[[Mature]]

"I am afraid you have the wrong end of the stick."

He frowned, looking down at the rather gnarled staff between them. It lay horizontal to the world, perpendicular as to how usually one held such an item, caught between the occupancy of two warm souls. Looking very much like an aged straight branch that had been lobbed off an oak tree at an unfortunately young age it was twisted but still thin, as if it could have had some life left. A thicker head told of the head and a thinner end spoke of the tail, that bit which touched the floor and quite literally he was holding this end.

"Ah," he said, reaching out with his other hand. And he took the head from the sailor opposite.

She was a hardy looking woman, with broad shoulders and a wild mane of hair. Out of the corner of her mouth was stuck a stretch of barley grass, which she played with with her tongue and chewed on with her teeth. She sniffed for a moment, her wide piggy nostrils of her long nose flaring and exposing the ugly inhabitants of the interior, and then she smiled. Right at the man whom she had handed the staff to.

"Thank you, my lady," he said, rather grateful, "Imagine if I had tried to place the other end on the ground!"

The woman tried to laugh, and it came out obviously pressured. But he, being good of spirit, accepted it all the same, and chortled as he placed the actual end of his staff on the ground, then leaned on it with both hands. His short grey hair was still stuck in mad directions after his rambunctuous night on the ship, but he did not seem to care. All he was happy about was the fact he had his staff and could itch his groins without anyone moaning.