zestofthesea | (no subject)

A single glowing yellow eye peers over the side of the starboard railing from the shadow of a tricorn hat. "Aye, ye look it, or somethin' close enough! A slice o' driftwood is no place for a wee kumquat like yerself. Climb aboard, lad!"

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Should he add another thank you for good measure? It's just hard to express the sheer depth of his gratitude and relief to be given a literal lifeline in the middle of this saltwater nightmare.

Just. Please be patient while it takes Jeff a bit to climb the rope. He's built like a pool noodle.

This is what happens when you skip gym class, kids.

"Ye climb like yer arms are made of pith, boy! Getcher rind up here." Reaching down, Jeff's strange pirate savior hooks the back of his shirt with a hook hand and hauls him aboard.

There in the lantern light of the ship, Jeff can finally get a good look at his rescuers. The deck of the boat is full of carousing skeletons, dressed scantly in pirate paraphernalia such as belts, jewelry, boots, hats, but rarely a complete outfit. They dance to their accordion music, singing along discordantly, and drink liquor that seems to disappear once it enters their jaws, rather than running down their rib cages.

Before Jeff is inarguably the captain. His large tricorn hat, complete with a raggedy feather, hook hand, and nautical coat all indicate his status, but a jeweled cutlass at his side and a gaggle of rings on his bony phalanges are enough to seal the deal. He spreads his arms wide. "Alright, ye scurvy curs, enough bone-rattlin'. We have a guest to welcome aboard!" He turns back to Jeff. "What be yer name, lad?"

Jeff yelps in surprise, but the hook hauling him up is far from unwelcome. He definitely needed the assist. And now that he's on the deck and getting a look at the crew, uh.

"Holy shit..."

They're skeletons. That's fucking wild, and he should probably be terrified right now, but on the scale of potentially horrifying shit, skeletal pirates solidly rank at totally awesome.

"I'm Jeff. Jeff Calhoun, sir-- uh, captain?"

"Aye, Captain Royal Dominguez, at yer service!" The captain takes a sweeping bow, then turns back to his crew. "Crew, I expect all of ya to give a warm welcome to our guest, Mr. Jeff Calhoun! As for yuzu, Mr. Calhoun, welcome aboard the Limoncello! Our ship be yer ship until we find ye a place to land."

"Thanks-- for the, um, hospitality, and, you know... saving my life and everything. I really thought I was a goner."

So why does he feel so bad now? Or... maybe it's not that he's feeling bad, so much as there's some guilt stirring in him, now that he's out of the water and safe in the bony embrace of the crew. There was so much rain pouring down when he got swept away, he almost drowned in it. What happened to the others? Are people safe on high ground, or...

"Do you-- do you know Marrow Isle? That's where I came from. There was a big fucking storm..."

"Aye, the flood sank her. We all saw it, we did. That dastardly Captain Odonata of the Stag Beetle summoned the rains to trap ye aboard her vessel," Royal explains. "Ye wouldn't happen to know where they be, would ye? We're here as privateers under the contract of Lady Mortanne, to strike 'em down and put the town right!"

"Oh."

...

......

Jeff looks around, squinting out at the ocean, trying to find some trace of the island, before turning back to Royal again and shrugging helplessly.

"Well, fuck, man!"

There's a somewhat shrill note to his voice. It's all kind of a lot, you know, processing the fact that Marrow Isle sank, and everyone might be trapped on some chick's evil ship, and the only people who can save them are him and a crew of dead dudes.

At least the dead dudes are competent.

"Where do we start? We just gotta go, uh, like, the opposite direction of the current, right? That'll lead us to 'em, right?"

"Aye, if they're close. Though I rather doubt it. Ye don't happen to know which direction ye lost yer friends in, do ya? Might give us a start," Royal suggests. He lays off the puns while the discussion is serious. Perhaps they simply don't come to mind as easily in a pinch.

In the meantime, the other members of the crew begin working to steer the ship. The simplest answer is to follow the winds.

Jeff furrows his brows, really trying to set his mind to it. He's got no clue about, fuck, any of this. With the rain, the waves, the sameness of the water all around him... Once he lost sight of the island, he pretty much lost track of everything.

He can't be the only one who made it off the island. If Jeff's responsible for the rescue, then they're all screwed.

...fuck.

He looks at Royal helplessly, then.

Wait.

LIGHTBULB!

"Oh! I can help! The-- that piece of wood I was floating on? It came from town! If we fish it out, I can do, like--" He wiggles his fingers. "Magic shit. It could help us track them!"

Edited 2024-04-28 09:00 (UTC)

"Magic shit!" Royal exclaims, which sounds utterly hilarious in the comical pirate voice. "Very good, Mr. Calhoun! You heard him, men, get the seeds outta yer ears! Fetch our guest his raft so we can pulp those pests aboard the wicked Stag Beetle!"

"AYE AYE, CAPTAIN!" the skeletons bellow back, Spongebob style. And within a few minutes the crew is hauling the driftwood Jeff had been riding onto the deck.

"Can ye chart us a course with this, matey?"