'Remember, Guybrush,' he thought to himself as he approached the SCUMM Bar, 'Act casual.'

With a half-hearted push, he let the door sway ajar before him and sauntered in with deliberate nonchalance. It was practically empty, with a seedy looking fellow throwing darts at the wall, and Ignatius Cheese, the Bar owner, sitting at the far end of the room. Regardless, Guybrush still kept his casual façade apparent, and approached the Bartender, who was wiping the counter down with a surprisingly clean rag.

"Yoha, gregarious employee," Guybrush chuckled in a supposedly deep tone.

"Evenin', Mr. Marley," the horribly scarred man acknowledged. Guybrush flinched slightly, but didn't break his knowing smile.

"Soooo……..the uh, the Bar looks pretty deserted tonight, huh?"

"And it's a good thing, too," the man replied. "Cap'm Adrian Sever's bringin' his whole crew here tonight for a bit of hearty stupor."

"Really?" mused Guybrush. "I heard he left his crew back on Chubb Island."

"That he did, on their own volition, too, or so I'm told. Turns out he's had a lot of different crews under his command, but they all bail out for reasons undisclosed, and he picks up new ones on his travels."

Guybrush couldn't contain himself any longer. He slammed his hands against the counter and began to feverishly explain in a whiny tone.

"You can't let them come in here! Adrian Sever is suspected of being in collaboration with the Caribbean Sanitation Commissioner! He's gonna leave his new crew passed out on your floor in pools of their own Grog and bodily fluids as a deliberate set-up in order for the Commissioner to authorise new management of the Tri-Island Area!!!"

The Bartender grunted.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Marley, but Cap'm Sever's made us an offer too good to refuse. Says he's gonna pay us double quota if we can have his whole crew unconscious before midnight."

"Yes, exactly! What does Mr. Cheese have to say about this?"

"Aye, he's even more adamant about it than I am!"

"Well, darn," sighed Guybrush, turning away from the counter. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have an Air Conditioning System installed, would you?"

"What the bleedin' 'eck is that?"

"No? Curses."

An hour passed as Guybrush leant up against a lantern post beside the harbour, the late evening mist shrouding anything beyond the end of the pier. He was waiting for an opportunity to confront Captain Sever, in a last-ditch effort to save Melee Island from itself. A distant foghorn caught his attention and he turned to observe the curtain of thick vapour withdraw to reveal a majestic galleon sailing into port.

"Hey, wait a minute," he mumbled, "Elaine?"

"Guybrush?!" his wife called in bewilderment as a broad plank was rested on the cobblestone forming a bridge between the deck and the harbour.

"Elaine!" he cried joyfully, sprinting over to embrace her.

"Guybrush, why aren't you on Chubb?" she inquired dubiously.

"Well, I just thought you had a right to know that a sinister conspiracy is threatening to usurp your position of Government!!!"

"Ohh, Guybrush!" she moaned, rubbing her temple in frustration, "I've just had an encounter with a seven foot chicken. I'm really not in the mood for your inane babblings."

"But Elaine, I'm telling the truth!" he insisted. "I think the Sanitation Commissioner is in collaboration with a mysterious pirate. T-they're trying to take over the Caribbean through underhanded schemes!"

"I don't want to hear it, Guybrush!" she fumed. "I booked you a perfectly good, perfectly expensive vacation on a resort island, and you wasted it to come home and tell me a whole bunch of nonsense!"

"Elaine…"

"No, Guybrush. Whatever it is, no. If there is anything going on, and I doubt that, it does not concern you in any way, shape or form. I don't want you embarking on any surreal 'romps' that involve random inventory item combinations, Pirate Curses, or the addition of Grog to heavy machinery. Is that understood?"

"But….."

"Is that understood?"

"Ah……..yes, dear," he sighed, crestfallen.

"Thank you, Guybrush," she smiled before embracing him again. She slipped a large wad of money into his coat pocket as she did so. "Here's a loaner. Why don't you go and drown your crazy suspicions at the SCUMM Bar while I go and sort some things out with my grandpa. The Sanitation Commissioner will be here tomorrow, and I want to make sure I've done all in my power to clean up Tri-Island."

"Sure," he mumbled.

;_;

"Woman troubles, Cap'm T?" chuckled Ignatius Cheese, the stocky Bar owner and former navigator for Guybrush's previous escapade.

"Like you wouldn't believe," he sighed, swirling his mug of Grog Twist around sadly. "I've just uncovered a diabolical plot threatening to jeopardise the lifestyle of everybody in the Caribbean, and Elaine won't believe me. I've done all in my power to convince you people of the Sanitation Commissioner's foul play, but I get the feeling the whole ordeal has just been a big Grog Twist promotion."

"Aye, well - - there's no denying it's a fine brew."

"I know. Nothing quenches a mighty thirst like Grog Twist. But Mister Cheese, you have to believe me! Adrian Sever is going to turn your Bar into a fetid, stagnant stink hole before sunrise, and Elaine is going to lose her job because of it! Please…. can't you cancel his reservation?"

"I'm sorry, Skipper, there are no cancellations 'ere at the SCUMM Bar. Besides….  'ere comes Cap'm Sever now!"

A raucous aggregation of sailors trundled through the door and seated themselves wherever they saw fit, dozens of them clambering to place their order first. Behind them came a man dressed in a black leather cloak that extended from his sturdy neck to his big, black boots. Black leather gloves adorned his large hands, and an enormous black hat rested atop his head, a single red feather protruding from its side. Though his face appeared relaxed, Guybrush noted that his features were twisted into an irreversible sneer of contempt. His jawbone was sturdy, arced outwards in a pronounced underbite, with messily unshaven whiskers disguising most of his mouth. His nose appeared to have been broken on several occasions, as it was lumpy and thoroughly unattractive. And his eyes were thin slits that contrasted dramatically with the theme of his appearance, as they demonstrated an eerie perception when they darted about the room, taking in every detail.

"Oy," Cheese whispered in subdued awe, "He looks like a right character. S'pose I'd best go greet him, then. 'Ave a nice evening, Mr. T, and don't let yer wife's words get ye down. She's just a little stressed, I'm sure."

He left Guybrush where he sat at the far end of the room, and went down into the lower chamber to commune with the deceitful Captain.

"Elaine," he muttered to himself, "I know you warned me away from any bizarre circumstances involving fiendish puzzles………… but if you only knew how much depended on it!"

He downed his grog and slipped furtively away from the table, into the kitchen behind him.

"It looks like Elaine was especially thorough when it came to this kitchen," he noted, "I've never seen it so clean."

Granted, he'd only seen it once before, during a frivolous escapade to complete his Pirate trials a few years prior, but back then it had been a stinking brothel for bacteria, with most everything soaked in stains of innumerable uncooked meat products. Now it was a radiant chamber of cleanliness, so much so that Guybrush needed to shield his eyes for a proper inspection. A pyramid of about ten large kegs of grog stood dormant beside him, strapped together with a tough length of wire. Their mere presence filled his head with dozens of ideas concerning ways to sabotage Captain Sever's plans. He turned to his right to observe the back exit, which he knew lead to a very short boardwalk overlooking the cove. Grinning, he pushed against the door, only to discover (to his dismay) that it was locked.

"Well, darn," he sighed. "Hang on, if I can snap this cable that holds the kegs together, they could probably barge it down."

He turned to face the kegs once more and plucked tentatively at the wire. It was a lot tougher than he anticipated. Sighing in frustration, he folded his arms and thought for a while.

"It looks like I'm in one of those situations," he moaned, "The kind where the solution is right in front of me, but is too obscure for me to deduce for at least three days……. the cable is too tough for me to slice with any of these knives……."

He put his hands in his pockets subconsciously, before realising that he'd stumbled upon the melted wax Bride & Groom. He pulled the sticky object from its grip on the trouser fabric, taking a lot of his pocket with it.

"Ew, gross," he remarked, squinting. "I should've known that it wasn't actually plastic when I smuggled it from my Wedding Cake."

Repulsed, he rubbed the badly disfigured object against the length of wire that held the kegs together.

"Well, it's ruined my trouser pocket," he sighed. "Hey, wait a minute - - the melted wax has fused with the spindle fibres of the cable!"

He was telling the truth. The heat from inside his pocket had softened it further still, and it had melted into the wire, before hardening in the cool of the kitchen. He drew a large steak knife from a drawer under the counter and struck at the wax/wire hybrid, snapping it with ease. The hierarchy of kegs toppled loudly away from each other, smashing down the exit and rolling into the ocean outside. There was a commotion from inside the Bar, and Guybrush thought it best to take his leave, pacing out onto the boardwalk and edging up beside the exterior of the building before anybody could identify him as the culprit.

"Wot in the name of me pegleg's parasites happened to the Grog?!" thundered Mr. Cheese.

There was the sound of unrest amidst the crew of the Lingering Floater as they comprehended the situation properly. The sound grew more and more distant as they flooded away from the SCUMM Bar and into town, in a desperate attempt to find Grog elsewhere. If Guybrush's hearing was accurate, he deduced that only Mr. Cheese and Captain Sever remained in the kitchen.

"I wanted my crew unconscious, Mr. Cheese," he heard the gravely hiss of the Captain.

"Wot - - you're blamin' me for the grog depletion?!"

"It's your Bar. Good day, Ignatius, there'll be no double quota for you."

Guybrush heard the shady character storm away, leaving Mr. Cheese to curse and growl at his leisure inside the kitchen.

"I was really lookin' forward to that double quota," he seethed. "Curse that ineffectual keg restraint wire……. why I oughtta……."

"Crew!!!" Guybrush heard Captain Sever holler from the docks beyond, "Back on the Ship! We're settin' sail for Scabb Island!!!"

"Oh, no!" whispered Guybrush to himself. "I've gotta protect the rest of the Tri-Island Area before its too late!"