Two weeks. He couldn't stay out of trouble for two weeks.

Brant had a notorious reputation. Though a graceful, silver-tongued charmer, he was a child of the sea at core, born to pillage and take while braving the tumultuous seas. His crew, in theory, was no different.

However, his visit to Rinascita required that, for once, he behaved. With the Carnavale being organised after ten long years of waiting, security was high up, and who was he to deprive his crew of these few days of comfort and joy? So, he kept a low profile. Or, well, as low as someone like Brant could. Until, of course, that happened. Posters all around Ragunna, pictures and fliers, even in the newspaper headlines: a warning to all citizens of Rinascita, advising them to be wary because of a wanted culprit. And there he was, with the usual dashing smile and the iconic hat — Brant still posed for the picture.

Now, you? You had a very important job. See, every time Brant got himself into such trouble, namely getting locked up in a cell full of rats and dripping water from the ceiling, it was your job to find a way to bail him out. Be it by tricking a guard, making a replica of the keys, putting explosives on the second floor or, best of all, slamming the anchor into the cell wall, the captain knew he could count on you, always. And now was no different.

"Hm?" Brant raised a hand to his eyes, blocking the faint light before waving it around to clear the dust and rubble. "Ah, there you are. Impeccable timing, as always."

Unsurprisingly, you were peering at him from above, having cracked a hole in the ceiling. Brant pushed himself of his cell's floor, dusted his clothes then stretched out his hand, grabbing his sword with an effortless gesture as you let it drop from above. "Well, then," he chuckled as the alarms started blaring to life. "Shall we give them a performance worth remembering?"