Into the Vortex
Chapter 22
Talk Like a Pirate Day
Disclaimer: Talk Like a Pirate Day really exists; it's not something from my twisted imagination. September 19. Put it on your calendar.
Question: Is anyone other than Rachel actually reading this story?
Rachel: Oh, come on. Think harder. The mohawk really should have given it away. Who else do we know who has a mohawk? I'll give you a hint: he's one of my original characters. And do you want more vampires? 'Cause I can put in more vampires, if you really want.
A/N (8/15/2006): The end is in sight! This random adventure in plotlessness will soon be over. Well, within the next year. But fear not! For there is a third installment of Chaos in the Caribbean, to be called "Really Bad Eggs."
A/N (8/16/06): There's a song called "Talk Like a Pirate Day." Sung by Tom Smith. You've probably never heard of him. He sings filk.
A/N (8/25/06): Today was the first meeting of the Pirate Club this semester. Woot for rum and coke goodness. And hot guys in Lucky 13 pirate shirts. Oh, and I dyed my hair black a few days ago. Sang my song, "A Pirate's Life for Me," at the Open Mic. "Oh dear Mother, oh don't you cry for me, for I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea." I've got this new shirt I'm wearing, it says "Pirates, Ye Be Warned," and "A curse upon those who dare trespass." And it has a skull with a tricorn hat, and a drawring of a key. I love it.
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"Everybody stay calm," Uncle Jack said, aiming his pistol in the general direction of the crowd.
"We are taking over the store," Lyn finished for him.
He glared at her. Bloody girl. At least she'd stopped stealing his hat. He brought his hand to said article of headwear to make sure it was still there.
There were in Wal-Mart on the morning of September 19, which perhaps explains why no one panicked. It was, after all, Talk Like a Pirate Day; they probably assumed the weapons were fake. That is, until Katie shot out the lights. Then everyone decided to panic.
Kyra made a bee-line for the candy aisle—well, really more like a butterfly-line, flitting from place to place. She was easily distracted. "Hey, look, it's a picture of Junior and Trey!" She pointed at the posters.
"Everybody freeze!" yelled Bard Woggle. Since she was a Bard, she had a strong set of lungs. It may have been the sheer volume of her voice that caused all the shoppers to stop in their tracks (the cashiers were already frozen in place). Or perhaps it was the bullet Corwin fired to emphasize his girlfriend's order.
"Just do as we say, an' no one'll get hurt," Uncle Jack assured the terrified customers.
"Everyone, get yerself to the center o' the store," commanded Uncle Sam. "Samantha, me girl, check to make sure there's no one hidin'. Tobias, wipe that disgusted expression off yer face an' check for weapons. Toby, Sam, take yer wives an' search for loot."
Uncle Jack barked off orders of his own. "Junior, yer in charge o' gettin' beer. After this, we'll go on a rum run. Lyn, get food." He didn't want her anywhere near his alcohol. "Kyra—Kyra? Oh, there you are, love. No, don't drop the shiny; put it in a cart. Oh, dear. That much sugar can't be good for her. Lyn! Forget food, watch Kyra. Corwin, you get food. The non-bloody kind. Try not to smear your sunscreen all over it. Bard Woggle, you're with me. Anamaria, darling, take whatever you like."
Something furry leapt from a shelf to his head. He turned around to see Gypsy taking off with his hat. "Lyn! If your cat doesn't return my hat before we leave this store, I'll shoot her."
Will would have been telling his crew what to do, except Katie beat him to it. "Trey, you help Captain Carter with the prisoners. Billy, follow your Uncle Jack and make sure he doesn't drink more beer than he steals."
"Gaa," her son agreed, crawling toward the beer aisle.
"Good boy. I'll be looking at the knives." She turned her attention to their prisoners. "The definition of a hero is someone who gets other people killed. Anyone tries anything stupid, I won't just have your guts for garters, I'll keelhaul you and sting you up from the yardarm. And yes, I do have a keel and a yardarm at my disposal."
"Arr!" some idiot said. There's always an idiot who says "Arr" to everyone dressed as a pirate. Usually there are several. One can only assume that the others were wise enough not to tempt fate.
"And the next person who says 'Arr' is going to get a bullet through his brain. Savvy?"
In this efficient manner, the pirates ransacked Wal-Mart. Katie grabbed rifled from the rifle case and handed them out, along with supplies of ammo. "Don't worry, I'm eighteen," she assured the terrified sales clerk. Thirty minutes later, they were all gathered together at the front of the store. Except—
"Where's Billy?" Trey asked.
"With Junior," Katie replied absently, busy inventing new pockets in which to store her pocketknives. A rifle was slung casually over her shoulder. From her movements, she'd forgotten it was there.
Bits of song drifted toward them. "Yo ho, yo ho, it's talk like a pirate day. When laptops are benches God gave us for wenches and a sail ain't a low price to pay. When timbers are shivered and lilies are livered and every last buckle is swashed. We'll abandon our cars for a ship full of 'Arrs,' and pound back the grog 'til we're sloshed. Yo ho!"
With a growl, Katie stormed toward the beer aisle. "Billy! You were supposed to be watching your Uncle Jack."
"Uca Jack," Billy burped.
"'Ere, mate. 'Ave some more beer."
Katie grabbed the bottle of beer from Jack's hand. "How dare you try to get my son drunk!"
"Well, I admit, this stuff's not as good as rum, but the kid has to drink sometime."
"O ho," Billy giggled. "Eek up, marty, o ho!"
"It's 'Drink up, me hearties, yo ho,' kid."
Katie slapped Jack. "Now put the beer in a cart and join us at the exit, or we'll leave you here to be picked up by the police." She took Billy into her arms and returned to where the others waited.
When Jack finally stumbled into view, Lyn glared at him, said, "Corrupt your own child, Jack," and handed his daughter to him.
"Oh! I, uh, oh. Right, love." He held Cari very carefully. "I'm really no' as drunk as I look," he assured the infant.
"No, of course not," Katie said scathingly. "You were just dropped on your head as a child. No doubt when your father was drunk. As for you, young man," she said to her son, "you were supposed to be watching that man to make sure he stayed out of trouble."
"Bu' why's ru' go'?" Billy asked. Jack winked at him. Katie growled.
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"Jes' hand over the rum an' no one gets hurt," Katie said, pointing her pistol at the counter boy in the liquor store. "Oh, an' the mead. Ye got any mead?"
"You're crazy, lady!" the boy said, staring down the barrel of the gun. "This isn't Halloween."
"No, it's Talk Like a Pirate Day."
"La'to's awe be'ches Go' ga'e us fo' wenshes," Billy declared. Then he winked at baby Cari.
"Katie, tell yer son to behave 'imself," Lyn demanded.
"Oh? It's not me fault yer husband corrupted me son!"
Billy giggled. "Uca Jack. Uca Jack."
"Tha's right, Billy. I'm yer Uncle Jack." Jack tousled Billy's hair.
"Uca Jack."
"So where's the rum?" Katie asked as she cocked the hammer.
"Fine! Take the rum! But I'll need to see some ID."
"I'm eighteen, an' they don't have ID. Get over it."
"I found the rum," Uncle Jack announced.
"Great. Lyn, get the mead."
But Lyn was too busy testing out whether Jack's lap top was really a bench made for entertaining wenches.
Katie made a face. "Oh, get a cabin. Fine, I'll find the mead myself."
"D'u'k o' aiwe oah d'u'k o' mea'," sang Billy. ("Drunk on ale or drunk on mead.")
"Lyn!" Katie yelled. "You've been corrupting my son, too, haven't you?"
"Who, me?"
"Don't give me that look. I recognize that song. It's 'Odin Loves the Little Vikings.'"
"So?"
"So, it's filk. He couldn't have heard it on some street corner, and I sure didn't teach it to him."
"Are you done here?" asked the counter boy. "Because I've got customers."
"Aye, we be done," Katie said. "I found the mead. All two bottles o' the stuff. C'mon, mates. Let's go."
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"…I'm knowin' the pull of the sea. The fresh salty brace of the wind on my face through hurricane, sunshine, and squalls…"
"…And maybe we'll never get closer than seeing them on the big screen. So here's to old Errol and Depp as Jack Sparrow—"
"Captain Jack Sparrow."
"—and every damn one in between!"
They clanked glasses and drank deeply of the rum.
"…Avast there, me hearty, we're having a party, it's Talk Like a Pirate Day!"
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Please review? With puppy-dog eyes and Captain Morgan rum?
