Thanks so much for all of your wonderful reviews! They made me smile so
big that it scared my dogs!
Disclaimer: see previous chapters; I'm lazy.
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David checked the clock for the third time in two minutes. It was 5:01 pm. The boy scowled; he had been trying to think of a plausible lie that would excuse the pirate's presence in his house, but lately he had been doing more clock-checking than thinking. He'd gotten nowhere. But Milo had been fed and Bootstrap had advanced two levels on "The Two Towers" video game, so as far as they were concerned, all was right with the world.
David thought the world currently sucked. He was stuck with a pirate, and he didn't know what to do. The big, wonderful, master plan was to stuff the guy in a tree house, for crying out loud . . . and that was just for tonight. He didn't know what was going to happen the following day or the night after that.
"Why me?" David moaned under his breath, poking sandwich crumbs around his plate. "Why, why, why, why-"
"David! David, I'm at level *four*!!" Bootstrap crowed triumphantly from the living room.
"Yay," David said flatly. Bill didn't notice the complete lack of enthusiasm because he was too busy dying.
"Damn!" Bill snapped. Luckily for David, the pirate had figured out how to restart the game himself. In order to give himself something to do other than check the time and not think, David got the pirate a glass of water.
"Here," David said, holding it out. Bootstrap looked at David as if the boy had offered him a newly-hatched parakeet.
"Er . . ." Bill said.
"You *have* to be thirsty," David said matter-of-factly. "If you don't drink something, you're going to get dehydrated, and then you're going to pass out, and then I'm going to have a *really* hard time explaining you to Mom."
"I'm not thirsty, lad," Bootstrap said, gingerly pushing the glass back towards David.
"What, do pirates not drink at all?" David asked in exasperation, pushing the water back. Bill backed away from the glass slightly, as if it were a stick of dynamite or a live rattlesnake. "Sorry it's not rum, but at least it's something. Drink it!"
"No!" Bill pushed the glass back.
"Yes!" David frowned and nudged the glass back towards the pirate.
"No, thank you!" Bootstrap shoved the glass back, and it toppled over, soaking the carpet.
"Aarrrgh!" David stomped into the kitchen to get some paper towels. "Stupid stubborn pirate," he muttered through his tightly-clenched teeth. "Good thing I didn't try to give him cranberry juice." He tugged viciously at the roll of paper towels, which spun wildly in its holder and spewed out a dozen squares before the boy could react. David found himself momentarily engulfed in a blizzard of the quilted, quicker picker-upper, and had to spend a few moments spinning the roll backwards to pick up the slack. By the time he had straightened out the roll and ripped off the towels he needed, he was in a very bad mood. He stomped back into the living room and set the paper towels on the wet spot.
"Sorry," Bill said meekly.
"Oh, shut up," David replied. Bill looked confused.
"Er . . . shut up what?"
"Your mouth!" David snapped, picking up the sodden mass of Bounty and storming back into the kitchen with it.
"Ah," Bill nodded, then realized that he hadn't shut up, gasped, and clamped his mouth shut. David was profoundly grateful. After a minute, Bootstrap started the game up again, occasionally making little muffled noises of triumph or disappointment when he either advanced a level or died again.
*~*
When 5:30 rolled around, David stomped back into the living room.
"Turn that off. It's time to go to the tree house."
"Mmf fmmrg mmm?" Bill inquired.
"Wha-oh, you can open your mouth again." David rolled his eyes.
"Oh, good," Bill grinned. "You can't explain me to your mother?"
"No," David sighed. "I'll have to sleep on it. Come on."
"Right," Bill stood up. David led the pirate out the back door and over to the giant maple tree.
"It's right up here." David tugged on the old knotted rope that led up to the tree house. Bill was up the rope in an eye-blink. Well, David thought, he was a pirate, after all. When David poked his head into the tree house, Bill was making himself right at home.
"This is nice," the pirate said, snuggling into a corner, and David got the distinct impression that Bill was just saying that to try and make up for the water spill. "Very, er . . ." Bill waved a hand vaguely, "rustic." David laughed.
"I'll be back in a minute with some blankets. You should be pretty comfortable, temperature-wise. It is July, after all." David shimmied back down the rope. He was back a minute later with an armload of blankets. He tossed them up through the trap door, and Bill caught them.
"Haul the rope up," David said, "and close the door. If you need me . . . well, just don't need me if you can help it. And stay up there!" David walked back into the house and collapsed on the couch.
It wasn't, he kept telling himself, a half-bad plan. The only way anyone would be able to tell the pirate was up there was if he turned on a light . . . and there weren't any. The only way his mother would be able to tell from the kitchen window was if she watched very, very closely for a few minutes . . . and there was no reason for her to do that because the only person who would conceivably be up there - namely, David himself - would be inside.
The front door opened, and David tried not to jump guiltily.
"I'm home, honey," David's mom poked her head into the living room. "There's groceries in the car; quit playing those video games and help out."
"I wasn't . . . oh, okay, Mom." David hopped to his feet, mentally scolding himself. 'I wasn't playing video games; it was the pirate who fell out of my locker this morning.' Real smooth. David grabbed a bag of groceries from the back of the car and brought them into the kitchen.
"So, what have you been up to today? I hope you weren't playing video games the entire time I was at work." David's mother raised her eyebrows at him.
"No. I . . . read some." David crouched down and stuffed some cereal boxes into the bottom of the pantry to hide his burning face. He *hated* lying to his mother, even though the truth was out of the question and the lie incredibly mundane. It was still lying.
"Oh? What did you read?"
"Harry Potter," David lied again. "I've only been playing video games since five thirty." He finished putting away the cereal and straightened.
"Well, that's a first," Ms. Jones said with a sarcastic grin, and David grinned back.
*~*
David tossed, turned, and sighed. He was trying to sleep, 'trying' being the key word. He kept thinking about Bill, sitting up in that tree house all alone, probably scared that a car was going to sniff him out and eat him. David stared at the ceiling. The more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. He hadn't even given the pirate any options if he needed him . . . not that there *were* really any options. What was he supposed to say, 'if you need me, hoot once like a screech owl, twice like a barn owl, and then make a noise like a dying giraffe'? But still . . .
David made up his mind. He'd go see how Bill was doing.
*~*
It only took David a minute to creep down the stairs and slip silently out of the house. The clock on the microwave read 12:24. His mom was definitely asleep; she had to be at work early the next morning. David tiptoed across the dew-soaked, moonlit lawn, pausing only to scoop up a few small pebbles from the garden. He stopped under the tree house, pleased to note that the rope was gone and the door shut, just as he'd requested. He chucked one of the pebbles at the trap door. It clunked against the wood, bounced back, and hit David on the nose.
"Son of a . . ." David hissed, rubbing his nose furiously. He stepped back and tossed the next pebble more gently. He could hear Bootstrap moving around. Why wasn't he opening the door? David was about to toss the third pebble when the door opened just a crack.
"What?" Bootstrap hissed.
David blinked. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine!" David frowned.
"Did I wake you up?" Why did the pirate sound so grumpy?
"No . . ." Bill paused. David opened his mouth to ask if the pirate was all right, but was interrupted by the swish of tires on asphalt. A car turned onto David's street, momentarily illuminating the boy in its headlights.
"A car!" Bootstrap threw open the door and lowered the rope. "Quick, lad!" David squinted at the car, then looked up at the pirate.
At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him from looking straight into the headlights. It almost looked (how silly!) like Bootstrap's head was just a skull, with some straggling hair still attached. Ew . . . He blinked a few times, but the illusion refused to go away. So he blinked a few more times. Nope, still just a skull.
David fainted.
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Muahahahahahaha! I know this is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, but I will update tomorrow, never fear!
Era-lynne: okay, so maybe they did . . . hehe. As to your first question, I haven't decided yet. I don't think that David would want anyone to know . . . but maybe someone does anyway. Hmmm. As to your second question, next chapter!
Kitty the drunken butterfly: he faints! Muaha! Poor Davey . . . so confused . . .
Keika no Kaiyou: Thanks! Gosh, you really think so? *blushes furiously* And I will keep writing more *salutes*!
Wheeeee . . . and remember: every time you don't review, God kills a kitten. Please, think of the kittens.
~Platy
Disclaimer: see previous chapters; I'm lazy.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
David checked the clock for the third time in two minutes. It was 5:01 pm. The boy scowled; he had been trying to think of a plausible lie that would excuse the pirate's presence in his house, but lately he had been doing more clock-checking than thinking. He'd gotten nowhere. But Milo had been fed and Bootstrap had advanced two levels on "The Two Towers" video game, so as far as they were concerned, all was right with the world.
David thought the world currently sucked. He was stuck with a pirate, and he didn't know what to do. The big, wonderful, master plan was to stuff the guy in a tree house, for crying out loud . . . and that was just for tonight. He didn't know what was going to happen the following day or the night after that.
"Why me?" David moaned under his breath, poking sandwich crumbs around his plate. "Why, why, why, why-"
"David! David, I'm at level *four*!!" Bootstrap crowed triumphantly from the living room.
"Yay," David said flatly. Bill didn't notice the complete lack of enthusiasm because he was too busy dying.
"Damn!" Bill snapped. Luckily for David, the pirate had figured out how to restart the game himself. In order to give himself something to do other than check the time and not think, David got the pirate a glass of water.
"Here," David said, holding it out. Bootstrap looked at David as if the boy had offered him a newly-hatched parakeet.
"Er . . ." Bill said.
"You *have* to be thirsty," David said matter-of-factly. "If you don't drink something, you're going to get dehydrated, and then you're going to pass out, and then I'm going to have a *really* hard time explaining you to Mom."
"I'm not thirsty, lad," Bootstrap said, gingerly pushing the glass back towards David.
"What, do pirates not drink at all?" David asked in exasperation, pushing the water back. Bill backed away from the glass slightly, as if it were a stick of dynamite or a live rattlesnake. "Sorry it's not rum, but at least it's something. Drink it!"
"No!" Bill pushed the glass back.
"Yes!" David frowned and nudged the glass back towards the pirate.
"No, thank you!" Bootstrap shoved the glass back, and it toppled over, soaking the carpet.
"Aarrrgh!" David stomped into the kitchen to get some paper towels. "Stupid stubborn pirate," he muttered through his tightly-clenched teeth. "Good thing I didn't try to give him cranberry juice." He tugged viciously at the roll of paper towels, which spun wildly in its holder and spewed out a dozen squares before the boy could react. David found himself momentarily engulfed in a blizzard of the quilted, quicker picker-upper, and had to spend a few moments spinning the roll backwards to pick up the slack. By the time he had straightened out the roll and ripped off the towels he needed, he was in a very bad mood. He stomped back into the living room and set the paper towels on the wet spot.
"Sorry," Bill said meekly.
"Oh, shut up," David replied. Bill looked confused.
"Er . . . shut up what?"
"Your mouth!" David snapped, picking up the sodden mass of Bounty and storming back into the kitchen with it.
"Ah," Bill nodded, then realized that he hadn't shut up, gasped, and clamped his mouth shut. David was profoundly grateful. After a minute, Bootstrap started the game up again, occasionally making little muffled noises of triumph or disappointment when he either advanced a level or died again.
*~*
When 5:30 rolled around, David stomped back into the living room.
"Turn that off. It's time to go to the tree house."
"Mmf fmmrg mmm?" Bill inquired.
"Wha-oh, you can open your mouth again." David rolled his eyes.
"Oh, good," Bill grinned. "You can't explain me to your mother?"
"No," David sighed. "I'll have to sleep on it. Come on."
"Right," Bill stood up. David led the pirate out the back door and over to the giant maple tree.
"It's right up here." David tugged on the old knotted rope that led up to the tree house. Bill was up the rope in an eye-blink. Well, David thought, he was a pirate, after all. When David poked his head into the tree house, Bill was making himself right at home.
"This is nice," the pirate said, snuggling into a corner, and David got the distinct impression that Bill was just saying that to try and make up for the water spill. "Very, er . . ." Bill waved a hand vaguely, "rustic." David laughed.
"I'll be back in a minute with some blankets. You should be pretty comfortable, temperature-wise. It is July, after all." David shimmied back down the rope. He was back a minute later with an armload of blankets. He tossed them up through the trap door, and Bill caught them.
"Haul the rope up," David said, "and close the door. If you need me . . . well, just don't need me if you can help it. And stay up there!" David walked back into the house and collapsed on the couch.
It wasn't, he kept telling himself, a half-bad plan. The only way anyone would be able to tell the pirate was up there was if he turned on a light . . . and there weren't any. The only way his mother would be able to tell from the kitchen window was if she watched very, very closely for a few minutes . . . and there was no reason for her to do that because the only person who would conceivably be up there - namely, David himself - would be inside.
The front door opened, and David tried not to jump guiltily.
"I'm home, honey," David's mom poked her head into the living room. "There's groceries in the car; quit playing those video games and help out."
"I wasn't . . . oh, okay, Mom." David hopped to his feet, mentally scolding himself. 'I wasn't playing video games; it was the pirate who fell out of my locker this morning.' Real smooth. David grabbed a bag of groceries from the back of the car and brought them into the kitchen.
"So, what have you been up to today? I hope you weren't playing video games the entire time I was at work." David's mother raised her eyebrows at him.
"No. I . . . read some." David crouched down and stuffed some cereal boxes into the bottom of the pantry to hide his burning face. He *hated* lying to his mother, even though the truth was out of the question and the lie incredibly mundane. It was still lying.
"Oh? What did you read?"
"Harry Potter," David lied again. "I've only been playing video games since five thirty." He finished putting away the cereal and straightened.
"Well, that's a first," Ms. Jones said with a sarcastic grin, and David grinned back.
*~*
David tossed, turned, and sighed. He was trying to sleep, 'trying' being the key word. He kept thinking about Bill, sitting up in that tree house all alone, probably scared that a car was going to sniff him out and eat him. David stared at the ceiling. The more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. He hadn't even given the pirate any options if he needed him . . . not that there *were* really any options. What was he supposed to say, 'if you need me, hoot once like a screech owl, twice like a barn owl, and then make a noise like a dying giraffe'? But still . . .
David made up his mind. He'd go see how Bill was doing.
*~*
It only took David a minute to creep down the stairs and slip silently out of the house. The clock on the microwave read 12:24. His mom was definitely asleep; she had to be at work early the next morning. David tiptoed across the dew-soaked, moonlit lawn, pausing only to scoop up a few small pebbles from the garden. He stopped under the tree house, pleased to note that the rope was gone and the door shut, just as he'd requested. He chucked one of the pebbles at the trap door. It clunked against the wood, bounced back, and hit David on the nose.
"Son of a . . ." David hissed, rubbing his nose furiously. He stepped back and tossed the next pebble more gently. He could hear Bootstrap moving around. Why wasn't he opening the door? David was about to toss the third pebble when the door opened just a crack.
"What?" Bootstrap hissed.
David blinked. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine!" David frowned.
"Did I wake you up?" Why did the pirate sound so grumpy?
"No . . ." Bill paused. David opened his mouth to ask if the pirate was all right, but was interrupted by the swish of tires on asphalt. A car turned onto David's street, momentarily illuminating the boy in its headlights.
"A car!" Bootstrap threw open the door and lowered the rope. "Quick, lad!" David squinted at the car, then looked up at the pirate.
At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him from looking straight into the headlights. It almost looked (how silly!) like Bootstrap's head was just a skull, with some straggling hair still attached. Ew . . . He blinked a few times, but the illusion refused to go away. So he blinked a few more times. Nope, still just a skull.
David fainted.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Muahahahahahaha! I know this is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, but I will update tomorrow, never fear!
Era-lynne: okay, so maybe they did . . . hehe. As to your first question, I haven't decided yet. I don't think that David would want anyone to know . . . but maybe someone does anyway. Hmmm. As to your second question, next chapter!
Kitty the drunken butterfly: he faints! Muaha! Poor Davey . . . so confused . . .
Keika no Kaiyou: Thanks! Gosh, you really think so? *blushes furiously* And I will keep writing more *salutes*!
Wheeeee . . . and remember: every time you don't review, God kills a kitten. Please, think of the kittens.
~Platy