Ok, next serving of mixed-up madness coming up!
P.S. I do not pretend to be a comic genius such as Richard Curtis or Ben Elton. Therefore, I can only try my best...doesn't bother me; it's you who've got to suffer.
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Chapter two: In which Meltchett and 'Cardinal Chunder' appear
Jack was in Tortuga. Nothing too shocking about that. He was whistling the song Elizabeth had taught him, the song his crew had learned to hate. It was early morning, the sun was shining, men were having gunfights between opposing pubs, and the women were flaunting themselves with all the subtlety usually associated with Tortuga: none.
The pirate ducked into a comparatively quiet establishment, and was immediately confronted by a strange sight, even by Tortuga's standards.
Laying flat on his back on the floor was a man. He wore long robes, and a sort of hat. He had a neat beard, and a pudding-basin shaped hair cut. He was moaning something terrible while clutching his head and stomach.
Another customer prodded the man with the detached leg of a barstool. The prone figure moaned louder.
"What's wrong with 'im?"
The man with the stool leg allowed a dry chuckle. He showed all of his teeth, or rather where they should be. Stumps were the only remnant.
"'E's bin at the ale, Jack! 'ad half a sip and keeled over like sum sorta' pansy!"
Jack knelt down, and poked the man in the shoulder. The clerical fellow sat up, and brushed Jack's finger away.
"Un-hand me, sir! Where, pray, am I?"
Jack leaned back, unsure. He eyed the retreating barstool man, who dropped his chair leg, and casually sauntered out.
"You sure talk right pretty, Mr, but you're in no state to be askin' questions."
"I shall do what I like! The Queen will hear of your impudence!"
"Queen? I'm not a royal watcher, Mr, but I know damn sure you English 'ave a King."
"What? Not Queen Elizabeth?"
"No, she's dead. Where've you been?"
"I'm not sure. Who are you? You don't sound very English."
"Ah, me? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm from the rougher part of the Caribbean, mate. You?"
"The Caribbean's a long way away, Mr Sparrow, isn't it?"
"Firstly, I'm Captain Sparrow, secondly, no, this is the Caribbean."
The man looked around the grimy tavern. The light from a window caught his eyes, and he winced and clutched his head.
"I'm Lord Meltchett. Advisor to the Queen. At least I was..."
"Oh? A lord? What in blazes you doin' 'ere? And drunk, of all things."
"I am not drunk! I was merely handed the wrong beverage. Now, kindly return me to my home."
"I'm not crossin' the Atlantic, only to be hung at the end for you or anybody, 'Lord'."
"Confound you! Get me out of this God-Forsaken tavern!"
Jack grabbed Meltchett's wrist, and hauled him upright. He shoved the grumbling man out into the Caribbean day. A faint scream was heard, followed by a string of curses.
Jack was about to leave, when he heard a faint voice, singing.
"See the little Goblin, See his little feet, Ten tiny toes-e-woesies, isn't the Goblin sweet?"
Jack looked round the apparently empty pub. The only other person was a silent bartender, pretending to wipe down tables and clean glasses.
Then, a tall, thin man appeared. He wore a black tunic, covered in sequins and glittering thread. He also wore a pair of black tights. Jack had to dry very hard not to laugh.
The man drew nearer. He had a beard, of sorts, and black curly hair. He noticed Jack, and abruptly stopped singing.
"Who are you?"
The voice was slurred by alcohol. Jack smiled in what he imagined was a friendly way.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate. Who are you?"
The figure raised a self-important hand.
"I, am Cardinal Chunder. And if you don't let me finish my song, I'll have the Queen behead you!"
Jack smiled some more. Another nutcase. If it carried on like this, he'd have an entire crew as mad and drunk as he himself was. He caught a hold of the other's large sleeve, and pushed his way out into the sunlight.
Meltchett was leaning against the wall, his hand clamped over his eyes. 'Cardinal Chunder' also seemed to prefer darkness, as he yelped in pain as the bright light hit his pickled senses.
"Right, you two. I'm takin' ye to see some fancy friends o' mine. Perhaps you've got rich people fever, or something."
Jack marched off toward his ship. Meltchett started weakly after him. However, he had another thought, and grudgingly grasped the other drunkard's sleeve. Together they tottered after the swaggering pirate.
P.S. I do not pretend to be a comic genius such as Richard Curtis or Ben Elton. Therefore, I can only try my best...doesn't bother me; it's you who've got to suffer.
***********************************************************
Chapter two: In which Meltchett and 'Cardinal Chunder' appear
Jack was in Tortuga. Nothing too shocking about that. He was whistling the song Elizabeth had taught him, the song his crew had learned to hate. It was early morning, the sun was shining, men were having gunfights between opposing pubs, and the women were flaunting themselves with all the subtlety usually associated with Tortuga: none.
The pirate ducked into a comparatively quiet establishment, and was immediately confronted by a strange sight, even by Tortuga's standards.
Laying flat on his back on the floor was a man. He wore long robes, and a sort of hat. He had a neat beard, and a pudding-basin shaped hair cut. He was moaning something terrible while clutching his head and stomach.
Another customer prodded the man with the detached leg of a barstool. The prone figure moaned louder.
"What's wrong with 'im?"
The man with the stool leg allowed a dry chuckle. He showed all of his teeth, or rather where they should be. Stumps were the only remnant.
"'E's bin at the ale, Jack! 'ad half a sip and keeled over like sum sorta' pansy!"
Jack knelt down, and poked the man in the shoulder. The clerical fellow sat up, and brushed Jack's finger away.
"Un-hand me, sir! Where, pray, am I?"
Jack leaned back, unsure. He eyed the retreating barstool man, who dropped his chair leg, and casually sauntered out.
"You sure talk right pretty, Mr, but you're in no state to be askin' questions."
"I shall do what I like! The Queen will hear of your impudence!"
"Queen? I'm not a royal watcher, Mr, but I know damn sure you English 'ave a King."
"What? Not Queen Elizabeth?"
"No, she's dead. Where've you been?"
"I'm not sure. Who are you? You don't sound very English."
"Ah, me? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm from the rougher part of the Caribbean, mate. You?"
"The Caribbean's a long way away, Mr Sparrow, isn't it?"
"Firstly, I'm Captain Sparrow, secondly, no, this is the Caribbean."
The man looked around the grimy tavern. The light from a window caught his eyes, and he winced and clutched his head.
"I'm Lord Meltchett. Advisor to the Queen. At least I was..."
"Oh? A lord? What in blazes you doin' 'ere? And drunk, of all things."
"I am not drunk! I was merely handed the wrong beverage. Now, kindly return me to my home."
"I'm not crossin' the Atlantic, only to be hung at the end for you or anybody, 'Lord'."
"Confound you! Get me out of this God-Forsaken tavern!"
Jack grabbed Meltchett's wrist, and hauled him upright. He shoved the grumbling man out into the Caribbean day. A faint scream was heard, followed by a string of curses.
Jack was about to leave, when he heard a faint voice, singing.
"See the little Goblin, See his little feet, Ten tiny toes-e-woesies, isn't the Goblin sweet?"
Jack looked round the apparently empty pub. The only other person was a silent bartender, pretending to wipe down tables and clean glasses.
Then, a tall, thin man appeared. He wore a black tunic, covered in sequins and glittering thread. He also wore a pair of black tights. Jack had to dry very hard not to laugh.
The man drew nearer. He had a beard, of sorts, and black curly hair. He noticed Jack, and abruptly stopped singing.
"Who are you?"
The voice was slurred by alcohol. Jack smiled in what he imagined was a friendly way.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate. Who are you?"
The figure raised a self-important hand.
"I, am Cardinal Chunder. And if you don't let me finish my song, I'll have the Queen behead you!"
Jack smiled some more. Another nutcase. If it carried on like this, he'd have an entire crew as mad and drunk as he himself was. He caught a hold of the other's large sleeve, and pushed his way out into the sunlight.
Meltchett was leaning against the wall, his hand clamped over his eyes. 'Cardinal Chunder' also seemed to prefer darkness, as he yelped in pain as the bright light hit his pickled senses.
"Right, you two. I'm takin' ye to see some fancy friends o' mine. Perhaps you've got rich people fever, or something."
Jack marched off toward his ship. Meltchett started weakly after him. However, he had another thought, and grudgingly grasped the other drunkard's sleeve. Together they tottered after the swaggering pirate.
