You skip over to him, ignoring the wolf whistle of one particularly sloshed patron, whose way Dabi’s eyes glance before they land back on you when you stop at his table.

“Yes, my dear?” you say sweetly, and not in a flirty way by any means. Your voice is warm and welcoming, friendly even. You’ve learned by now that some pirates are easier to deal with the sweeter you are, the more you can douse away at their temper with sweet tones and loving words.

Dabi picks up his flagon for you. “I’ll take some more.”

“Of course.” You begin to pour more rum into his quarter-full cup, his eyes fixated on you.

“You got a name, love?”

Your heart stops a little and whether you’re flustered because you’re flattered that he’s surely about to flirt with you, or because a deadly and vicious pirate is asking for your name, you’re not sure. His intentions are pretty clear by the look in his eyes when you turn to look at them.

“I do,” you say, pulling your pitcher away. You smile sweetly at him, the gesture actually genuine for the first time in a while. You had to admit, the man had beautiful eyes, perfectly fit for the sea, their colour putting that very sea to shame.

You begin to walk away but his quick hand on your wrist stops you in your tracks. Dabi’s smirk is barely there, a rather amused smirk. “Care to share it?” he asks. “I am but a simple pirate lookin’ for company.”

“So humble you are,” you tease. “You’re a captain, I know it. And perhaps I care.“

He chuckles at you, and it’s a rather soothing sound. “Then allow me to be a simple, humble captain.” He places a gentle hand to his chest in a gentleman-like way. “Seems I’m a tad sweet on you, love.” As he says “you” he points at you lazily.

You quirk a curious brow at him, and his fingers begin to massage your wrist a little.

“Wanna get to know a fine lass like you workin’ in a-” he stops to gesture around the room with his other hand “-pig’s pen like this.”

“Of all the thing’s I’ve heard o’ ya, Dabi, I’ve not heard near a whisper that you’re a romantic or gentle man.” You give him a look that’s entirely skeptic if a little amused.

“Aye, course not. Men don’t fear romantics,” he says as if it were obvious. “Lest they’ve got tits and wear a bonnet.”

You roll your eyes with a giggle. “Ah, I see, then. So men fear women.”

A member of Dabi’s crew (apparently?) comes up to him and gives his shoulder a drunken, weak slap. “Aye! Cap’n may be a scary hardass but deep down,” he hiccups, his pointed finger jabbing Dabi in the shoulder as the other hand rests his glass bottle on the captian’s other shoulder, “he’s a real sock-... ah, soak? Soak-a-teez?”

A deadpan from Dabi meets the drunken grin of the crewmate, and you can see the storm stirring in Dabi’s eyes. “Get yer ass back to the ship before I sic Flint on ya again.” His voice is stern and low, vexed at the overly drunken state of his man. “Don’t forget we’re ‘ere on business, you.”

“Oh!” the man exclaims. “No, no, no, no need to do that, sir! Aye, cap’n, I’ll be on me way.” With fear to his stumbling step he makes way out of the tavern, before Dabi turns back to you.

“Apologies for the indecency, miss. He’s a perpetually parched throat, that one.”

“It’s rather amusing,” you say. “Tell you what. Wait for me out back and I’ll give you my name after work, since you’ve been such a gentleman.”

He grins wolfishly at you, grabbing his trademark hat from the table and setting it upon his head. “Better stick to it,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“It may be all night, you know.”

“I’m a patient man, despite what most say,” he refutes, standing from his seat. “I just know not to be patient at sea.”