Fortnightly Writing Competition - Subject: Pirates! (11/8 - 12/5)

[kconan]

The subject is "Pirates".  No software pirates, and no modern day versions (Somali Pirates).  I be talkin' to ye about pre-1900s eye-patch wearin', peg-legged, swashbucklin' scoundrels of the seas who would make their own mother walk the plank just for a few dubloons.

No real limitations on the story or poem, just that it should be more than a paragraph and involve old school pirates.  Voting starts on December 5th.

Yer booty is a gold pen flying the jolly roger colors.

[Ponch]

The ship was huge. Colossal. Mountainous. The largest sailing ship ever put to water some said. The largest thing ever built by man, said those who had actually seen her. Brobdingnagian, a writer with a thesaurus had once opined.

And yet, thought Captain Big Jack Handlebar... I think she could stand to be just a little bigger. He stroked his enormous waxed mustache as he pondered this impossible dream.

There wasn't a tree left in anywhere on the three islands that had been tasked with providing the wood for her construction. There were more men on this ship now than there were left back in his home country. Eventually the press gangs had fallen upon each other in a desperate attempt to make their quotas to fill her crew. The foundries had melted down all the bed frames in a dozen orphanages just to have enough metal to cast the numerous miniature cannon for the model of this ship that sat on a heavy oaken table in the captain's great room. That the model itself was ridiculously large went without saying.

But damn did she cut a fine shape as she sailed into these waters, putting the fear of God into her enemies and scaring the hell out of the wildlife who were convinced that some sort of bizarre eclipse was occurring every day except during the hours just before and after high noon. Show me one other ship that can blot out the sun like this fine girl of mine, though Jack.

Just last week they'd sailed past an island filled with friendly natives. Sadly, the sheer volume of water displaced by the ship as she sailed along had swamped the island, destroying the natives and their village entirely. Pity, thought Big Jack Handlebar. But then they should have had the good sense to have built their island on stilts, shouldn't they?

On the Quarter deck far below, the officer of the watch was busy sending up smoke signals to the captain. But a layer of lazily drifting clouds betwixt Jack and the officer below made a muddle of the message. Betwixt, thought Jack. Fine word, that. I should use it more often. Then, with as much solemness as the moment required of him, Big Jack turned to his messenger boy and informed him that he was to go down to the Quarter deck and see what it was that the officer wanted.

To his credit, the boy didn't cry or even tremble very much.

Good boy, this one, thought Jack to himself. Pity to lose him. The last three messenger boys he had sent down to request extra desserts be sent up on the dumb waiter had never returned. Some said they'd been picked off by rocs the nested amidst the gigantic staircases. Others said that their young bodies simply weren't up to the hardship of the journey. Hopefully, this boy would be different.

Stoically, Jack watched him struggle into his parka and shrug on his back pack filled with survival gear. The Sherpa guide helped him secure the large coil of rope around his tiny shoulders. It took all of Jack's steely resolve not to let the tears well up when the boy crisply saluted him from somewhere inside the depths of his over-sized parka.

"Boy," said Jack, his gruff baritone carrying through the chill, thin air.

"Yes, captain?" said the boy, almost overwhelmed at this simple acknowledgment from his beloved captain before what was surely a suicide mission.

"When you get to down there... Be sure to tell them that I want an extra damned pudding cup next time."

"Yes, sir," said the boy and left without another word.

(Author's note: Upon further reflection, I suddenly realize that this story is really more about the "Age of Sail" and less about "Pirates." But I stand by my little story that came to me while I was eating my morning Pop-Tarts. If the lack of piracy eats away at you, keeping you up at night, then let's say than unbeknown to his crew, Big Jack has discarded his orders and essentially stolen this ship and is preparing to embark on a career of piracy... Just as soon as lunch has been delivered. And there had better be two pudding cups this time. God help them if there isn't!)

[Atelier]

I was going to enter but Ponch put me off. Naught but Davy Jones can take the wind from his sails.

However, it won't stop me lusting after kconan's sensuous, golden booty.

[Ponch]

I was going to enter but Ponch put me off. Naught but Davy Jones can take the wind from his sails.

However, it won't stop me lusting after kconan's sensuous, golden booty.

Hey now, don't be like that! There's still plenty of time to come up with a great pirate story between now and the deadline. Hell, if your story actually has pirates in it then that's a point in your favor! And if it will help, I'll let you on the secret to my inspiration: Two frosted strawberry pop tarts and a large glass of chocolate milk for breakfast. Man, I was riding along the crest of the wave of sugar highness. The story just flew from my fingers this morning.

Of course, the crash soon followed, leaving me sprawled out on the classroom floor in front of all my students. But that's the price you pay for a good (non) pirate story, right?

I have faith in you, Atelier, is what I'm saying. Now get on a sugar high and start typing!

__________
p.s. We all lust after kconan's eye-catching booty. Most of us just don't have the courage to admit it! So there's another point in your favor!

[kconan]

  No one should relegate themselves to swabbin' the poopdeck just yet.  Ponch's story is hilarious, but I don't think its a lock and there are plenty of other stories to be told...Historical fiction about Henry Morgan, or maybe some swashbucklin' romance on the high seas, or perhaps a comedy about Magentabeard the fearless pirate who has either hooks or peglegs for all of his appendages.

[Dualnames]

Entry: Galleon
Deep in the sea,

What shall we do..., as a chant of monks appeared to be carried with the wind.

 Beneath an ugly storm of rain in the middle of absolute nowhere,

... with a drunken sailor?

a ship full of pirates is roaming the sea. They are singing songs and drinking beers. The ship from afar appears like a small lighthouse in the night. The sky appears to be filled with clouds. Everyone else would be kind of tense in that ship, but it seems that the pirates don't really care about the weather.

Early in the morning..., they all shout.

They all seem to be tremendously happy. Except for one man. He sits in his corner of the table, motionless. He's just sitting there. All around him everyone is dancing and singing, and drinking. He just stares. At his drink. And the drink stares back at him.

The pirates take a big wooden piece, and place it at the end of the ship's side, thus creating a wooden plank.

Way-hay, up she rises...

An accordion player starts adding background to the song.
The sad man stands up, and walks the plank.

Early in the morning..., they sing more loud, altogether.

He falls into the sea. And the pirates carry on with the singing.

Put him in the long boat 'til he's sober

[kconan]

Avast!  Here be more booty to tempt the mutinous scalawags who dare not to set sail...

2nd place
3rd place
4th place

[Ponch]

3rd place

This made me laugh. Very cute.

[Bob Bannerman]

Avast!  Here be more booty to tempt the mutinous scalawags who dare not to set sail...

2nd place
3rd place

And with a caterwauling I cries.. argh booty! 'n picks up me pen to join in the games.

[Oddysseus]

I got a little carried away with my entry, but then, isn't that the point?


Steve the Pirate Encounters an Old Acquaintance

"Stephen? Stephen Bly?"
Steve looked across the Captain's quarters at a fresh-faced young man in a starched blue uniform.
"Todd Dwyer?" A cannonball sailed through one wall of the cabin and out through the other. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age! What have you been up to?"
"I could ask the same of you!" Todd replied, pointing slyly. "I almost didn't recognize you in that tattered coat and skullcap!"
"Haven't you heard?" Steve said, his hands at his hips. "I'm a pirate now!"
"You don't say! I heard about the court martial, but I never thought..."
"Well, those children had it coming." Steve interrupted. "But, well, it was hard finding work after that, so I decided to go into business for myself. Took myself a boat..."
"Just took one?" Todd asked, folding his arms, his head cocked to the same side as his smile.
Steve grabbed the lapels of his jacket and puffed out his chest. "It's like they said at the Academy, Todd. You've gotta show initiative."

He was interrupted by the tinkle of glass as a young sailor was thrown bodily through a nearby window. "And what about you, Todd? Is that a star I see shining above your breast pocket?"
"Oh, this little bauble?" Todd mused, brushing the medal as he would a stray piece of lint. "It's nothing. I saved the Admiral's daughter from a pack of ornery cannibals, that's all."
"That's all? Well, I'll speak no more of it, then."
"Just betwixt us two," Todd leaned in, his tone confidential, "It was complete coincedence."
"No!"

Todd looked around the cabin, ignoring the screams and gunfire, "I was just rowing my skiff out to shore to procure some coconut milk for my breakfast, when who should I see crashing through the treeline and plunging into the surf but some blonde beauty in a camisole! Before I know what's what, she's flopped into my boat, and I'm rowing back to my ship under a hail of wooden spears and tribal invectives!"
"And the lady... sopping wet the whole time, was she?"
Todd waggled his finger. "Decency does not permit me to discuss such matters," he said with mock seriousness, "except to mention that her gratitude for her rescuer was multitudinous and passionate!"

Steve and Todd both chuckled at this until they were interrupted by a flaming arrow plunking into the opposite wall. Todd unstoppered a flagon of water with his teeth and doused the fire.
"Flaming arrows? Seriously?" he muttered. "I thought you were a pirate, not a Visigoth."
"That'll be Chang." Steve growled. "I keep telling him to cut it out with the arrows, but his English is as bad as my table manners, I'm afraid."
"In any case, we should get down to business," Todd opined as he sat down in his Captain's chair and put his spotless boots up on the desk. "I can see from here that my boys are getting their rears handed to them. So, what shall you do with my crew?"
"Not a worry, old chum." Steve soothed. "We're not animals. The crewmates who resisted will be swiftly put down, and the rest sold into slavery."

"Seems reasonable." Todd nodded. "And the women?"
Steve leaned his back against a bulkhead. "Well, I'll try my best, Todd- but I can't guarantee anything. My crew has been at sea now for three months. There may be a wee bit of rape here and there."
"These things happen." Todd said, shrugging his shoulders.
"You, of course, will be our special prisoner. I'll set up an extra bunk in my cabin- it'll be just like our school days! Until the Navy pays your ransom."
"I don't know." Todd sighed.
"What? Of course they'll pay your ransom! You'll be back in uniform in no time, with an heroic surviver's tale to boot!"
"That's just it" Todd sighed. "I don't know if I'd even want to come back. Ever since the promotion, it's just diplomacy this, contracts that... I spend more time escorting pleasure cruises than I do sailing the open seas."

Just then, a young man in a bloodstained blue uniform climbed through the broken window, pistol in hand.
"Cap'n Todd!" he cried, raising the gun at Steve.
"Not now, Higgins." Todd waved him away dismissively. "I'm thinking."
"But sir!"
"You know, Todd..." Steve said quietly as he raised his hands above his head, "there's one job where you can see all the seas you want."
"What?" Todd mumbled, distracted.
"Join us." Steve said, matter-of-factly.

"Permission to fire, Cap'n!" Higgins shouted, blinking through the blood dripping down his forehead.
"Sod off, Higgins." Todd sneered.
"Sir?" Higgins's eyes grew dark. "Sir, in light of your fraternizing with the enemy, I am relieving you of"
A thunderous shot punctuated his sentence before he could finish it. Higgins looked down at the gash in his chest and promptly sank to the floor.

"Yo ho," said Todd, his breath swirling the smoke from the rifle in his hand, "A pirate's life for me!"

[kconan]

  Anyone else?  I'll wrap it up in a few days.

[Ponch]

Come on people. We need at least one more entry. Otherwise no one will win that awesome pirate crayon!

[Atelier]

I'll stake my claim to a third of the booty!

[Ponch]

I'll stake my claim to a third of the booty!

You have to write something first! If you don't enter, then nobody gets that awesome crayon! AND I WANT THAT CRAYON!!!

So get to writing already! I've seen the AGSville political map. You live in a castle on a huge private estate. You must have loads of leisure time. So pick up a pen and get to it!

[kconan]

I'll give it two more days before starting the vote, just to give one or maybe two more folks a chance to enter.   8)

[kconan]

Start VOTING now!  I'll step in only if there is a tie.

[Ponch]

Start VOTING now!  I'll step in only if there is a tie.

Oddysseus.

[Atelier]

Poop. This isn't an entry just proof that I started something, and also so it wouldn't go to waste.

The night was calm, and not a soul troubled The Freebooter on its anchorage, somewhere far, far out at sea. The breeze caught the sails gently and furled the mighty flag; the colours of fearless pirate No-nose Jimbo. It was a ship of the cruelest fashion; it bristled with cannons, and had dealt the fiercest blows on the Seven Seas. Even the toughest seadog's legs turned to jelly when they saw it gallop across the horizon.

I haven't won this thing in ages. Next time, it's personal

I vote Ponch.

[Ponch]

Atelier missed the deadline by 62 minutes. And that's still within the margins of "fashionably late". So we have to let him in. I'm pretty sure that's international law!

And now we have four entries*, and that means someone gets to win that awesome crayon! (I hope it's me!)

- Ponch
-----------
* Come on, kconan. Let him slide in under the wire. It's Christmas time for goodness sake! (You don't want to get on Santa's naughty list this close to the big day, do you? I hear he strangles you in your sleep for things like this).

[Oddysseus]

I vote Ponch.

Well done, sir.