othercaptjack

"Uh... excuse me?"

Captain Jack Sparrow glances about, frowning first around the deck, then up into the rigging, then at the bottle of rum in his hand. Taking the most logical route, he replies to the thin air.

"Yes? Who's that?"

"Down here. Please, er... don't shoot me?"

The pirate looks over the railing to see a man waving cheerfully from where he sits on the waves. Or, actually, hovering slightly above them. He considers for a moment, then takes another swig.

"Not likely to shoot you, mate," he offers afterwards, "Not unless there was what we like to call a reason for doing so - why, d'you think there is?"

"No! No, just - like to be safe. Be a sad thing to die somewhere I don't even know the year of, though, right?"

"It would indeed be a sad state of affairs, son. What can I do you for?"

The smile on the floating figure's face increases. "Oh, absolutely nothing." Beat. "Unless... that is a turn of phrase I musta missed on the translator, uh... forget that. What year is it?"

"1798. How drunk were you last night, then?"

The man glances shiftily down at the sea beneath him. "Can't remember, actually..."

"Ahhh."

"Don't you mean 'Arrrr!'?"

"...Eh?"