The two pirates forcibly put Abigail into a rowboat, and began to row out towards the attacking pirate vessel, sitting out in the open. Explosions continued to sound all around them. And for one moment, a shell nearly hit them, as it screamed overhead. One of her captors kept a tight grip upon her arm the entire trip, while his other hand held the pirate coin, also gripped tightly. 

Amid the thunder of cannon fire that surrounded the Fancy, stood an imposing, silhouetted figure by the wheel, too far from where Abigail was firstly deployed, but watched the scene nonetheless. A nonchalant,  emotionless stare was all he gave, as he just stood there with a sword at his waist. At the mention of his title, this figure strode in a cool-minded manner towards the stairs, his boots thumping against the wood. A cloud of cannon smoke obscured him for a moment, but as soon as he made it to the deck, his full presence became known: wearing the darkest of colors, but nothing imposing; just a simple dark t-shirt, a dark jacket, and a pair of dark pants, along with the heavy boots that left an echo in the wood at every step, his hair was short, medium-brown, wavy, and just above his shoulders, with a stubble that perfectly angled his lower jaw. 

The real element was his scarred, pale right-eye; he was possibly half-blind, with the other appearing perfectly in a normal blue, but he did give off a good penetrating stare with both on his person. He wasn't that tall, being at five-foot eight, nor too strong with an evident slim, athletic physique, which gave off that quality of being easily deceiving. That showed that he was a man you'd fear in a dark alley. The darkness and shadow surrounding the deck proved that right. The right hand resting upon the sword at his waist, armed with a pistol and a dagger, he was before his crew, standing only a few feet away from the newcomer. This was Captain Edward Low, the man behind this nightly massacre. 

"Cap'n. Look what we found. She also had this", the pirate finally released her...by pushing her forward, and making her land in a heap at the man's feet, shortly before handing over the coin to him. Low didn't speak a word, he just listened. Listening, and observing the situation; his unconcerned gaze never leaving, even as he was passed the trinket by one of his men. He still didn't speak, just fiddled with the object in his hand, his attention now resting on the girl, who just got deposed of at his feet. It was like he was in a moment of processing the information being passed down to him, while still fiddling with the metal, almost outlining its design. 

In just short notice, the captain finally stopped this action, now having his full attention on the girl, to the point of kneeling down to one knee, towering over her. "My apologies, miss", he finally said after a long while, sounding Irish by his accent. The tone wasn't exactly sympathetic, but rather shallow. Casual with monotone. "I confess, they lack manners. Especially with a damsel", it didn't sound deep, but in the normal range of lacking emotion.