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(OOM: Somewhere in the Caribbean... Again, not Monkey Island, though close. Barbossa retires to -his- cabin after dealing with the crew's disappointment .
He also finds a door back to a certain Bar, and of course decides that somewhere time doesn't pass is a good place to plot.
Warning: Very mild spoilers for At World's End)
A door opens, showing a glimpse of a sumptuously decorated ship cabin as Barbossa steps through, stopping just past the threshold and swiftly throwing his hand back to catch the closing door.
"Not so quick, mate..."
His voice sounds darkly amused as he slowly lets the door complete its movement and close, only to try and open it again carefully to peer inside. Seemingly satisfied, he turns back to let a slow gaze sweep over Milliways and then heads, with a slight limp, towards Bar.
"A glass of sherry would do me a power of good, Señora."
He runs his long-nailed hand gently over the wooden surface, then produces a battered and hardly-circular Piece of Eight and gingerly taps i against Bar's corner. Lifting it to his ear he checks it doesn't 'sing' and then, content, places it on the counter.
"Does this amount of Mexican silver pay for my drink?"
Apparently it does, for a glass of sherry and a small etched-glass bottle of the stuff appear before him. With a nod of his head Barbossa takes the drink and heads for a booth where he sits down, ready to start those two activities by which villains sitting at bars have been famous since the dawn of time:
Plotting and people-watching.
He also finds a door back to a certain Bar, and of course decides that somewhere time doesn't pass is a good place to plot.
Warning: Very mild spoilers for At World's End)
A door opens, showing a glimpse of a sumptuously decorated ship cabin as Barbossa steps through, stopping just past the threshold and swiftly throwing his hand back to catch the closing door.
"Not so quick, mate..."
His voice sounds darkly amused as he slowly lets the door complete its movement and close, only to try and open it again carefully to peer inside. Seemingly satisfied, he turns back to let a slow gaze sweep over Milliways and then heads, with a slight limp, towards Bar.
"A glass of sherry would do me a power of good, Señora."
He runs his long-nailed hand gently over the wooden surface, then produces a battered and hardly-circular Piece of Eight and gingerly taps i against Bar's corner. Lifting it to his ear he checks it doesn't 'sing' and then, content, places it on the counter.
"Does this amount of Mexican silver pay for my drink?"
Apparently it does, for a glass of sherry and a small etched-glass bottle of the stuff appear before him. With a nod of his head Barbossa takes the drink and heads for a booth where he sits down, ready to start those two activities by which villains sitting at bars have been famous since the dawn of time:
Plotting and people-watching.