You wanna find out, old man? [Rafe mutters, turning his attention back out to the scene of Tortuga. He places a hand on his hip and scrunches his nose, looking down at his boots like if he considered hard enough, maybe it would work if they were expensive enough.

God, he wishes. It's becoming increasingly obvious he's not worth anything here, and he's got the feeling Tony is probably worth more back home. Somehow.]

Yet. Well, when you concoct some worthwhile plan, Mr. Brain, you let me know. I'll be over here trying to consider how in the hell it's even remotely possible this isn't some reenactment.

[He's about to walk off, and he should walk off, but he takes about two steps past Tony before he's rounding back on him.]

Tour de l’Ile? Patek Phillipe? Who even are you?