

But I think some of them might still believe they're doing the right thing, by bringing us here.

[He's already missing half his right leg. What's another body part?]

Believing a thing to be right don't be enough to make it right. It be a truth that those that believe that wrong as right most strongly tend to be those that crumble the hardest when it comes time for revelation. [Loquacious pirate is loquacious. And talks in circles.]

[....give her a second while she reorders that sentence.]

We'll yeah, but I'm pretty sure they don't actually care about us, so it really doesn't make a difference.

[And now for the important question.]

What's with the pirate cosplay?

You think so? [His tones states he thinks she's wrong, but he's not going to come out and say it.

But really tho.]

I know not what this cosplay be.

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