Expedition Private Voyage to Croper's Cove: The Hitch

[Gyles Stowett]

Quartermaster Ingle Prizzack sheltered his corncob pipe with one paw as he leaned his back on the broad oak gunwale. With the other paw, he held a flickering match to the sweet tobacco grounds within until they glowed.

Never really in a hurry to do anything, was Prizzack, yet a remarkably punctual and diligent rat he was, sure enough. He never forgot a beast's name, neither, once he knowed it. He flicked the matchstick into the sea with weathered thumb and foreclaw before turning to the pair given him for the testing of the ropes. White puffs of smoke passed his lips and were carried away on the morning breeze as he spoke around his pipestem. "Well, now. I 'ears tell yer to be tested on yer seabeastship ken."

The brushy eyebrows waggled mischievously. Then, with all the lazy grace of a swan out of a pond, he sprang up to stand, loose and light, one bootless footpaw atop the wale and one paw taking a hold of one of the thick cables. He waved his free arm in an upward arc, indicating the flat lookout structure far and away up the mast above them and connected to the deck below by the swaying ratlines. Below, the sea crashed and sprayed as the Golden Hide entered true ocean waters.

"Sharper air in the maintop, maties!" he said, half shouting above the roar of the waves dashing against the great groaning hull and wind singing in the rigging. He tapped his skull wisely. "Clear yer minds fer the 'zaminations!"

@Greeneye @Darragh Harper

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh glanced sideways at Greeneye. He knew the searat was only five or so years older than him, but the scars of his past made him seem so much older. His frowning, one-eyed glares, the way he stumped about on his metal prosthetic leg, his hook always ready to gut a beast… Darragh looked away. Greeneye wanted no pity - as small and sliced up as he was, he had proven himself a formidable warrior and an able sailor. The young stoat ought to focus more on the challenge ahead, not how his fellow examinee would tackle it.

“Aye-aye, Master Prizzack!” Darragh called back, though to his own ears, his voice sounded like the nervous zheeping of a kit. The moment he set paws on the ratlines, he all but ran up the rigging, driven by a desire to meet the cause of his stomach-butterflies as quickly as possible. When filled with tension and anxiety, the stoat became even more of a blur of fuzzy white lightning than ordinary.

He was up the futtock shrouds and onto the maintop almost without thinking. The wind blustered treacherously up here, and as a precaution, Darragh took off his hat, squished the poor piece of felt into as much a ball as he could, and stuffed it into his pocket. It would not do to lose that in the middle of a test. He held onto a topmast shroud with one paw while he waited - this was not the time to look careless or showy.

 

[Greeneye]

Greeneye watched Darragh shoot up the rigging. He too, had been at the duel. Greeneye didn't hold it against him. He'd been there to support Silvertongue. Sighing, the rat took a cigarette from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He didn't have the pleasure of owning a pipe, so he had to make do. Greeneye took a match from his pocket it and struck it against his wooden armor, causing the match to light, and he lit his cigarette before shaking the match out. He placed a paw on the rope, and then he jumped, wrapping his legs around the rigging. He had to toss himself up each time, throwing his paw upward to catch the next piece of rope, until he made it up to the top alongside Darr.

 

[Gyles Stowett]

Prizzack was up after the pair in a trice. He shimmied, hopped, and swung off things. Easy as a squirrel in his own neck of the woods, was Prizzack.

He dropped lightly to a squatted stance, forearms resting on his bent knees, like a scout with a couple of fresh recruits. "Arrighty, me luckies."

For all the differences between the odd couple crouching on the maintop, they were close, like it or don't, as like they might as well be the only beasts 'round for a league. No help up here to be had, none at all. Just them three and the wind.

Nothing about nature wanted a wooden titan doing a balancing act on the waves, mind, nor a beast this high, neitherwise. Bless 'er, but the whole Goldie, and every ship besides, was proper miracles.

If a beast was supposed to stay alive, a beast had to be not too dull a blade, nimble, and with all the knowledge that came instinctual to a tar to make a quick decision when one was called for. That was it, life on the ocean wave, a lot of doing nothing and then a lot of doing somethin' quick, but not too quick, in the which like mistakes was to be had.

In short, the only life worth livin'.

Instead of any further direction, he took a draw on the corncob.

"Tell me a bit 'bout yerselves, and may'ap I'll tell yers a mite me-sides." The Master shrugged and let free another wisp of smoke past the pipestem. Then, a twinkle in his eye. "Best a swab knows the swabs he's testin'."

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh squatted in the three-way ring between himself, Prizzack and Greeneye. He hesitated, looking to Greeneye to see if the searat was eager to answer first. Then again, with the barest little Darragh knew of Greeneye’s past, he couldn’t blame the former pirate for being reticent. Since both older beasts were smoking, and Prizzack seemed in no hurry, Darragh fished out his long-stemmed clay pipe from his pocket. He prodded and packed his tobacco tightly into the small bowl, then quirked an eyebrow at Greeneye.

“Mind if I nick a light?”

The stoat and the searat had to lean their heads in close to transfer the glow of the cigarette’s ember to the pipe bowl. Not so long ago, Darragh might have called Greeneye his enemy. Even after the duel was over and the situation resolved with honour, the young poet’s anger had kept flaring up. After a week of spiraling thoughts and replaying every insult and threat in his head, Darragh had come to realise that thinking of Greeneye still as his enemy was hurting him, and giving him no peace of mind.

So, he let it go, and closed that door behind him. Now they were just messmates on the same ship. They’d seen action together, had a disagreement that had been and gone, and now… things were alright between them. Darragh’s pipe lit, and he puffed gratefully, settling back on his haunches.

What should he say about himself? Prizzack was asking to know him. What did you need to know about Darragh, in order to know Darragh? Though the poet had a love of verbosity, on this occasion, he decided on the honest truth, concisely worded.

“I signed up with the Navy just before we left for Urk,” Darragh explained. “I wasn’t a sailor before that. I worked odd jobs, a lot of seasonal things like pickin’ fruit. I was followin’ a… a feelin’ I had, that this was the right path. I think it is. Some day I want to be, y’know, published, with my poems. But it’s good to be on the Hide ‘til then. Feels like home. Even got a family of sorts here.”

 

[Greeneye]

Greeneye sighed heavily and took a draft of the cigarette. This seemed like a sensitive topic. A more personal question. Usually, he would have just answered with some crude remark, but after the duel… he realized he had a lot of work to do on himself. He figured it would be best to be open. Keeping to himself only hurt him before.

“Me own story… tis a long one, aye?” Greeneye started. “I was born on a ship, raised on the waves. Me farder’s a pirate, an’ I was one, too. Me mudder, probably some whore, who knows? She died when I was born, so I was all alone. Me farder’s a black-hearted beast, so I had it rough for a long time growin’ up. Ain’t no excuse fer how I’ve behaved.” He glanced at Darragh as he said this. “But I had ter learn ter survive on me own… so some o’ them defense tactics are just a bit dug inter me.”