"Excusez-moi, je ne pouvais pas m'empêcher de remarquer que vous êtes en surcompensation pour vos propres échecs en insultant vos meilleurs. Veuillez prendre une longue promenade au large d'une jetée courte et faire des amis avec l'intérieur du tube digestif d'un Sea-King."

The patrons of the dinghy bar all looked to the strange speaker. They were dressed in a pure white and divine silver, from head to toe. Dirt seemed to be repelled by the purity of the leather and metal, and there was not a speck of tarnish to be seen. Their face was mostly hidden by shadows. Only silver hair was seen, a waterfall down their back.

"What did you say, oldie?" asked a particularly disgusting pirate. His lack of education in the ways of fighting was only mirrored by his lack of good looks.

"I said," the white figure looked up, dispersing the shadows. The barmates started.

The only bit of color on this person was haunting orange eyes. They were the color of a sunset, the kind seen before a terrible hurricane, or a blaze that single handedly destroyed an island. They seemed to leech all other colors out of their skin, as well as their surroundings. The silver cross on their neck jangled on it's chain. They also did not look old at all.

"You talk too much, for a weakling." They continued.

*\_/*\_/*

It's been a while. If you have nothing nice to say, please keep it to yourself. I haven't written anything that I've really wanted to finish in a while. I'm insecure already. Please, no rudeness.

Translation:

French: "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice that you are overcompensating for your own failures by insulting your betters. Kindly take a long walk off a short pier and make friends with the inside of a Sea-King's digestive tract."