Thursday 2 January 2014

Part two: In which George meets a god-ess?

The door creaked slowly open, and light flowed into the room. George squinted up and was able to make out two dark shapes silhouetted against the doorway. They moved closer and one of them grabbed him by the legs.

“All right Matey, we’re taking you to see the Capitenne,” said Gruff, his wooden leg made a hollow knocking sound on every step.

“The Captain?” said George. He’d never spoken to a captain before. He’d once been asked to find a new feather for the captain’s hat while they were in port, but he gave it to the First Mate - who promised to pass it on with his regards.

“No, 'Capitenne' – you aren’t saying it right,” growled Gruffer, moving round to his shoulders “Now shut your grog hole and be quiet.” They lifted him into the air and carried him through the door.

Once they entered the galley, the flickering light from the oil lamps gave George his first chance to look around at his captors. The one that he had been calling Gruff was holding his legs with his back to him, but he could tell from his slight frame he was much younger than most of the pirates he knew. His short hair was also unusual, most pirates let their hair grow long while at sea, sometimes cutting it when they went a’wenching on land.

The pirate he had named Gruffer was holding his shoulders, and George could see right up his nose, which, although he was an older pirate, was also well trimmed and unusually hairless. His jaw looked as though it had been chiselled from rock, and a slight stubble sat around the edges. In short, Gruffer was handsome, and that was by pirate standards. By landlubber standards, he was practically a god.

Step, knock, step, knock.

Step, knock, step, knock.

They walked down the ship toward the captain’s cabin. The rhythm of their steps sent George into a pleasant daze, he closed his eyes, relaxed into the trip and hummed a couple of bars of ‘The eye behind the patch’. He was just about to get to the chorus when a loud noise echoed round their heads. The ship rocked heavily to the side and George opened his eyes again in time to see Gruffer opened his manly mandible

 “BLOODY BILGERATS!” he bellowed “Those idiots upstairs need to tie the boats better! They’ll have us all down with Davey Jones at this rate.”

George used the break in movement to take a look around again. This time he found himself in the bunk room, hammocks were swinging between joists, and all around him stood a horde of unfamiliar men, staring at him with their eyes. Their beautiful, beautiful eyes.

Every one of the men that surrounded him was at least an 8/10. Accounting for personal tastes, they would all definitely be a 9 after a couple of swigs from a bottle of rum.  He marvelled at the splendour around him, and suddenly felt very self-conscious. It wasn’t that he was ugly. In his own crew he was probably above average., but if he went to a tavern with any of these guys, he would definitely be the ugly friend. He felt like a man that had accidentally walked into the ladies toilet - he decided to take the only honourable action, and shut his eyes.

He heard a few snickers, but the walking started up again soon enough and the noise eventually died away. After a while, they stopped again and he heard a knocking. He took the noise to mean that they had arrived at the captain’s quarters, but he didn’t open his eyes yet, the last time had been too harrowing. The door creaked open and they walked in.

“Capitenne, we have brought the prisoner,” said Gruff, or maybe it was Gruffer. He couldn’t tell. His brain was too addled by beauty.

The next voice that spoke was gruffer than both of them put together. Gruff like a buffalo gargling rocks, like the low rumbling of a volcano, or the rolling fullness of thunder after lightening.

“Put him in the seat. I want to talk to him alone.”

He felt himself being carried, and then lowered into a wooden chair. His eyes stayed firmly shut. There was no way that he could deal with the Adonis standing infront of him right now. His crew was dead, his self-esteem shattered, the last thing he needed right now was to have his sexuality be confused by what was undoubtedly the most handsome man in the world.

“Open your eyes, boy.” The words flowed over him like treacle over porridge. He felt them sink into him. They entered his head slowly, as though travelling through every orifice, resonating deeply in every pore. He felt compelled. Powerless to refuse.

He opened his eyes and prepared for the worst.
Infront of him stood a woman.

No. The facial hair stopped that train of thought.

A man?

No. The hips were too shapely.

A man wearing an incredibly seductive and flattering dress?

No. At least, maybe?

His eyes looked down at the jet black, high heel pirate boots ®.From there they moved up and saw the start of a perfectly smooth, toned and tanned leg. His stomach dropped, but his eyes continued upwards, drinking in the flawless calf. He lingered for a second at the kneecap, marvelling at its shape. He felt something stir within him. He was just a boy, no one had prepared him for this. He reeled and almost blacked out, but caught himself in time to take a deep breath. He held it for a second and tried to let it out slowly, letting the air blow through his lips like a soft breeze in summer. They were dry. So dry. He tried to lick them, but his tongue wouldn’t move, so enraptured was he by the sight he now beheld. His eyes seemed to move on their own; upwards they went, following the inner thigh high up into the fabric that concealed it from him. He strained against his bindings, trying to see an extra inch, another angle. He took in its curve, supple and gracious, as it rose up into the folds of white cloth that floated down from above. Tantalisingly short; the dress was revealing enough to cause hope, yet long enough to frustrate. It flowed like mist on a winter’s morning, outlining all that it contained, but concealing it from sight. He strained again at his bindings, yearning welling up inside, he forgot to breath, and fainted.

George the Pirate


George the pirate jumped down from the Crow's nest.
His arm was raised in his pirate-patented parrot claw pose.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" He shouted again. "CAAAW," this time he added the parrot noise that his old captain had taught him.

He started moving forward menacingly, growling softly under his breath. He wasn't really sure if parrots growled or not, but the response made up for it.
All around him the invading pirates stopped what they were doing, and stared at him.

"Good stuff George," he thought to himself. He turned his eyes in a slow circle, taking in the surrounding chaos, and reached his non claw hand down towards his pirate belt.

It was at this point that George realised that he had left his sword in the nest.
He also noticed that all of his shipmates were on the floor, most of them not moving.

The boarders closed in on him...


He woke to the sound of keys rattling nearby, and tried to sit up from the floor. He gave up when he banged his head against something and found that his arms and legs had been tightly bound with a perplexing pirate knot.
He looked around, and instantly recognised the shabby interior from his long stint as an apprentice pirate potato peeler.

Four years ago, when George had started his pirate apprenticeship, he had been put to work in the galley with the other pirate peelers. He had worked hard, peeling faster than all the others, and led the rest of the crew in the sea shanty choruses. After only a couple of days, he had been given his own room in the back of the galley with the peelings.
As the head chef had said, it was more efficient this way; fewer people in the kitchen, and he could put the peelings straight into the bag.
He could also practice his sea shanties whenever he wanted, which was a nice, because none of the other pirates seemed to want to join in.

He had worked in the room for 2 years, loudly peeling potatoes to the sound of his own songs: 'Yar, it be a pirates life', 'My pirate lady (would you be)' and his proudest piece, 'The eye behind the patch'.
George had always wanted to be a pirate poet. Things at sea just seemed to rhyme; "Peg and leg", "Ship and Clip", "Gull and Skull". One of the best things about being a pirate was that you never saw an orange out at sea.

George could still hear muffled noise on the other side of the door, the keys were rattling and it sounded like two people were arguing in hushed voices.
He rolled over onto his front and squirmed and slithered his way over the peelings and put his ear to the rickety door.

"None o' the keys work," said a gruff voice.
"Are ye sure ye've tried them all?" replied another, slightly gruffer voice.
"Aye, I'm sure. She said it was the one with a potato on it," said the gruff voice.
George squirmed a bit, and put his eye to a hole near the floor. Looking through it, he could see four legs. Three of them were wearing official brand pirate boots (r). The fourth leg was stout and manly down to the knee, but from there the pirate's stripy shorts came to an abupt end and his leg continued to the floor as a lump of wood, scarred with gashes and chunks. Near the top someone had carved a small penis shape followed by "Billy wuz 'ere".

"Hello," George said.
"Oi, what was that?" George saw the peg-leg pirate swivel and look around - clearly that was Gruff
"I think it came from in there," said the other pirate - That was Gruffer.

"I like your boots," George said, "are they real?"
"Whassat?" said Gruffer, taken aback by the talking door, "O'course they be real. I plundered 'em for m'self from the pirate bay in port-au-prince, not three days ago."
George heard a soft thump followed by a curse.
"Are ye quite done talking about fashion?" growled Gruffer.
"I was only answering his question"
Another thump.
"Well stop 'only' answering questions, and help me open this door ya pox ridden dopewit".
"I've already tried all the keys!"
"Oh," said George, "you just need to wiggle it a bit. Some of the peelings accidentally got into the lock, and now it doesn't work so well."
George knew that the peelings hadn't been put in the lock accidentally. Work had been boring sometimes, so he had come up with a game he had called 'peelings in the keyhole'.
He could't remember how he scored it right now though...