(GE Copy)

Aboard the Suudelma Järvestä (Part 2)

"I don't have another chapter starter for you, I ran out of material after the first one..."

There in the mess hall stood the sorry souls who’s hearts were broken by the feathered dreams of treasure migrating south for the winter. In the corner sat a glum fellow, counting the last few pieces he had tucked within his boots. Another sat sober, bottle on empty, with the last swig saved for the day they returned rich.

“What have you in here?” Felicity shout, “Looks no more than a noon-hour pub, slopped over and miserable.” Obtaining a few well earned glares. “Had you not just conquered the Concords Shores? Had not just hours ago, you been so waist deep in legend, that would make any many’s legs weep in wonder? A thousand ships lay-sunder the bottom of a hell-packed grave, yet what say you the next port we make? Will it be ‘ay, for me pockets are laid in salt and sea weather’ or tis ‘AY! For I stood-top the shale and coral which legends were born from!” Illiciting a smile or two, as Felicity cut off the tap of the nearing barrel, til it’s leaking liquor began to rush out from the hole “Drink up me harties, we be legends a’walkin; yo-ho, yo-fucking-HOE!”

And by the droves came weary parched men who came to save the endangered brew, and ten more men came down from overhead, and ten more from every room at the sound of alcohol’s perils. In a glowing smile, said himself to the world. “Is me eyes deceive me?” And the ghost laughed and made merry with the crew, drunk on the takes of olden days. “Tis the spring of the golden days returned.” Singing along side the men on deck.

“Fuck all, fuck right off, / Man of powder do take their shot.
Yo ho, fill the barrel / of bullets spent do stock our pail.

Rum, rum, fillith our guts / for our hour shale take it off.
Pour, pour, pour our us an ale / for our live are still ef-fem-ar-ale”

“ALE!”

“Think to the sea which consumes the mounds, / think to shore for all abound
What do you know of fears avail / For even the melt of mountains wail!

“Melt, melt, oceans of blue! / Cast a-sunder an ocean anew
Fight fight, fight for ale, / for tomorrow come, we shall cast our sail...”

“There it was I be, fighting six men, then four, then three! Each to me side, fallen but not I. A’vast!” Swinging his arms in a militant motion. “Then came the locals, and I cut off their bridge, sending thirty braves down into the crocodile pit below. Thirty seven hundred pieces of gold, stacked in a chest that took five men to carry and four men to do it properly...”

“Look at him...” Felicity sneered from the corner of the room as shanties continued thereafter. “Blue light, bordering on white, just like the old books would describe a man of valour... They’re eating it up like cheap Caribbean piss rum. It’s my ship, damn it! Should be warming up to my tales of conquest; ‘Oh, Felicity, he passed through the hells-gate, that’s our captain, not even the rocky wells can stop him!’ They should be tossing me in the damn air... I mean shit! Little spice, little rum, little anchovy on your stake as you marinade it... Who do they think tapped that barrel they’re filling themselves with?”

“You’re into your pales early...” Felicity heard from above. “It’s not every day you find a legend... Not alive anyway –Er, speaking, rather...” Aaron rationalized, “Given them an eve or two, an’ the galley will be frothing with tales of their captain once h’gain.”

“Yar and what be of ye, ya scurvy wench?” Felicity grabbed Aaron from behind, “What be it now? That’s how he sounds,” Pointing at the ghostly legend, “...That be how he be, yar, yar... Sounds like a damned novel,” Breaking into a full mockery “Yar har, fiddle me D. Being a pirate is alright to be, yes ye, as ye, bark ye and fark ye!” Felicity horked and spat. “Everyone wants to riddle in the days of old –talk like the old days – Yar live like ye ol’ days, yes... It’s a damned abomination, and that fraud of a hero is taking my limelight...”

“Give it a thought.” Aaron reasoned further, “In time they’ll get over it...”

“I’m tired of drinking alone tonight,” Passing Aaron a bottle, “Drink me hearty, yo ho, and all that driveling swish; let it turn your stomach to liquid ash, says yer captain be, yo ho... yo ho...” Scowling as he sipped his sailors mead “It’s all barnacles to appeal the masses, dumb, fitted in gay attire, rag’gid old bootstraps and a name that sounds illiterate... Ay... You’re the only one that understands me, Aaron... Give me homage tonight, fer me spirit be weak, fer even in mocking him me sees me tongue already sullied as be... Yar, farking har...” Spitting and returning normal as he tried to lift himself off the floor but fell back down again. “Let him spackle his tonuge like the edge of a twenty cent whore... In the morning, they’ll think onto me once more... Once more... Once more...” spitting the filth of rhyme from his tongue. “Ay... I’s be a salty sea captain, but is be better than a salty sea wench! So fuck that bitch... This is the ocean...”

“Captain...” Aaron empathized, “Come now, there is little show for you here... Let me lend you to your captains chair...” As he lifted Felicity to his feet.

The drear waves wafted through the air in the moonlit deck, as clouds lined themselves off the silver sphere. In a break from the brisk moonlight, Aaron could hear a whistling from the water; a slow, wind cutting whistle that wraps around the wood like a sword through the air. A glint sparked in the moonlight off the darkened ship and very loudly screeched past him to barrel into the ocean behind him. Falling off of Aaron’s shoulder Felicity risen his sword, and staggered onto his ass. “MEN! TO ARMS!” As the next cannonball breezed the railings clean off the deck. “Mand the cannons! Hurl the...” Holding in his supper, “Hurl the mast! Engage!”

Already stationed at the helm, Jambalaya swung the ship into battling distance as the two vessels pulled out from the shade of a clouds shadowy sea. Shining glints flickered in the dark, as swords held high came in to meet them. The helmsmen drifted with the wind, positioning the side cannons in advance of the assailants and soon the bottom decks were alight with the fire of cannonballs. The enemy took the hit, flying soldiers from the top deck; unable to retaliate with their angle now stationed at Suudelma Järvestä’s tail. All they could fire were from the front turret with the wind against them. Turning perpendicular, the Suudelma Järvestä narrowed it’s angles for received damage and protected the cannons while they reloaded. It circled around to reengage, shaking off the offset of their enemies surprise advantage, and they sailed up next to it now fully awares.

The two helmsmen gauged the other’s vessel and once they were found impartial in speed, the enemy took to close the range lest they be at a tactical disadvantage towards the grave. Suudelma Järvestä matched key, pulling themselves in also to meet sides and board where no more damage could be sustained. The men swung out, swooping onto the ship as a board were laid out between them. Jambalaya tilted the ship in a resilience that snapped the plank sending three men to the waters, and the Suudelma Järvestä fought the war on their own ground. Three crewmen swooped the enemies, flanking around the front cannon and working their way around the ranks who tried to board the maiden vessel.

Coming out from the depths, Long Dong Silvers came to the reminiscent cacophony of warfare, and risen his ghostly sword. “Avast.” Whilst being overpowered by the youthful belting of the very drunk captain.

“All men on deck! Swords at the ready! Snipers in the top holds. Loosen the holds for ambush! Prepare the boarding team! Form a line around the back! Don’t you drunkards gets flanked, you’ll be taking it up the hoop!”

“Batten the hatches! Blow the horns! Wake every lilly livered lush that lean upon the haul!...” Fighting the urge to face Felicity who’s cold stares were digging into him from the side, until temptation finally took over. “Can I help you?”

“Why did they mutiny your ship again?”

“Yar they said I talked too much...”

“Yar... Yeah.” Spitting behind him, Felicity took off his hat, placing it on the ghost’s head and watched it fall through the ethereal jabberbox “Forgot about that... Well...” Taking a hearty swig, “I nominate you captain for one day. One day only. Don’t for get that... Now go take your ship back.”

“Ay, it’d be a pleasure.” Declared Long Dong Silver as he walked towards the battle, swinging his benign weapon and slinging orders. Every eye that never seen such a sight turned to face the deadly terror, as Felicity came in behind and flanked every eerie eyed soldier. “What is the matter with you’ll ol louses, have a cannon’s fire deafened yer-selves stupid? I said swing the damned sail! They’re getting away!” At the peek of his usefulness, the crew caught onto Captain Felicity’s staggering revolt and took also to silently muffle the ranks from behind under the yammering of Vice-Captain Long Dong Silvers.

Turning his head, Felicity’s eyes spun to align focus as they caught gaze at an old sight. “Oh!...” Felicity questioned rather disorientate, “Richard Dickson? Is that you? Savvy you making the pirate world these days...”

“Well...” Richard met, smiling, “A man can only be stabbed in the back by his admiral for so long, before he’s bound to start taking his lashings from a different direction.” Lifting his sword “Word is you’ve made it rather big too, no hard feelings old friend.”

“Naturally...” As they began to engage in the sacred duel of old rivals. They fought upon the deck, and upon the rails. From busy battling rabbles to the secluded overhangs of the upper decks, clashing blade time in and again with cunning and greatly availing luck.

Cornered to the stairwell, Dickson’s footwork kept key with the lucky drunk; climbing up as Felicity tripped on the first step and fell backwards. Richard took from his high ground at the fumbling lush to pin him, but using his springboard backrest, Felicity kicked Richard back into the steps; cracking each stair as he fell through and behind them.

They met blade between the holes of their dividing wall, and around it, as Richard managed to squeeze back out into the field. Kicking over a bucket, Richard used the slippery soap waters to knock out the captains feet, but stepped back and found his foot stuck in the bucket adjacent. Felicity lunged his sword forward but missed in his distorted vision and threw it into the wood of his own ship. Tugging the wedged blade, Felicity abandoned the sword as Richard took his advance, but Dickson slipped on the water he spilled. Withdrawing his Dagger, Felicity came overhead to finish the job, but Richard withdrew his pistol, and fired. They both stood there, waiting for the boom, but cock and trigger, the damp black powder would not ignite.

“Much sorry me’harty, but you’s just broke the duellist’s honour,” Felicity informed, “‘fraid that breaks the warriors truce, and five other international agreements on swordplay, so I’m gonna have to play dirty now...” As Felicity threw his knife, wildly off course, and nicked an unmarked crew member by his calf. “Oooh...”

“Was that your crew member, or was that ours?...” Dickson grieved at the injured wailing man. Soon pulling out a dagger of his own, and Felicity returned likewise with his pistol, until the musket ball fell out and rolled upon the ground. The dagger went elsewhere as the two locked in mortal combat, until neither victor could emerge.

Both panting, they lifted up their hands and parleyed, “We’re... We’re both in terrible condition, I’m really sorry, you were just desperate, I get that... How’bout we take that bucket off your foot and reset, savvy?”

Richard nodded, climbing to his feet, slyly noticing a table stood vertically behind him. “Mind, uh...” Shaking his bucket-logged foot, Richard suggested, watching Felicity oblige to free him while in kicking range. Jumping himself back, Richard planned himself to return the same lunging gesture with his legs that passed him through the stairs; but fell back as a burly crew member stole the wooden springboard from behind him, to use as a weapon... And Richard Dickson flew back to the rails, until loosing balance and fell into the drink below.

Waving down at the flopping fish, Felicity honoured his conceding contestant. “Not the first time we left on such terms, now is it? Fancy we be seeing each other again some day, Ol’ Dicky boy.” As he turned, meeting eyes with another who’s sword was already drawn. “Oh... He a friend of yours?”

“Word round the Merry Baskervilles, is some fine she-lass got herself an old book of secrets, and inside said book is Norbert Mortimer Dudley’s handwriting, and how he conquered the Concords Shore.” Throwing his thumb back at the wailing, raving ghostly buffoon. “Never would’a picked him as mad, but the sea does ware the years off from our minds.”

“Him? Norbert Dudley? Nah, picked him up at a pub a while back, fell down the stairs headlong into a washbasin, been haunting us ever since...” In contrast of the wild boasting of Long Dong Silvers, scourge of the west sea, bondmen of the high, and something resembling your mothers dressers.

“Ah, my mistake... An’ I ‘spose they brought him back to life, too, didn’t they? Seems your hasty return from the rocky wells, was not in retreat after all. We’ll be having your legendary treasure now...”

“S-Sorry... Are... Are the captain?” Felicity questioned, “Quite odd to have a man of stature these days without an eye patch or a peg-leg, I honestly couldn’t tell you from the rest of them...”

“Ay, should be saying the about you, but between two fine mates...” Pinning Felicity to the corner. “I do have a fine wooden leg, yar...” Licking his chapped salty lips

“Funny, that’s where me eyepatch is... You keep it polished?”

“And ribbed... Maybe when this is all through, they can get a formal meeting with each other, lass...”

“Never seen a captain willingly take bottom before...” Pulling the barrel lid and throwing it up between them, before a cunning move of lowering the blinder and flicking the handful of cleaning salts into the enemy’s eyes.

“Agh! You’re a dirty mongral.”

“Engagement states, for it to be a duel, both participants must be equipped an equal weapon, or it be a rabble.” Reefing his sword from the wall, but failing, trying harder, and chuckled nervously. Dashing out amidst the busy combatants, Felicity withdrew the blade of his second mate, “Be borrowing this...” and resumed, as Bridges looked about for usefulness amidst a war without a sword, but it came back looking for him. A slash, a cut, Bridges ducked as his captain and the enemy’s duel took roost around him. “Bridges, this is a terrible time for you to be practising your ballroom dancing.”

“Trust me Captain, I’d rather myself in the mess hall meself right now.” Dodging left, right, always ending up in the worst place imaginable.

With each exchange, the two captains met closer to tying the other’s noose, examining the weakness in each other’s stance to the cunning tricks they picked up along the way. They stood, standing the other off for a final gambit each, as Bridges finally got himself loose from them only to hear a loud cry from the other ship

“CAPTAIN!” The helmsmen cried from yonder vessel. “They’re advancing on our ship!” And his attention was drawn away, backing off from Felicity’s forward sobering advance.

“Men!” He cried to the remaining four members, “Pull back!” Still defending himself as he neared the ships rail. The men returned, leaving their captain to parry of the remaining men on enemy territory. Swooping in, upon the high wire came a man in makeup; that clutched their captain, and swung him back upon his own ship.

“Bridge... Put it in the ledger for one carny... It seems I’ve underestimated their usefulness after the last clown show. Jumbalaya! How’s their vessel?”

“Out-sped and out-manned, they’ll retreat... If our crew doesn’t off them, first... Shall we advance on them?”

“Show of hands, who’s left aboard? Men!” Counting the odd hand, “Nay. Our best men are still aboard, any less and we’ll be outmatched for the next arrival... Believe me, they are the only the first of many. Alright men, tend to the injured, and take prisoner any such scum still breathing. I want answers.”

“Captain...” Bridges returned, “We found this: We thinks it’s a clue to who they were...”

“That’s Shepard’s, I see him playing with it when he should be working...” Giving the twisting puzzle back to Shepard, but tossing it over his back to fetch as Felicity called out to his crew. “No, while you mates were playing with your food, I picked up a little intel from the enemies... Truth is, see... We were followed here: probably in the hopes to mitigate their own losses from trying us at the rocky wells, lest they die themselves, and swoop the treasure once we took it to safe shores...”

Sending startle amidst the crew, “Buts...” One of them uttered, “We ain’t gots no treasure...”

“Ay...” Another crew remorsed, quickly turning his melancholy into cheer. “But, they thinks we is. What’s living legend if no one believes ya?”

“What good is infamy of wealth and power if you have none?...” Felicity interjected. “The whole world says we wanted for what we have not between our own two fingers? See, when I went about my meticulous cunning ordeal, an egregious expedition and ongoing ornery undertaking, that is to say me endeavour to ascertain the book of Norbert Dudley’s secrets... I made sure to be as discreet as possible, whereas; we may lift the hoard unnoticed, spend it without bounty or suspicion, and giggle amidst ourselves til we were red in the face, knowing... that we stood foot at the great monument... However, I will not point fingers to whoever aboard, let his lips loose about my intentions, slide this voyage into chaos; but a show of hands is always gladly appreciated...”

Aaron lifts his hand

Felicity pulled the pistol from his second mate, and shot down the nearest slacker in sight “Wasn’t my finger you had to worry about... Now to anyone who gets uppity, you are all wanted men... I know, I know, but pirate steal and steal alike, and now our own kin finds us profitable. Deny it all we want, that’s what the world believes anyway, and dragging this ethereal bumbus with us, that’s to say Captain Long Dong Cornio, gives us away –I say we concentrate the starboard deck and wish him a happy travel to the after life; now who here used to be a priest?”

“Ay, but...” Swooping up close to interfere, Long Dong defended, “What is fame and infamy, yea, fame and infamy to be slain over a lie, nay... A-a misunderstanding?” Warming up to the captain, “What-say if a man so notorious and wanted, actually possessed such treasure, and/or: had the means for a bigger ship, many a powdery kegs and could defend against said oncoming? ‘Less... You could clear your name as a nobody...”

“Freedom be fucked, ay, ay... So, per-say we discover whoever it be, then travel, oo, however many leagues to find them... Then meet the moony-loons that scoffed our fair bounty, fight our ways through whatever defences and fortifications a legendary treasure could afford, and belly-slap the poor pirate nobility like a Sunday ham... What says the treasure isn’t already spent?”

Pulling the captain aside. “Men... we have men. Each face tied to your crew, now a legend in their own right, is another target on your back. Every port you sail into, every man who’s caught pissing upon the wall who knows your name will lead them back to you...”

“Ay, freedom do be fucked...”

“Ay... And say-how’s it, if ten men stand atop of pot of gold, and 2 fall down before they collect their pay? No pirate worth his silver spends all his treasure only to look at nothing... Should we be victorious, who stops us from commandeering whatever purchases made against us for our own... An... Should the men all perish, who’s left to lead back to you, oh venerable conquer of Concord Shore? Fame, and Freedom to disappear from the map... Lest ye want to try and tarry with your odds as a running man?”

“...And out of this, you get no more than your post-ethereal vengeance?...”

“Nay, says I... We, we get our vengeance.”

“YAR!” They said in unison as the captains huddle broke out to the crew. Calling everyone together, Felicity informed, “We’ve concluded, our only action is to face up or abandon our names to forever shame; but there’s more! Say,” Fixing the ghost’s coat for him, Pirate legend, ‘Long Dong the white’ who be the men that took that fine silver of yours?”

Standing proudly, the ghost humbled himself to admit, “I didn’t actually catch their flag...” Felicity retrieved the pistol from his third mate and fired it at the ghost, as the immortal began to laugh, “But... I did their catch captains pretentious name, as he herald out to the heavens, standing atop me late glory; ‘This here now be the hoard and treasure there of, of the venerable, and bolsterous Captain... Mioff!... Oh, I am done with the semantics, just shoot the cabin boy already...’ and they shot him dead... Yes. Used his skull as a poetry chair, I did...”

“That dastard!” Felicity shat out from his mouth, “That down right dirty smirking old flounder... Suppose his old mate laughed himself sick that night: figured he could pawn off a pretty penny on that uncanny relic, now that it was utterly useless to anyone. Sure glad I didn’t pay him for it...”

“Not to bother you further, Captain...” Bridges came forth, “...But the matter of our friends here... Should I hold them up in the Briggs?”

"I'm tired of holding people in the Briggs...” Felicity moaned, “Hang him by the crows nest, let his lips loosened by a few sea breeze"

“Pardon me, Captain but... Loosened to what, exactly?”

“Mommy...” Calling to his men. “LIFT THE MAN!”

“You want to know where he is?” The prisoner exclaimed, “Mioff? C-c...Captain Mioff. T-the man you’re just cursing moments ago.”

“Don’t know such a man...” Felicity scowled back down to the tied man. “Perhaps you have him mistaken for another? There only be title of one captain round here, so long as you be on this vessel, mate... Hoist him upside down this time.”

“Bamora!... It’s in Isle Bamora... Five years ago, he took up a large inheritance from his family in Barbados and ported it straight into the sea, on a small island off the coast of Dominica. He’s been a name of infamy ever since... But... If he is the man you are looking for, there be it rich with thee...”

“Ay, tie him right side up, see how his story changes in the morrow, and if it be true then we sail. Chart a course for Hannagrula just in case. We’ll need the cover if this goes on any longer.” Taking his aside as Long Dong floated near side, Felicity muttered in confidence. “Something sure is off about a man accruing a wealth from a famous place as that, and there not be wars over it... Slimy spit thought he’d cover his trail. Can’t blame him though for coming up with it before me. How long ago did you say your treasure had been lifted?”

“About five years, yea.” Long Dong affirmed, “But Barbados? I don’t see how they’re be wars over an island of only a couple white men... Hardly a cent to it.”

“A lot can happen in two hundred years...” Sighing as Felicity wandered to his quarters. “Ay... It just ain’t the same without that racist parrot.” Closing the door behind him.

The boat rocked through the night, stationed along the nearest current to branch off by both courses. The sun rose early, caking the salted cheeks of one such unfortunate enough to be tied to the mast. It’s hot rays beat into his head, hearing both heckling and hard work before the arrival of another.

Wandering out on early sun-lit deck, Felicity spat off the side, holding his favourite mug and a blackened tea. “Any change in our course?” The captain called out to his crew, to their dismissal. “Ay, then set course... And put the man down, he has union rights and all that...”

“What, ye gonna make me walk the plank now?” The man complained, being lowered behind the railing, then by ten men was he quickly throw overboard. Curses spat out from the water as the prisoner of war surfaced, calling names of all varieties and foreign hexes.

“Ay,” Felicity waved overhead, “...We be what we be, so what are you gonna do about it? I’m on a boat motha fucka!” Getting a down low from the tall African man in the suit. Dropping a knife down on a piece of mouldy bread, Felicity issued, “Union rights implores me as such: One last meal and the easy way out... Now, if you’ll excuse me, I'm going into my quarters to make myself feel very pretty –and can someone please, for the love of Neptune's whore house, fetch me some salted ham? I have a hangover to kill a fatten moose.” As he left for the shaded haul.

The curling waters waged the endless seas, and stars took over the midnight sky. Suns horizon to suns horizon, came and set for three days. The warm humid winds carried along the tropic sea current, and dropped under the cold of moist sea breeze. Every sober eye sat in wait, with mugs filling in their dreams of wealth to come; while others dreamt wearily of the war machines set out to claim the alleged Concords treasure. Surely no man, even in the eyes of space, could catch onto the juxtaposed alteration of Felicity’s path, to track down the Suudelma Järvestä’s; but despite this, there were still those who’s eyes upon the ship, slept not a wink for fear of being crowned wealthy amidst dogs.

Upon her shining speckled waters came a creaking and a rattle, then soon from his depths, came the captain in tow. They cast eye off the bows, from left and to right, finding only the blue of an oceans bottom. Soon came another, and it’s rumbles were more impacted upon the haul. Felicity drew the crew’s attention, pulling the sword form his scabbard, as they questioned the rashness of their captain. “Not but a bump, captain... Ay? Ay? Captain?”

“That’s no bump...” Felicity informed, in stern concern “It's chokie... That or the Kraken... If Cthulhu pops out of the ocean, me and him gonna have a real long conversation...”

“Nay... Captain, I does believe it just a shallow reef.”

“There is no reef that sounds like that, men. TO ARMS!” Loosing the swords from each man’s side to a full extended salute. There came a long silence, a quiet before the storm as each man certain of his peril, held strong upon his grip. Sweat began to pour from the stalling, until Felicity called out in furious anger. “Come out you scally wag! You salty wench, you blusterous blithering barnacle! We know you’re out there! Be siren or sea slug, I’ll slay you where your feet met the deck.” Hearing but a sea breeze whistle over the mast, then came a long and screeching bump against the reef, like nails on a chalk board. Each man lowered his arms, wearily returning gaze back to their captain, until hitting another corral sea tree. Withdrawing his sword, Felicity stood proudly. “Ay... Tis a... Um... Right! Threat’s cowered back into the bowels of the ocean, scared him good, didn’t we?... Excellent drill mates, now back your posts!... Come on, chop, chop. Mind the front, check for leaks... Hop-to now, we haven’t got all day.”

Pouring himself a soothing sip of rum, Felicity sat in his chair, lofting his boots upon the table and contemplated his shaking hand til dusk, when the rest would find him. Waltzing in, the ghostly spectre slipped in through the door, and found himself a pleasant seat. “It would be you...” Felicity griped, “Come to haunt me?”

“Never did stop to gawk upon at your accolades. You can tell a lot of a sea captain by what he finds to spackle his walls with. Is... Is that a Rhicktor pocket watch? Me pappy once carried one between the pub and his ship. Said he’d die with it, but I haven’t got the chance to ask him yet.”

“Ay, they’re vintage now, cost an arm and a leg. Most of them broke, which is why it went out of business a hundred years ago. Apparently they’re worth more broken than repaired.”

“And a seventeenth century Rembrandt?”

“School of Rembrandt, certainly... Though my painting looks like someone sewn the nose back on.” Watching the helmsmen come in from the cold. “Any word Jambalaya?”

Pulling up his nightly share, the man returned “Mind the steady breeze, we’ll be there by morning.” And took his liquid muscle relaxer back up to the wheel.

Picking up a strange artifact, Long Dong pulled the ethereal cork and sniffed the contents. “So what be your tale?” He ushered, drinking from the unearthly bottle.

“Why do you bother, there’s nothing in it...”

“Addiction... Tis no longer the ruse of a spirits quenching ichor that haunts me to it, but the action... I miss the action... It were the solace of a day’s end, wherewith it may sooth the idle hands of a man who’s mind outpaced his own body...” Rather questioning the thrill of ghostly empty.

In the silence there came a warmth in the atmosphere. “My story...” Felicity pondered, leaned back in his chair. “Grew up in Athens, learned to fight in Sparta... Once sailed the Iliad, combing the shores as a deck hand before I became a captain. Stumbled upon a sirens rock, as their songs rang in through our ears. The experienced of sorts, started shoving their ears full of wax, while in my youth I simple stood on deck, captivated, and flopped out me smooth Johnson onto the handrails. They were so surprised, that I lured five sirens on deck with my charms, and those who were knowledgeable slain them where they stood. We were serving sushi off the tits of mermaids by sunrise, and all the tail you could eat. By age twenty two I was shipwrecked and taken under the wing of a viking warlord who mistook me for a bride... But, being the man that he was, he simply laughed and went back to drinking. I spent four years hunting down the union jacks that took his life, and by twenty six, I commanded three longboats and a war-galley. Never did get used to the skull cup thing... There wasn’t a British fucker alive that dreamed, where I wasn’t in it, scoping the coats for vengeance... But the spirit was no longer with me. Funny thing a life times worth of honour can warrant you, and bar from the same place you fought to protect. From there I headed west from Portigal to the new world. I lost me land legs and now I’m here upon the southern waters of Venezuela... But I spend me winters in Jamaica when I can. Uruguay wasn’t as fun as it sounded, and south of that just gets colder. Most the crew from the old country have passed, and by the end of the month, I should be up with my diversity quotas for once.”

“Don’t suppose you passed the port of Cockermouth in your travels, have ya? Shitty little town port between the two parts of the English isles that hates each other best... We was headed for New Acadia, near the port of Nova Scotia, inland. It was the promised land of any poor victim of the poverty and warring clans. Was just a couple of sheckles loose of stowing away, not that it mattered anyway. The ship found it’s way into a storm they call The Reckoning, that dragged us with her for four days and four nights, and by the time we were loosed of her, we found land off the coast of Spain. Only six of us made it out of there, with not a thing to call our own. Sold scrap from the wreckage to feed mouths. Worked a saw mill to make ends-meat until I was fourteen, when a wharf called up needing extra hands, and mine were best fit. The pay was nice too. Built me first boat at the age of seventeen, by twenty it were a vessel. They sank it five hundred yards off the coast when the French came and burned down the docks and stifle the competition over spice trades. Having been tossed aside from all that you love make bitter a man, and in the night I took it back to France, clung to the anchor eight days; sneaking aboard for baguettes and blue cheese. To this day they still figure the Spanish did it, when I left their docks ablaze and sailed off with their finest cruise vessel stationed there. Manned it meself for four months til I could spot me a crew. We took whatever side would pay us, til they caught onto our war profiteering, and made our way for the new world as kings. One box leads to another box, and before you knew it, Steve was your uncle...”

“A skiff perhaps... but a whole galley?”

“Ay, says me. Built many fine ship upon those shores, knew them better than most men piloting them...”

“Is that so...” Felicity warmed up, toasting the old legend best they could. “I’ve heard they’ve seen dog fights more civil than those old clans battles, word is they still haven't picked a winner yet...”

“Ay, you should have seen the highlands when it wasn’t Sunday...”