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The Pirate Hunter's Smarter Brother!


Inigo Montoya

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Tomas sat in the bow and listen to the destruction raining down around them. The fog was still thick yet they could hear the cannon gradually becoming more dull as the 'thuds' continued into the afternoon. Tomas rested his chin in his hand. At this singularly particular moment, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. While he wanted to head back and recover what had been lost when his boat upended on the reef, he knew there was plenty more out for the taking. Port Royal always made for entertainment. Barbados, Hispaniola, anywhere, to lead him for more. "El Capitan," called Tomas, "¿dónde vamos?" Phonse turned and looked quickly at Tomas. Tomas did not move his head, but merely his eyes to his new Captain.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Nate looked at Tomas through th haze. "Downday vaymoose, ye sez?" nate had ta think a minute ta remember wot little spanish he knew. "Ah! where we gonna run to, eh? Not fer certain maself. . . . As we seem ta be outta harms way fer now - Thank ye Father - I suppose we should figger out were away we go next." Nate scratched his chin, took off his battered hat an scratched his head. No one said a word fer a minute so Nate shrugged an reached down inta on o th sacks that had been tossed into the bottom o th longboat an brough out two bottles o rum. Faces brightened as they saw th bottles. "Weeeeellll, until this peasoup lifts, I ain't sure o where we be at particularly. Be it a good thing mayhaps we find capin Ransom n Tar? Not sure how far an away any port be from here, not a grand trip in an open boat wi little provisions. So, we gots a bit o time ta tink on it. Nate uncorked the bottles, took a gulp from one while offerin th other to wotever might take it.

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Within the pea thick fog Red Cat's chuckle turned t' a grin an she took no time in placin Phonse at th' tiller an accepted th' rum. Wit a nod an a wink t' Nate fer his thinkn t' bring such provisions along, she took a long pull, set down an hooked one foot over a coil o' line. "Wall.." she took another short pull 'fore offerin th' bottle along an paued t' consider Nate's words "agreed...we've not as much supplies a Ol Posiedon has Ocean" Cat said gesturin wide wit th' bottle even as Tomas had reached t' grab it. "Once th' Dutchie's guns stop soundin..." her face grew concerned a moment but then she considered th' odds a two agin one wit' th' Rakehell an Relentless in sight o' each other. The concern passed an th' grin returned. "Aye.. they'll give em wot for I'm sure" Tomas finally wrestled free the bottle just as she went t' gesture agin. Cat chuckled an pulled her tricorn down a bit agin th' wind as they all settled in to wait out th' fog.

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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Tomas took a long pull from the bottle. Roberts, Phonse and Roberto continued their methodical pull, slap, pull of the oars. The wind had not yet filled the sail and needed every bit of effort to keep from luffing. The Spaniard lay with his shoulder on the gun'le and watched as the Caribbean slipped by. His ears perked up suddenly. No a single sound was to be heard save for the oars. No wind, water, or even sounds from the Scotsman penetrated the fog. An eerie silence permeated the boat. Tomas looked at the slight bow wake and could see a very faint green glow in the wash. Phonse had finished his last pull and then stopped, followed by the other two oarsmen. They sat in complete silence, but keep a steadying pace. "Capitain?"

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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MacTavish, furious that the sloop held no supplies worth the taking, other than a bit of rope and canvas, let his crew practice their gunnery skill on it. By the time his rage had calmed, floating debris was the only thing left. He'd also not liked the way the hair had stood up on the back of his neck when he first boarded the vessel, nor did the rotten stench of it ease his mind.

With the fog thick about them, there was no point in trying to follow the jolly boat, or turn and attack the other two ships.

"What now, Captain?" His first mate asked.

Scratching his thick red beard, MacTavish answered, "Weel, we abide here for a while, until this infernal fog blows itself off. Then we'll see. We might catch us some bluidy Spaniards yet."

...schooners, islands, and maroons

and buccaneers and buried gold...

RAKEHELL-1.jpg

You can do everything right, strictly according to procedure, on the ocean, and it'll still kill you. But if you're a good navigator, a least you'll know where you were when you died.......From The Ship Killer by Justin Scott.

"Well, that's just maddeningly unhelpful."....Captain Jack Sparrow

Found in the Ruins — Unique Jewelry

Found in the Ruins — Personal Blog

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When the strange fate of the Relentless became obvious, all activity on the Rakehell came to a halt. Her crewe stood in stunned silence. Colard felt the sparse hairs on the back of his neck rise up, and was at a loss to understand what had happened. Standing at the rail next to him, Ransom kept staring at the empty spot of ocean where Captain Tar's ship had been.

Africa, the big blackamoor, came to stand behind her, and said, "Don known where Dat Man has gone, but good riddance to him."

To Colard's amazement, Ransom spun around and stuck the big man a hard blow to the face, shouting, "Shut up! Not another damned word, or I'll gut you where you stand and throw your bloody carcass to the sharks. Understand!"

Colard prepared to put himself between the captain and the black man, but all Africa did was glare at her, then give a curt nod.

"Good. Now, get away from me," she snarled, and turned her back on him.

Colard remained standing at the rail next to her, then quietly asked, "What do we do now, Ma'am?"

She looked at him, and to his acute embarrassment he saw that she was silently crying, the tears running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she answered, "I have no idea."

He knuckled his forehead and walked away, giving her some privacy. A few minutes later he looked back at her, a lonely figure standing at the rail, as the fog slowly engulfed the Rakehell in a shroud of white.

Edited by Colard Dysart

Then they to the tavern house

with meikle oly prance

One spoke with wordis wonder crouse

A done with mischance!

*******************

I would die where I would dine

In tavern to recline

Then would angels pray the glibber

God have mercy for this bibber.

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Nate could not see Tomas but did hear him. He squinted and could just make out the Spaniard. "Wot 's 't Toe-mass?" "Capitan, we appear to be moving along with no help from wind or oars," Tomas replied. Nate knelt and looked closer to the water. He looked to those at the oars and then to the water; to the sail and to the water. "So's we is." He nudged Cat and she looked over the side as well. She looked to the sky and could see the sun barely poking through, but the fog quickly extinguished the light. Nate looked for a moment to the bow. Cat set her chin in her palm, when suddenly she grabbed at Nate's pant. He looked down at her and they both exclaimed, "THE REEF!!"

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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"You there, pull fer chri-sakes! Pull wit all ye gots!" Nate yelled at the men on the oars as he grabbed the tiller an shoved it hard ta port. There were no waves drivin them ta th reef, so there shouldn't be a cause fer them ta not be able ta row away from gettin stuck on wot was just below th water. Thems on th oars pulled as commanded an it looked as if they was makin way, the rudder havin effect. Crazy thing was, it wasn't as much as it should be and they still were headin towards th reef. "Jay-sus, this ain't right. . . . Now we ain't big enough fer ta be wrecked on th reef, but we cn get stuck fast!" Nate handled the sheet hoping maybe a breeze would fill it and help them out, but none came. If there had been more than three banks of oars, Nate would have taken up a set and put his back into it as well if it would help. Lookin at th compass, they had changed direction some, and Nate hoped it would keep going. Nate didn't much like th idea o spendin days in an open boat or on a raft again, but he liked th idea o being marooned even less. He looked to the heavens through the fog with a look of consternation.

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Wide eyed Cat urged Roberto, Phonse and Tomas on along with NAte. Looking around urgently she grabbed up a pike which lay in the bottom of the boat to push agin th' reef if they got that close. Moving closer to th' gunnle she peered inta th' water which were still deep enough as th' longboat began t' turn. Those on th' oars rowed all th' harder "Oi Nate!! Some wind in th' sheet would be a right nice gift from th' Father right now!"

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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  • 2 weeks later...

Nate were stll lookin ta heaven when Red Cat called out ta him. Nate looked her way and shook his hand at her. "I know! I know!!! All I hears from th' Father is a bit o laughin! It ain't right I tells ye!" Nate stood up an flapped th sheet, sat down a second an stood again. Nate mumbled some under his breath an scratched his head fer a time. Nate noticed them on the sweeps were gettin tired. "Tomas, Red Cat, switch round so as ta give a rest ta thems, Robert, take th tiller." Nate took up the sweeps as Robert vacated th bench an started pullin.

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Share on other sites

As the crew switched places on the thwarts, grinds and bumps could be heard from underneath the longboat. Robert pulled the tiller back and forth, following the directions of Phonse in the bow when he flashed his arms to larboard, then starboard quickly then back again. Roberto took the pike and prodded the reef alongside Phonse. Closest to the bow Nate pried back on the oars as Tomas and Red Cat followed suit. Nate stopped suddenly and kept the oars above the water. "Oi!!, 'old 't a minute."

Tomas and Red Cat stopped. They could all hear an intermittent roar approaching. The fog was still thick even though the sun attempted to peek though. Nate turned round in his spot and squinted, trying to make out anything ahead. As the noise came closer, Nate knew that it could only be the waves crashing onshore. "PULL", he called aloud, "For th' love o' th' Lord, PULL . . . " Nate looked above, "Aye Father, I'm doin' me best, bu' I cannot guarantee th' rest." He laughed aloud as he pulled hard on the oars. Tomas turned to Red Cat behind him, "Does he always do that?" "Of course," snickered Red Cat, "How d' yuh think we've gotten this far eh?" Tomas smiled and shook his head slowly.

Edited by Tomas Guerrero

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Nate knew not why but fer wotever reason they was not able ta row away from wotever shore they was near. The boat had cleared the reef mostly an were now headin straight through th breakers fer shore. Nate knew they had ta do this just right or they were all gonna be arse over teakettle in th surf. Nate started hollerin orders when they got inta th rollers. "Steady now! Here's wot we gots ta do! Firstly, dowse th sail! When I say pull, ye pull on them sweeps as if yer life depended on it, well, cause it does! When a roller comes astern, wait til the bow lifts an starts ta drop, then pull! Everyone understand? It would be better if we had another sweep ta take place o th rudder, works better that way but we'll make due wit wot we gots! Here we go! Be ready fer it!" The boat was in the swells closer an closer ta wotever shore was there. The crash o th waves gettin louder. A heavy swell lifted th stern and then was amidships an finally th bow rose an dropped. "PULL!" Nate yelled loudly and dug his sweeps inta th water an the others followed. They did this over an overas each swell came under them. They almost lost it twice when th boat started ta swing sideways, but somehow Nate worked his sweeps like a man possessed an righted th boat. The worst came when they was in the first wave that crested an as they pulled for their worth, they was just not able ta stay clear an the top o the wave crashed over th stern floodin th bottom of th boat an soaked them all that was aft o th mast. Three more an th bow dug into sand. Phonse an Roberto jumped into the surf an started ta drag th boat further inshore, a wave helping them along.

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Red Cat had doused th boat's sail, an was glad she'd tucked her pistol deep on her coat as she were doused as th' swell crested th boat's rail. She crouched ready t' hop over an help drag the craft further up th' shore steadying th' wobble wit a sweep in each hand. Cat glanced further up th' shore in case they warn't alone.

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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With the fog enfolding the Flodden, her first mate approached a none-to-pleased Captain. "What'll we do now, Capt'n?"

MacTavish sniffed the air and wrinkled a bulbous, red-veined nose. "Weel, I've nae desire tae spend any more time in this bog-stinkit. We'll away North a wee bit, see if we canna get past this blasted fog."

"What about the other two ships? Bet they have plenty on board that we could use or sell."

"Aye, ye great ninny, and they got guns aplenty. Two against one isna very good odds. Nae, we'll veer north, then circle around tae see if the other two ships are still hanging aboot. Besides," MacTavish gave the air another sniff, "this place has an unwholesomeness aboot it that I dinna like."

With orders given, the Pride of Flodden turned her prow North, away from the wreck of the sloop, and the guns of the two remaining ships.

...schooners, islands, and maroons

and buccaneers and buried gold...

RAKEHELL-1.jpg

You can do everything right, strictly according to procedure, on the ocean, and it'll still kill you. But if you're a good navigator, a least you'll know where you were when you died.......From The Ship Killer by Justin Scott.

"Well, that's just maddeningly unhelpful."....Captain Jack Sparrow

Found in the Ruins — Unique Jewelry

Found in the Ruins — Personal Blog

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"Phonse, tie off the boat. Roberto, take the pike an hike around the point. See if you can see anyone else. ¿Entendido?" "Si Señor," replied the men. Tomas looked at Nate, scratching his head and squinting into the sunlight. "Is that alright Capitan?" Tomas questioned. "Wha . . o' course, o' course." replied Nate. He took the bottle from the seat of the longboat, downed a long pull and then passed it to Tomas. They both looked around slowly. Red Cat stared eastward into the jungles of the island. She nudged Tomas, "Smoke," she said pointing inland.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Nate looked ta were smoke was sighted. "Waall Father. . . . Ye be deliverin us from evil, er to evil?" Nate grabbed up his musket an seabag an walked further up th beach a dry sand. Stickin his hand in his bag he pulled out his two pistols, rummaged around more an pulled out a shotbox an powder horn wit loose shot. Nate checked the shotbox an found it ta be dry. "Smilin on me this time, eh?" Nate said as he undid his belt an slid th shotbox onto it, picked up each pistol an checked it, then loaded it from the horn an loose shot. Pickin up his musket ta do th same he looked at everyone else just standin there. "Ye best check yer arms afore we be headin ta see wot will greet us over yonder, I ain't no marine wit a crack shot an I can't load lightenin fast neither." Nate leaned on his musket an dropped a hand onto his cutlass hilt. "I grabbed all I could from th rack on the ship, There be at least three more muskets an a handfull o' pistols in th sternsheets. Arm yerselves ya vermin!" Nate said the last an his wild grin crossed his face and th wildnes crept inta his eyes.

Edited by Black Nate

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Returnin from th' boat wit an extra musket Cat followed suit, findin that though her own acoutrements be damp on th' outside..thankfully wot be inside em were dry. She flopped in th sand an hummed a wee tune as she saw to her weapons holding th' pistols rod in her teeth as she measured th' powder. Cat threw a glance towards th' curling smoke an back towards Nate."so..." she grinned as she tucked th' pistol in her belt, "Wot Ye make o it aye? Should we come up from yonder " She pointed towards an adjonin rise which jutted behind an just above th' small hill and had a grove of trees " R' Ye care t' pay a visit direckly?" Red CAt grinned widely at th' though o' wot they might find.

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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  • 4 weeks later...

"Yes m' dear. Directly, I'd say," Tomas answered. "But, Phonse an' Roberto can first head above the rise. Give us a look afore we head into the unknown." Tomas winked at Red Cat. "Roberts and I can sit a spell in the grove and wait for the word. Cap'n, Meet us on the other side of the hill?" Tomas nodded towards the hill.

Phonse and Roberto waited patiently for the word from their Captain. They threw a few goods into a satchel and Roberto slung it over his shoulder. Tomas grabbed the eyeglass and tossed it to Phonse who promptly dropped it squarely onto the thwart, sending a slight crack across the front lens. The Spaniard just shook his head while Phonse shrugged sheepishly. Nate chewed the inside of his cheek and looked to the heavens.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Nate thought a moment longer an took up a bottle, takin a swig afore sayin anything. "Seems a fine plan. . . . cept I tink we'll make a change. Red Cat, you go wit Roberto an Phonse come wit me. Cat handles a spyglass better, and a pistol as well. Nate squinted at Tomas an the rest of those standin about, waitin ta see if anyone begged ta differ. Cocking his head ta th side an lookin ta heaven fer a moment, Nate began ta slowly nod. "Aye Father. . . . Aye. . . ." Nate picked his musket up an held it in a commanding position, checked the prime again and again gave a look to his comrades. Nate raised his eyebrows when all he got back from them were similar stares. "We gonna do this er jus stare at each other til dark er til th' Flodden finds us? Move yer arse afore my foot finds it!" Nate gave a crooked grin an shifted his weight as everyone started movin'.

~Black Nate~

Brenpen185.jpg

A ship in a puddle is better than no ship at all

Dear Saint Brendan, to mention your name is to recall much travelling.

It was in relation to voyages that you emerged as a popular Saint.

The Irish became great travelers thus spreading their faith everywhere.

Protect not only mariners but also all those who go down to the sea in ships. Amen.

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Share on other sites

Phonse quickly grabbed the satchel off of Roberto's shoulder to which he held on to it tightly. They tugged back on forth on it until Nate leveled the musket in their direction. Roberto saw it first and let go, leaving Phonse to tumble into the sand. "A fine choice Captain." Tomas laughed.

Red Cat shook her head and started northeast towards the rise above the smoke. Roberto smirked at Phonse and lept off after her. Phonse stood slowly and wiped the sand from his slops and picked up the eyeglass. Roberto stopped and returned to sneak up behind Phonse. He grabbed the glass and sent a swift kick to Phonse's arse sending him sprawling again. Snickering, Roberto went after Red Cat again.

Phonse stood, collected himself again, and made his way to Nate. Looking the worse for wear, Nate shook his head at his companion for the day.

Roberts stood aft the longboat for a moment watching the goings on with nary a smile. He had wished to be on with Nate so as to finish the job he started. He did not trust the Spaniard, but Nate even less. He tucked a pistol into his belt and met Tomas at the treeline.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Eager t' be outta th' open an hearin yet another scuffle followed by Roberto's shuffle Cat heaved a sigh, shouldered th' musket an listened fer any sound above their footfalls as they rounded th' rise.

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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  • 4 weeks later...

Tomas and Roberts made their way north to the treeline, only to pause and watch Nate and Phonse disappear into the tall palms due east of their position. He assumed Nate was going to meet Red Cat and Roberto northeast of the rise. Tomas just realized should they find anyone or anything on their side, they'd be alone to meet it head-on.

Roberts waved Tomas over to a narrow stream running away from the shore to the west and north. They agreed to follow it around the bend and deeper into the jungle. The Spaniard admitted to himself and himself alone, he was a bit nervous foraging out with a man who shot nearly dead his own crew mate. He paused briefly and stooped to the stream to cup a handful of water. Roberts continued just ahead warily.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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  • 3 weeks later...

Roberts slapped at the infernal insect which had seemed with singular purpose to plague him for the past quarter mile. He dipped his hat in th' stream an placed it back atop his thick mass of hair letting the water run off. Being back on land his mood had darkened to match the thick of the jungle they traversed but gave way to caution and his thoughts went to what lay ahead and above them. He assumed Cat would be safe amongst th' others and with any luck th' small crew would reach their destination ahead of detection. He was glad to be rid of the bulk of Phonse and though he didn't know the man travelling with him so well, at least he was more competent and a ranking officer.. despite losing his rank so quickly. Roberts smirked at this thought..his heavy beard almost obscuring any hint of the grin. He grasped a branch pulling his large frame along as the terrain grew uneven and motioned to Tomas to cross the stream to the side which had less undergrowth.

Edited by Roberts

Wine, women, coin n song.

Equal shares of each says I!

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Red Cat traversed the sand gingerly listenin fer footsteps which did not match her own or Roberto's whom she noticed walked with an uneven step.. the sound of his following her more of a scrape an thump after a pause o' sorts. This distracted her as she tried to discern every sound. The snap of a twig, or the crunch of small stones under unseen foot. There were those in these remote islands who would gladly decorate their selves with ones hair r' warse.. She shook off th' thought an patted her musket softly as they headed deeper into the mangrove. "Well be drinkin o'er th' spoils come nightfall she mused an th' thought renewed her efforts despite th' heat. Cat had removed her scarf an tied it back about her neck t' keep th' sun at bay an loosened it some as th' thick o' th' mangrove provided shade. She pointed towards a clearin ahead an Roberto acknowledged as they adjusted their direction towards it.

Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help....

Her reputation was her livelihood.

I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice!

My inner voice sometimes has an accent!

My wont? A delicious rip in time...

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  • 1 month later...

Tomas looked up the narrow stream and back to Roberts who had knelt in a small space of less jungle. Tomas began his step across the rivulet when he heard several branches snap and give way just to their north towards the smoke.

Roberts backed to the nearest tree and Tomas lay prone by several large rocks. A mix of languages followed by the grunts and groans of a group of men struggle with something followed the noises of the broken foliage. The Spaniard crawled to point where he could see better the men heading right for them. Roberts had remained in the thick of the tree but positioned himself where he could watch the men as well as Tomas.

With a loud thud, the group abruptly stopped just around the bend of where Tomas and Roberts were hidden.

"For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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