So, I was reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (go Billy Bibbit!) and there was this conversation of the pecking party between McMurphy and Hardings, and I thought that Pintel and Ragetti could so have that conversation. And so they did.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pintel nor Ragetti. But if I did, I'd keep Rags in my jacket and feed him tater tots. Because Lord knows he needs it.
ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: I don't ownOne Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest either. But if I did, I'd steal Billy Bibbit away from the crazy house. Because we all know he doesn't belong there.
It all started during the lad's first week on the Black Pearl. What happened during that first week made the Bo'sun hate him for the rest of the young pirate's life.
Ragetti was mopping, which, at that time, was possibly the highest position a kid his age could acquire, and yapping –for his talking sounded like a small dog with an overactive voice box to him– to Pintel, his voice carrying all the way across the vast deck of the ship over to the Bo'sun's ears. He was hearing something like,
"You know, Pintel, what that black man looks like?"
"What, lad?" the older pirate had replied gruffly.
"He looks like a raw meat-eating, club-toting, me-Tarzan-you-Jane-ing big bald bubblehead that can only count to ten if he's barefoot or wearing sandals." And he nodded matter-of-factly, his face shining. "That's what he looks like to me."
"Can ye count to ten, momma's boy?" Pintel growled beside him, and Ragetti stiffened.
"Probably not, sir," he squeaked, and clung to his mop handle.
Then, in a mildly threatening, but altogether conversational tone, the older man said,
"Ye know what a peckin' party is?"
"A what–?" the boy had asked, shaking his head. "Er, no. I don't. Sorry..?"
"Why then, lad, I'll just have to explain it to ye," Pintel continued, in that same tone as before, "a peckin' party happens among chickens. Nasty buggers, chickens. Anyways, the flock –that's what them smart men in white, powdery wigs call a bunch of chickens, lad, so don't ye give me that look– the flock gets sight of a spot of blood on some chicken an' they all go to peckin' at it, see, till they rip the chicken to shreds, all bones an' feathers an' blood. But usually a couple of the flock get spotted in the brawl, then it's their turn. And a few more gets spots and gets pecked to death, an' more an' more. Oh, a peckin' party can wipe out a whole flock in a matter of hours, lad, I seen it. Mighty frightnin' sight, iffin ye ask me."
Ragetti was stock still by the end of the older man's speech.
"I'm the chicken with the spot of blood, ain't I?" he asked weakly, and Pintel chuckled.
"Aye, ye are. So's ye better watch out what ye say 'bout the Bo'sun. He'll say some mighty nasty stuff 'bout ye, an' soon enough we'll all be at each other's necks."
"Yes sir." Then Ragetti trotted over to the tattooed African man, stood on tiptoe, and spat in his face.
"Just so you know," he said, in his squeaky, raspy voice, as the Bo'sun swelled, "Don't say nothin' about me an' I won't say nothin' about you."
"Ya got till ten 'fore I rip ya tongue out an' shove it down ya chicken neck," Bo'sun growled, and the boy all but ran and hid behind Pintel.
"Yer a dead chicken, boy," the older pirate warned, between howls of laughter.
"I'm a dead chicken, Pintel," Ragetti agreed, and went back to his mopping.
Also, the insults directed towards the Bo'sun came from Cool Runnings, which is ALSO not mine.
Reviews and such welcome.And tater tots, because they rule.