AUTHOR'S NOTE : After many months of editing, I give you the cleaned up version of Seriously Messed Up Men, now known as Expect the Unexpected because the original title has bugged me continuously for two years. I spent ages coming up with a new title, coming along bizarre titles such as Teach Your Wife to be a Widow and The Human Bat v. the Robot Gangster. Although I do think the new title pretty much sums up the story. Give it a few chapters and I'll probably change it again. Along with the tweaks and polishes of this story comes the latest chapter. Sincere apologies for the delay, my laptop died a slow death on me and for the past few months I've been juggling university assignments and the like.
I got fed up with Bloomer and renamed him to Porky. This was after a search that brought up names like Bobby Boucher, Pepperoni, Spanky and er ... Prince Publious. And no, that last one was not made up by me. I've also varied the crew a bit so that it wasn't always Hichens or Rowe at the helm, because it always seemed to be those two for some reason.
There are elements of the story which are out of time, such as some of the songs featured. I figured that I could get away with it seeing as part of the story is about a demon hamster and stuff.
I get that the story is not to everyone's tastes, if you feel the need to tell me it's weird or that you don't get it, then this story isn't for you. I prefer my reviews to be complimentary, constructive or suggestive, and not just stating the obvious. It's not to be taken seriously, I just like my humour in the form of the random and unexpected.
All of the characters belong to either history or James Cameron with a few of the incidental characters belonging to me.
CHAPTER ONE
"Gentlemen have you seen these kits?" Second Officer Charles Lightoller asked his fellow officers for the twentieth time since they boarded the Titanic. He brandished a large box detailing the image of an unfinished painting of a bouquet. The bouquet itself was split into sections, with each section having it's own number. "Painting by numbers! It's genius, you can't go wrong with it!" He added as he looked at the box proudly, excited to start yet another work of 'art' for his extensive collection which took up most of the space in his room. You see, there was in incident when Lightoller was seven years old. After producing an 'abysmal' painting he then frantically painted every day even while working. He hoped to one day produce the perfect painting he never could manage when he was younger.
First Officer William Murdoch scoffed as he slipped some whiskey into his morning coffee. It was Lightoller who was to blame for him crossing the line into occasional drunk to alcoholism, what with all the paintings and then having to hear about them every single day. "For Christ's sake Lights," He began while taking a swig of whisky before dumping the rest into his cup with reckless abandon. "The next time I have to hear about one of your paintings, I'm going to beat you over the head with it and shove those paintbrushes up somewhere unpleasant!"
"Easy William, Andares hates negativity and violence." Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall urged in a soothing South American accent. Growing up he was a lonely child who preferred to sit alone in his room and read countless children's fantasy books. It resulted in him creating several imaginary companions, much to his parent's dismay. Then one day, he was accidentally smacked on the head with a crow bar. The blow messed up his head, leaving him unconscious for a week. When he awoke, those companions fused together to become one with him, each one of them appearing randomly.
"Oh God, not Andares again!" Chief Officer Henry Wilde moaned as he slammed his cup of tea on the table. "This multiple personality act is really bunching my bloomers!"
"Um, you don't wear bloomers ..." Lightoller pointed out quietly. He gave Wilde a strange glance before setting out his paint pots and brushes on the table before him.
"He has a corset, I saw it in his room," Sixth Officer James Moody whispered, looking around in nervous fear. Unknown to the other officers, he was haunted by the spirit of a black Syrian hamster by the name of Porky. The little critter met a rather unfortunate end several years ago when Moody didn't notice him on the couch in his friend's house, and sat on him full force. Traumatised by the incident and the fact that he had to peel the flattened rodent off his backside, Moody is utterly convinced that the hamster's spirit is after him.
Wilde's corset could be explained by him being utterly convinced that he is in fact a woman in a man's body. Not to mention that he also secretly desires their beautiful clothing. Whenever he can, he likes to get into his corset and his mother's dresses and dance in his room in front of his mirror. It was rumoured that while working on a previous ship the captain walked in on him while he was in the middle of applying lipstick.
Murdoch took a swig from his cup and cut through the silence with a demand of, "Well?"
"T-That's my mother's, I ... I-I honestly don't know how it got muddled up in there," He spluttered as his colleagues were now staring at him with great interest and confusion.
"Will! Please don't make him mad!" Third Officer Pitman squeaked, looking fearful. He was terrified of confrontation. And his superiors. And stamps. And pretty much everything in sight. To this day, he still has recurring nightmares about the time a pigeon dive bombed and narrowly missed him. He runs for cover if a bird so much as swoops near him.
Fifth Officer Harold Lowe nudged Pitman and hissed into his ear, "He's going to get you for that! And then he's going to come after us all!" Unfortunately for him, he has a terrible case of paranoia. He tries so hard to hide it which has led to Moody insisting that everyone has to treat him normally. Not only that, but his colleague felt forced into sharing his room with him purely for security. Not that there's much space for the two of them, with Moody forced to sleep on the floor if Lowe was in his bed.
"Fuck sake!" Lightoller cursed while tossing his paintbrush into the water pot. "You made me go outside the line," He moaned, staring at his ruined painting. He looked mournfully at the small indigo smear that overlapped onto the green painted stems. "I'll have to bin this and get another one ..."
As he scrunched up the sheet of card and threw it into the bin, Murdoch laughed hysterically. Pointing a finger at the disheartened second officer, he watched him sulk off before aiming the failed painting towards the bin while still laughing.
"Now, laughing at Charles' misfortunes is not very nice, is it?" Boxhall began while he was still in his Andares persona and trying to prise the spiked coffee away from him. "Andares feels that if he were to assume that he were being mocked, it would damage his self-image."
Murdoch stared blankly at him as he swallowed another gulp. Holding the cup protectively to him, he retorted, "See ... The thing is ... I don't care about those damn paintings!"
Boxhall's face contorted slightly which then led him to bellow, "YO! DAT'S NOT RIGHT, BITCH! SUPPORT YO' FELLOW MAN!"
"No, not Big J," Moody whined into his tea, dipping the bag half-heartedly.
By this stage Pitman had ducked under the table thanks to Boxhall's loud voice startling him. He huddled by Wilde's legs, where he could clearly see stockings covering his ankles instead of uniform black socks. He shuffled on his backside over to Moody and clapped his hands over his ears while squeezing his eyes tight shut.
"Herb's under the table again," Wilde sighed as he rose to make another cup of tea. "This is going to be a long day ..."
The exact same scenario had occurred yesterday with the same outcome of Pitman hiding under the table after Lightoller threw his water pot across the room in sheer frustration. It took three of the officers four hours to convince him to come back out. The jeers and insults from Murdoch, who was drinking straight vodka from a cup, meant that he was near enough reduced to tears.b
"We need to get him out before the captain comes in! Or he'll fire us all!" Lowe cried in a panic. Fearing the worst he dropped to the floor and tugged at Pitman who was refusing to move and insisted on shoving him away. "C'mon Herb!"
"He won't fire us," Moody reasoned as he bent down to look at him. Overcome with a cold sweat and suddenly paling in colour he could feel Porky's presence. He decided to take his leave before the situation worsened. "Got to go!" He announced abruptly, knocking over a chair in is haste to run out of the Mess Hall and nearly steamrollering Lightoller out of the way.
"This time," He muttered, placing a new kit on the table and proceeding to remove the contents from the box. Picking out the yellow paint pot for the ball of yarn, he smiled happily as he dipped his brush in the pot and started to paint.
"See if you mess it up this time," Murdoch began rather menacingly while leaning back in his chair and finishing his coffee, "I'm going to paint you!"
"Shut up! You're putting me off!" Lightoller barked as he painted the loose end of the yarn very carefully. With a breath of relief he finished it and decided to start on the lamp adjacent to it.
"Enough of da hate bro!" Boxhall exclaimed, raising his hands in the air. "When da captain comes in, hows about we be happy?"
"Speak for yourself," Wilde grumbled as he sat back down with his second cup of tea and a stale scone from two days ago. "Look, it'll be a quick meeting. There's lots to do before we set sail at noon."
"Ach aye, I ken whit ye mean," Boxhall agreed in a strong Scottish accent which was something that always angered Murdoch greatly.
"No, no, no, no, no! Stop with the accent, you're not bloody Scottish!" He groaned, slamming his fist on the table with a loud crash that made Pitman scramble from underneath and scurry over to the wall. "You're English! Got that?! Imbecile!" He added with a scowl.
"Will don't be so mean!" Lowe gasped, actually sounding quite horrified.
"Don't be such a pansy!" Murdoch spat at him, throwing his cup in Pitman's direction and watching it smash on the floor in front of him.
"Help me!" Pitman cried as he backed further into the corner and shaking with fright.
As this commotion was going on, Wilde buried his head in his hands, praying that whatever joke was being played on him by having these men assigned to Titanic would be over soon. Sadly for him it was real and clearly wasn't going to get any better. He looked to Lightoller who was paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to what was going on in the room. "Why is this happening to me ...?"
Murdoch poured himself another coffee and spiked it with yet another flask of whiskey that was hidden in his jacket pocket this time. Looking over at Pitman he decided to stagger over drunkenly with the flask in his hand to the cowering officer. Handing Pitman the half-full flask he demanded, "Drink it, because you'll fucking need it."
Pitman cautiously took it as he watched Murdoch stagger back to the table and slumped over the table with his cup. He finished the whiskey in two gulps and pulled himself up onto his feet. Tip toeing to the table he carefully placed the flask near Murdoch before scampering to where he was sitting earlier.
As the men settled down Moody reappeared in the room with bloodshot eyes and a large scratch on his left cheek. He sat back at the table, refusing to make eye contact with his colleagues. He glanced down to see blood visible under his fingernails and subsequently hid his hands under the table.
"You're back," Lowe muttered, staring intently at his tea and swirling a teaspoon around the cup. He watched a miniature whirlpool form in the cup after removing the teabag and dumping it on the table.
The silence was broken several minutes later by the sound of footsteps. Captain Smith strode into the Mess Hall and looked around at the officers before him. Not one of them looked happy aside from Lightoller, and that was down to the progress he was making with his painting. Only Murdoch acknowledged his arrival by a squint salute which resulted in an accidental finger in the eye, "Shit!"
"This is going to be a long voyage," Smith sighed to himself while preparing himself mentally to address the men. "Here we go ..."