Pip Pip, Tally Ho - Talk Like a Land Lubber

[Opsa]

I say- all these sotto voices are quite driving me to distraction. Come on, Pieces, let's see if we can beat the boys to the punch.

No, no, no, silly duck- not to the Cap'n's Delight. To the (ahem) rapscallion climbing up the side of our ship.

_{I did get your joke, by the way, you imp! I was just dragging it out, as is my wont.}

[pieces o nine]

Sorry old thing!  Keeping one's opera glasses glued to one's limpid pool eyes does tend to obstruct one's observation of subtle social clues, doncha know.

Eww. That first one looks a bit scruffy and ill-kempt; let's hoist him by his "yardarm" and see what else turns up...

[Lorst]

"Rite!" screamed Lorst as he clambered awkwardly over the gunwhales. "Fust fing. Doan leeve yer gunnels lyin' aroun loike dis. It's untidy."
He glowered at the assembled dandies.
"Secun. Oi b'aint unnerstud a single hoity toity wurd ye've bin spoutin'. Ye're wurse than me spanishy naveegator Naufragios Diecisiete."
Naufragios stepped forward an bowed low, sweeping off his plumed hat with a noble flourish.
"Also known as 'El C..."
"Stay yer gob there Spanishy," growled Lorst. "Now, laydeez, Oi'll be avin' orl yer valoobels if yer pleez."

[pieces o nine]

Ooooh! One never dreamt that an impromptu cruise might include amenities of such piratical versimilitude!

Opsa, one simply must congratulate your organizational skills in hiring convincingly odoriferous thespians -- with such impeccable (albeit grating) timing!

Boys, do pass around the cognac again, eh what?

[Lorst]

Lorst stared uncomprehendingly at the bewigged jackanapes assembled on deck. Minutes passed in silence.
Keeping his flintlocks pointed at the milling peachies, he turned his head slightly to one side and said "Ennyboddy?"

The buccaneers shrugged in confusion and looked to each other for inspiration.
"Not a clew Cap'n. Oi fink dey mus be furriners."
"Frenchies mebbe?"
"Nah, Merkin oi reckin."
"Oi 'eard summit loike dat in tha Low Countries."

Naufragios stepped forward. "I do believe, Captain, that I may perhaps be able to formulate a reasonable translation for their unusual dialect."
"Arf parst heleven," replied Gunner Hackem.

Hackem turned towards Lorst and continued, "Cap'n 'ave youm spied yon trollop. Tha wun wiv the frills an' the flounces an' thee arse the size o' Tortuga. Oi fink 'ats Peeces."

Lorst moved close and examined the wench's face for a few moments. Under a tall beribboned wig that looked like a decorated bee skep her skin was plastered with a pale powder upon which bright-red cupid-bow lips were painted.  Unsettlingly pouty, he thought. A couple of small black felt shapes were stuck to her cheeks for some unknown reason. Her eyes, however, were particularly limpid.

"It be 'ard ter fathom," said Lorst, "but yer may be rite. Higgs, clap this coquette in irons, weez takin' er back to Venganza."

Higgs shuffled uncomfortably. "Errr.. sorry Cap'n, we ain't got no irons."

"WOT! Weez goin' plunderin' an yer furget ter bring thee irons? Mr Throgmorton, what duz yer artickles say?"
Throgmorton peered into his breeches. " Me tattoo sez 'Andle wiv care', Cap'n."
"Not those artickles man, yer pyrate artickles."
"Oh, them. Rule nummer 7 sez, 'Allus tek irons wiv yer if yer goin' plunderin'"
"Aha. See? Put Mr Higgs name on report. Punishment - a dubble servin' o' fish-head stew fer him tonight."

Hackem sidled up and nudged Lorst. "Cap'n, 'av yer notissed, thev got buckets o' grog. Oi spies a mountin o' Captains Delight over yonder. The crew wud be 'appy wiv sum o' dat."

Lorst sighed. His shoulders drooped in resignation.
"Orl Rite. Oi'll giv it anuvver try."
He turned to the assembled throng.

"DUZ..YER..SPIK..HINGLISH?"

[Bluenose]

I say, my good fellow.  That's no way to treat a lady.  Unhand her this minute.  I''ll have you know I was the senior boxing champion at Fetheringbridges Public School threeyears running so you better behave yourself, or I'll be forced to challenge you to three rounds under the Marquis of Queensbury Rules!

[Lorst]

"Naaar. Still nuffin. Troy agin," said Lorst with a shake of his head.

He turned to his Quartermaster. "Mr Throgmorton, while weez waitin', libberate sum o' that Captain's Delight an' lode it inter the boat."

[Pachyderm]

Ai sai, you, you ruffian, leave the bloody rum alone, that's essential supplies, dontcher know!

Who the blue blazes do you think you are, Sir. that cask is quite clearly ours, and only a seasoned bounder would consider it otherwise!

Yogendra, old chap, would you mind utilising those jolly old martial skills of yours and toss these unruly types overboard?

Thanks awfully.

[The Meromorph]

*** Lord Mero appears from the goat locker carrying a moderately sized swivel gun under one arm and a solid silver candelabra with three large burning candles in his other hand.   Wet, sloshing sounds, and a distinct metallic clinking resound from the swivel gun ***


I say, you pirate chappies. I couldn't find any gunpwder or shot, so I've loaded this with fruit knives and soup spoons, and a half gallon of Captain's Delight'...

I suggest you return to your boat at once.

*** A stunned silence descends on the poop deck, and several previously swarthy pirates turn extremely pale, aa several drips of Captain's Delight from the muzzle of the swivel gun begin to burn holes in the deck. ***

[Lorst]

The shocked buccaneers immediately drew their cutlasses and pistols, but Lorst raised his hand to hold them back.
Higgs' face was extremely pale and his voice shook as he spoke to his Captain.
"Cap'n, Oi dunt knaw wot yon Fancy sed, but dat swivvlygun lukes as if its primed wi' Captain's Delight. Such a dastedly fing wuz outlawed years ago." He shuddered. "If'n that cannel flame gets onnywere neer tha gun...."

Lorst nodded. He understood too well what could happen. He had lost his first command to a Captains Delight incident. Sweating slightly, he glanced towards their small boat.
"Ow's tha loadin' goin', Mr Throgmorton?"
The Quartermaster was passing the final barrel over the side. "She canna take any more, Captain!"

"Mr Diecisiete," ordered Lorst, "Pleez tell dese peeple abaht tha use of Cap'n's Delight as a h'explosiv."

Naufragios stepped forward. "Certainly, Captain. My pleasure." He turned to address the assembled foreigners.
"Well, no doubt you are fully cognisant of Section 4(b) of the Eighth Amendment to the Port Royal Agreement. Ratified at the 12th Convocation of the Brethren of the Coast, this section specifically outlawed the implementation of the substance known as 'Captains Delight' as a propellant, fuel or explosive. Such use is considered to be a cruel and inhuman treatment. You may recall the case of R v Black Spot (1706) which provides some guidance...."

Naufragios was interrupted by the sound of raucous, drunken singing.

"Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A Pyrates liofe fer me..."

The small boat, loaded with casks and (now very jolly) sailors was pulling away towards the 'Wanderin' Penguin'.

"Errrmm. If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that a swim may be in order." With impressive speed, the navigator leapt onto the gunwhales and dived gracefully into the water below.

"Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A Pyrates loife fer me.
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle an' loot.
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!
We kidnap an' ravage an'don't giv a hoot.
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!

"We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack,
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!
Maraud an' embezzle........

[Pachyderm]

Did anyone get a word of what that last chap said? Sounded damn like lawyerin' to me.

Ai'll have to speak to Bertie at the Admiralty, can't have dashed odd coves like that runnin' around with their own lawyer, it just isn't cricket!

Ai sai, they left us a bottle of Angostura! Capital fellows! Harry Pinkers all round, what!

[pieces o nine]

* shudders delicately at the near-threat of being clapped in irons *

* faints onto a conveniently placed deck chair, taking care to not wrinkle boating costume *

[pieces o nine]

*sits up in the faintest of snits, that no one has gallantly refilled her cognac as a revivifant *


* hopes that the sunburn incurred since last post will not mar her carefully maintained pallor *

[Pachyderm]

Here, m'dear. Have a pink gin. Them blaggards have done a runner with all the cognac...

[Opsa]

Great heavens, I think we all must have passed out just then. Where the deuce are we?