Where’s the Rum?
Open to anyone involved with #sharpseas
One of the best things about being a pirate was the rum. Another was the amount of explosives people were willing to trust to a vagabond like Rocket. But mostly it was the rum. And the loud, pretty explosions. But rum. Yeah, rum.
Rocket woke up in a tavern on land in a port somewhere. All of the details are extremely hazy but Rocket knew he must have had a good time if he was waking up from passing out. “Yo!” His groggy, hungover voice called out from his spot on the floor. No one else called back so he assumed everyone else was either gone or too passed out to care. He pulled himself up into a seated position and held his head for a moment or five. The tavern spun around him a few times before everything settled and steadied themselves around him.
Rocket decided he was going to stay on the floor for a spell longer, at least until he felt a little more sober before heading off to find his ship with the hope that is was where he had left it the night before. If he was lucky, he might find some more rum on his way and maybe a bomb or two. Good times.
The sound of someone else stirring in the tavern caught Rocket’s attention. “Yo!” he called out again, followed by a hearty laugh. “Where’s the rum? Is there any rum left?”
