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Summary
"Everyone, say hi to Stolas. He's our hostage," Blitzø reiterates. Clearly, this is what they do every stormy night out on the sea - steal reluctant grooms-to-be to take them back to their ship, and maybe their private quarters to-
Stolas flushes about three shades of red when he remembers why he's here. He desperately tries to hide a smile, and is entirely unsuccessful in doing so.
So Stolas asks for a roleplay. He's got a very vivid imagination, you see.
Blitzø isn't into it or anything. Fuck off.
