The gentle swaying of the ocean waves rocked the little dingy like a baby's cradle, stings of herds, drying in the sun,tied to the mast bobbing in time like a mobile hanging over the weathered man sprawled across the hull of boat. His formal shirt beneath his doctor's coat, both worn and stained by ocean spray and the beating sun.

A sudden bump and grinding sound startles his awake, jumping up to get a face full of pungent herb, flailing as attempts to gain his bearings. The boat beneath his feet suddenly very still despite the churning and sloshing in head. He takes a moment to ponder whether this was because of how long he had been out to see since fleeing the Navy, dehydration, the rum that likely contributed to his dehydration, sunstroke, and/or moderate starvation. He lifts his little wooden medicine cabinet upright, opening a small drawer to pull out a root, clinching it between his back teeth before slinging the wooden box over his shoulder and putting his arms through the leather straps. He surveys the scene around himself as he picks up with lines of herbs, absentmindedly nawing on the root. It had all the taste and texture of an old leather boots that had been overcooked in the sun, but it had enough nutrition to keep him alive for this long. 

Come to think of it, he hadn't expected to survive this long...he half expected to die in the process of getting the Navy off of his home island, even then he hadn't expected to get away. Only supplies he had were what he could scrounge up in the night. Least he had the where-with-all to steal the money from the dead Mariner's pockets. He grin at the prospect of an actual meal as he scratches his shabby beard, [color=green]"I guess I'm a pirate,now,"[/color] he States with a resigning chuckle, hopping off the little boat, leaving it ground into the beach as he made his way into town.