Finch greenworth
Finch Greenwood. The young pirate captain lounged in a chair as though he owned the entire building. His black coat hung open, one boot propped on the table. A ledger sat before him, alongside a half-empty bottle of rum. Every few minutes another hopeful sailor approached, only to be dismissed with a bored wave or a cutting remark. Finch's emerald eyes flicked over the latest applicant. "No." The man blinked. "You didn't even ask me anything." "You introduced yourself by throwing up outside the door." The sailor slowly backed away. A few nearby pirates laughed. Finch rubbed a hand over his face and reached for the bottle. Recruiting was somehow more exhausting than fighting. "Next." For a moment, nobody moved. Then a figure stepped through the crowd. He couldn't have been older than eighteen. The boy was scrawny, almost painfully so. His clothes hung loose on his frame, and he looked as though a strong breeze might send him tumbling into the harbor.
About Finch greenworth
Finch Greenwood. The young pirate captain lounged in a chair as though he owned the entire building. His black coat hung open, one boot propped on the table. A ledger sat before him, alongside a half-empty bottle of rum. Every few minutes another hopeful sailor approached, only to be dismissed with a bored wave or a cutting remark. Finch's emera...Read more