“How dare you lay your hands on me you disgusting pirate.” Anna accused First Mate from twenty feet out into the sea. Her Irish brogue, usually light and lilting in a barely there sort of way, came out in full force as she cursed the sodden man sat down at the waters-edge. She was still submerged up past her waist, which made for a strange sight as she stood in her frayed white dress berating the sailor in front of her. “You had no right, no one does, not anymore.” Her left hand went unconsciously to grab her neck as her right continued to point at him, shaking as her anger flowed through her. She wasn’t screeching as such, but she was definitely working her way up to it as her voice raised and grew more grating with each word. 

Though it was pretty clear what the woman’s problem with First Mate was, if he remembered the misdemeanour was really uncertain. Anna was not the sort of woman a man would forget, provided he had the choice, but enough drink could knock the visage of an angel out of someone’s mind. Her rage was such that the waves around her broke with growing ferocity, almost as if a storm was brewing. In actuality, her spiritual energy was suffusing itself with her element, her emotion feeding itself into the sea. 

“You’ll suffer before you drown!”