Well, there was always pomp and bloody ceremony when basically anything happened around these parts, to be fair.
That explained the ball on the BMM-owned Bretonian Cruise Liner, the White Rose, in honour of the newly reorganised Bretonian Armed Forces under the esteemed Fleet Admiral Percival Nelles, a somewhat extravagant, yet tentative affair, as many of the men aboard would soon be required to turn the tide of the war, and would most likely have to give their lives in the process.
The men and women aboard danced, in ballgowns and dress uniforms, save for a small band of thuggish looking men who were, of course, standing by the bar, drinking heavily.
Occasionally an ignorant noble or similar would wander by and request hors d'oeuvres from the poorly attired individuals, but would be responded with crass language and insults regarding their genealogy, as to be expecting from such whippersnappers.
One of them, obviously the man in charge, dressed in what could be said to be in an eccentric, yet high quality outfit, complete with tri-cornered hat, kept quiet, though watching the proceedings with great interest. He himself looked more presentable than his friends, in spite of the shaggy facial hair (Which would later be revealed as having been grown in prison, in spite of his cell being luxurious, his account being that 'Growing beards is what convicts do, right?'), and would even, from time to time, engage in a dance, with some degree of elegance.
Towards the end of the party, though, when everyone, even the BMM hosts, who had been paid considerably for the pleasure of their company, were suitably under the influence, the man nodded to his companions.
The lights cut out dramatically and, before any of the inebriated young ladies could scream, a spotlight shone on the man in the funny hat, now standing upon a table.
"As you may well know, I am Sir Andrew Stuart, ladies and gentlemen... and I'd like to say just one thing..."
He paused and gave a theatrical bow, as was, of course, necessary.
"I'll buy it!"
His audience looked flabbergasted.
"Ah, an explanation is needed, of course, of course... well, I can afford this, being a shrewd economist... among other things... but, I guess that's not all you want to know, right?"
Again, they were dumbfounded...
"Flash! Light her up!"
Now, a hologram came into being, floating above the drunken dancefloor. Diagrams rotated, showing the liner, which they were aboard, fitted with military grade armaments and protection, the ballrooms and passenger units converted to hold cargo or ammunition.
"You see, this is the perfect vessel for cutting the supply lines of our enemies... and I think that I shall be doing so. I'll be renaming her the 'Black Rose', as opposed to the 'White Rose' now, I think. For one, it's a wee bitty more frightening, and secondly, it's my favourite song. Now, time to rob the bastards..."
He spun on his heel and hopped off the table, followed by his licensed pirates, turning around and winking before quietly addressing the stunned audience with a good old-fashioned 'Yar?'