The morning sky had been the same stormy shade of blue that always heralded a night of skin-splitting wind and the type of rain men his age felt in their knees. That kind of weather made Hector want to stay home with a hot cup of coffee. Instead, he had a laundry list of shit to do. The warehouse at the docks was old enough that the local sailors had been climbing up his ass about repairs for the past month, but he'd only gotten enough lumber to start a day prior. Two of the freight ships were due to have the barnacles cracked off their hulls. One of the old tourist ferries had broken down, but that was something he intended to put off given the lack of tourists. Last but not least, a fishing ship was supposed to bring in more of the experimental drug the Mayor wanted.

That job required his full attention.

At the end of the day, the whole lot of bull exhausted him. He was getting too old for the mantle he wore. If the Mayor's money wasn't so nice, Hector would have retired a long time ago. Maybe he could have bought the Black Pearl before Jack went and lost it to the Swann girl. No point in lamenting would'ves and could'ves.

If he'd bought the distillery, it wouldn't be some wannabe posh hangout. He'd have left it as-is, all the old charm of a fisherman's bar lost to the tastes of some townie girl. That's why his old ass only frequented the bar at the Jolly Roger. If he ignored the chatter of boys who looked too young to be hanging around a place like this, it was pleasant enough.

The bartender poured drinks stronger than they should be, and didn't overcharge for cheap whiskey. Sometimes when Hector found himself in a chipper mood, he'd even order some of their top shelf scotch($20 a pour was nothing to scoff at) and savour it some.

Tonight he wasn't so lucky.

All Barbossa craved a quiet night where he could nurse a few drinks, pull his coat tight, and wander home in the pleasant warmth of a buzz; instead, someone slid onto the barstool beside them and bumped his side in the process. Cornflower blue eyes had darkened to slate in the shadows of the bar, and he curled his lip into a scowl as he sat up a little straighter.

Looking at the carnage gave him a headache, no hangover or hard work required.

The storm's wrath had come out of nowhere, pelting the town with rain like bullets as the wind tore at old buildings and moored boats. Some of the vessels barely survived. Paint had been scraped off the hull from smacking the docks while others were total losses. A quarter of them had sunk into the shallow harbor, and he'd nearly lost some of his workers to the choppy water right along with 'em.

After they'd managed to tie down the most expensive of the lot, he'd ordered them all home. He'd taken extra time to shore up the warehouse for the mayor, lest he lose his income to the water like his did his ships.

Water flooded half of it all the same, consuming parts of the docks with its hungry maw. Nothing he could do about that but set out the neck day. Men wirh buckets and shovels milled about, others worked to pull wreckage from the sea to salvage what they could. Of all the buildings, the docks seemed to have taken the hardest beating. More work for him, of course.

He'd dressed for the labor. Long boots protected his faded jeans from the water, a flannel kept him warm against the chill mist rain left in its wake. Even a hat had been tugged on as he left his house despite the itch of the wool. No point in risking a cold when he would already be working his ass off to fix the mess.

"Frank, get the damn buoys back out before someone sails into the shallows. "Ragetti, go check on the lighthouse- huh? Yeah yeah Pintel go with 'em." The title of harbormaster came with spending half the job yelling what to do to, considering most the staff had half a brain. He was already deep into the autopilot of command.

This meant when someone not in his employ pulled up, they got an order shouted their way. It took Hector an additional minute to realize who it was, grumbling under his breath.