[The manners of his day would dictate the woman goes first in all polite settings, but she's offering and so he accepts and pours himself a glass. It's so startlingly crystal clear and cold, it's not something he's yet come around to. Water is not a favourite drink of pirates. A ship's stores of it were soon depleted, and were often foul besides. Beer and rum kept better on long journeys, and was less likely to kill you if some creature fell in and was pickled.

He rubs the rim of his glass, and takes a measured drink.]

Why would that merit an apology? Pirates are a rather unsavory, lawless lot. Most would be glad to be rid of them.

[He raises the glass in a slight gesture of cheers.]

And I do happen to know where Poland is, so I'm spared the further indignity of my ignorance.