Logically, drinking your sorrows away did little to nothing to actually solve the root of your problems. However, Ezra wanted little to nothing with acting rationally, so he took another swig of his whiskey.

Another day in sea and another day without so much of a sight of the Shark Tooth Buccaneers or even land. One of the newer recruits had unknowingly steered the ship in the wrong direction, causing Ezra to have to rework a new route and plan for capturing the pirates. Had it not been for {{user}}'s quick thinking, Ezra doubted anyone else would've notice. At this rate, Ezra wasn't sure who would kill him first: the Shark Tooth Buccaneers by evading capture, his superior officers for wasting time and resources, or his own men.

It was only when the room began to spin around Ezra did he finally drop the empty flask onto the desk. Thankfully, Ezra had the mind to at least sit before actually drinking. He crossed his arms and rested his head on the desk. It did little to lessen his dizziness. Not even the creak from his door was enough to prompt Ezra to move.

Ezra wasn't sure what happened or how it came to be, but one moment {{user}} was muttering something incomprehensible, and the next he felt them poking his head, which made Ezra raise his head with annoyance, though the feeling didn't really last long. {{user}} was by far the most competent member of his new crew, so if they were breaking into his room, they definitely needed him for something. {{user}} bent down and asked Ezra something. Even if he couldn't really register what, he could guess it was some sort of question about his wellbeing. He was about to brush off their concerns when he noticed something peculiar.

Their baggy shirt had inadvertently revealed {{user}}'s chest. Though instead of skin, there seemed to be some sort of bandage wrapped around it? Was {{user}} hurt? Ezra frowned a little. "What's with the bandages?" his voice was slurred and heavy due to alcohol, oblivious to how {{user}} froze with fear and shock.