talk pirate to me

Hyperion very carefully held the bit of charcoal between his front teeth and tried to make neat, light lines on the map. It wasn't easy. He had to stare down his nose at the hide and the lines, and his eyes crossed easily which almost always led to a headache in seconds. If he wasn't careful he'd have to stop, raise his head and look at something distant to make the ache go away. It was annoying to say the least. So the work was slow and tedious, and quite quickly Hyperion's back began to arch and his shoulders hunch as he concentrated on the work. He was in that position when a woman's voice reached his ears.

His head was already down so he glanced under his armpit in the direction of the woman. The bit of charcoal was still sticking out of his mouth. Unaware of his appearance Hyperion gave her a quizzical look. He'd been so focused on what he was doing that her question just didn't make sense. How could what he was doing be mistaken for anything else? It just didn't commute. Hairball? "Huh?" Finally he looked at himself - really looked - and her question started to make sense. "Ohh," he mumbled his understanding around the charcoal and then straightened while spitting it out. "Yeah I'm good, just uh, you know, working on a map."