[color=Darkseagreen]"This is not my fault."[/color]

Lots of social nuances had escaped Poole since his resurrection, and changing the cadence and tone of things he'd repeat to not sound creepy was one of them. Poole repeated his phrase in the same timing, tone, and electric-sounding voice, as if the bosun were speaking in front of a fan. Having shot his rifle once and without a spare five seconds to reload, Poole tossed the rifle forward towards a pirate confusedly opening his arms, before crumpling downwards after actually [i]catching[/i] the behemoth of a gun. With one pirate temporarily disabled, Poole raised his fists in a pugilist's stance and thrust an arm forward with a hydraulic-sounding [i]hiss[/i], punching a pirate in the chest more like a firing piston than swinging strike.

The man was launched backwards into his fellow crewmates, and in rapid succession, Poole did the same with his unextended fist to another. Poole continued to swing at the small group towards him, punching his steely fists into men full-force, sending them crashing backwards at best and breathlessly grasping their collapsed ribcages at [i]worst[/i]. It wasn't long before the group that had formed around the two began to disperse, grabbing a few of their wounded and dragging them back towards Vivian's Mercy.

[color=darkseagreen]"They are retreating. Shall I advance?"[/color] Poole remained in his clinched boxer's stance, prepared to continue his onslaught if need be, though Fletcher shook his head, placing his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

[color=0054a6]"That won't be needed. We sail for Shoel today, not the heads of our enemies."[/color] The captain gave a chuckle, and was joined in his laughing by the few crew members who could hear him over the dwindling battle. [color=0054a6]"Excellent work Mr. Poole. We'll clean up the rest of the trash on deck, you're free to go charge."[/color]

Poole gave a nod, and that was that. He straightened himself with a mechanical whirr to his motions, and began making his way below the deck to his cabin. There were still a few enemies left to be finished off or thrown overboard, but what was done was done -- the retreating pirates incited even [i]more[/i] to retreat, and so on. With Fletcher having dismissed Poole, the cyborg was now more focused on having some time alone and recharging than picking off a few pirates or listening to the captain talk about the attack and whose fault it was.

He descended further into the belly of the ship, towards his quarters and office. The captain and quartermaster had offices near the top of the ship where the sun shone, but not Poole. His room was at the end of a dead-end hallway only close to the ship's boiler room, the engines, and the deckhand's bunks. Poole enjoyed the solitude -- Less questions, after all. He grasped the handle of the door and opened, entering the room and closing the door behind him. It was dark, as it always was, illuminated only by the arcing electricity of several coils and terminals in the room, with the only noise the bubbling of several glass bottles and beakers. At the corner of the room was a dusty glass tube where Poole had slept for two thousand years, though it was now cracked and forgotten.

"Poole the Unkillable, I take it?"

A figure crept out from the shadows, and Poole's head snapped to the side to meet his gaze. He wore a black pair of pants and sleeveless red shirt, though what Poole noticed immediately was the man's sword. It was a simple enough scimitar, though it seemed to be connected by the hilt to a battery pack worn on the man's back by a wire. With the click of a button, the blade began to drip with sparks of electricity in the darkness of Poole's dungeon of a room, illuminating the pirate's face for split seconds at a time with blue light. He was a fearsome man with a shaved head and black goatee, with a scar running over his nose.

"My name's Zeke, but that don't matter for long. Pretty soon I'll be Zeke the Zombie-Killer, and you'll be a dead man once more."

[color=darkseagreen]"I disagree."[/color] Poole grabbed one of the bubbling glass bottles and flung it at the invader, and with a swing of his sword, it shattered mid-air into thousands of pieces around the man. Coated in the bottle's pink liquid but unharmed, the man gave a laugh and brushed some of the pink fluid out of his eyes. The two began to circle one another, the pirate with his electric sword and Poole with his metal fists.

"Dirty trick. You use the same dirty tricks to kill Goran, dead man?" The pirate began circling closer and closer towards Poole, swinging his sword over his shoulders in a flashy spin to draw the bosun towards the wall.

[color=darkseagreen]"There is only one dead man here."[/color] Poole swung his arm towards the man, and in a flash of movement, the pirate swung his electric blade at the bosun, sinking it into his arm as it expelled electricity. Poole seized back as the electricity surged through his body, though the same could not be said for the [i]soaking wet[/i] pirate who stood before him, frying himself in his inability to take his thumb off of his hilt's button. He twitched twice as he began to smolder, and Poole dropped to his knees to dislodge his arm. The man slumped forward over one of Poole's steely shoulders, and the bosun pushed his body off with a shove.

Biologically, Poole didn't have a use for deep breathing. He no longer required oxygen to send to his remaining brain, and had no parasympathetic nervous system to stimulate in doing so. Still, Poole sat on his knees, with his undamaged arm supporting him as well, breathing deeply. After a few moments of this, Poole stood up and straightened himself out once more, before lumbering towards a metal box on the wall, and dialing a few of the buttons.

[color=darkseagreen]"This is Bosun Poole requesting first aid and a body's removal in the bosun's quarters."[/color]

He lifted his finger from the "talk" button, and walked over to the other side of his room, sitting on his bed with a creak and plugging a cord attached to the wall to the back of his neck. He stared at the smoldering pirate's body for a few more moments, before sitting back and closing his eyes as he awaited whoever may come. Recharging was the closest thing, after all, that the ship's boatswain had to sleep.