The Commodore was a fine sight. Dressed in his impeccable crimson greatcoat, his tricorn hat at a jaunty angle and light sparkling off his enameled cane. And his magnificent white mustache. Don't forget the mustache. It took many years of painstaking cultivation to perfect such a fine piece of facial hair. You see those curls? You have no idea how long it took to get those curls just right, you filthy savage.<br/>Yes. Any day was a fine day when you had the chance to see the Commodore standing tall and proud.<br/><br/>Today was not a fine day.<br/>First, his ship had sunk. Well. Not<span style="font-style: italic">his</span>ship. He really couldn't say whose ship it had been. What? No! He wasn't a pirate! What a thought!<br/>Commodore Not-A-Pirate was not a pirate. It was in the name!<br/><br/>He'd thought he'd a stroke of luck when a small fishing skiff occupied by well-meaning fishermen had scooted over to investigate and offer help.<br/>Once they had been adequately disposed of (ref: Murder, page 3) and the crew of the previous ship been deterred from taking his new boat (sic), he'd headed for the nearest port.<br/>However. It quickly became apparent that while the fishermen had been kind and (fatally) altruistic, they had not been expert sailors. Particularly in the domain of maintenance of seafaring vessels.<br/><br/>The Commodore was scooping out the many-th bucket of water from what was now turning into the bilges, he spotted a likely-looking ship not far from the coast. It didn't seem to be moving very quickly, and that was perfect. He steered the<span style="font-style: italic">Plentiful Harvest</span>on an expertly calculated angle for the purposes of interception. The lookout was looking inland, he soon saw. He stroked his mustache (waxed, to protect from the water) in anticipation.<br/><br/>"Hail, good sir! Would you be so kind as to pass me a line that I may climb aboard your vessel!"<br/>The gormless crewmember dribbling over the rail spotted the Commodore and time seemed to freeze. At least until he decided to throw down a line.<br/>"Many thanks, my good man!"<br/>The man who was definitely not a pirate hauled himself up with surprising speed for such an elderly fellow and promptly threw the other man into the sea.<br/><br/>"Have at thee, varlets! I hereby take over this... vessel..."<br/>His speech slowed as his eyes took in the large number of armed pirates, still milling about in confusion and/or inbred imbecility.<br/>" 'ssss post as cartographer! I have been hired by special order at the last minute! Don't need to tell the captain. Carry on."<br/><br/>And the Commodore slunk as fast as he could into the depths of the Molly Whop, wondering where he could get some pistols.