[ He's serious? Jack's face splits in two with an amused grin, teeth sharp and white as he laughs. It's a small thing, a bark of a chuckle, glancing at the night sky and then back at his demon masked acquaintance. Wait.

He's serious.

Jack's smile fades. ]

I once met a man who insinuated that the only reason he continually made the voyage from Nassau to Charles Town on a regular basis was due to a feather he wore on his hat that was plucked from a quail on the first full moon of the year. That sounds more plausible than the power of honestly unlocking ones true visage from behind a mask.

[ Oh, but hold on, the poetic justice is just starting to roll over him. ]