#finishthestory Week 35!

This is an entry for the contest from the @bananafish folks! I'm bad at pirate slang, but I tried my best! : )

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Pirate hunters

by @theironfelix
Boots calmly walked towards an open window-hatch, a bottle of rum is lowered down onto the sill. Upon the placement, the pirate places his scarred-induced hands on his wailing back and pushes.

“Argh! Me back be free of this wretched ache! Well, guess I learned a lesson: take a break when the Cap’n says so. Welp, time to rest...”

Taking his cue, the sill creaked in annoyance as the pirate’s body self-inquired the best resting position while perched on a sill. With a hairy arm supporting his night-colored beard, he spent his leisure-time mentally capturing the seas itself. There the familiar specs of white dots danced about the blue sky; he gasped before slowly releasing the captured air, he remembered how deep in the seven seas the ship was. With the mind returning to boredom, his eyes scanned under the blue sky.

“Ah poor ship, how these blue, blue, waves harass yah. I can hear yer wails, but I judge not. And even when the harassment be over, the aches only then take over; yet only can I respond with ‘such is life’... Huh, what be a ship in these waters be doing here? Where’s me spotting scope!”

The boots thus began a chaotic dance recital; the arms took the center stage as it flailed around to uncover the hidden telescope. As the telescope may have enjoyed the scene, it soon squeaked loud upon the firm clasp on its metallic skin. The pirate returned to the window-hatch and his arms stretched the telescope wide-wards. Eyeing in on the odd element, his eyes darted around to find any friendly symbol but soon froze.

“Oh me Flyin’ Dutchman! We’ve been tracked! Hey ho! Sound the alarm, pirate hunters come and in full-mast they set sail towards us!”

Whatever wail the ship can ever muster, the cacophonies of a hundred bodies darting around alone had easily drowned out such sorrows. The pirate unsheathed his sword, the sun’s naïve light touched and bounced off the sword. Sheathing his sword, he unholstered his flintlocks and his arms helped his eyes scan such. Cocking and holstering them, his body emerged from his room and joined in the traffic of the workplace as pirate bodies shuffled and kicked around to ready on their position. Albeit the humidity would’ve granted a hasty rest through stroke, the adrenalin surging about the bodies had protected them from unwanted advances of humidity.

Finally getting to the deck, he about-faced and attempted advancing towards the Captain’s spot. However, the Captain echoed:

“Brace!”

And the pirate mass dropped dead and clung hard to any support they could find; as soon the ship screeched thanks the holes formed from the steel cannon-shots who mercilessly ripped through her. With that, the pirate mass resumed its circuitry and soon he met with the Captain; he screamed:

“Madame! I’m here, let me take over the steering and yah the commandin’!”

“Finally yer here, Wither! Please, they be gainin’ too much ground. So steer us towards oure enemy! And when we get close, steer us parallel to their starboard side and avoid portside! Today, I must accept my bounty and let them hath none of it!”

“Cap’n oh Cap’n! Are yah mad?”

“Mad? No! Blimey, avoid their hull Wither!”

............................................

The pirate heard the captain but felt restless as he now remember the flag he saw flaming on the hunters’ mast. A crossed flag of the empire. They had approached him the night before setting sail, in a bar, and showed him that same flag. They knew he was on that woman’s crew, and they only wanted the Cap'n and some of their closest mates. But he was new there and they would let him go with his part of the bounty, if he did his part for easing the capture of the old sea turtle, they said. They had paid for his drink and left a shining doubloon on the table, and that little gold coin, carefully sewn to his rags, was now heavier than a blue whale.

The pirate was filled with doubt. Would he sell the Cap’n or stick to her instead? But why would he? Only the old woman and her mateys had their face on them dead-or-alives. If they lost, their bodies would be brought back to land. Wither would just be a bag o' chum left to drift on the sea with the remains of the boat.

He doubted while looking at the Cap’n’s back.

“Aaaugh, damn me belly!”

He shouted while steering the ship where the Cap’n had told him to, but drawing his trusty flintlock, grabbed backwards to smack the old seadog in the nape. As the woman’s body fell to his feet, he turned to the pirate mass that shoved and pushed on the deck.

“Hear ye, scallywags! The Cap’n might want to go out kicking, but me surely wants to live to see land again. Dem hunters only want him and his closest mates, and have promised gold to dems who help on the capture!”

After a moment of silence, a voice raised from the mass.

“Damn yer eyes and yer sticky hands, ya stinkin’ barnacle! They'll do us all!”

Confusion and violence took over. Bullets and men filled the air and the sea, and the deck was now more of a mess. Wither defended the steer while getting the ship to a position where it could be boarded. Luckily for him, those who were on his side overpowered the others and he could easily manage to control the ship.

The hunters quickly boarded and subjugated those who were still fighting. One of them got to the steer and jumped over Wither, pushing him onto the edge, although he was pulling a white flag.

“Wait, wait, ya rat! I’m with ya! ’Twas me who delivered ya the ship, and the prey."

He pointed at the Cap’n.

"Now lemme speak to yer boss!”

The hunter smiled with his sword at Wither’s neck.

“So ya are our little friend, eh? Then let me pay ya for yer kind service, master Sharkbait...”

His hand moved the blade sideways, and blood muted a shout from the pirate who now fell along the hull.

“Such is life for unloyal monkeys...”