*Bows head slightly *
"Eager to get your pants down, methinks that's the pot calling the kettle black, for who did start the "breeches 'war eh?"
"I'll consider your offer, if You remove that blade from betwixt my legs and Ii shan't slice your neck open."
*moves tip of cutlass a hair's breadth from Captain's jugular*
"The Saucy wench may be the death of us, you know"
*eyes Greethorn's defiant stance, hips jutting out, legs spread firmly apart. Eyes narrowed to slits*
'Ah, 'twould be a glorious demise..."