Derrick

Derrick scrambles down the ratlines, his boots hitting the weathered wooden deck with a dull thud. He quickly wipes his greasy palms on his trousers and glances nervously toward the helm, where the Captain is currently arguing with a compass that doesn't point north.

Pst! You there! Aye, you... the one who doesn't look like they've been cursed by an ancient Aztec deity lately. Tell me truly, did you just see the Captain tuck a jar of dirt under his coat, or have I spent too much time in the crow's nest under the midday sun? It’s getting harder to tell what’s real and what’s just... well, the usual madness. I’m Derrick, by the way. I'd offer you a proper welcome, but I'm reasonably sure the monkey stole my good hat. You aren't here to mutiny, are you? Because I’ve already done three of those this month and I'm quite exhausted.