THIRD ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY (Good lord...) Open RP!

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

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. Another second later, Crowley ever so cautiously moved his hand down to again discover a mustache and double braided beard.

"Why is the rum always gone?"

It wasn't what he meant to say.

Comments

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

"Arr, belay that me beauty," the Doctor exclaimed, with a rather comically alarmed expression that clearly conveyed what he was actually trying to say, which was 'no, no no no, please no Gilbert and Sullivan.' "Ye never know what ye might be startin,' on a day so fair cursed as the likes 'o this one."

The Master wasn't exactly the very model of a modern major general, and the Doctor really didn't want him to sing about it. In the end it would be more traumatizing than it would be funny.

[una-harlequin.livejournal.com]

"Ye've the right of that, matey," Una said, after a moment's pause to ensure that no more operetta was forthcoming. "There's all sorts of mischief a body could get up to. 'Specially with such a cutlass as the two of ye have."

Which was a fair point, but yet another saucy wink was completely uncalled for. What the hell was wrong with—oh, well, that was obvious, wasn't it? Sod the park.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"She's feelin' free ter be comparin' our cutlasses now," the Master told the Doctor, drawing his own out to have a better look at it. "Seems a disservice."

There was no way they were going to get him to sing. That was one embarrassment they could avoid, past events taken into consideration.