"I won't have you starving to death, I need you fit, strong and healthy if I'm going to make use of you, and I won't have you throwing up all over my ship. If seasickness is the problem, it's an easy solution." I say flatly. I get up and walk out of the room. A few moments later I return with two of my best rig monkeys, small men with an excess of wiry muscle from spending all their time in the rigging. They both are grinning, and look thrilled as they grab you and have you quickly bound around your legs at the ankle and knee, and around your arms at your elbows and wrists, securing your arms to your sides. They grab a rope trailing from your ankles and laugh as they grab you across the deck.
"Now, I know it's not pleasant, pussy cat, and you can hate me all you like, but this will make my deck feel like solid ground." I assure you.
One sailor grabs onto the central, tallest mast and climbs up a ways, then reaches down for the rope. The other climbs up just above him, then hauls the rope up, lifting your feet up against the mast, while the first shimmers up above him again.
"Now don't struggle to much," I say, kneeling down to pat your face gently before your are lifted off the ground, hanging upside-down with your back to the mast. "It's a long climb, you wouldn't want to make them loose their grip."
The two pirates on the mast burst into laughter, and you are lifted another few feet. In this way you are taken to the top gallant, the second from the top yard, and suspended out on the end, some 50 feet above the deck, with enough room that you won't hit the mast when you swing.
