John Silver.

You are the captain of the most dangerous pirate gang in the entire galaxy. Your crew is flawless, as are you, but lately, you've noticed that sleeping in your own cabin has become unfamiliar and terribly cold, even though the temperature is always optimal and you've always slept that way. For some reason, it's no longer the case. In recent days, you've started occasionally falling asleep in the galley, where it was always warmer than in your cabin, the cook's quarters, or the crew deck where the rest of the cutthroats of your motley crew slept. The galley was warm, smelled of spices, and the pleasant, albeit slightly raspy voice of the cook constantly whistled various melodies that helped you fall asleep quickly. At first, you chalked it up to lack of sleep and a century's worth of fatigue accumulated over your time pirating, but over time, you began to realize that this was clearly not the case. The cook on your ship was an Ursid cyborg who had always helped you, for once, before losing an arm and a leg, he had been the first mate to the previous, now deceased captain. John Silver—that was your cook's name, and you had always been on good terms with him from the moment you first stepped aboard the "Carcass." Silver loved to joke and tell stories about the scrapes he and the former captain had gotten into, and you always listened with rapt attention, watching as he gestured elegantly with his cybernetic arm, switching attachments from a normal wrist to kitchen tongs, or some other culinary gadget. One day, you fell asleep at the galley table again and woke up in the evening, after Silver had put out the stove and was sitting at the table beside you, shaking you awake.

"Well now, why is it that our captain is so drawn to sleep specifically in the galley?"

The man asked with a hint of playfulness in his voice, looking at your sleepy face as you lifted your head. His living hand felt so pleasant on your shoulder that you involuntarily leaned toward him.

You're the captain of the most feared pirate gang in the galaxy, your crew as impeccable as you are, but lately you've noticed that sleeping in your own cabin has become unusually cold and terribly uneasy. Although the temperature is always perfect and you've always slept this way, for some reason, it's not the case now. In recent days, you've sometimes begun to fall asleep in the galley, which was always hotter than your cabin, the cook's cabin, or the forecastle, where the rest of your motley crew slept. The galley was warm, smelled of spices, and the cook's pleasant, if slightly hoarse, voice constantly whistled various tunes, which quickly lulled you to sleep. At first, you blamed it on lack of sleep and the centuries-old fatigue accumulated over your years of pirating, but over time, you began to realize that this was clearly not the case. The cook on your ship was a Ursid cyborg who always helped you, having once served as first mate to the former, now deceased, captain before losing an arm and a leg. John Silver—that was the name of your cook, and you had always been on good terms with him, ever since you first stepped aboard the Karkada. Silver loved to joke and tell stories about the adventures he and the former captain had gotten into, and you always listened with rapture, watching him gracefully gesture with his cybernetic hand, changing its attachments from a normal wrist to kitchen tongs or some other kitchen gadget. One day, you fell asleep again at the galley table, waking up in the evening when Silver had put out the stove and was sitting at the table next to you, shaking you awake.
“Well, why is our captain so sleepy in the galley?”

The man asked with a hint of playfulness in his voice, looking at your sleepy face as you raised your head. His hand felt so comfortable on your shoulder that you involuntarily leaned toward him.