Rum sloshed in the great wooden mug Gilligan had stolen from one of the other crew members. He sat amongst the wooden barrels that stored provisions for the voyage. "The hell does that bastard think he's saying? No to my plan? What's his bloody plan!? Who the hell does he think I am? I'll show him. I'll drink ALL of his rum!"<br/><br/>He brought the flagon to his lips and tilted it back, knocking back nearly half the brew. He carefully placed the mug next to him, and stared wide-eyed at the wall across for him. Seconds passed, before the liquid erupted from every orifice his face possessed, with the exception of his mouth. His lips kept tightly sealed, though the same could not be said for his nostrils and eyes. His pores bled rum.<br/><br/>He fell from his seat and rolled around on the ground dramatically, coughing violently to dislodge what liquid had entered the wrong passage. You could not breathe rum. This was a fact he could not dispute. Tears and sweat dripped from his face as he lay face down on the wooden floor of the hold. He grumbled into the wooden planks. "S'like drinking fire. Why did I think that was a good idea?" He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling through watery eyes. "Welp. Back to water."<br/><br/>Something heavy and fuzzy hopped up on his chest. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he immediately noticed that his favourite crewmate had a rat in its mouth. Fresh dead and ripe for gifting. "Cat, I swear to Odin I will use you as a flail. I'm not even asleep." The cat titled it head to the side and stared at him, questioningly. Possibly trying to work out what he had said to it. But of course, he was a cat. Deciding that what had been said was something along the lines of "good job bringing me this dead rat, please drop it directly onto my face" it did just that. A fresh, juicy plague right plopped across his nose. Lucky his nose still burned with liquor, otherwise he was sure he would have recommenced gagging.<br/><br/>Shoving the cat off his chest and onto the floor, the creature rolled about playfully, assuming he had just received the gift of 'petting.' Gilligan hopped to his feet and slapped his chest, coughing once more to ensure everything was out of his lungs. "Okay, so drinking all the rum is off the table. Terrible plan. Absolutely the worst. So what else do I have?"<br/><br/>His scanning gaze rested on several barrels of gunpowder. Beautiful, beautiful explosives. Mutiny by gunpowder! "And some pretty fireworks to boot. It's a good plan but..." he sighed. The cat danced between his feet, purring loudly as it tried its best to trip and immobile man. "Just wouldn't feel right. Maybe if I'd thought of it yesterday. What else ha-"<br/><br/>The Boatswain was interrupted when he tripped. Bloody cat. He fell and rolled into a stack of crates. "I wasn't even walking! How did you... trip... oh. I see." He hadn't been tripped by the cat. The ship itself was tilting. Slightly at first. But it was as if something was trying to capsize it as it upended further. "The hell is going on up there!?"<br/><br/>When the boat finally levelled out, Gill shot for the stairs. The cat chased after him, prancing merrily. As he made his way up on deck, he shielded his eyes to protect them from the sudden glare of the sun. He quickly discovered that it was an unnecessary action. There was no sun. Dark clouds covered the sky, and it was nearly as dark as it had been down in the hold. Rushing to the side, he stared over the railing into the black, swirling depths. "Oh... oh alright. We're all going to die. Well done, Ned. Should have mutinied sooner apparently." He grumbled to himself. Ned shouted order from the poopdeck. They were... turning around? What?<br/><br/>"Back towards the Rotsman? Oh. Okay. So when the storm doesn't kill us, the legendary pirate captain can finish the job. Good to know the Captain has a backup plan should we survive certain death. Welp. Better find something to hold onto."<br/><br/>Drops of rain stung his face and chest as he strutted across the deck. He really wished he had a shirt. He'd had one when they set out. But he couldn't for the life of him remember when or where he'd lost it.<br/><br/>As he tied a lifeline around his chest, he once again found himself wondering where the hell old Tom had gotten to. He'd vanished into thin air apparently. Might not have been the best idea to elect Ned as Captain. Hilarious as it was. Sailing into a maelstrom was a pretty good sign that you'd bet on the wrong horse. Nothing left to do but hold on for dear life.<br/><br/>To his great surprise, and joy, Ned used the whirling tides as a slingshot. The Whop Molly sailed around the ring of churning ocean and fired back out the way they'd come in, at rather absurd speeds no less. They were coming upon the Rotsman almost before the Boatswain could finish his sarcastic prayers. He stared up at the flying ship. It was falling.<br/><br/>"Are they just going to drop themselves on top of us? I'd heard the Rotsman never touched the water!" It took Gill a few minutes to realise that it wasn't dropping at all. The Whop Molly was rising. Ripping the Lifeline from his body, he rushed to the railing again, staring over into something even more horrifying than the maelstrom they'd sailed into. The sea. It was rising. A great plume of water, like the spout of whale but so much grander. The Whop Molly perched atop it and was blasted into the sky along with the torrential flows. And... it was moving.<br/><br/>Slowly but surely, the pillar moved towards the Rotsman. They now towered above the fabled flying ship of Captain Rotter himself. He laughed. It was too unusual to believe.<br/><br/>"Come on men throw crap at them... Empty rum bottles, empty rum caskets, empty rum barrels! Lets hit 'em!"<br/><br/>Gill turned his head to stare at his Captain, arms full of broken bits of boat. The mad bastard was tossing them over the side at the Rotsman below. The rest of the crew followed suit. Bottles and barrels, some still containing rum. The Captain would not be happy with that.<br/><br/>But they all thought too small. Gill wiped the incredulous look off his face, and put on his best scowl. Time to pretend to be an authority figure. He turned, snapped his fingers at three particularly large crewmen, and shouted in the gruffest voice he could manage. "You, you and you! Drop those crates you fools. You can't sink a ship with bits of broken wood. Make below deck and bring me three barrels of gunpowder. And fuses." A sadistic smirk crossed his lips. "We're not going to get another chance like this. Make haste!"<br/><br/>One of the crewmen smiled, and punched his companion in the arm, waving him to follow as he made his way below deck. The three returned shortly hefting three heavy barrels full of boom.<br/><br/>"It's a day late, but I think the occasion still calls for gunpowder."<br/><br/>His hair gently blew across his shoulders. An earsplitting roar pierced the air. One of the crewmen carrying the barrels froze, a look of terror aimed behind the Boatswain. Gill turned, and saw a man who was not a member of his crew. He saw that man kill a crewman. The men around him drew their swords, but he was no ordinary pirate.<br/><br/>He turned back to his men. "Hurry you idiots!" The three rushed towards him and planted the barrels in front of him, fuses at the read. "You, give me your tinderbox and stick around. I'll need your muscle." His arm swung wide, back below deck. "You two bring the guns. Shoot that bastard dead. Move!"<br/><br/>The two smaller crewmen rushed back below deck to gather weapons. Looking over his shoulder, more men lay dead around the crazed monster that stood on their deck. That would have to be dealt with. But first things first. He lit the first fuse.<br/><br/>He planted a foot on the railing, and leaned over to stare down on the Rotsman. It felt good to lord over them like this. Raining down explosive judgement. The heavier man behind him hefted the explosive barrel, and hurled it over the railing towards the Rotsman below, the fuse burning down quickly. "A little present for you! Courtesy of the Boatswain!"<br/><br/>Gill lit the second fuse. Over the side it went. Gunfire rung out across the deck. The berserker simply knocked the shots aside with... a whip? "Oh come on now, what kind of codswallop is this? Knife please." He held his hand out expectantly to the crewman standing next to him. A hefty knife was placed in his palm. "Draw your sword, I'm going to draw his attention."<br/><br/>He hurled the knife towards the sociopath. He wasn't much of a knife thower, but it wasn't to kill him. Just to get his attention. He grabbed the fuse of the last gunpowder barrel. "Come on ya bastard. Dinner's ready."