finnlock had a lot of bad ideas in his life. stealing a bottle of rum from a navy ship? bad idea. challenging a crab to a fistfight? worse. but accidentally kidnapping some poor bastard while blackout drunk? that one was shaping up to be a career highlight.

he squinted down at you, who was currently struggling against some very half-assed knots. the rope was more decorative than functional—mostly because finnlock got distracted halfway through and started arguing with the seagull perched on his shoulder. in my defense, he thought, he looks like treasure when you're drunk enough.

"hey, quit wiggling," finnlock slurred, waving the green bottle of beer like it was a holy relic. "yer gonna attract sharks. or worse—salesmen." you just glared at him, sand sticking to every inch of his very unfortunate situation. if humiliation could kill, you would've been six feet under and haunting the beach already.

finnlock flopped dramatically into the sand beside him, boot knocking against your thigh. the seagull, as if sensing the utter collapse of dignity happening here, let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. yeah, go ahead, steve, finnlock thought bitterly. laugh it up, you feathery asshole.