Avast Ye!
By Queen Smithy
Summary: Richie Moon, world's silliest pirate, and his crew try to figure out what to do with all the money they've looted over the years. . .
Rating: not for land lubbers! Yarr!
Dedication: To none other than the *real* Richie Moon and Sam Sweeney. And, of course, Novek Dace.
Feedback: NOW, dammit!
***
A slight breeze rippled the surface of the sea. Through it clipped a small galleon flying the jolly roger. There was a man in the crow's nest, staring out through a pair of toilet roll tubes sellotaped together.
"Laaaaaaaand ahoy!" he yelled.
A gruff voice from the deck called up, "Peters! That's the land we've just left! Again!"
***
"Righ'," said Richie Moon, addressing the crew of his galleon, the Chandon. The first mate, Philip Trent, removed his finger from his nose, and one or two others looked up. They were in the galley, domain of the cabin boys and the first mate, who also happened to be the barman.
"Righ'," said Richie again. "Here's wha' we're gonna do. What' we're gonna do is. . . " he paused. "Where's Jimbo?"
"Here, Rich," called a voice from under the bar. "And my name's not Jim. . ."
"Right ye are, Jimbo, lad."
"My name's Sam."
"Yes, lad, but every pirate cabin boy is called Jim."
"Cabin boy my bum," said the voice behind the bar. There was a clunk, then a blond ponytail-ed head appeared. "I've unclogged your rum hose. Anything else need doing?"
"Nah, jus' pour me a glass and come and sit down," said Richie. "I've lost my train o' thought now. . ."
Sam, who knew that Richie's train of thought was more like a rusty bicycle with a tyre missing, rolled his eyes. He poured two glasses of rum (so he wouldn't have to get up again for at least five minutes) and found a spare seat near Richie. The big pirate sipped thoughtfully at the first glass of rum. His brow was painfully wrinkled.
"Where was I. . . ?"
"What we're gonna do. . . " Harvey Peters, the lookout, prompted.
"Oh yeh. Well. I were thinking - "
"Oh dear, that's dangerous," said Brackish, the bosun.
"Shush," grumbled Richie. "I were thinkin' abou' all this treasure what we've looted over the years." He paused again. Sam could see his thoughts trundling into place behind his heavy brow. "Well," he continued, "Wha' we gonna do with it all?"
A long silence fell over the assembled pirates. Finally, a burly, bearded and tattooed man raised a hand. This man liked to be known as Slasher the Snake, but Richie was no good at remembering things which had just happened, never mind made-up nicknames, so he generally used his proper name, much to the Snake's embarrassment and everyone else's amusement. Nicknames were a bit of an issue on the Chandon. Sam had been a destined "Jimlad" since Richie had found him in the shabby Emerald Bar and taken him under his wing. The other pirates were extremely envious of his ability to maintain a pseudonym, even if it was an involuntary one. The only other member of the crew with a permanent nickname was Off-Centre Steve, the Helmsman. Sam had - very cautiously - asked around and discovered that the origin of Off-Centre's nickname was unknown by everyone on the ship.
"Yes, Clive?" said Richie.
Snake lowered his hand. "Spend it," he said.
"Even we'll never spend tha' much money," said Rich. "We've got to decide wha' ter do with the rest o' it."
"Er," said Sam, "we could give it to charity?"
"Oh, yeh?" said Rich. "Who's she, then? Some posh bint friend o' yours, Jimbo?"
"No, I mean we could give it to people who need it."
"Don't sound like a very pirate-ish thing to me," said Snake, as Richie tried to engage his mind in thought once more. "Sounds like something them land lubbers might do."
"There's probably people who need money at sea too," said Sam. It was blatent that Sam was the quickest thinker on the ship. There was a long silence before anyone else spoke.
"Yeah," said Harvey Peters eventually. "Us. That's why we looted it all in the first place."
"There you go, lad!" said Richie. "And thass why yer no' allowed ter be a fully-feathered pirate."
"Fully-fledged," said Sam quietly.
"I said tha'," said Rich. "Any other ideas?"
Brackish the bosun raised a hand. "I like the Snake's idea," he said.
"What snake?"
"I mean Clive," said Brackish, with a snigger.
"I *said*" growled Richie, "there's too much o' it!"
Brackish grinned. "Then let's think about what to do with what's left over while we spend it."
"Good plan!" said Richie. "Yarr!"
***
The Chandon turned in its course, and headed towards the Spanish main.
"DAMMIT, Off-Centre!" yelled a gruff voice. "We're going to England!"
The Chandon turned round once again, and they headed for home.
To be continued. . . ?
By Queen Smithy
Summary: Richie Moon, world's silliest pirate, and his crew try to figure out what to do with all the money they've looted over the years. . .
Rating: not for land lubbers! Yarr!
Dedication: To none other than the *real* Richie Moon and Sam Sweeney. And, of course, Novek Dace.
Feedback: NOW, dammit!
***
A slight breeze rippled the surface of the sea. Through it clipped a small galleon flying the jolly roger. There was a man in the crow's nest, staring out through a pair of toilet roll tubes sellotaped together.
"Laaaaaaaand ahoy!" he yelled.
A gruff voice from the deck called up, "Peters! That's the land we've just left! Again!"
***
"Righ'," said Richie Moon, addressing the crew of his galleon, the Chandon. The first mate, Philip Trent, removed his finger from his nose, and one or two others looked up. They were in the galley, domain of the cabin boys and the first mate, who also happened to be the barman.
"Righ'," said Richie again. "Here's wha' we're gonna do. What' we're gonna do is. . . " he paused. "Where's Jimbo?"
"Here, Rich," called a voice from under the bar. "And my name's not Jim. . ."
"Right ye are, Jimbo, lad."
"My name's Sam."
"Yes, lad, but every pirate cabin boy is called Jim."
"Cabin boy my bum," said the voice behind the bar. There was a clunk, then a blond ponytail-ed head appeared. "I've unclogged your rum hose. Anything else need doing?"
"Nah, jus' pour me a glass and come and sit down," said Richie. "I've lost my train o' thought now. . ."
Sam, who knew that Richie's train of thought was more like a rusty bicycle with a tyre missing, rolled his eyes. He poured two glasses of rum (so he wouldn't have to get up again for at least five minutes) and found a spare seat near Richie. The big pirate sipped thoughtfully at the first glass of rum. His brow was painfully wrinkled.
"Where was I. . . ?"
"What we're gonna do. . . " Harvey Peters, the lookout, prompted.
"Oh yeh. Well. I were thinking - "
"Oh dear, that's dangerous," said Brackish, the bosun.
"Shush," grumbled Richie. "I were thinkin' abou' all this treasure what we've looted over the years." He paused again. Sam could see his thoughts trundling into place behind his heavy brow. "Well," he continued, "Wha' we gonna do with it all?"
A long silence fell over the assembled pirates. Finally, a burly, bearded and tattooed man raised a hand. This man liked to be known as Slasher the Snake, but Richie was no good at remembering things which had just happened, never mind made-up nicknames, so he generally used his proper name, much to the Snake's embarrassment and everyone else's amusement. Nicknames were a bit of an issue on the Chandon. Sam had been a destined "Jimlad" since Richie had found him in the shabby Emerald Bar and taken him under his wing. The other pirates were extremely envious of his ability to maintain a pseudonym, even if it was an involuntary one. The only other member of the crew with a permanent nickname was Off-Centre Steve, the Helmsman. Sam had - very cautiously - asked around and discovered that the origin of Off-Centre's nickname was unknown by everyone on the ship.
"Yes, Clive?" said Richie.
Snake lowered his hand. "Spend it," he said.
"Even we'll never spend tha' much money," said Rich. "We've got to decide wha' ter do with the rest o' it."
"Er," said Sam, "we could give it to charity?"
"Oh, yeh?" said Rich. "Who's she, then? Some posh bint friend o' yours, Jimbo?"
"No, I mean we could give it to people who need it."
"Don't sound like a very pirate-ish thing to me," said Snake, as Richie tried to engage his mind in thought once more. "Sounds like something them land lubbers might do."
"There's probably people who need money at sea too," said Sam. It was blatent that Sam was the quickest thinker on the ship. There was a long silence before anyone else spoke.
"Yeah," said Harvey Peters eventually. "Us. That's why we looted it all in the first place."
"There you go, lad!" said Richie. "And thass why yer no' allowed ter be a fully-feathered pirate."
"Fully-fledged," said Sam quietly.
"I said tha'," said Rich. "Any other ideas?"
Brackish the bosun raised a hand. "I like the Snake's idea," he said.
"What snake?"
"I mean Clive," said Brackish, with a snigger.
"I *said*" growled Richie, "there's too much o' it!"
Brackish grinned. "Then let's think about what to do with what's left over while we spend it."
"Good plan!" said Richie. "Yarr!"
***
The Chandon turned in its course, and headed towards the Spanish main.
"DAMMIT, Off-Centre!" yelled a gruff voice. "We're going to England!"
The Chandon turned round once again, and they headed for home.
To be continued. . . ?