Arrive at Treasure Island

Several long, uneventful days of sailing follow. You commandeer Rosamondo's cabin, the best on the ship, leaving her to bunk with the crew. Still pantsless, of course. It's interesting to watch her authority slowly fade as she stumbles around the ship with her breeches at her ankles, doing her best to keep up appearances. By the second day, even the humblest sailor is openly commenting on her lacy underwear as she passes by. By the third, they're willing to pinch her bottom. By the fourth, they've made up a ballad about the pirate in her panties and are singing it wherever she can here. Rosamondo seethes with rage, but there's very little she can do about it.

By the time Treasure Island hoves into view off the starboard bow, she's lost every scrap of respect she had. They've got her down on her knees, swabbing the deck with her pert bottom wiggling in the air, when the cry comes down from the crow's-nest. "Land ho!"

You weigh anchor off a tropical beach and look out over a vista of palm trees, blue water, white sand and a steaming volcano in the distance. The gangplank is lowered and Rosamondo waddles down it while the whole crew cheers her on.

"Right," she snaps. "You've had your fun. Can I pull my breeches up now?"

"Where's the treasure?"

"It's in a cave just north of here."

"Well, don't keep us waiting. Lead the way."

"But the breeches..."

"Hey, everyone, do we think Rosamondo should be allowed to wear pants again yet?"

"No!"

"Boo!"

"Down with the pirate queen!"

"There you go. Now, hop to it."