Monday 3 March 2014

Part three - in which George gets a job.

George came to, his head was pounding and his eyelids throbbed.

"Wake up, you tiny membered, mast riding, son of a sea serpent," growled the Capitenne, "open your eyes and grow a spine, you lily-livered, sea cucumber!" The vitriol that came spewing from the Capitenne's mouth was made worse by its sheer volume.

George opened his eyes. Slowly at first, squinting carefully through the lashes as he tried to avoid accidentally catching another glimpse of the Capitenne's luscious legs. As his lids parted further, the room started to take shape. In front of him stood a man. Definitely a man this time, but grizzled, and sea worn. His long hair was matted and dark. His beard was the same and, despite its ragged nature, George couldn't help but be jealous. Ever since he had been a young child he had aspired to grow a beard like that.
Once, a travelling salesman had sold him some Mir'arrgh'cle pirate hair tincture® for his face, but it turned out to be cat's piss, and he was followed by strays for a week. George was an enterprising lad though and as a stubbleless youth he had experimented with a variety of prosthetic beards. After much trial and error - balancing warmth with form and function - he had found the best solution at the local baths. He would sneak in at the end of the day to gather the hair from the plugholes, and then stick it to his face with some tar from a local shipyard. This would last for a couple of weeks before he was forced to replace it, which was left just enough time to gather more hair for the next beard.
Eventually though, George had given up, and decided to let what happened, happen. Recently, after 10 years of refusing to shave, he had managed to grow a small moustache and goatee, and he was very protective of those wisps of hair.

Snapping back to the present, George brought his eyes back into focus and saw the pirate still standing in front of him.

And this really was a pirate. It was the pirate that you heard about from stories, the one that rampaged across the seven seas and sacked whole cities on a whim. Even his stance told stories, his cocky grin described a lifetime of pillaging and his swanky pirate-brand clothing betrayed a nonchalant yet superb sense of fashion.

When he saw George's eyes were open, the Capitenne took a step forward and brandished a gnarled fist "Y'ell be workin' in the kitchen wi the rest of the maggots," he said, and punched George in the gut. George's world grew dark and he passed into a deep and troubled sleep, filled with fanciful images of bearded mermaids and mountains of treasure. This, however, was not unusual.

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