*SWAK mop mop mop* "Clean the deck, mop the deck, must keep a tidy ship..." he says!
If our good Master Tar would not overindulge in rum and spicy eel sushi, THEN attempt to "do donuts" in the middle of a high sea with the Fiddler's Fancy, then we wouldn't worry about keeping a clean deck!
Two grown fools, spinning their crews in circles!
But what can one expect---Master Tar allowing a MUSICIAN to join up with our ship and our fortunes! This does not bode well. Fiddlers are bad luck to a ship.
Ah well. It could have been worse than a musician....we might have gained a drummer.
*ending soliloquy, and looking over the ships side, hand on pistol*
ai, they're out there ag'in.....undead manatees.....sneaking, putrefying, deadly....
Well, not really deadly. Turns out undead manatees do not feed upon the flesh of the living.
They do, however, rise from the depths at night to hunt for....fudge.
And the Ambassadors, the both of them, smuggled contraband chocolate aboard ship in our last port, and these sea devils have been trailing us every since.
We think they change, on moonlit nights. They turn into mer-like creatures, and climb the ropes. We find their wet footprints in the morning, and no one else aboard the crew will claim these marks.
Aye. Tis a chilling sight. Cold, wet footprints.
And candy wrappers. Lots of candy wrappers, scattered all over the ship, the little bilge-ridden slobs.
And giggling. All hours. Kept me up until 3am last night....
No, wait...that was Master Tar and the Fiddler. Stupid rum. No real pirate is up all night giggling and playing "Spin the Cabin Boy."
*ending another unforeseen soliloquy, Jane listens for sounds in the suddenly quiet night. No sounds. Just the sound of water, lapping against the old timbers.
The silver moon comes out from behind the clouds....nothing moves on the surface of the sea...*
It's too quiet. I know they're out there. Are they hiding from me....or did something shy them off?
*listening....waves...and a humming is heard from the sea...*
A humming, a whirring, clickings and grindings....strange noises rising from below the dark water.
The water is now rising and pitching, waves slapping against the rocking ship.
Something deep in the water---and by the rising sounds, coming to the surface
Something---now glowing as it approaches. There is groaning, but not like ship's wood. The grinding, growling---not alive, but like sounds of old mills. And now, knocking, like the advancing hands of a church yard's clock.
And then with a crash of waves, it rushes the surfaces, a behemoth with a smooth gleaming wet skin in the moonlight, armored like nothing that was ever born in the depths. Ridged along its back, with curved blade-like flares, it rises, breaches high, then falls back upon the surface with a splash---agleam with phosphorous lights on its surface.
I turn, running from the rail, slipping upon the wet deck to fling myself at the warning bell. I grab the rope and pull, calling out in the night along with the din of the bell: "ALL HANDS! ALL HANDS! To the cannons as fast as ye can! Hell is risen on our port side!"
And behind me, the glowing becomes brighter and I hear,
"Mistress Sofia, do you think we should offer her tea?"