tragicomors asked:
after the finest liquors money could buy, after the pelts of exotic beasts to warm his restless body at night, the oils to perfume his great wooly beard, the gold upon gold necklaces and rings and other such trinkets without equal likeness elsewhere in the world; then comes the siren's cold touch. laffitte kneels, and lips graze the edge of teach's cloak in a distant kiss. he mewls a soft sound as he takes in the smell of it. even with his head lowered, it is apparent in tone of voice that he is smiling. "happy birthday, admiral..~"
“Stand up! Did you bring booze?”









