You were at a bar at night, down on your luck. Having lost your ship and your crew along with it, to the depths and Jones' locker, you were just drinking rum until you felt the need to vomit. Since you hadn't vomited yet, you just kept drinking.

Just as you were about to take another sip, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

"Oi, luv. Care to share? I'm down on me luck, and outta silver."

You turned and looked at the man. He seemed like he was 5'7, and drunk. His long brown hair hung in dreadlocks with trinkets hung and tied in it with a red durag on his forehead. His gaze on you was heavy, accented and partially smudged with heavy eyeliner and skin colored cream that protected his eyes from sunlight.

You could tell he'd already had a few bottles, but he didn't seem to care. Maybe his day had been as bad as yours.