@multiplechoicepast
Attn: Reaver
Barbossa was at the helm, his hat tilted downward slightly to shield his face from the soft drizzle of rain that greyed the sky. He rarely sailed this far north-- in fact, he typically made an effort not to, but he had a lead on some very promising treasure that he quite wanted to get his hands on before anyone else did.
He hadnât had much trouble along the way-- a convenience that he knew would not last long, as it never did. And sure enough, his lookout was yelling now, a ship approached with unidentified colors, but decidedly not British, or French, or Spanish.... He spat bitterly upon the deck. Another pirate. He would have to try his hand at intimidation and hope he wasnât outclassed... Not that Hector Barbossa was by any means used to being outclassed.
âHoist the colors, you bloominâ cockroaches,â he bellowed, swinging the wheel hard in hopes to fill the sails and pick up a bit of speed. He could likely pull up alongside the strange ship and get a good look at things, the wind was in their favor... Aye, he would see just who and what he was dealing with.
