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Yes…you soon learned that he was a friend of the pirate Jean Lafitte, who had come to New-Orleans to squander some of his booty. Leading a ship of pirates into infamy, he had made a name for himself on the Spanish Main. Unfortunately for those in his way, he was not motivated by greed, but rather an unholy sort of bloodlust; he spent much of his life honing his skills with sword and musket.
You remember his gaze—bypassing your skin and your sex as being irrelevant—eating its way through to your soul. You know that in the world, these things are not irrelevant, and yet he judged you on some criteria which you could neither perceive nor understand…and when he was done, he spat you out again, altogether lessened by the experience.
Realizing that you had yet to respond, you…
…bowed in greeting.
…curtsied in greeting.
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