To see her vlog here is the link:
So I decided to be a little pirate-ey (see it is a word now)
“Yarr! Har har har!”
The Captain laughed as he stood upon the main deck, his
curved blade strapped to his waist, a dark red and black bandana tied to his
head. He stood frozen like an ice sculpture for a full five minutes taking in
the vista of the sea before him. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath
tasting the salt in the air, though there was a strange scent to it; something
was not right yet he could not put his finger on it. It was like the scent of
pine.
Bah! What did it matter? Any person who tried to tell him
otherwise would feel his steel in their gut.
“First mate!”
“Aye Captain?”
“Set course for over yonder shoals!”
“Aye Captain!”
The first mate strode towards the wheel and gripped it, a
smile on his face. The Captain knew his first mate was a solid and dependable
man, one who had sailed with him for many years. He could never understand why
his first mate wore such strange clothes this day – dark breeches and an
equally dark jacket over a white shirt, neither cutlass nor pistol festooned
his waist and about his head was a ridiculous head band of some striped
material tied with the tassel on the side of his head. The Captain turned
towards the wheel house and strode over to the first mate, five steps on two
small children ran out in front of the Captain.
“Whose urchins are those?”
“Umm your son’s, Captain... Remember?”
The Captain grunted in reply and his eyes took on a slightly glazed look, “Yes... Where... Where is my son?”
“Umm your son’s, Captain... Remember?”
The Captain grunted in reply and his eyes took on a slightly glazed look, “Yes... Where... Where is my son?”
“He died last winter, remember? He was in London.”
The Captain’s face softened and tears brimmed quietly in his eyes, a second later he blinked and roared “Arrr! The English!”
The Captain’s face softened and tears brimmed quietly in his eyes, a second later he blinked and roared “Arrr! The English!”
The first mate watched his Captain, sadness mixed in with
his smile, he would miss this. The Captain turned from the first mate and spied
a woman that had just stepped on deck from the dark cabin.
“YOU! Wench! Harlot! Be gone from my deck!”
A woman walked in through the door leading from the drawing room. She wore a severe, dark dress-suit and stared at her brother in disbelief.
“Well I never! Harlot!”
With that she flounced off back the way she had come. Her
brother stood upon the large dining room table, a hand-kerchief tied about his
head like a bandana and in his hand he brandished a wooden sword carved into the
likeness of a pirate’s cutlass. His daughter’s son stood in a dark suit, tie
fastened around his head like some headband, the son’s nephew and niece ran
around enjoying their adventure even though their own father had died earlier that
week. It pained the grandson that the old man could not distinguish the stories
he told from the grand stage productions he used to do and the faded tapestry
of the old man’s mind.
But he loved his grandfather nonetheless for the grand
adventures he had listened to since he had been a young child. Though his
grandfather could not find the light to the bathroom in the dark he could still
make one believe they stood upon the deck of a pirate ship.
Harlot indeed.
His grandfather died a week after his uncle, chasing
shadows with his cutlass until his heart gave out. Many people came from all
over the world to celebrate the passing of a true story spinner. When the first
mate stepped up to the podium to speak about his grandfather his entire speech
was forgotten. He simply put his notes down and started to speak.
“Yarrr. Har har har.”
“Yarrr. Har har har.”
So make something pirate-ey and keep a weathered eye on the horizon.
