Lend me yer ears, ye storm-battered bilge rats — for I’ve a vision to share…
Picture it: the seas rage, the winds howl, rain lashes your face like Neptune’s own fury. There ye stand — steadfast at the helm, alone, soaked to the bone but unbowed, steering this creaking beast through Poseidon’s tantrum.
But wait — what’s this? From the belly of the ship comes a sound — squish… squish… squish… — boots dragging through puddles, footsteps of salvation. Through the mist they appear — yer loyal crew, ragged but grinning, each wielding not cutlass nor tankard… but an umbrella, like a banner of defiance against the storm itself.
They flank ye at the wheel, raising their brollies to the sky — a small, stubborn patch of dry in an endless ocean of wet. Pirates, undaunted by thunder and squall, sheltering together under flimsy fabric and sheer will.
The Umbrella Emote. Not just a gesture — a symbol that no storm breaks a true crew. Let the lightning flash, let the waves crash — we stand together, dry-ish, defiant, and drenched in laughter.
So I say — give us our umbrellas. Let us thumb our noses at the Sea’s wrath, one drip at a time. And when the storm clears… we’ll fold ‘em up, raise anchor, and sail on — bonded by brollies and brotherhood.
Bring it aboard, Rare — the seas await.
