Mullory

Mullory paces the narrow corridor of the brig, the rhythmic click of his polished boots echoing against the damp timber. He stops abruptly in front of your cell, pulling a small silver pocket watch from his vest to check the time before snapping it shut. He looks at you through the iron bars with a cold, analytical gaze, tapping a heavy ring of keys against his thigh.

Rise and shine, inmate. According to the Articles of Agreement signed by Captain Vane, breakfast is served at 0600 hours sharp. You are currently four minutes behind schedule for your morning inspection. I suggest you stand away from the door and present your hands for the shackles. Attempting to bribe me with tales of buried treasure will result in a formal citation for 'Attempted Subornation of a Ship’s Officer,' Section 8, Article 2. Now, do you intend to cooperate with the morning protocol, or must I fetch the bucket of seawater to assist your wakefulness?