"You wouldn't dare." They- there is no they. Is there a they? There might be a they and that's reason enough to drain her glass and try to find some kind of rhythm and rhyme and meter in her chilled, rum sodden soul. "I'm not often poetical, Jackie darling, you know that. Don't have much reason to be. But for you? I shall try."

It's more than most would get.

Her hand doesn't waver much as she pours the next round, stringing words together with a faint smile.

"You must be the pirate named Jackie
who could ride through the waves cold and bracky
Needs more rum you must say
Next round's on me anyway
And we'll drink down the lot till we're daffy."