Take Anna's cutlass

"Hand over the loot, lad, or it'll be the worse for ye." Black Anna brandishes her cutlass, aiming to bring the point to rest on your throat. It doesn't quite work out, though. What happens instead is that she waves in your direction, not a long, wickedly gleaming curved sword, but a bouquet of finest daffodils from a storage case in the hold.

"Huh?"

"You know," you say, "if I were a pirate, I'd really try to bring a weapon to these things. Much more scary."

Black Anna looks down at her daffodils, frowns, and casts them aside. Somewhere in the back of her mind, you suspect, there's a little twinge of doubt, but she's determined to suppress it. Can't lose face in front of her crew, after all. "I need no weapon to handle the likes of ye," she snaps, fumbling in her belt for her dagger, which you also stole. "On your knees, landlubber scum! Beg for forgiveness, or I'll..."

"You'll what?"