[Open by request, please PM]
"So your name is...Scrimshank." Isabeau looked up at the raggedy man who stood before her, reeking of alcohol. Beard untrimmed and brimming with leftover bits of...something that she dearly hoped was food, eyes blurred and set too far back in his skull, weaving where he stood, he was the epitome of "lowlife".
"Yes'm, Cap'n," the man slurred. "And lemme tell ya, I'm the besht damn sailor this side o'...o'..." he trailed off, frowning and mouthing soundlessly.
"Yes, well." She clapped her hands onto the table and gave him a bright smile. "We'll be in touch, sir."
He beamed at her, revealing he was missing over half his teeth, and wove his way across the crowded tavern to the table he'd originated from. Isabeau groaned, dropping her head onto the table they had appropriated early in the evening. "This is hopeless," she muttered, voice muffled. "We've been at this for hours and so far the only half-decent candidate we had decided to get himself knifed over a barmaid!" She gestured listlessly in the direction of the stain where a pool of blood had been wiped off the floor earlier.
Well, no one could say pirates weren't an industrious lot.
"Maybe we should call it a night," she sighed, raising her head and leaning back in her chair. "They're only gonna get more drunk from here on out- and if one more of these sots asks if I want to take a ride on his dinghy so help me gods I'm going to shoot him." She turned her head to look at her first mate, seated beside her.
"What do you think?"