The entire ship rattled with the impact of the enemy vessel. Cards flew around the room and coins scattered across the ground. William grimaced and drank deep in the wineskin he stole from the cargo hold. Was he that drunk already? Unbeknownst to him, a pirate had broken off from the main battle on the upper deck and had slowly made his way below, looking for easier targets to slaughter and valuables to take. He quietly tiptoed down the steps, feet not making a sound due to thick leather soles, brandishing in his hand a cruel, jagged sword of surprisingly fine make. When he reached the level below, he found not piles of silk, spice, and jewels, like he had thought, but a gaunt, pale man slumped over a chair. Around his feet were littered a smattering of dragons, stags, and groats, not worthy of being called a hoard. He had taken the man for dead when to his surprise, an arm moved, carrying a skin up to the supposed corpse's lips. An eye lazily turned over to the pirate, and to his horror, he found it to be pale, seemingly without substance.

"Good day," William drawled, not making the effort to laugh at the intruder's stunned expression. "Don't be shy. Come, share in the coin, the wine, except not this wine. This wine's for me." As if to prove his point, he took another swig of 'his' wine and grinned.

"Aye," stammered the pirate. "The coin. Give it." He pointed the end of the sword at William, in an attempt to regain some small form of control over the situation.

"By all means, take it. It ain't mine," was William's response, waving his hand casually over the modest pile. He did nothing to stop his supposed enemy as he opened up a sack and began filling it with the gold on the floor. When he finished, he stood up, the sack now looking reasonably heavy and jingling with a merry tune, and closed it up with a bit of string.

"A pleasure doing business with you," he said, grinning back and pointing his sword again. "But I think I'll be having that skin. Coin collecting's thirsty work. Just ask the Hand." William rolled his eyes, and took an inordinately long sip, draining the wineskin of its contents. With that, he threw the empty sack at the intruder. It bounced off his armor and came to rest at his feet. He glowered, and advanced on his inebriated enemy. "If not that, then your sword. Can never have enough swords," he said, raising his own.

"What, this one?" William asked, drawing his sword and pretending to inspect it. "Surely not this one. Look at it. It's no good for anything. Ain't even castle forged. I bought it from a secondhand novelty dealer in Pentos. Didn't cost me three stags."

"Lies," spat the pirate.

"You're right, you got me. It was Braavos," answered William. The pirate charged, stabbing down at his foe. William moved his sword up to deflect, and stood up as he did so, stumbling a few steps and dropping his weapon. "Dearie me, buttered fingers," he said. The pirate, seeing the opportunity, charged again, this time readying his own weapon for a downward slash. Unfortunately for him this turned out to be a ploy. William stepped close, rendering the cut impossible, and brought up his hand clenched in a fist. It made contact with his opponent's face, sending him reeling. His sword flew out of his hand and bounced a few paces away. William strode up to it, as if he had all the time in the world, and picked it up. "Oh, lovely. It's probably worth double mine." With that the pirate scrambled up and slowly began advancing, fists ready to strike. Rookie mistake. Williams longer reach, combined with the fact that he was actually armed, meant that he could just lunge and pierce the intruder in his chest. He fell over, clutching the hole that exposed his heart. William just shrugged his shoulders, and picked up the sack of coin. "They were huge monstrosities," he said, taking out a dragon and putting it in his left pocket. "Two huge, burly raiders that overpowered me. One of them took the gold and ran, and I barely fought off the other." He put another dragon in his other pocket as he talked, and one more in the secret space in his sleeve. He went over to the window and opened it. "They took it all, I swear," he mused, tossing out the sack. Now for the sword. There was something peculiar about it. At first glance, it seemed like normal iron, but upon closer inspection, a line went through the middle, bearing the signature of Valyrian work. William tossed that out the window as well. If his enemy wanted to keep it, he should have fought harder for it.