Well Shit.

Wim looked at them and did not blink.

“My father is an ass that would be okay watching this place burn and all of us hang,” he said with a bit more anger than he should have.

“What I have been doing isn’t technically Illegal where threatening someone with weapons technically is,” he said still trying to save some face though with gritted teeth.

Wim looked at them and moved his palms out and upward slightly saying, “Inconceivable!!! You are the one threatening me not the other way around.”

As Wim stands with both hands on the table, a giant fist met his head with a solid thunk like a ripe cantaloupe being dropped on an open wooden box. His jaw went to the left, the rest of his head went backwards, and is arms flailed in a highly undignified manner this way and that. His body hit the wall not the window and the chair toppled him. His cry right before impact was “Not the face!”

To say he had any dignity left would have been hard to say. A large percentage of those who had been on the ship clapped, whooped, and laughed.

Then Mr. Tattoo picked up the book.