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hellisonArr me hearties! Where be me pirate icon? magnum!hugh in the sea will have to do instead.
Anyways. The story continues
Previous installments - 1, 2 and 3
Hugh was passing the time by checking out just what damage had been inflicted in lil’ Hugh. It didn’t feel much different, tho that might be due to the constant application of ice. The only real difference was a slight swelling and that, mused Hugh, couldn’t really be counted a bad thing.
He was mid-contemplation when the door swung open, not kicked in this time. Filling the doorway was a tall, thin man, clad all in tweed; behind him a shorter, burlier man with a wild glint in his eye. The tall man peered down at him – all of him – and didn’t seem displeased. Hugh, never one to be shy, made sure they had a good view.
However when Tweed-dude’s eyes travelled back to Hugh’s face, he did seem slightly taken aback.
“Good Morning my dear chap. I see your chap hasn’t suffered too grievously so far. The Sig is a wise man; the ice was just the thing. However, we’ll soon have this sorted out. You’ll never even know it’s happening. Although, we may have a slight problem. Perhaps if we cover your face… Alphonse, your cap!”.
“My cap old boy?” replied his companion as he squeezed into the room “ I don’t see why you’d need … oh” He too stopped when he saw Hugh’s face. “Ah. Yes. Very superstitious johnnies, these Scots. Might be a problem there”.
Hugh decided this was all still part of the trip and went back to admiring himself, but was thwarted when a military style cap landed on his head and was pulled firmly down to cover as much of his face as possible.
“Hopefully that will work” he heard “are they all woaded up? Bring them in then, we must perform the Ritual. Then deal with that creature in the cage.”
There was some shuffling and scuffling about and the next voices he heard were very different “Hoots mon, we’rre ready fer the Ritual now! Me sickle is sharp and ready; Chiuidh, get in here with thon collectin’ bowl!”.
At the words sickle Hugh could take no more, he pushed back the cap and beheld the strangest sight he’d ever seen. The tweed-dudes were gone and in their place two naked weirdos, covered in... blue paint? Tattoos? The first was tall, with fine pelt of chest hair, the second… Hugh’s jaw dropped. For once he was speechless.
Chiuidh stared back at the man on the bed. How could this be? Dàibhidh gazed from one to the other. It was like looking in a mirror. Well. A mirror in which one was mostly clothed and the other naked and covered in woad, but still. The two men were identical!
“What the…” stammered Hugh. Maybe he was still asleep and this was part of those crazy dreams.
“By me grrreat uncle Jock’s Sporran, would ye look! Look at him Daibhidh!” Chiuidh found his voice “I cannae do this! Ye cannae ask me to . Even fer the Ritual, it’s no right, ye ken? It’s NO RIGHT!” His voice rose to a shout.
“Ye cannae ask me to change perfection like yon laddie there.” Daibhidh could only nod; asking Chiuidh to carry out the Ritual of Givin’ on one who could have been his twin was indeed not right.
“Well” pronounced Wingnut from the doorway “This is an unexpected turn of events. I shall have to rethink our options”.
Just as he said it there was a shout from above “Cap’n, Cap’n, the proximity alarm is going off!” The Sig sighed wearily, he’d have to confiscate the crew’s Firefly dvds, this was getting silly. “He means there’s another ship on the radar, I’ll go check it out.”
Everyone filtered out, leaving Hugh alone once more. Just as he figured this trip couldn’t get any MORE surreal, there was a crash and the air was filled with cries of “ARRR” and “AVAAAST” and “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, would you mind if we overran your ship? Won’t take a moment. ARRR”. He smiled. It looked like his call for help had been answered.
Who can the Mystery saviour be? How will they save Hugh without the Ritual?
Will this fucking thing EVER END so i can do some work?
Reclothing himself, Hugh got off the bunk and got packing. It didn’t take long, there wasn’t much he’d need to take away from here. So when the knock on the door came (who else would knock on a crab boat?) he was ready.
He wasn’t quite ready for what was behind the door. Standing straight and tall, long boots gleaming, red coat startched to perfection, wavy hair… waving - of course he’d come in uniform. The eye patch confused Hugh a bit tho, that was new.
“Arr” his saviour announced, then fished about in a pocket for a notebook.
“…er” began Hugh
“No, it’s ARR, I have it all written down here, look” the note book was proffered.
Still the drugs, Hugh figured, but this time he had to ask
“What are you fucking on about Gross?”
“If one is going to hijack a ship – if hijack is the right term, overrun perhaps – Hugh, once should be prepared to do these things properly. Arr. And so on. Now. What exactly has been going on? Why did you need me… “ a brief pause to consult the book “ye scurvy old sea dog?”
Hugh sat back down and tried to explain about how they’d drugged him and the lobster bite and the cutting and the weird tweed dudes and the really weird Scottish freaks.
“Are, excuse me, ARR ye certain ye was drugged?”
“Certain? Of course I’m fucking certain!” Were fucking lobsters? Come on, what else could it be?”
“Well now, I did read a fascinating article some months back discussing this very subject, the old Icelandic legends of the ‘Svipukrabbi’. These things are more likely than you’d think. We should go talk to these experts of yours, see what can be done. Arr.” Paul adjusted his eyepatch and was gone. Hugh shrugged, pulled on his jacket and followed.
Out on deck, there was quite a crowd gathered round the crab cage – the crew, the highlanders (now thankfully re-kilted) and the tweed-dudes had been joined by a second crew of what Hugh figured were pirates. Or more freaks dressed as pirates. There was certainly no crabfishing being done. Hugh groaned, Sig would dock his wages for this for sure. Although if he could just get away from this, he didn’t care if he never saw a cent. There was a lot of “ARR”ing going on, even from the Northwestern’s crew.
One louder voice cut through the rest
“What be the meanin’ o’ this Cap’n Hansen? Don’t you know what day it be? Don’t ye wish to be honouring our ancient traditions?”
Cap’n Phil swung onto the deck of the Northwestern from the Cornelia Maria, now tied up along side, resplendent in a tricorn hat, eyepatch and what looked like a stuck on beard.
The Sig groaned in chagrin, in all this lobster crap he’d totally forgotten the date
“Crew!” he bellowed “Below decks! If any man jack o’ ye ain’t back here properly attired in 5 minutes I’ll keel haul the whole bloody lot of ye!”.
The men of the Northwestern ran for it, leaving much less of a crowd around the cage. Hugh approached warily, but even after all this, he was still shocked by what he say. For the first time he started to think this might actually be happening to him.
The … creature in there had undergone some sort of transformation over night. It was still lobster *shaped* but now it was… furry. A fucking FURRY lobster.
Wingnut clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “As you can see, our friend in the cage has reached the advanced stages of his transformation. However it is still not quite final, and if we can save him, we can save you.” Alphonse coughed sternly behind him.
“My apologies, if we can be savin’ him, we can be savin’ ye”, Wingnut amended. But how?
Paul stepped forward “If I could be interrupting ye’ there, I may have a solution. Arr. You might not like it Hugh, but I assure you, it will work.”
“You mean I might like it LESS than being forcibly circumcised by two naked scotsmen on a pitching boat in the middle of the Bering sea?”
Everyone glared expectantly back at Hugh
“Oh for fucks sake. ARR. Ok?”. Both crews cheered heartily, the Northwestern men having re-emerged clad in all manner of piratey costume. Traditions aboard ship were very important.
Paul signalled to the Cornelia Marie and then, just as Hugh thought (for the.. how many times now? ) it couldn’t get worse, onto the deck swung Callum, looking just as he had in all Hugh’s nightmares. Apart from the skull and cross bones bandana on his head and, inexplicably, a eyepatch over his sunglasses that was. And somehow he STILL looked cool.
“Can’t you” – more glares from the assembled fishermen - “YE manage without me anywhere Dillon?” he drawled.
“Now Ray, I mean Callum, no need to tease him, he’s having a very bad day. Did ye bring them? The little landlubberin’ imps?”
“Oh no. Not them. Ye keep them bloody insects away from me, ye hear? AWAY” Hugh started to back away, but Alphonse blocked him and grasped him so firmly there was no chance of escaping.
“Inspired thought” pronounced Wingnut “simply inspired! You – Ye be worthy of bein’ a sea cap’n yerself someday Mr Gross”.
Paul accepted the match box offered by Callum “Thank ye kindly” and ignored the faces both Hugh and Callum were making at him. He opened it and out sprang two large weevils (large for weevils that is).
Paul raised them up, one in each hand and explained the situation to them
“Niknik Nik?” squeaked one
“Nok niknik!” the other, pointing a feeler at the cage [1]
Paul and Wingnut both grimaced “Now, there’s no call for that! Anymore and ye’ll be dumped in the brine!”
“The solution is quite simple” Wingnut explained “Roddy and Sorley here [the weevils jumped up and down in greeting], will remove the werelobster venom from our friend Hugh, then be scuttlin’ over to the cage to re-inject it into Mr Pinchy. This should counteract the venom already in HIS system and return him to his previous, hairless and non-demonic lobstery self. Arrr”.
Everyone looked dubious, as this didn’t sound like it made much sense, but he was the foremost expert on the subjects of werelobsters AND weevils, so who were they to argue, the brainless scurvy dogs that they were? Besides this whole thing had been going on for far too long, it was about time it was over, however it ended.
Hugh struggled in Alphonse’s grip, but couldn’t shake him; there was obviously a lot of muscle beneath that stupid tweed. As he opened his mouth to protest, Wingnut swiftly poured the remains of his hip flask of rum down it. Which was about the only good thing that had happened to him yet.
Slightly woozy, Hugh could do nothing as Callum shouted “Release the Weevils” (obviously enjoying all this FAR too much) and with a tiny cry of
Niknik nik, nikNIKNOK nik” [2] the weevils dived down his waterproofs.
Meanwhile Wingnut had taped up the lobster’s furry claws and hauled him from the cage, holding him down with the help of Edgar and Sig, ready for the weevils to do their thing. It was hard to say who was struggling more furiously, the lobster or Hugh, a fury of slurred invective streaming from him as the weevils extracted the venom (how? Some things are better not known).
Eventually they appeared, looking very pleased with themselves, and in a flash had leapt on the wriggling lobster and disappeared into his fur. Alphonse let go of Hugh, who slumped onto the deck, all the fight gone from him. Mr Pinchy, on the other hand, fought on, until suddenly he let out a piercing scream and also went still.
“There there, it be over now, so it do” Wingnut said gently, stroking Mr Pinchy as the fur slowly started to fall off him. “Ye’ll be yerself again soon. Both of ye.” Then, with a pointed look at Callum “Someone should see to our friend Hugh. It be time for us to go.” .
He shooed the weevils back to Paul, tucked the lobster under one arm and looped the other through Alphonse’s and together they strolled back to the waiting Giant Cock.
Cal shrugged and pulled Hugh to his feet “I told ye not to leave, ye bloody idiot. Besides, I got us a new gig. Driving big trucks. Arr.”
“doeshn’t shound verrry exshiting” mumbled Hugh
“Driving them over ICE. That manly enough for ye?”
“Might be. ‘s gotta be better than this”.
The two of them stumbled off towards the Cornelia Marie and a new start. Far away from here.
THE END (thank fuck).
[1] Werelobster?
There Lobster!
[2] Tie a rope around me, I’m going in!
Now, if you don't mind, I am going to collapse somewhere and do some work. Or something. Is it time for cider yet?
Anyways. The story continues
Previous installments - 1, 2 and 3
Hugh was passing the time by checking out just what damage had been inflicted in lil’ Hugh. It didn’t feel much different, tho that might be due to the constant application of ice. The only real difference was a slight swelling and that, mused Hugh, couldn’t really be counted a bad thing.
He was mid-contemplation when the door swung open, not kicked in this time. Filling the doorway was a tall, thin man, clad all in tweed; behind him a shorter, burlier man with a wild glint in his eye. The tall man peered down at him – all of him – and didn’t seem displeased. Hugh, never one to be shy, made sure they had a good view.
However when Tweed-dude’s eyes travelled back to Hugh’s face, he did seem slightly taken aback.
“Good Morning my dear chap. I see your chap hasn’t suffered too grievously so far. The Sig is a wise man; the ice was just the thing. However, we’ll soon have this sorted out. You’ll never even know it’s happening. Although, we may have a slight problem. Perhaps if we cover your face… Alphonse, your cap!”.
“My cap old boy?” replied his companion as he squeezed into the room “ I don’t see why you’d need … oh” He too stopped when he saw Hugh’s face. “Ah. Yes. Very superstitious johnnies, these Scots. Might be a problem there”.
Hugh decided this was all still part of the trip and went back to admiring himself, but was thwarted when a military style cap landed on his head and was pulled firmly down to cover as much of his face as possible.
“Hopefully that will work” he heard “are they all woaded up? Bring them in then, we must perform the Ritual. Then deal with that creature in the cage.”
There was some shuffling and scuffling about and the next voices he heard were very different “Hoots mon, we’rre ready fer the Ritual now! Me sickle is sharp and ready; Chiuidh, get in here with thon collectin’ bowl!”.
At the words sickle Hugh could take no more, he pushed back the cap and beheld the strangest sight he’d ever seen. The tweed-dudes were gone and in their place two naked weirdos, covered in... blue paint? Tattoos? The first was tall, with fine pelt of chest hair, the second… Hugh’s jaw dropped. For once he was speechless.
Chiuidh stared back at the man on the bed. How could this be? Dàibhidh gazed from one to the other. It was like looking in a mirror. Well. A mirror in which one was mostly clothed and the other naked and covered in woad, but still. The two men were identical!
“What the…” stammered Hugh. Maybe he was still asleep and this was part of those crazy dreams.
“By me grrreat uncle Jock’s Sporran, would ye look! Look at him Daibhidh!” Chiuidh found his voice “I cannae do this! Ye cannae ask me to . Even fer the Ritual, it’s no right, ye ken? It’s NO RIGHT!” His voice rose to a shout.
“Ye cannae ask me to change perfection like yon laddie there.” Daibhidh could only nod; asking Chiuidh to carry out the Ritual of Givin’ on one who could have been his twin was indeed not right.
“Well” pronounced Wingnut from the doorway “This is an unexpected turn of events. I shall have to rethink our options”.
Just as he said it there was a shout from above “Cap’n, Cap’n, the proximity alarm is going off!” The Sig sighed wearily, he’d have to confiscate the crew’s Firefly dvds, this was getting silly. “He means there’s another ship on the radar, I’ll go check it out.”
Everyone filtered out, leaving Hugh alone once more. Just as he figured this trip couldn’t get any MORE surreal, there was a crash and the air was filled with cries of “ARRR” and “AVAAAST” and “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, would you mind if we overran your ship? Won’t take a moment. ARRR”. He smiled. It looked like his call for help had been answered.
Who can the Mystery saviour be? How will they save Hugh without the Ritual?
Will this fucking thing EVER END so i can do some work?
Reclothing himself, Hugh got off the bunk and got packing. It didn’t take long, there wasn’t much he’d need to take away from here. So when the knock on the door came (who else would knock on a crab boat?) he was ready.
He wasn’t quite ready for what was behind the door. Standing straight and tall, long boots gleaming, red coat startched to perfection, wavy hair… waving - of course he’d come in uniform. The eye patch confused Hugh a bit tho, that was new.
“Arr” his saviour announced, then fished about in a pocket for a notebook.
“…er” began Hugh
“No, it’s ARR, I have it all written down here, look” the note book was proffered.
Still the drugs, Hugh figured, but this time he had to ask
“What are you fucking on about Gross?”
“If one is going to hijack a ship – if hijack is the right term, overrun perhaps – Hugh, once should be prepared to do these things properly. Arr. And so on. Now. What exactly has been going on? Why did you need me… “ a brief pause to consult the book “ye scurvy old sea dog?”
Hugh sat back down and tried to explain about how they’d drugged him and the lobster bite and the cutting and the weird tweed dudes and the really weird Scottish freaks.
“Are, excuse me, ARR ye certain ye was drugged?”
“Certain? Of course I’m fucking certain!” Were fucking lobsters? Come on, what else could it be?”
“Well now, I did read a fascinating article some months back discussing this very subject, the old Icelandic legends of the ‘Svipukrabbi’. These things are more likely than you’d think. We should go talk to these experts of yours, see what can be done. Arr.” Paul adjusted his eyepatch and was gone. Hugh shrugged, pulled on his jacket and followed.
Out on deck, there was quite a crowd gathered round the crab cage – the crew, the highlanders (now thankfully re-kilted) and the tweed-dudes had been joined by a second crew of what Hugh figured were pirates. Or more freaks dressed as pirates. There was certainly no crabfishing being done. Hugh groaned, Sig would dock his wages for this for sure. Although if he could just get away from this, he didn’t care if he never saw a cent. There was a lot of “ARR”ing going on, even from the Northwestern’s crew.
One louder voice cut through the rest
“What be the meanin’ o’ this Cap’n Hansen? Don’t you know what day it be? Don’t ye wish to be honouring our ancient traditions?”
Cap’n Phil swung onto the deck of the Northwestern from the Cornelia Maria, now tied up along side, resplendent in a tricorn hat, eyepatch and what looked like a stuck on beard.
The Sig groaned in chagrin, in all this lobster crap he’d totally forgotten the date
“Crew!” he bellowed “Below decks! If any man jack o’ ye ain’t back here properly attired in 5 minutes I’ll keel haul the whole bloody lot of ye!”.
The men of the Northwestern ran for it, leaving much less of a crowd around the cage. Hugh approached warily, but even after all this, he was still shocked by what he say. For the first time he started to think this might actually be happening to him.
The … creature in there had undergone some sort of transformation over night. It was still lobster *shaped* but now it was… furry. A fucking FURRY lobster.
Wingnut clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “As you can see, our friend in the cage has reached the advanced stages of his transformation. However it is still not quite final, and if we can save him, we can save you.” Alphonse coughed sternly behind him.
“My apologies, if we can be savin’ him, we can be savin’ ye”, Wingnut amended. But how?
Paul stepped forward “If I could be interrupting ye’ there, I may have a solution. Arr. You might not like it Hugh, but I assure you, it will work.”
“You mean I might like it LESS than being forcibly circumcised by two naked scotsmen on a pitching boat in the middle of the Bering sea?”
Everyone glared expectantly back at Hugh
“Oh for fucks sake. ARR. Ok?”. Both crews cheered heartily, the Northwestern men having re-emerged clad in all manner of piratey costume. Traditions aboard ship were very important.
Paul signalled to the Cornelia Marie and then, just as Hugh thought (for the.. how many times now? ) it couldn’t get worse, onto the deck swung Callum, looking just as he had in all Hugh’s nightmares. Apart from the skull and cross bones bandana on his head and, inexplicably, a eyepatch over his sunglasses that was. And somehow he STILL looked cool.
“Can’t you” – more glares from the assembled fishermen - “YE manage without me anywhere Dillon?” he drawled.
“Now Ray, I mean Callum, no need to tease him, he’s having a very bad day. Did ye bring them? The little landlubberin’ imps?”
“Oh no. Not them. Ye keep them bloody insects away from me, ye hear? AWAY” Hugh started to back away, but Alphonse blocked him and grasped him so firmly there was no chance of escaping.
“Inspired thought” pronounced Wingnut “simply inspired! You – Ye be worthy of bein’ a sea cap’n yerself someday Mr Gross”.
Paul accepted the match box offered by Callum “Thank ye kindly” and ignored the faces both Hugh and Callum were making at him. He opened it and out sprang two large weevils (large for weevils that is).
Paul raised them up, one in each hand and explained the situation to them
“Niknik Nik?” squeaked one
“Nok niknik!” the other, pointing a feeler at the cage [1]
Paul and Wingnut both grimaced “Now, there’s no call for that! Anymore and ye’ll be dumped in the brine!”
“The solution is quite simple” Wingnut explained “Roddy and Sorley here [the weevils jumped up and down in greeting], will remove the werelobster venom from our friend Hugh, then be scuttlin’ over to the cage to re-inject it into Mr Pinchy. This should counteract the venom already in HIS system and return him to his previous, hairless and non-demonic lobstery self. Arrr”.
Everyone looked dubious, as this didn’t sound like it made much sense, but he was the foremost expert on the subjects of werelobsters AND weevils, so who were they to argue, the brainless scurvy dogs that they were? Besides this whole thing had been going on for far too long, it was about time it was over, however it ended.
Hugh struggled in Alphonse’s grip, but couldn’t shake him; there was obviously a lot of muscle beneath that stupid tweed. As he opened his mouth to protest, Wingnut swiftly poured the remains of his hip flask of rum down it. Which was about the only good thing that had happened to him yet.
Slightly woozy, Hugh could do nothing as Callum shouted “Release the Weevils” (obviously enjoying all this FAR too much) and with a tiny cry of
Niknik nik, nikNIKNOK nik” [2] the weevils dived down his waterproofs.
Meanwhile Wingnut had taped up the lobster’s furry claws and hauled him from the cage, holding him down with the help of Edgar and Sig, ready for the weevils to do their thing. It was hard to say who was struggling more furiously, the lobster or Hugh, a fury of slurred invective streaming from him as the weevils extracted the venom (how? Some things are better not known).
Eventually they appeared, looking very pleased with themselves, and in a flash had leapt on the wriggling lobster and disappeared into his fur. Alphonse let go of Hugh, who slumped onto the deck, all the fight gone from him. Mr Pinchy, on the other hand, fought on, until suddenly he let out a piercing scream and also went still.
“There there, it be over now, so it do” Wingnut said gently, stroking Mr Pinchy as the fur slowly started to fall off him. “Ye’ll be yerself again soon. Both of ye.” Then, with a pointed look at Callum “Someone should see to our friend Hugh. It be time for us to go.” .
He shooed the weevils back to Paul, tucked the lobster under one arm and looped the other through Alphonse’s and together they strolled back to the waiting Giant Cock.
Cal shrugged and pulled Hugh to his feet “I told ye not to leave, ye bloody idiot. Besides, I got us a new gig. Driving big trucks. Arr.”
“doeshn’t shound verrry exshiting” mumbled Hugh
“Driving them over ICE. That manly enough for ye?”
“Might be. ‘s gotta be better than this”.
The two of them stumbled off towards the Cornelia Marie and a new start. Far away from here.
THE END (thank fuck).
[1] Werelobster?
There Lobster!
[2] Tie a rope around me, I’m going in!
Now, if you don't mind, I am going to collapse somewhere and do some work. Or something. Is it time for cider yet?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 10:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 10:34 am (UTC)One more to go. JUST ONE MORE.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 12:18 pm (UTC)Just as he said it there was a shout from above “Cap’n, Cap’n, the proximity alarm is going off!” The Sig sighed wearily, he’d have to confiscate the crew’s Firefly dvds, this was getting silly.
oh, oh oh OH. THANK YOU for the image of the northwestern boys gathered riund a wee tv watching out of gas. <3 at least SOME not-evil has come of this...
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 12:30 pm (UTC)BUT have you worked out who The Mystery Saviour is??
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:00 pm (UTC)you are a bad bad woman.
definitely the evil one now
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:04 pm (UTC)And trust me, if I had gone with some of
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 03:35 pm (UTC)my.
god.
i need a drink...
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 11:17 pm (UTC)*dies*
Glad you liked it ;)