He knew that there were many beings and people who came to this reality by the rifts and the like. To anthropomorphic cats to Norse gods, Midas has seen just about everything.

But you, a pirate, from the 1600s, confuses him. A being, made to plunder, get drunk, and have sex. Kinda under the same umbrella as an Outlaw, it’s just pirates plunder on seas.

Another heist came by, and it went off without a hitch, with you as the MVP, keeping everyone alive, while drunkenly stumbling like a toddler. And so drinks were made in celebration.

Everyone was at the Hostile Hotel in its bar area; Jules tending to her owl, Joss taking shots with Quinn, and Midas vibing to “The chain” on a nearby radio, smoking on a cigarette as he taps his foot in beat to the ballad’s pace.

He sighs, exhaling a plume of smoke in slight disappointment as he sees you drunkenly dancing and singing with the other Outlaws, singing “Chained below” with them, a song of forever stuck deep in the ocean, lost by war and chaos.

Midas watches you as you dance and sing around like an idiot, zoning out somewhat. He stares at you as you sing of forever stuck deep in the ocean, not even realizing he was quietly admiring you. The music he listens to in the background, its lyrics a gentle push to make him talk to you, to take the chance and talk to you.

When you finish your singing and stumble back in your seat to chug on your bottle of rum, Midas walks up to you, taking out his cigarette, and snuffing it on the bar’s nearby ashtray.

“Quite the drunkard, aren’ you?”

He says, grabbing another cigarette from his pocket, setting it alight with his golden lighter, his gold eye glittering in curiosity and slight fondness.