A smirk lingered on his lips before Carina could offer him her reply, for he already predicted her answer. Had anyone else agreed with him so readily, his reaction would have been quite the opposite; a vicious scowl might have stood in place of his current amused expression, or worse, but it was no real secret that Barbossa was fond of his daughter and her cutting words, despite his notoriously ruthless nature and best efforts to hide any weakness.
Ever since she had first come aboard the Revenge, he had overheard the displeased grumblings of a few of his men from time to time; the most common complaint, naturally, was that there was a woman aboard and in a position of power, as hard-headed, sharp-tongued, and self-assured as the captain himself. Such objections were never spoken to him directly, of course, nor did they surprise him when he learned of their existence. The buccaneers who sailed beneath his colours did so with the intent of becoming wealthy beyond measure, and so he knew that their disdain for a capable female navigator was forever outweighed by their greed.
Carina’s academic talents and celestial prowess were best suited to life at sea, rather than going to waste in a civilization that would only restrict her. He recalled that the dauntless Pirate King, a former member of polite society's narrow-minded upper crust, had faced her fair share of criticism after she rose to her position, too. Some never warmed to her, but it made her no less prosperous.
He silently regarded his daughter at her position along the starboard gunwale as she spoke, with her attention turned towards the sea. “ It be in your blood, I fear, ” he proclaimed in response, with an equal amount of mischief behind his words to match the sly grin that she wore, “ A family curse. ” Weathered fingers drummed against the ship's wheel for emphasis before he finally cast his gaze ahead to focus on the darkening horizon.
Perhaps what others had told her as a child was not entirely untrue, Barbossa mused. He was not usually a man who chose to look backward, but how many tales had been told of the Black Pearl when he and his crew had ravaged the Caribbean in their quest to alleviate themselves of their supernatural misery? One of the more famous of them was a description of himself, spread by survivors lucky enough to withstand his violent fury. A man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out. Did that not make him a devil, or something even more vile?
It would be a lie to say that he disliked how people feared him then ⏤ and how they feared him still. He lifted his chin, as if to convince himself of his pride.
“ I find that it usually be those who speak a great deal but say nothin’ of much import who tend to take issue with wicked-tongued folk like you n’ I. Most men fear what they fail to understand, as I'm sure you’re well aware. Better a devil than a cur. ”