Octavius wasn't sure what was going on at this point. He found himself with two empty bottles, sitting on the prow of his ship, and he had little recollection of why he was there, or how he had gotten there. He knew how to get down, though. He dropped both bottles behind him, figuring they might be useful if they survived the fall, and then he let his left arm explode, turning into the monstrous head and endless neck of his beastial form. The toothy maw of the beast latched on to the side of the vessel and then, with some concentration, the pirate flipped himself over and set himself down on his feet, but now he was standing at the bow of the ship, looking toward his cabin. His left arm returned just before he set off, and the warlord staggered his way toward his bedroom. It was late if the sky was to be believed, and he had decided it was time for bed. Unless someone had an objection, he had some sleeping to do. How anyone could object to his gloriousness, or his flawless plan, he had no idea, so he saw no problem with disappearing for a while. Something told him he should probably spend a good while there, all by himself, but he wasn't entirely sure why. He stuck with keeping it simple. Get to bed. 

It was a feat easier said than done. It didn't stop him trying, though. Drunk, frustrated, and confused, he got most of the way there, and then forgot why he was going to his quarters. He rounded on a sailor he had recruited, the unfortunate man having been caught wandering around for some harmless reason. "What's going on?" the captain asked in a whisper. The man was confused, but it took him but an instant to realize what [i]was[/i] going on. 

"You told me to check on you, skip. Said to remind you that we've got to be up early tomorrow." he informed the captain, figuring it was worth a shot.

"Good work, then." Captain Cuttlam replied with a grin. Then he returned to his original course, heading to bed with a little more drive now that he remembered a little of the actual plan. Octavius wondered how he was going to get anything done, staggering around like this, and then remembered how much alcohol he had consumed, and wondered if he might be sober in the morning. Thoughts overwhelmed him as he fell into his hammock, and the warlord gave up, passing out from all the strain on his drunk mind. Things would surely be simpler when he woke up. Whenever that was. For the moment, he had two bottles of rum to sleep off...