(Not for long!)
He seemed to materialize from the very floor, well dressed and soaked to the bone. His attire looked like something you’d see from a pirate movie, save for it being tattered, worn, and wet through-out. He sat up with a gasp, spluttering.
The raccoon peered around in a confused half-stupor. He grit his yellowed teeth as he stood. “What manner o’ sorcery be this?” He blinked a few times. “Thrown o’er me own bulwark, an’ now trapped in some kind o’ brig.” The raccoon noticed the moth, and adjusted his coat to reveal the brace of pistols across his chest. “An’ nary alone, t’boot. ‘Hoy, lampbug. What say ye o’ this…predicament?”