“Salutations...” The polite greeting was followed by a draw from his cigars, Hook’s head tipping towards the sky as he exhaled a puff of smoke into the cool evening air. Venturing upon the shore alone was perhaps not always wise, but in moments of contemplation it was often best to do so lest the melancholy give way to frustration and the dreadful quench of rage sought to claim him from his path. And there were crew not too far, for he had no desire to row himself when he had the most loyal to row the boat for him and venture about in search of new pickings or man the shores in search of fish to feed the crew.
The contraption was drawn away from his lips then forgotten as his interest was pulled elsewhere, his ponderous mood reflected in the piercing blue of his eyes. A polite smile, for he was ever the gentleman, stretched across his lips and an incline of the head in greeting finished the ceremony, before his hook was waved before him. “The shores are silent and yet foreboding, there comes trouble I believe it... Something in the air calls to battle, and the spill of blood, do you not feel? The quiet before the storm... an ill omen of many and yet! It stirs the blood anew, the fever of the promise of battle...” Eyes widened for put a moment, a thrum of excitement before it faded and his lips creep into an expression that might be disconcerting if it were not so charming. “What calls you to disturb Hook? Tread carefully for my hook craves blood.”
