[Nekomimi_Aiden]

All things considered, Fisk knew that his upcoming punishment could have been worse. He didn't agree with floggings; he found them to be far too cruel for any wrongdoing, lest someone tried to, say, knife another shipmate in the back. Fisk hadn't done anything like that. He'd stolen food, and though it was a mistake, he couldn't help but tell himself that it wasn't that terrible a crime. No one on this ship had any need of food; why should Fisk have to starve, too? And why did he need to seek permission for food in the first place?

Fisk tried to keep a poker face when his Captain made that comment. Permission- really? He found it absurd, but he wouldn't dare to say that to Barbossa, much less anyone else. You couldn't hope to trust nearly anyone on board a ship, and even if you could share a secret or a story with someone, you could wager that the whole crew were hear about it, sooner or later.

Did Fisk really need to be given a hiding for his theft? The boy wanted to protest, but that little voice inside his head told him to keep his opinions to himself. Whatever the captain said was to be taken for what it is, and no one could argue. Fiske could remember the last few punishments he'd received-- not that he wanted to remember. It was difficult, given that his backside hurt for hours afterwards, even days, in one or two isolated cases. He didn't want a repeat.

"I.. I understand, Captain." The threat of a flogging came as a genuine surprise, and Fisk looked positively terrified at the idea. The boy lowered his gaze to the food he held and, guilt-ridden, he shoved the meat into the satchel, and just in time for Barbossa to haul him up from the floor. Fisk dropped the satchel, along with the rest of the food, but he made no move to try and rescue any piece. As far as he knew, his meal was over, and there was no telling if he'd get another chance to eat, today.

Fiske could do little else but follow his captain through the ship, making no attempt to try and pull free. That would be a recipe for disaster, if his theft wasn't reason enough for a painful punishment. As soon as he was dragged into the private quarters, Fisk was freed, and he took a few stumbling steps away from Barbossa, and without thinking about it, he adjusted his shirt and vest. His pulse hadn't evened out; it had sped up, actually, as he watched the captain unbuckle his belt and take a seat.

This room was all too familiar, and for all the wrong reasons. For a moment Fiskr remained standing where he was, clearly hesitant to take even one step closer to his captain. He knew better than to leave the room, approach the door, or try to beg his way out of this. Biting his lower lip, Fisk gave a subtle nod, salty tears beginning to sting his eyes. He was determined not to break down in front of his captain, though, so he forced himself to take a few deep breathes, but it wasn't working as well as he hoped.

The cabin boy reached to undo his own belt, loosening it with shaking hands; holding it in place, he stepped over to Barbossa and slowly lowered his breeches. As he moved, he kept on repeating just one phrase; "I'm sorry, Captain, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I stole-" The boy kept his head bowed, and he tried to stop trembling, but it was a losing battle. Fisk didn't want to be belted- who would? That wasn't to say he'd take a flogging instead of a belting; all the same, he knew that his captain wouldn't go easy on him, this punishment wasn't to be taken as anything else but a consequence for his actions.