Marco was relatively sure the wreck he was rowing through contained no survivors, but he wasn't one to question his captain when there might be reasonable doubt. Sodden, half-submerged planks and a few bodies bumped against the sides of the boat as he passed. A sad sight, to be sure, and a hopeless one as well. Marco was ready to turn back when a weak cry snapped his attention around, "Oi, down here."

Grasping the ashen hands that scrambled for the side, Marco nearly capsized the boat in his panic to haul the survivor out of the merciless sea. The voice belonged to a lanky young man, perhaps about Marco's age, though it was difficult to tell through the ghastly color of his icy skin. He lay wheezing in the bottom of the rowboat, blond hair a tangled mass obscuring his eyes and clothes nearly in shreds. Marco tossed a blanket over him, noting with vague amusement at the man's relieved grin how handsome he must be under normal circumstances. "You're one lucky bastard."

"Lucky?" The laugh was shaky, but genuine. "I suppose. Say, have you got a comb? My hair seems to have fallen down."

Startled, Marco stopped rowing and looked down at his charge. "…No, sorry." The disappointed grunt elicited a chuckle from the pirate. This would be an interesting experience, he predicted.