"Guybrush!" came Hockworthy's fevered calls of desperation from below. "Guybrush!"
Begrudgingly, the half-conscious Pirate rolled from his unflattering repose on the bed and onto the unforgiving floorboards some three feet beneath. Wincing from the impact, he shifted onto his haunches and crawled from the bed to the balcony, rubbing remnants of his slumber from his eyes.
"Mm…..m-what's goin' on?" he mumbled, hoisting the weight of his body onto the balcony railing and teetering sedatedly over it.
"Oh, Guybrush, 'tis a horrible tale of and deception and malevolent betrayal!"
"Did Timmy authorise another fake ID for himself? Because he really doesn't look eighteen, and - -"
"Worse! Come down 'ere, quick!"
Denying the bewildered adventurer a second chance to respond, Hockworthy anxiously paced away from the resort, back to his Tavern over at the west side of town. Squinting, Guybrush averted his gaze to the horizon beyond. From what he could deduce, it promised to be another day of sunshine and spontaneously bracing sea breezes, although it was a tough call to make - - the sun hadn't even risen from behind the arcing dome of the ocean, the thick magenta shades of the distant beyond serving as the only light amidst the star-studded expanse above. Grunting with annoyance one final time, Guybrush returned to his room to ready himself.
The crispness of the morning air invigorated his senses, and he broke into a jog as he passed the same Union employee of the previous night, this time extinguishing the aforementioned lamps.
"Good morning, Rufus!" he beamed.
"Mister Threepwood!" acknowledged the employee, "What on earth is a Pirate of your fine stature doing awake at such an obscene hour?"
"Aw, you flatter me with your kind words."
"I should hope so - - it's company policy!"
"Oh," he sighed, bluntly. "Well, anyways, Hockworthy's called me over to The Tasteful Phlegm. He sounds pretty upset."
"And with good reason," Rufus continued, still busying himself with the task at hand, "He's gotten himself into a right pickle. Why, if it weren't for his desperate act of bribery, I'd be tempted to go and tell my employers of his felony right now!"
"Felony?" Guybrush wondered aloud.
"Go see for yourself."
Now quite concerned, Guybrush made his way back to the beached galley beside the harbour, but was stopped dead in his tracks when first he caught sight of it. So horribly jaded was the scenario before him, his heart wretched with physical pain, (he has a thing for Taverns,) and he fell to his knees, whimpering like a child.
"You maniacs!" he wailed, "You destroyed it! Darn you! Darn you all to heck!"
In his passionate outburst of characteristically cliché behaviour, he fought bitterly to turn away from the sight before him, but to no avail. He was wrought with horrified fascination, and took in every detail. Shattered barrels of life-giving alcohol were strewn messily about the cobblestone of the immediate area, mangy dogs and assorted vermin accompanying it. In a daze, he sauntered through the entrance and was overcome with the unmistakable stench of the downside of drunken glee and stupor. The interior was completely unrecognisable to him, as all of the brass had been dented; all of the mahogany, worn; and anything that could be potentially shattered - - shattered. To top it all off, so to speak, putrid froth soaked the entire flooring, and more than thirty uncouth, unshaven and unspeakably unhygienic apes of men were draped precariously over everything, as if they were some sort of slovenly décor.
"What…..happened here?" he whispered in awe.
"Aye," moaned Hockworthy from behind him. "'Tis a ghastly sight. 'Tis also the visual representation of me career's conclusion! Y'see, that traitorous lubber, Cap'm Sever, actually left these soppin' scoundrels 'ere when he set sail earlier this mornin'!"
"Left them here?" Guybrush repeated to himself. "But this is his crew! Who would leave their crew stranded on an Island without their consent?"
"Whatever 'is reasons, it leaves me in a wretched jam! Th' Sanitation Commissioner'll be here this afternoon, and if he reports this barren wasteland to th' Chubb Island Union, they'll be authorisin' the first public floggin' since the Great Laundromat Scandal of '53!!!"
"The Sanitation Commissioner?!" cried Guybrush, continuing his unofficial echo routine, "But he's supposed to be at the Tri-Island Area by Wednesday!"
"Haven't ye heard, ya ignorant bilge swigger?" Hockworthy scoffed, "He's investigatin' all of the South Islands! If that accursed Cap'm Sever were still here, these swelterin' swines'd be his responsibility. But he's not - - and I'm gonna cop it!"
"Okay, calm down. I may be naïve, but I know that we can't clean this up before then…..how about we push the whole Tavern into the ocean?"
"Ach, yer a flamin' ninny."
"No? Well, we've got to do something! Elaine told me that just one example of bad hygiene can cause closure of a whole Island if the Commissioner sees fit. And I'll be an undead zombie pillaging the homes of disabled Bank Accountants before I see Chubb Island shut down. It's the only place in the Caribbean where I can command respect simply on the grounds that my presence suggests I can afford to be here!"
"Aye, that was an inspiring speech, Guybrush," sighed Hockworthy, "But words alone won't clean this mess. And even if we did manage to tidy it up, not even th' Air Conditioning could filter out that horrid odour."
"Air Conditioning?" Guybrush inquired, the words foreign to him.
"S'right," Hockworthy explained, "Revolutionary new technology. Uses circulative air to adjust th' room temperature to yer likin'. S'quite primitive at th' moment, but."
Shaking his head resignedly, Hockworthy slumped over the Bar and absent-mindedly polished a mug with a rag, while Guybrush was left to ponder the concept of the device in question. He furrowed his brow for a moment, before turning to face the crestfallen Bartender.
"Where does this Air Conditioning System operate from?" he asked.
Hockworthy took Guybrush around to the starboard side of the galley and pulled away a slab of hardboard, revealing a large metal box with a steadily rotating fan behind the mesh grill at its front. Two large cylinders extended from both sides of the box and into the workings of the whole barge.
"Th' cylinder on th' left circulates air inwards, and th' one on th' right filters it outwards. I've got her pumpin' as hard as she can, but 'tis all in vain, I'm afraid."
"Could I have a moment alone with the Air Conditioner?" Guybrush inquired, sheepishly.
"Aye, sure," replied Hockworthy, "But whatever ye plan t'do, it won't help me when the Sanitation Commmissioner arrives."
He left Guybrush to tinker hesitantly with the bizarre contraption. Not long afterwards, Timmy came scurrying curiously around the corner.
"Well, Timmy," he began, "I've re-aligned the circulation so that both clockwise and anti-clockwise filtration run through the same length of piping …… a-although I'd be lying if I told you I knew why."
The monkey folded his arms and nodded understandingly.
"If the fan-force were more powerful, I could probably achieve a pretty interesting result from inside. But, uh…..it's not."
"Ee-oo-ah-ah?" suggested Timmy.
"My inventory?" repeated Guybrush. "Uh, all I've got is a half-empty can of cool refreshing Grog Twist. I could pour it into the mechanical workings of the Air Conditioner, but what are the odds such a senseless act of vandalism could achieve a faesible result?"
Timmy shrugged and gestured for Guybrush to do so.
"Yeah, you're right. It never stopped me before!"
He held the can over the mesh grill and steadily poured the sparkling green brew into the bowels of the device; a series of sparks and high-pitched wheezing noises making it clear to both the pirate and the monkey that perhaps it wasn't such a bright idea. However, their misgivings were soon dissipated as the intensity of the fan's movement increased dramatically. As both directions of circulative air were drawn along the same length of piping, it created an enormous self-contained vacuum, a powerful tornado spiralling angrily into existence inside of The Tasteful Phlegm! The force of the vacuum in question launched every unconscious Pirate, (as well as everything that wasn't nailed down) into the ocean, some thirty feet away.
Hockworthy stood outside in open-mouthed astonishment as Guybrush and Timmy came around the corner. Smiling to himself, Guybrush examined the recently vacated interior of the Tavern. Granted, it was certainly barren - - but there wasn't a trace of hygienic neglect.
"Wha - - Guybrush, melad! H-h-how did ye do that?! Ye've saved me business, ye have!"
"Oh, ho ho!" chuckled the Pirate, modestly, "Don't thank me. Thank the aerodynamic properties of new Grog Twist!"
Bestowing the bumbling adventurer with countless thanks, Hockworthy began repairs. Happy to have been of service, Guybrush took his log book, and went to sit on the pier with Timmy by his side. In his preoccupation, he disregarded the rapidly rising sun, and before long, a large shadow was cast over him. He looked up from the book and met the gaze of an intimidating specimen of a man resting against the mast of the arriving vessel. It was the infamous Caribbean Sanitation Inspector. One of the crewman dropped anchor beside the boardwalk, and the Inspector, still holding Guybrush's fascinated gaze, leapt over the railing.
"You there," he began in a deep tone, his thick Spanish accent further amplifying his already apparent dignity, "What occupation do you hold here at Chubb?"
"I'm just a tourist," Guybrush replied, his voice breaking slightly.
The man grunted with contempt and paced along the length of the boardwalk to the town. Guybrush and Timmy gave each other nervous sidelong glances before returning to their previous recreations.
"Well, Timmy," he yawned later that day, "What's say we turn in for the evening and settle Thursday night's postponed wrist wrestling duel?"
"Ee-ha!" the chimpanzee acquiesced, before scurrying onto Guybrush's shoulder as he stood up and stretched in the evening haze. He began to trudge wearily back along the pier, at the same time the Sanitation Commissioner from earlier that day was returning to his ship. Though there was nobody else present, the man failed to acknowledge Guybrush's presence, as he was lost in his own thoughts, mumbling to himself as he paced by.
"….That's odd," Guybrush heard him murmur, "Adrian said the place was trashed…"
Guybrush paused and contemplated the significance of what he had just heard. Adrian? Wasn't that the name of the Captain from the previous night? His curiosity fuelling his trademark whimsical musings further, the seasoned adventurer began to suspect that perhaps something was afoul in the Caribbean………….