Blake felt the solid (if slimy) deck under his feet again and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning on the bulwark and staring down into a shallow puddle of seawater right in front of him; if he squinted, he could just barely make out his reflection. The muddy brown eyes were situated under two thick eyebrows- he suddenly frowned, confused. One of his eyebrows had always been missing about half of the hair, as a result of a particularly thick scar leftover from his illness. Yet there the brow was, perfectly normal!<br/><br/>He straightened up, smiling cheerfully, before feeling something dripping onto his eyelid. One wipe of his hand later, and his palm was covered in something that looked like mud but smelled like it had come straight out of somebody's ass.<br/><br/>"Oh," he mumbled as he tried to wipe the substance off onto his already filthy shirt. "S'just shit."<br/><br/>Before he could do more than wonder how he'd managed to get that particular material on his face, he remembered that he had just nearly drowned and he turned to shoot Mallory a look of gratitude- she failed to see it, however, as she was preoccupied by the mop that had been launched at her person.<br/><br/>The pirate with the teeth that shone with yellow brilliance similar to piss after a festive day of drinking ale (he used to do the odd job here and there for tavern owners in exchange for the occasional mug, with only small amounts of dirt and bugs floating around in them-the extra stuff made you drunker, they told him) had launched a tirade at them before following up with the mop, and though Blake missed most of it, he did catch the final word.<br/><br/>He stared from his incensed friend to the broad back of the departing pirate, and felt his ears grow hot with rage.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Bitch? Don' nobody call Mal no bitch!</span>he thought furiously as he grabbed the mop and, with a bellow of bestial fury, he took off running at the man that was three times his size and probably five times his weight.<span style="font-style: italic">Bitches got fleas, an' Mal ain't had none cept' for tha' time she let me sleep in th' hut wid'er!</span><br/><br/>"Gon' give you a peg leg righ' up you's ass!" he yelled as he took careful aim with the handle of the mop- he wasn't sure what exactly he was planning to do, nor did he understand what would happen afterward, but nothing mattered in that moment except for the fact that his friend had been wronged.<br/><br/>Luckily, they would never find out what would've happened had his attack been successful, because... it wasn't.<br/><br/>The ship heaved violently to one side, and Blake's feet, still unused to the deck's uncertain surface, went skittering out from under him. His legs splayed out in front of him and he landed hard on his backside, whilst the mop handle fell partially underneath him and snapped in half under his weight. A split second later, he released a howl of pain as a shard of wood imbedded itself into his arm.