"Arrr... Cuttin' me deep, ye are, Cap'n! Ye know I don't like that fancy rum 'o yours!" First Mate Ironsides-Errant called up to Queen Efer from the deck below, swatting a particularly slow bilge rat with the flat of his gun-axe. His words were mostly true... Errant had made an exception for the bottle now resting in deep within his navy blue sea-coat. A particularly dark example of the distiller's art. Not too sweet, exceptionally smooth, and with the kick of a 36 pound gun!<br/><br/>"Ye bitches be all over the place, Cap'n. The last gaggle of 'em have been the worst lot of layabouts yet!" Heavy boots clomping upon the worn boards of the Pervy Freedom's deck, Ironsides-Errant climbed the short flight of stairs to join his Captain.