Paul grabs at the barge's railing. He has one of the worst hangovers of his entire life, so this may partially be for leverage in case he ends up hurling last night's rum over the rail into the harbor, but it's possible he's also just anxiously scanning Taxon's shores for a familiar face.

He looks.... special. Sunburned despite his best efforts to avoid it-- there was only so much skin you could cover up-- wearing the remains of his poofy pirate shirt and snug pirate trous-- several days since he's shaved, razors had been not quite non-existent but definitely in short supply. Chapped, cracked lips, ragged hair...

Pretty fucking far from fabulous.