Only the sound of the water far below, carrying the ship's bulk across the wide sea, and one modest oil lamp, swinging overhead to the rhyme of the journey, accompanied the wild-haired man in his work. So far, he was making a pleasing amount of progress, especially with the jump on some poor souls' bank treasury coming anytime now. The lack of sound-proofing in the room was just
right, thought the man. Here, within the belly of the Crow, he could hear all the sorts of daily daring-dos being undertaken by other people aboard the ship. It helped him decide when to show up and when not to, especially if the female's voices started to ring through the wooden walls, which was a case almost inevitable given they made up half of this mad, small crew. Here, he would know if something was amiss, or if people were coming his way. The medley continued to comfort him just as well as it served his need for distance. Not that any of the others were at fault, of course. They were attracted to alcohol and noisy fun save for apparently one or two, but that was a given in this field of work.
Looking past that, he figured this crew may just be the worst band of pirates yet, in that they're actually surprisingly clean, and a civilized lot most of the time. Probably the best type of lot he could afford to fulfill his needs at the moment, though? That remains to be seen.
The man continued on his work, becoming more impressed with the foreign "fox-tail" brush he got at a mere bargain from some man in a shell the more the dipped tip of the brush inscribed onto the surface of the leather in black ink. After a bit, the hardest part was coming up, and the man coiled one end of the belt around one wrist and bit down on the other end in preparation. Yes, he could feel the belt beginning to act up. He didn't expect to get by this cheaply. Now, it all comes down to the last few letters. The isolation, it gives birth to peace. The peace, it gives birth to focus. With this, he should remain covered for at least another--
BANG
"Gah!" the man jumped back at the sudden explosion of gunpowder, his teeth slipping from the belt's end. The man's eyes widened as he sees his work come unbound. Over the course of the next few seconds and up until a minute or two, it's quite likely others on the ship can hear the sounds of what appears to be a small fight coming from one of the lower quarters. And, with that passed, moments afterwards a man can be heard barreling up the ship's levels, only a hair's length short of breaking out all the curses one could possibly find in a pirate's vocabulary.
"Where's he?! Where's the-- Where's the little spitfire that lit away on that muzzle?! I'll-- I'll--" his voice absolutely rings through the ship's halls, as the man made his way up towards the deck.