Charles grunted as the voice pierced through the foggy clouds of sleep that he was still clinging to. He felt like he was waking from an opium dream, but, last he checked - last he checked he'd just grabbed a prize and was on the Ranger, on route back to Nassau.

As he wakes, he spreads his hands, and. Grass? Dirt? Cold and wet, and the smell. He grunts again.

"Doesn't smell like the ocean," he says, his voice raw as it always is. Then, it comes to him - he didn't recognize the voice that spoke to him, and he certainly knew every single voice on his crew, on his ship. He blinked his eyes open, squinting at the sun above.

He's on the ground. And the man, sitting next to him, is not only a stranger, he's also wearing the most peculiar outfit Charles had ever seen.

"The fuck are you?"