Jeshal the Ironclaw
Captain of the BlackShip
Staff member
Officer: Captain (Commander)
Fortuna Survivor
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(A very silly short old thread whereby the infamous Blinky joins The Golden Hide and is met by Captain Freedom and his first mate. Starring Blinky, Jeshal the Ironclaw, and Anithias Freedom. Shared because Nith has some corking lines in it, as does Blinky, and mentions some lore about Freedom's decline as captain)
A GREAT WAILING AND GNASHING OF TEETH
First post Humidor 30, Yr. 1729
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Booted! Again! This Navy thing was not going very well for him, Blinky had begun to realise. He'd quit, except that he couldn't be troubled to find out how.
Not that being a Fogey was any better, but at least as a Fogey you didn't have a very good chance of accidentally drinking the First Mate's entire rum stash on purpose and then throwing up on the captain's bed and, well, sleeping on it afterwards.
At least he wouldn't be the ship's janitor anymore ... honestly, what had Frostbite been drinking, to come up with such a position for him? Blinky couldn't clean his way out of a paper bag. He'd tried. Somebeast had to come and yank the thing off his muzzle before he suffocated to death; but not until he'd stopped kicking.
Now here he was, clambering aboard the Golden Hide, all his life's possessions* in a single sack – which was more than he'd had back home in Pricklee Point and as such, was considered to be extremely heavy. He dropped it to the deck immediately and sat down next to it.
It had taken some ten minutes to get from ship to ship while they were docked in port, and he was extensively tuckered.
The stoat lay back against the railing and closed his eyes, letting his legs and tail sprawl out, one arm slumped over his sack of belongings.
He began to drool.**
* His Blanky, some pajamas, a spare kilt, his Fogey uniform and accessories, and five uneaten sandwiches made just as many months ago that he hadn't gotten around to eating just yet.
** Although this is a rather misleading sentence. Technically, Blinky began drooling the day of his birth and has not actually stopped; the drool just became rather more intermittent as the years went by.
Jeshal the Ironclaw
It took a little getting used to working out how to interact with beasts when you'd just spent a fortnight pretending to be captain. Had Jeshal been the timid sort, he might have spent a day or two holed up in his cabin and then crept out, smiling nervously at the rest of the crew for the following week. Instead, he resumed his duties at a slower pace, giving him time to consider which things were his responsibilities and those that were higher. There was an oddly ominous feeling at the recent return of the Freedom family. Anithias seemed on edge about something and he was not revealing why. For now, the Ironclaw put it down to marital issues and resolved to root it out when the time was appropriate.
Jeshal, reverted to his less formal dark blue frockcoat, wandered up from the officers' quarters with a notebook in his claw and a quill in his good paw. He muttered under his breath as he inspected various spots on the ship and scribbled down subjects to bring up for general improvement. He wandered over the halfway point of the deck, submerged in thought.
A beat.
The Ironclaw cycled his sandals back a few paces and looked to the port side near the gangplank. There was a... thing slumped against the rails of the Hide. He frowned. Was that a stoat? It seemed too lethargic to notice him. Jeshal pocketed his notebook and drew his cutlass. He stepped up to the drooling, smelly creature and tapped it on the shoulder with the blade flat. He had a sudden strange concern that his sword might melt.
"Be there some way I can 'elp yer, mate?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky didn't miss a beat.
"Pillow'd be nice."
One crusted eye cracked open, allowing the stoat's glossy black pupil to squint up at the wobbly, entirely-too-bright fox shape looming over him.
"Sooner's better'n later," he added, and yawned. It was a magnificent yawn.
There are some creatures, creatures that live beneath the heaving oceans and seldom open their mouths; and when they do, it is only to snaffle back any tiny germ-sized critters that get in its way. These cavernous maws, one would then think, must stink to the tips of Dark Forest's gates, for being, hour after hour, a haven to nothing but various forms of sea algae and the warm, rancid burps from within that have nowhere else to go, and so dwell eternal beneath the royal throw-rug that is the creature's massive tongue. Stories have been told, of sailors and pirates alike being swallowed alive and crawling their way through what seemed miles of sticky throat to try and escape the boiling acid pits of the stomach – only to fall at the end, when the hot, fetid air of these tooth-filled caves wraps its tendrils of horror around their faces.
What Blinky was now displaying to Jeshal was a maw not unlike the ones spoken of in nightmare legends. Sure, it was small, and sure, there were not that many teeth to frighten with – most were either black, yellow, or a combination thereof; some chipped, some melted, some rotten and broken in half – but the smell!
Had the Emperor's Golden Fog seen fit to grace the Golden Hide that day, it surely would have dissipated upon very sight of the ship.
Stray molecules on the tip of the fox's cutlass sizzled.
Blinky smacked his lips and closed his eye once more.
"Wouldn' say no ter a sammich, too."
Jeshal the Ironclaw
Contrary to the signature warning belonging to Hinkly's author*, Jeshal blinked. Fortunately he wasn't set upon by any nearby Weeping Angels hanging around. The first mate simply stared as the stoat responded with the most genial, stupid and yet honest answer on offer.
Then the yawn happened.
The Ironclaw swerved his face under the onslaught of the terrible breath that had been nurtured for all the years Blinky had not so much lived but mouldered. The cutlass dropped to the boards, fizzling at the tip. After recovering from a momentary soundless bout of gagging, Jeshal turned back to the beast he was yet to discover as a recruit.
"Wouldn' say no ter a sammich, too."
Silence reigned for a few seconds before Jeshal burst out laughing. His good paw seized Blinky at his oversized collar and hauled him, if not wholly off the deck, at least upright.
"Hahar! I like it, says I. Rude, obnoxious... no, I'll be strikin' the 'ob', ye be noxious, scruffy, an abomination. Takes me back ter the days past, so it does." The fox pressed one of his metal claws to Blinky's throat. "Ye'd be a fine weapon, matey, if yer can survive enough ter keep yer gob shut. I be no cook, lad, so ye best be hankerin' after Master Redford downstairs if it be vittles yer want. But, ye can't be 'avin those 'less ye're part o' the crew."
The Ironclaw grinned maliciously.
"So, are ye wantin' ter join? Bearin' in mind if ye do sign up an' be privvy ter our vittles an' our plun- er, wages, I'll be permitted ter extoll any punishments fer insubordinance that I may be otherwise refrainin' from in this instance. What's it ter be?"
[*Jeshal’s author’s note: As some of us do now, we had signatures back in old VI. Blinky’s was ‘Don’t Blink’]
Anithias Freedom
Anithias was not a nervous wreck. He would insist upon that until the day he died. He was just jumping at every creak of the ship as part of a new aerobics program. He was looking around every corner because he had received a poorly-written death threat in the mail, that was all. Not that he took such things seriously of course, but one could never be too careful. Julia kept asking the crew what was wrong with her husband because he had recently had indigestion from one of her fish sandwiches and had begun claiming stomach problems as an excuse to refuse them, nothing more.
It had nothing to do with the fact that the Hide was quickly spiralling into debt, and Anithias had no idea how to pull them out of it.
As a result he was growing increasingly desperate. Increasingly ludicrous plans flitted through his head, ranging from sending the entire crew to the Cobra Capybara Casino to play Twenny-Wah to auctioning off the ship's furniture.
At the moment he was walking along the deck, his snout buried in the stocks page of the Saturday Evening Smelt. "Jeshal," he called without looking up, pacing toward his first mate, "Are you aware that most stocks these days barely cost a guilder? At that price we could easily pool our money and buy a controlling percent. I know that most corporations are rather defunct, as could be expected with the present recession, but it still may be possible to..."
His voice died away as his eyes travelled from the number columns to the beast held within Jeshal's vulpine paw. For a moment he stood frozen, Smelt clutched between his paws, jaw hanging slightly open as he stared at the... the thing which was trailing its smell across his deck. Anithias could not even tell if the thing was alive; judging by the smell, Anithias would have thought it had spent the past month decomposing.
Finally Anithias' mouth recovered from the stunning shock enough to mutter, "Mr Ironclaw, is there a reason this creature is aboard my ship? If not, I feel it my civic duty to inform the morgue." His eyes remained locked on Blinky, staring blankly at the draped form.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
This was lovely. It was like his whole tunic had turned into a vertical hammock. In fact, if it weren't for his arms sticking out either side, Blinky might have fallen straight through and gone right back to trying to nap.
Alas for the poor stoat, his days of swaying upright were over far too quickly as a metallic claw of some sort was pressed against his throat. Even he wasn't stupid enough not to know what that meant.
"I 'aven't got any gilders," he squeaked, breathless (thankfully).
But now he was confused. Wasn't he part of the crew now? Frostbite had said so! Did he have to join the Navy all over again? He was drunk last time! He didn't remember how to. He was only certain that it would be troublesome and time-consuming and they probably wouldn't let him fall asleep in the middle of trying to find somebeast who could make an X for him...
The stoat's mind rather shut down after the word "Bearin'". It lit up again, briefly, at "vittles", but another difficult word came along – "an'" – and he clicked off again. He was only vaguely aware of some sort of question being asked of him.
And so, hanging there (like 'Gates he was going to bother supporting himself, even if his footpaws were still touching deck; he wasn't very heavy anyways, so the fox could stand to yank him about a little longer as far as Blinky was concerned), he said the only thing that came to mind.
"Yer shouldn' insult somebeast ye 'ardly know. 's not nice an' it 'urts m'feelin's." He sniffled. "I ain't privvers ter no permitters an' never insubordinanced no 'frain's ever!"
His ear flicked toward the sound of another beast behind Jeshal.
"An' I ain't never civicked no morgue, either! 'M a stoat," he added, as if that might clear matters up. Which it probably did. "Frosty said so."
Captain Tarrin had also called him a variety of other things, such as "useless", "slug-headed", "frog-bottom-brained", and "thick-skulled son of a moron and an idiot if the moron had been a bucket of bait and the idiot had been the dried-up corpse of a one-armed taxidermied skink and the son had been adopted from even worse lineage." So there was that, too.
Jeshal the Ironclaw
"I ain't privvers ter no permitters an' never insubordinanced no 'frain's ever!"
Jeshal had been deciding between hurling the stoat overboard, risking the contamination of the harbour waters, or simply leaving the dangling thing for someone else to deal with when Freedom himself hailed him regarding something to do with stocks. Before he could work out what had just been asked of him, Anithias noticed the dead weight of Blinky in his claw.
"Mr Ironclaw, is there a reason this creature is aboard my ship? If not, I feel it my civic duty to inform the morgue."
Turning on the spot, the stoat draped pathetically like a puppet on his arm, Jeshal opened his mouth to reply when the stinking stoat became animated once more and blurted out:
"An' I ain't never civicked no morgue, either! 'M a stoat, Frosty said so."
Something clicked. Addressing Captain Freedom, Jeshal remarked, "I think the matter be gettin' somewhat clearer, Cap'n. Might I propose that the mention o' this 'ere 'Frosty' be none other than our newly appointed Cap'n Tarrin an' that this... stoat, in the loosest o' terms, be some sort o' dreg from 'is changeover? Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
To prove the point, Jeshal moved back to the rails and gingerly removed a tattered, greasy set of papers that were poking out of Blinky's sack.
"Ah, here they be."
Paws too full to open the papers for perusal, he offered the bundle toward Freedom.
"'Tis me belief there ye'll find the answer."
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
"...Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
"Aye," Blinky said, his face lighting up.*
The stoat made no noise or movement as he was hauled around; his eyes darted slowly from one thing to the next, trying to work out if anybeast was actually going to fetch him a pillow or if he'd have to ask again. His gaze briefly fell on the papers Jeshal found – papers that, ten minutes ago, had been in pristine form, straight and proper with recently-dried ink and Captain Tarrin's personal stamp sealing it all up. Blinky hadn't even touched them himself; Frostbite had placed them in his sack after Blinky had gathered his things. It was simply through proximity to the stoat that they had attained their crumpled, greasy, tattered form.
"Frosty sez I weren't t'eat that," Blinky announced.
* One of his brow whiskers waggled. That was about all the energy Blinky could spare.
Anithias Freedom
Anithias was much surprised when the corpse spoke up, babbling a nigh-unintelligible sentence about morgues and stoats. So it lives, he thought humourlessly. Quietly he filed away a mental note to immediately dispose of the stoat's body in the event of his death; if this was how the mustelid smelled whilst alive, Anithias would dread to catch his scent when he was dead.
Thankfully Jeshal seemed to understand idjitese. "I think the matter be gettin' somewhat clearer, Cap'n," he suggested in his elegant, if accented, tones. "Might I propose that the mention o' this 'ere 'Frosty' be none other than our newly appointed Cap'n Tarrin an' that this... stoat, in the loosest o' terms, be some sort o' dreg from 'is changeover? Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
Anithias critically examined the stinkbag held by the Ironclaw. It did indeed seem the stoat was not a valued member of any crew; Anithias could not imagine who would possibly even accept the B.O.-ridden creature aboard. Then again, someone had let Jeb onto the Hide. Naval recruiters must have grown quite desperate over the seasons.
Not that captains had to be so lax. As was apparent by the stoat's mere presence on this ship. Obviously Frostbite had deemed the stoat to be of no use to his new command; otherwise he would not have forced a transfer. Anithias accepted the tattered, greasy transfer papers with a wrinkle of the snout, carefully peeling them apart. The stoat suddenly spoke up, mentioning something about not being allowed to eat his transfer papers. Anithias nodded, pretending to pay attention to...
Blaine Hinkly.
Anithias let out an audible groan. Hinkly. Of all the beasts with which to be stuck. How on earth had he not recognized the infamous mustelid? The stoat was famous throughout the navy as the most worthless layabout any captain could be forced to oversee. To make matters worse, Anithias was stuck with him. Hinkly had already served on both the BlackShip and Skeered, meaning Anithias could not transfer him without breaching naval etiquette. It was possible to boot the stoat to shore, but Anithias would need a decent excuse like absence from duties or insubordination. As Hinkly had just arrived on his ship, Anithias doubted he could claim either of these without raising a few eyebrows in the Ministry of War.
Sighing, Anithias carefully wrapped the greasy papers in a linen pawkerchief before tucking them in his jacket pocket. As an afterthought he wiped his pawfingers on a second pawkerchief in a vain attempt to remove the oily feeling. "Well, Mr Hinkly," he sighed, "it seems I have no choice but to accept your transfer. Welcome to The Golden Hide."
Anithias paused, sniffing the air. "Mr Ironclaw, stop by Master Urel's bunk and request that he give our new crew member a B-A-T-H," he spelled out, hoping that Blinky was as uneducated as he looked.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky smiled, once more showing off his amazingly distraught dental facilities. He wasn't smiling at being recognised at last, or being welcomed – he was smiling at the word "bunk" which was a word he'd learned very early on in his time in the Navy – most of which was spent in one.
Not to say he didn't find sleeping anywhere else on a ship exciting, but bunks were comfortable. He hadn't managed to find any on the BlackShip until he magically became Bosun, because he hadn't yet figured out that the rooms with beds or hammocks in them were what he was looking for; he just chose them at random and woe betide any crewbeast coming off duty to find their room spoiled by his presence. Finally being given an Officer's Cabin had been Blinky's equivalent to winning the lottery, finding out your sworn enemy had been killed by his own overuse of waffle syrup, and suddenly being proclaimed Emperor all within the same five minutes. It had been glorious.
Then he had snogged Zilaco while sleep-sandwich-making, and that had been the end of that dream.
On the Skeered, somebeast had had the brilliant idea of stringing up a hammock inside the cleaning supplies cupboard, as there was just enough room for it and Blinky never needed any extra space. All the cleaning supplies were left on the floor of his new "bunk", and the chemicals seeped into his brain, causing him to hallucinate that the mop was talking to him. Not that Blinky ever figured this out; though he had stuck some various food items on the stringy end so Moppy would have a proper face. Otherwise it was a bit unsettling.
But now that was all over, and he was on another ship and the word "bunk" was being said by somebeast who looked very spiffy indeed, and Blinky had a sneaking suspicion that the bunk in question would be filled with all sorts of wonderful things, such as a mattress or a place to throw up that wasn't where his footpaws had to be.
"I 'opes a Bee-Tee-Aye-Aitch is warm an' fuzzy," he whispered sideling to Jeshal. "I noticed yer still ain't gotten me a pillow wot I h'asked fer."
A GREAT WAILING AND GNASHING OF TEETH
First post Humidor 30, Yr. 1729
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Booted! Again! This Navy thing was not going very well for him, Blinky had begun to realise. He'd quit, except that he couldn't be troubled to find out how.
Not that being a Fogey was any better, but at least as a Fogey you didn't have a very good chance of accidentally drinking the First Mate's entire rum stash on purpose and then throwing up on the captain's bed and, well, sleeping on it afterwards.
At least he wouldn't be the ship's janitor anymore ... honestly, what had Frostbite been drinking, to come up with such a position for him? Blinky couldn't clean his way out of a paper bag. He'd tried. Somebeast had to come and yank the thing off his muzzle before he suffocated to death; but not until he'd stopped kicking.
Now here he was, clambering aboard the Golden Hide, all his life's possessions* in a single sack – which was more than he'd had back home in Pricklee Point and as such, was considered to be extremely heavy. He dropped it to the deck immediately and sat down next to it.
It had taken some ten minutes to get from ship to ship while they were docked in port, and he was extensively tuckered.
The stoat lay back against the railing and closed his eyes, letting his legs and tail sprawl out, one arm slumped over his sack of belongings.
He began to drool.**
* His Blanky, some pajamas, a spare kilt, his Fogey uniform and accessories, and five uneaten sandwiches made just as many months ago that he hadn't gotten around to eating just yet.
** Although this is a rather misleading sentence. Technically, Blinky began drooling the day of his birth and has not actually stopped; the drool just became rather more intermittent as the years went by.
Jeshal the Ironclaw
It took a little getting used to working out how to interact with beasts when you'd just spent a fortnight pretending to be captain. Had Jeshal been the timid sort, he might have spent a day or two holed up in his cabin and then crept out, smiling nervously at the rest of the crew for the following week. Instead, he resumed his duties at a slower pace, giving him time to consider which things were his responsibilities and those that were higher. There was an oddly ominous feeling at the recent return of the Freedom family. Anithias seemed on edge about something and he was not revealing why. For now, the Ironclaw put it down to marital issues and resolved to root it out when the time was appropriate.
Jeshal, reverted to his less formal dark blue frockcoat, wandered up from the officers' quarters with a notebook in his claw and a quill in his good paw. He muttered under his breath as he inspected various spots on the ship and scribbled down subjects to bring up for general improvement. He wandered over the halfway point of the deck, submerged in thought.
A beat.
The Ironclaw cycled his sandals back a few paces and looked to the port side near the gangplank. There was a... thing slumped against the rails of the Hide. He frowned. Was that a stoat? It seemed too lethargic to notice him. Jeshal pocketed his notebook and drew his cutlass. He stepped up to the drooling, smelly creature and tapped it on the shoulder with the blade flat. He had a sudden strange concern that his sword might melt.
"Be there some way I can 'elp yer, mate?"
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky didn't miss a beat.
"Pillow'd be nice."
One crusted eye cracked open, allowing the stoat's glossy black pupil to squint up at the wobbly, entirely-too-bright fox shape looming over him.
"Sooner's better'n later," he added, and yawned. It was a magnificent yawn.
There are some creatures, creatures that live beneath the heaving oceans and seldom open their mouths; and when they do, it is only to snaffle back any tiny germ-sized critters that get in its way. These cavernous maws, one would then think, must stink to the tips of Dark Forest's gates, for being, hour after hour, a haven to nothing but various forms of sea algae and the warm, rancid burps from within that have nowhere else to go, and so dwell eternal beneath the royal throw-rug that is the creature's massive tongue. Stories have been told, of sailors and pirates alike being swallowed alive and crawling their way through what seemed miles of sticky throat to try and escape the boiling acid pits of the stomach – only to fall at the end, when the hot, fetid air of these tooth-filled caves wraps its tendrils of horror around their faces.
What Blinky was now displaying to Jeshal was a maw not unlike the ones spoken of in nightmare legends. Sure, it was small, and sure, there were not that many teeth to frighten with – most were either black, yellow, or a combination thereof; some chipped, some melted, some rotten and broken in half – but the smell!
Had the Emperor's Golden Fog seen fit to grace the Golden Hide that day, it surely would have dissipated upon very sight of the ship.
Stray molecules on the tip of the fox's cutlass sizzled.
Blinky smacked his lips and closed his eye once more.
"Wouldn' say no ter a sammich, too."
Jeshal the Ironclaw
Contrary to the signature warning belonging to Hinkly's author*, Jeshal blinked. Fortunately he wasn't set upon by any nearby Weeping Angels hanging around. The first mate simply stared as the stoat responded with the most genial, stupid and yet honest answer on offer.
Then the yawn happened.
The Ironclaw swerved his face under the onslaught of the terrible breath that had been nurtured for all the years Blinky had not so much lived but mouldered. The cutlass dropped to the boards, fizzling at the tip. After recovering from a momentary soundless bout of gagging, Jeshal turned back to the beast he was yet to discover as a recruit.
"Wouldn' say no ter a sammich, too."
Silence reigned for a few seconds before Jeshal burst out laughing. His good paw seized Blinky at his oversized collar and hauled him, if not wholly off the deck, at least upright.
"Hahar! I like it, says I. Rude, obnoxious... no, I'll be strikin' the 'ob', ye be noxious, scruffy, an abomination. Takes me back ter the days past, so it does." The fox pressed one of his metal claws to Blinky's throat. "Ye'd be a fine weapon, matey, if yer can survive enough ter keep yer gob shut. I be no cook, lad, so ye best be hankerin' after Master Redford downstairs if it be vittles yer want. But, ye can't be 'avin those 'less ye're part o' the crew."
The Ironclaw grinned maliciously.
"So, are ye wantin' ter join? Bearin' in mind if ye do sign up an' be privvy ter our vittles an' our plun- er, wages, I'll be permitted ter extoll any punishments fer insubordinance that I may be otherwise refrainin' from in this instance. What's it ter be?"
[*Jeshal’s author’s note: As some of us do now, we had signatures back in old VI. Blinky’s was ‘Don’t Blink’]
Anithias Freedom
Anithias was not a nervous wreck. He would insist upon that until the day he died. He was just jumping at every creak of the ship as part of a new aerobics program. He was looking around every corner because he had received a poorly-written death threat in the mail, that was all. Not that he took such things seriously of course, but one could never be too careful. Julia kept asking the crew what was wrong with her husband because he had recently had indigestion from one of her fish sandwiches and had begun claiming stomach problems as an excuse to refuse them, nothing more.
It had nothing to do with the fact that the Hide was quickly spiralling into debt, and Anithias had no idea how to pull them out of it.
As a result he was growing increasingly desperate. Increasingly ludicrous plans flitted through his head, ranging from sending the entire crew to the Cobra Capybara Casino to play Twenny-Wah to auctioning off the ship's furniture.
At the moment he was walking along the deck, his snout buried in the stocks page of the Saturday Evening Smelt. "Jeshal," he called without looking up, pacing toward his first mate, "Are you aware that most stocks these days barely cost a guilder? At that price we could easily pool our money and buy a controlling percent. I know that most corporations are rather defunct, as could be expected with the present recession, but it still may be possible to..."
His voice died away as his eyes travelled from the number columns to the beast held within Jeshal's vulpine paw. For a moment he stood frozen, Smelt clutched between his paws, jaw hanging slightly open as he stared at the... the thing which was trailing its smell across his deck. Anithias could not even tell if the thing was alive; judging by the smell, Anithias would have thought it had spent the past month decomposing.
Finally Anithias' mouth recovered from the stunning shock enough to mutter, "Mr Ironclaw, is there a reason this creature is aboard my ship? If not, I feel it my civic duty to inform the morgue." His eyes remained locked on Blinky, staring blankly at the draped form.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
This was lovely. It was like his whole tunic had turned into a vertical hammock. In fact, if it weren't for his arms sticking out either side, Blinky might have fallen straight through and gone right back to trying to nap.
Alas for the poor stoat, his days of swaying upright were over far too quickly as a metallic claw of some sort was pressed against his throat. Even he wasn't stupid enough not to know what that meant.
"I 'aven't got any gilders," he squeaked, breathless (thankfully).
But now he was confused. Wasn't he part of the crew now? Frostbite had said so! Did he have to join the Navy all over again? He was drunk last time! He didn't remember how to. He was only certain that it would be troublesome and time-consuming and they probably wouldn't let him fall asleep in the middle of trying to find somebeast who could make an X for him...
The stoat's mind rather shut down after the word "Bearin'". It lit up again, briefly, at "vittles", but another difficult word came along – "an'" – and he clicked off again. He was only vaguely aware of some sort of question being asked of him.
And so, hanging there (like 'Gates he was going to bother supporting himself, even if his footpaws were still touching deck; he wasn't very heavy anyways, so the fox could stand to yank him about a little longer as far as Blinky was concerned), he said the only thing that came to mind.
"Yer shouldn' insult somebeast ye 'ardly know. 's not nice an' it 'urts m'feelin's." He sniffled. "I ain't privvers ter no permitters an' never insubordinanced no 'frain's ever!"
His ear flicked toward the sound of another beast behind Jeshal.
"An' I ain't never civicked no morgue, either! 'M a stoat," he added, as if that might clear matters up. Which it probably did. "Frosty said so."
Captain Tarrin had also called him a variety of other things, such as "useless", "slug-headed", "frog-bottom-brained", and "thick-skulled son of a moron and an idiot if the moron had been a bucket of bait and the idiot had been the dried-up corpse of a one-armed taxidermied skink and the son had been adopted from even worse lineage." So there was that, too.
Jeshal the Ironclaw
"I ain't privvers ter no permitters an' never insubordinanced no 'frain's ever!"
Jeshal had been deciding between hurling the stoat overboard, risking the contamination of the harbour waters, or simply leaving the dangling thing for someone else to deal with when Freedom himself hailed him regarding something to do with stocks. Before he could work out what had just been asked of him, Anithias noticed the dead weight of Blinky in his claw.
"Mr Ironclaw, is there a reason this creature is aboard my ship? If not, I feel it my civic duty to inform the morgue."
Turning on the spot, the stoat draped pathetically like a puppet on his arm, Jeshal opened his mouth to reply when the stinking stoat became animated once more and blurted out:
"An' I ain't never civicked no morgue, either! 'M a stoat, Frosty said so."
Something clicked. Addressing Captain Freedom, Jeshal remarked, "I think the matter be gettin' somewhat clearer, Cap'n. Might I propose that the mention o' this 'ere 'Frosty' be none other than our newly appointed Cap'n Tarrin an' that this... stoat, in the loosest o' terms, be some sort o' dreg from 'is changeover? Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
To prove the point, Jeshal moved back to the rails and gingerly removed a tattered, greasy set of papers that were poking out of Blinky's sack.
"Ah, here they be."
Paws too full to open the papers for perusal, he offered the bundle toward Freedom.
"'Tis me belief there ye'll find the answer."
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
"...Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
"Aye," Blinky said, his face lighting up.*
The stoat made no noise or movement as he was hauled around; his eyes darted slowly from one thing to the next, trying to work out if anybeast was actually going to fetch him a pillow or if he'd have to ask again. His gaze briefly fell on the papers Jeshal found – papers that, ten minutes ago, had been in pristine form, straight and proper with recently-dried ink and Captain Tarrin's personal stamp sealing it all up. Blinky hadn't even touched them himself; Frostbite had placed them in his sack after Blinky had gathered his things. It was simply through proximity to the stoat that they had attained their crumpled, greasy, tattered form.
"Frosty sez I weren't t'eat that," Blinky announced.
* One of his brow whiskers waggled. That was about all the energy Blinky could spare.
Anithias Freedom
Anithias was much surprised when the corpse spoke up, babbling a nigh-unintelligible sentence about morgues and stoats. So it lives, he thought humourlessly. Quietly he filed away a mental note to immediately dispose of the stoat's body in the event of his death; if this was how the mustelid smelled whilst alive, Anithias would dread to catch his scent when he was dead.
Thankfully Jeshal seemed to understand idjitese. "I think the matter be gettin' somewhat clearer, Cap'n," he suggested in his elegant, if accented, tones. "Might I propose that the mention o' this 'ere 'Frosty' be none other than our newly appointed Cap'n Tarrin an' that this... stoat, in the loosest o' terms, be some sort o' dreg from 'is changeover? Rather than a new recruit, 'tis me regret ter say this may in fact be a transfer."
Anithias critically examined the stinkbag held by the Ironclaw. It did indeed seem the stoat was not a valued member of any crew; Anithias could not imagine who would possibly even accept the B.O.-ridden creature aboard. Then again, someone had let Jeb onto the Hide. Naval recruiters must have grown quite desperate over the seasons.
Not that captains had to be so lax. As was apparent by the stoat's mere presence on this ship. Obviously Frostbite had deemed the stoat to be of no use to his new command; otherwise he would not have forced a transfer. Anithias accepted the tattered, greasy transfer papers with a wrinkle of the snout, carefully peeling them apart. The stoat suddenly spoke up, mentioning something about not being allowed to eat his transfer papers. Anithias nodded, pretending to pay attention to...
Blaine Hinkly.
Anithias let out an audible groan. Hinkly. Of all the beasts with which to be stuck. How on earth had he not recognized the infamous mustelid? The stoat was famous throughout the navy as the most worthless layabout any captain could be forced to oversee. To make matters worse, Anithias was stuck with him. Hinkly had already served on both the BlackShip and Skeered, meaning Anithias could not transfer him without breaching naval etiquette. It was possible to boot the stoat to shore, but Anithias would need a decent excuse like absence from duties or insubordination. As Hinkly had just arrived on his ship, Anithias doubted he could claim either of these without raising a few eyebrows in the Ministry of War.
Sighing, Anithias carefully wrapped the greasy papers in a linen pawkerchief before tucking them in his jacket pocket. As an afterthought he wiped his pawfingers on a second pawkerchief in a vain attempt to remove the oily feeling. "Well, Mr Hinkly," he sighed, "it seems I have no choice but to accept your transfer. Welcome to The Golden Hide."
Anithias paused, sniffing the air. "Mr Ironclaw, stop by Master Urel's bunk and request that he give our new crew member a B-A-T-H," he spelled out, hoping that Blinky was as uneducated as he looked.
Blaine “Blinky” Hinkly
Blinky smiled, once more showing off his amazingly distraught dental facilities. He wasn't smiling at being recognised at last, or being welcomed – he was smiling at the word "bunk" which was a word he'd learned very early on in his time in the Navy – most of which was spent in one.
Not to say he didn't find sleeping anywhere else on a ship exciting, but bunks were comfortable. He hadn't managed to find any on the BlackShip until he magically became Bosun, because he hadn't yet figured out that the rooms with beds or hammocks in them were what he was looking for; he just chose them at random and woe betide any crewbeast coming off duty to find their room spoiled by his presence. Finally being given an Officer's Cabin had been Blinky's equivalent to winning the lottery, finding out your sworn enemy had been killed by his own overuse of waffle syrup, and suddenly being proclaimed Emperor all within the same five minutes. It had been glorious.
Then he had snogged Zilaco while sleep-sandwich-making, and that had been the end of that dream.
On the Skeered, somebeast had had the brilliant idea of stringing up a hammock inside the cleaning supplies cupboard, as there was just enough room for it and Blinky never needed any extra space. All the cleaning supplies were left on the floor of his new "bunk", and the chemicals seeped into his brain, causing him to hallucinate that the mop was talking to him. Not that Blinky ever figured this out; though he had stuck some various food items on the stringy end so Moppy would have a proper face. Otherwise it was a bit unsettling.
But now that was all over, and he was on another ship and the word "bunk" was being said by somebeast who looked very spiffy indeed, and Blinky had a sneaking suspicion that the bunk in question would be filled with all sorts of wonderful things, such as a mattress or a place to throw up that wasn't where his footpaws had to be.
"I 'opes a Bee-Tee-Aye-Aitch is warm an' fuzzy," he whispered sideling to Jeshal. "I noticed yer still ain't gotten me a pillow wot I h'asked fer."
