dizzy_land | SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

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SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

Crowley awoke, not in his comfortable bed inside Club 33, but disoriented and hung over on a bench in front of the castle, an empty bottle of rum still clutched in one hand, mouth fuzzy, and head pounding.

"Ngk."

He brought up the other hand to guard his bleary, uncovered eyes from the glaring sun. It took him a moment to realize that there was a great deal more frilly sleeve around his wrist than there should be. After a perfectly still moment, Crowley ever so cautiously moved his hand down slightly to discover a mustache and double braided beard.

"Bugger."

It wasn't what he meant to say.

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"A'course I know," he finally relented, fighting the urge to pull up his rifle and stun himself until it went away. "It jest be..." No, he really couldn't explain it. Explain how words for him were meant to be short and succinct, not so... this.

Not to mention how well it destroyed reputation and image to get caught up in the park's tricks. It didn't matter so much for Sunshine to see it, but if anyone else happened by... "I know naught of any beast by the name o' Kracken, by any star in the heavens."

"Aye, well, a Kraken be a sort of squid-shaped sea beastie. 'Tis the size of an island, and the stories do say it can drag down even the doughtiest ship to the depths of Davy Jones' locker. Tennyson wrote a poem about it sleepin' and only risin' from the sea at the end of th' world, an' Jules Verne 'ad somethin' like it in one of his books. Which I don't expect ye've read, but me brothers thought rare an' excitin'."

"Now heave to an' let me show ye what I've brought ye out of me bung-hole." Suspecting that this might not be entirely clear ("Bung-hole" meant "ship's larder." What?) she indicated the food.

"T'ain't a real creature, then?" Fett surmized, racking his brain for references. "Sounds a sight like th'Colo Claw Fish from Naboo. They be powerful hideous creatures." All right, what was with all the extra narration? It was like once he got going, he couldn't....

He stepped away from the door to let her in. "Awful kind of ye, lass." Stop. Talking.

"Oh, aye, it be real enough, laddie." ("Laddie"? Heh.) She stepped in and began unpacking the food on the nearest convenient surface. "Leastways, thar do be squid of monstrous size in the oceans of th' North. I canna speak as to th' end of th' world, a' course."

She pulled out a container and proudly displayed a couple of sugar cookies decorated with pirate faces (http://home-and-garden.webshots.com/photo/2056610260057033965EifdVu).

"So it be a myth'o'sorts spun from a truth." Well, there were plenty things like that in any culture, too many in his galaxy to keep track of. Like the myths of the Mandalore, his people. The myths of his home planet, Kamino, with its continents long since sunk under the sea. Fett was probably more familiar with the patterns and cruelty of the ocean than many of the park's inhabitants.

He was a bit boggled when she pulled out the cookies. Chocolate and nuts were one thing, this was- "Tis truly... a singular work." And then, because he couldn't stop himself, "Do yer customers fancy eatin' sweets with faces on 'em?"

"Aye, an' fer once th' real thing's less foul an' fearsome than th' story." This really wasn't the best vocabulary with which to discuss legends: myth vs. reality, was it? Oh well.

"Yarr, well, takin' into consideration th' number of vittles in these parts shaped like that bilge rat Mickey, I was thinkin' it were amusin'. Th' ones with th' mouse ears all sold faster n' rum in Tortuga. Folk hereabouts be startin' to feel a little quarrellous towards that lubber."

"Is'it not always th' way of it?" Well, in Fett's experience that was usually the case. People liked to bark around him because it made them feel better. He had stopped listening a long time ago.

Revenge by way of consuming eared products went over his head entirely, sad as that was; it did not actively harm the Mouse in any way, after all. What did not go over his head was that these cookies were coated in multi-colored frosting. He took one from the container to get a closer look. "Yer doin' it on purpose, I reckon," he decided.

"Not by my reckonin', matey. Seems to me the seas I sail," by which she meant her universe, "missed out on their ration of wishes comin' true and got all the ferocious beasties instead. Yarr."

She looked innocent. Suspiciously so. "Doin' what, mate?"

"I should take ye back to my seas," Fett told her. "All th' beasties either eat themselves or lose thar wind faster than sails." ...Right. He wasn't even sure what that meant now.

Innocent did not work very well on a man who made a hobby and a job of studying behavior. But he had a feeling that wasn't the point anyway. He turned the cookie around in his hand so that the smiley moustached face was pointed in her direction. "Turn me tolerance into an addiction, ye sly beauty." (Names. Whatever happened to names? Honestly.)

She wasn't exactly sure on that point, either, but, "That do be soundin' like a fair stretch of saltwater."

Sunshine grinned unrepentantly. "Arr, a sweet here an' thar wouldn't never hurt ye, me lad." Wait. Was she being coy? What. The. Hell. 'Coy' was definitely on the list of 'things Rae Seddon would never even consider being."

Hutts, he thought. That was probably what he had meant. But trying to explain that rightly was a challenge that he wasn't up to. He was talking enough as it was.

As far as coyness was concerned it sure looked that way, and beneath the helmet Fett actually blinked. "Here an' thar be another tale; you'd 'ave me eatin' enough ter feed a whole crew of sea dogs, 'f I ever had th' mind ter let ye." He stepped up to her. "T'won't work." Playful? Not possible. Not.

"Won't it, then, me fine bucko?" She sidled a step closer. "Now, ye wouldn't be thinkin' I'd ever do anything to ye that ye wouldn't enjoy?" Sunshine wasn't sure whether she looked vaguely horrified or not. If she didn't, she should. This had just stopped being funny.

Well, it had never actually been funny to him in the first place. But this was just over and beyond anything he had prepared for. He leaned in, suddenly very thankful that he kept so many barriers between himself and the world. Two-way eye contact would have been a very bad thing, he was certain. "Tis not me enjoyment I worry over much as me health, ye devilish siren."

Lack of eye contact was a good thing. Yes. "And what might I be doing to put yer health in danger, love?" Aaaaahhh make it stop!

When this was all over, he was going to find the Mouse and Cat, trap them in the energy holding cell with a grenade and- no, the flamethrower, grenades were too fast, and he would-

One hand went to the small of Sunshine's back and pulled her closer. Neverminding the fact this was completely out of his control, this was also the closest he had been to a woman in... a very long time. Which made the whole thing even harder for his brain to compute. "Ye know very well, fine lass." Why was he whispering? When does it stop, it has to, doesn't it?

"Aye, well, I was thinkin' ye might like to be...specific." Okay, aside from anything else, it was skegging bizarre to be whispering sweet nothings to a visor. And Sunshine knew from bizarre.

((I would just like to mention that I'm laughing like a loon, here. That is all.))

The one thing they still had going for them was that Sunshine hadn't gotten it into her head to remove his helmet. If that happened, it was all over.

What he really wanted to say was, pick up the rifle, set it on stun and kriffing shoot me NOW. What came out was, "Oh, if ye want specific there'll be more then talk happenin' in these waters." Whoever wrote this script was also going to be at the end of the flamethrower. Or just efficient, old-fashioned torture.

((Seriously. I keep biting my fist to make sure I don't wake up the building.))

Well, it wasn't like she even knew how or if it was attached to the rest of his armor. She ran an experimental fingertip along the bottom edge.

(Like she knew how to shoot his rifle, either. ...Oh, gods, even her parenthetical thoughts were coming up with innuendo now.) "Be that a promise, me hearty?"

It was attached. To the jumpsuit at the neck with two snap-locks that he (or anyone else for that matter, provided they could get close enough for long enough) could flip easily with his fingers. And now his narrative was betraying him.

But as long as he could keep that one word from slipping, and he had to have enough self-control for that, really, he could stop this- "Aye." ...Oh hell. "That be a promise."

Treacherous hornswogglers, internal narratives. Her hand found the snaps and undid them.

"Well then, love. Blow me down with yer specificity."

Kissing... was like riding a bike?

Well, a speeder would be more accurate in his case.

Analogies aside, he didn't seem to have any trouble remembering how to do it when faced with an order like that. He was vaguely aware that the light in the room was hurting his eyes and that being this exposed was definitely a problem and that he had actually muttered 'yo ho' before moving in, but all semi-logical thought was being held back by some invisible override circuit in his brain.

Cat. Mouse. Dead.

It had definitely been a while - a year? About that, yeah - for her too, but it did all come back to you, didn't it? She might have made a joke about whether that was a belaying pin in his trousers but fortunately all she managed was "Mmmp!" before her mouth was busy doing other things.

Her hands, too.

Belaying pin. Poison dart. Vibroblade. Comlink. The possibilities were endless with him.

So was the armor. There was a lot of it, and she probably needed help with - why would he be thinking that? This had to stop, stop right now, and so he mustered up every fiber of will he had, and managed to wrench himself from her lips just enough to utter the words: "Impatient, ain't ye?" Right, that had not worked at all like he had planned.

His hands were beginning to itch something terrible.

Speaking of his hands, what exactly had happened to that cookie he'd been holding? Sunshine had a feeling it was currently being smeared all over her lower back of her t-shirt, and while it certainly wasn't the first time she'd engaged in this kind of activity with frosting all over her, it...that really wasn't a thought conducive to stopping this now was it?

The armor was definitely a bit of a challenge, though. And, if she'd been in her right mind, fairly uncomfortable to be smooshed up against.

She bit his lower lip and then whispered, "Be that a complaint?"

The cookie was currently all over her shirt and all over his righthand glove, in fact. So clearly both items had to go.

But not while she had his lip fastened between her teeth. A unfamiliar sort of shudder ran a marathon up and down his spine, and maybe he did remember the sensation after all, but it was distant and vague and terrifying. Yeah, bit more than a year for him. Try over a decade. "Ye should know better than t'accuse me of such treachery."

He tugged up the hem of her t-shirt, cueing her to lift up her arms. That had to go, then he could help her with the armor and lost it, finally lost my mind here, only a matter of time-

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