“B-but, Mister Thatch—there’s a large tea stain on my favored emerald vest! This fabric is quite valuable, you see; I need to have it cleaned, laundered right away. The less haste I respond with, the more it’ll set in.”
What a day to get lost, he thought. Only after he’d manage to stir awake from a bleeding effect. Only to top such troubles off with an incessant migraine in the middle of god knows where. Desmond chewed on the inside of his cheek subconsciously. A nasty habit he hadn’t an idea when it’d happened. Only when he was distraught.
’Shit. Hey, buddy. Mind telling me where I’m at?’
"…Buddy. Are you speaking to me, man?“ He ponders momentarily, not quite familiar with the phrase. No, no, he must’ve heard this man wrong; there was no other explanation.
”Surely, surely–you must mean Bonnet, for that is my name, good sir; Stede, Stede Bonnet. And you know of me, then! How grand, grand indeed. Oh, and–location! Of course, of course–…“
”You’re in Nassau, my friend; a right good port of the Bahamas. Ripe with unsavory fellows and pretty women–not that I’m staring, I’m a married man, you see–but a glance upon you tells me you’ll fit rightin, surely, in no time at all.“
