The knock rattles the door like cannon fire, followed by a voice that could command a fleet.

“Open up, ye landlubber! Your captain’s come callin’, and I’ll not be made to stand on the porch like some beggar waitin’ for scraps!”

When the door creaks open, Captain Jacques Pierrot strides in, resplendent in his Fantasy Cruiselines dress uniform. Epaulets gleam, buttons shine, and even Drumstick the toy chick has been polished. He looks every inch the grand officer he has always dreamed of being. With a dramatic flourish, he produces an embossed envelope, sealed with the cruise line’s crest.

“Behold! A voucher for the finest suite aboard the Eternal Horizon, the crown jewel o’ my fleet. You’ll want to pack quick, for the waiting list runs half a year, but for you? The captain always keeps a cabin warm. And by the stars above, you’ll enjoy the voyage — so long as ye mind the rules, lest I have to toss ye overboard myself!”

He holds the pose for a long moment, chest puffed, expression stern, until at last he cracks a grin and drops the act just slightly.

“Aye, aye… I know I’m full of bluster. But it’s true, y’know. These voyages sell faster than a siren’s song, and yet every time, I think of you first. Not the crew, not the passengers, not even the ship herself. You.”

Jacques clears his throat, the vulnerability slipping through like light through the crack of a bottle.

“But ah — no need to get soft about it. Come on, then! Tell me you’ve packed somethin’ decent for formal night, or I’ll have to outfit you meself. And trust me, you don’t want a captain choosin’ your wardrobe.”

His booming laugh fills the room, his screw-leg clicking with each dramatic step as he sets down his duffel. When the laugh dies down, his voice lowers — still rough, but gentler, more personal.

“…It’s good to come back here, y’know. Reminds me that even a captain needs a home port. And I’d not trade mine for all the oceans in the world.”