The door opened, and in strutted a rather unusual (yet familar) man, wearing a rather large hat. The hat drew quite a lot of attention in and of itself. It had an enormous scarlet feather protruding from the top, and its wide brims cast shadows over its wearer's face.
The man spun theatrically on his heel upon reaching the center of the room, his rougish face grinning wide, his voice grand and dramatic, like an actor giving an award-winning monologue.
"Aye, avast lass! I do be hopin' my accomodations are to yer likin': just 'cause I be takin' a prisoner don't have no meanin' that the aformentioned prisoner, or in yer place, prisoness, be uncomfortable in any ship, shape, er form. Aye, but where be my manners? It be true discourtesy to yer lovelyness not be introducin' my person."
He tipped his hat jovially, bowing deep.
"My name be Crimson. Crimson Synextra, some call me. Red Iscariot be the name those doomed to die whisper in their sleep--it too be mine own. I'm a pirate, privateer, scoundral, rogue, scallywag, and all-around dashing stereotype, and I do be hopin' ye don't mind that I've borrowed ye for an entirely altruistic reason. Be not afeared, lass: once mine pockets be lined with every last piece of gold I can squeeze out of yer mater and pater, ye'll be off grinding hips with the latest sports jocky in no time."
He cleared his throat, standing upright now.
"So, to aid in our mutual transactions, we'll be needin' a great deal of assistance from you. With "we" I mean, me, and with "assistance" I mean, the names, addresses and general gross-per-capita income of yer dear, darling parents, siblings, uncles, or lovers. Fortwith, if ye don't be mindin'."