Arr, Souls At Night: Cosmic Conquests Of Captain Cutlass

by Quillon42

Mixes the exploits of the most colorful Captain in the Late 1990s PS1 game Critical Depth with a bit of the plot points from the novel/film Our Souls At Night, in a technical sense here. (You don't have to have read Our Souls to get this as it's really just the Captain rambling and griping about other characters from the game and his responsibilities as victor and such).

ARR, SOULS AT NIGHT: COSMIC CONQUESTS OF CAPTAIN CUTLASS

By Quillon42

CAPTAIN'S LOG, DAY 305

Never has this bawdy boatswain felt quite the ballastfull bliss as he has of late, from the cable lengths to the nautical miles he hath traversed across the most basic ball bearing known as the Earth!

Since them nickel-skinned lobster types alighted from the great beyond, an' gone and bestowed upon I an invincible ship to sail the stars, the voyages have become ever more gratiftyin' and gleeful.

Ta say nothing of the covey of lovely lasses who have been coordinated by these starfarin' specimens to sail along with Captain Cutlass on the Sea Dog, fer the entire duration of his tenure in the black reaches of space! As it stands now, I been joined by no less than five wenches most of who've known the helm of an undersea vessel; as such, I kin count on most all of 'em to journey with me and not suffer the sick of the motion persuasion, as me fair ship so lists this way and that amidst the stars.

Of all these sugary sweethearts, yet, I must declare that Stannous Polly be the bird who is still closest to me heart (me hearties). That trusty tin parrot upon me shoulder been serving as me counselor, me confidant, and me consort for decades on end. Twill take a slew of seducation on the part of me brides for aught of them to e'en begin to supplant me Poll.

Yestermorn those most ornery ten-tickly strangers, they sayis that I should round up all the skags that I walloped in the waters, an' set up for cereal execution. To this I voiced a protest, opinin' that they put up good spirit in them oceans, an' that their sorry skins should be spared as yet the damp embrace of the hereafter. Respectin' me wishes, the fishfolk have em' all swabbing decks fer the nones.

CAPTAIN'S LOG, DAY 421

An' so the cossimick crustaceans, they tell me that I need ta take on that rapscallion Joe Skullion as a first mate upon me ship. That the scurvy bairn kin be of…invallyble 'sistance to me and me operation out here, given that the rags upon his scrawny hide be tied and dyed up and down which to them is some sort of sign, the holy kind. Like puny Joe is some auld brand of a Jaysis! To which my response is He been farin' finely on his own in the waters; let him continue to stroke his way along the gallicksy on his lonesome, I ain't got no room or use in summation for layabout poofs flyin' more colors than there're feathers in a peacock's pooper.

Had been amidships in sleep when Evelyn (De Pocalypse) had roused me with concerns of visitin' several spawn of hers from back on the planet. I says What cares I of yer ill begotten critters? To which she responded with a flip of her locks of platinum white, an' an eye that sayed I would be sleepin' down in the Locker of one Davy Jones this eventide. This seeming castigation of ice-lation suits me well any rate; ol' Glen cannot yet say he is used to aught as much female companionship these past weeks, and his lonely hand has missed him sorely so to that he must oblige. At any rate of knots, the strumpet not, in fact, be placing the kitty out to play; she is as a-cold as the polar latitudes from whence she and her blasted megalegomaniac beau from leagues before had hailed.

Tonnes of mine timbers had been all but shivered at another discovery which had been made of late. Naught less than those secretive scalawags, the CIA (Controllin' Information Agentsy) been spreadin' the goss concernin' the coterie of charmers I been keepin' round. Who was ta say that my personal business be privy to any maritime bureaucrats such as these? Ta think I saved those louts from interminable probings at the prods of tha Pods…per'aps I should forward a recommendation for a subsequent abduction of the same on their part.

CAPTAIN'S LOG, DAY 536

Yet another of my maidens, she of the Spanish heritage…Senioritis Miranda Enyajaddy from the wayward n' woeful nation of Venganza…she be inquirin' as to the reason that I chose her, and not gone and elected some other delectable doxy in fact fer impression into my bevy of five barmy wives. Hidin' was I, from this blood-bereted femme-rendition spittin' image of that Hispanic rebel Chuggavara, the fact that t'weren't up to me at all in the most primary of instances, as the plutocratic crabs from 'cross the void'd played matchmaker, to the amusement o' me masochistic side. To spare my pride I gone and told her that she was me first and foremost of ladies on me list, inasfaras I been a plunderer fer as long as I can ken, and she had been a plunderee given she were born in that isle most assailed and travailed.

Verily, in reality, should the occasion fall 'pon me to decide upon the least offending of the ladies deigning to so join me upon my most potent prow, I'd suppose the honor'd fall to the most gracious Genevieve. Somehow she suffered at length through a token courtship courtesy of that greasy strapper Jack Keon in his pansy purple shitshark. (Not that he'd delivered on any front during his entire emotational theatre of orchestrations during the time he begged just for the privilege to exist in her presence). 'Nother words, fer all of his coin and his brash bravado, that jellyfish jerkoff couldn't please his lady in any manner positable. Leavin' it to yers truly ta serve as the most astern prow for the gal's beauteous keel. Genny gone and plied me with a barrelful of Bubblebeard…yea the ale of the most potent ginger kind…and we had both our way in the hay tharafter. I reckon what was most pleasurable about the tryst was the fact that fair Gen was pure of heart as well as her most hallowed haven.

(Twould be a lie if I were to say that the same purity could not be said for this Captain as well).

CAPTAIN'S LOG, DAY 682

Had been desirin' to get ta ladling with this other damsel upon me comet-chasing craft, this shrewd sultana by the name a Dana Nadel. She been trudgin' through the tide in what looked like a seaplane, flyin' fathoms deep in the surf 'steado on the surface of the same. I engaged in me mating overtures so's we could make like a Shaker n' a Power Pod percolatin' in a cozy cauldron…n' all she wants to talk about's purchase n' profit n' the like. Bawlin' her pretty peepers out over the breakup of Mordrid, which sounded to me like she been goin' steady with a lubber from the legend of King Arthur of Treacher's. Yet she clearified the story n' told me it been the handle of her company that gone folded, i'the advent of those strangers upon the saucers. 'Twas all I could do to lend her some of the shiny booty of a couple'a Pickup Pods to try'n raise her spirits, but I be receivin' no priceless booty from her in return; tis' a severe fellationy she hath committed, the criminal cur.

Then a run a' the mongrels in shawls rears around to give their thanks fer assistin' them in an evasion from a feedin' frenzy at the jaws of the beast they alligated was their "god" Zornad. While they were content to be breathin' yet still, I could tell by the same shilling that they was navertheless a mite bitter that they failed to achieve the communion they'd been seekin' with the same. What flavor a' maneuverin' does it take to get genuine gratitude from such a poxy party in this age! Surrounded by naught but utterly certifiable loonies am I!

To bring a grin back onto each dread downcast face, I spared a Damage and an Armor Pod for them to boot around with some'a the Cephalo Overseers. Methinks the Order a Nishroch honestly had been cooked up across the cosmos, as the spinning apple pie that's their ship in fact emits the same jade energy signifigature 's those floating emerald Medusazoa douches fer whom I'm flyin' me sable sails. Yon Order, stay several of longitudinal stretches away for the durance of our collective exploits, says I.

CAPTAIN'S LOG, DAY 793

One other frau on the frontier out here in my harem o' the heavens is this girl who gone forget the name she enjoyed upon her christenin' proper, and says that she fer all purposes answers to Joan Oaks. Tells me that this be originatin' from the cause she had back on the mudball, ta save the floory n' fanny t'were the plants n' animals on the Earth. 'Course, it never occurred to neither her nor her biodegradation boy toy John Pine (as he claimed he was called, while waxing the starboard the other day) that murderin' humans be a mite bit on the hippopotamacritical side'a things…

Aught a ways, bonny Joanie gone suggestin' to me that, while she thinks I have a very choice and pretty place here with me Sea Dog starship, it could stand to have a bit more ambulance with any number of wildlife in the lower holds. I tells the hipster harpy, We not be needin' no improvement of th' ambivalence of this crate with a slew a' stowaway strays! D'ya take me for some kind a Neo-Noah in fact, t'be salivatin' every species from extinction in me travels! Thar needs be no expoundin' beyond that that I once again bunked solitary after that conversation. Naught that it matters as I have a need to be plannin' me next pillage amongst the pulsers n' planetoids anon, an' without the interference a' intercourse and its urges, I most likely be better off (as is usually the case).

They say that the expanse of the universe be the most surreal n' sublime sight a sailor could ever set his eyes upon. N' that those up in the ether all contribute to a bennyficial intergarglactic community a sorts. Yet fer all the fools I must suffer on the daily, n'the black blanket that is the bedspread of space in fact, aught I see's is a gaggle of arseholes at night.