@TragicTrees It was midday out on the Atlantic Ocean. A rickety vessel plowed the waters, tasked with a shipment of exotic fruits, vegetables, and flora back to the mainland. Captain Dwayne's crew were the ones most desperate enough to take the job at the cheapest price, though some had helped themselves to a crate of oranges to pass the time. The captain was a younger sort, taking a nap in his quarters to avoid the harsh light of the midday sun, from which little protection was offered on deck. His jet-black hair was neatly kept in a ponytail. He had spent a good deal of his earnings on the feathered tricorne, comically enormous and resting against his face as a makeshift night mask. A black frock coat, laced with gold buttons, hung off a rack to the side, leaving him fit with a maroon-covered waistcoat and a white cravat and shirt underneath it. The ship suddenly lurched, a ghastly creaking and grinding blasting through the room. He scrambled to his feet, dazed and confused. His figure was lean with some muscle, though many of the deckhands had him beat on that front. He was growing a slight beard on the tip of his chin, but nowhere else. Weary bags hung under his eyes, dull and filled with annoyance. He perked his head up to listen. He thought he could hear yelling and cheering. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..." Dwayne muttered miserably, rising slowly from his altogether too small bed. Ignoring the frock coat, he stepped out onto deck to investigate what the hell was going on, a pair of thigh-high boots clonking with each step against the floorboards. --- He surveyed the area dully, despite the cacophonous racket being raised by the crew. He leaned over the ship. It appeared as though they've managed to run aground in shallow waters. The same shallow waters that some dozen crewmates were splashing around in like dying fish. His eyebrow perked up, mouth curling. What in God's name were they thinking?