Chapter III

The Pirate Festival, Day One

"Hey, Vera." Claire said, gently shoving her friend's shoulder. Veronica, soon growing bored with daytime game shows, had decided to take a short nap until three o'clock, when they both agreed they'd prepare for the festival.

"Wha?" she groaned, disinclined to sit up. Or open her eyes, for that matter.

"Time to get ready!" Claire said perkily, disappearing into the bathroom before shortly coming back, her hands dripping with water. "It's cold!" she said, "Don't make me hurt you…" she warned cheerily.

Veronica waved her arm in the air. "Yeah, I'm coming. Hold on."

She made no motion to move.

"Too bad." Claire said, tsking. Then, jumping on the bed, she thrust her hands on Veronica's swanlike neck. Vera's legs curled in, and her fingers clenched. "Ah! That's freezing!"

"I know." Claire chirped happily, bouncing. The movement shook Veronica, and she rolled -literally- off the bed. There was a moment of stunned silence, then a muffled, "Ow."

"You okay?" Claire sprang into action, vaulting over the bed and landing on the other side, stooping down to be closer to Vera's level.

"Yeah." Veronica picked herself up. Wiping lint of her skirt and turning to face Claire, now fully awake, her eyebrows raised.

"Very nice!" she exclaimed, impressed.

"Thanks." Claire said, looking down at herself humbly. She always glowed when praised about her looks. After all, it was nice to hear.

She was dressed in an aged linen frock coat, a dark, unbuttoned waistcoat, and a prim white shirt tucked neatly into her woolen breeches. A baldric was draped across her right shoulder, ending snugly at her left hip. Her suede boots stopped promptly just beneath her knees, and a faded green headscarf was wrapped around her head.

It was her impeccable taste for near authenticity that had elicited Veronica's praise. Of course, she knew, pirates dressed like regular sailors for practicality, as well as having nothing grand on hand. The frock coat was exaggerating the true nautical simplicity of common sailors…

But it was cool.

"You going to wear anything?" Claire asked, sitting down on their one chair while picking up the complimentary Holiday Inn pen and scribbling doodles on their free notepad.

"Of course!" Veronica squealed, dashing towards the closet. Claire gave a snort and rolled her eyes. She shouldn't have asked.

"I'm wearing a wench costume!"

"I thought you might," Claire said, nodding and furiously crossing out a blob that resembled an old man with a large nose.

"It has a bustier, and a skirt, and everything!"

"Yeah, Vera, most wench costumes have skirts." Claire laughed.

"Well duh! They should! I mean, they're ladies. Not gross, sweaty pirates." Veronica began digging in her own suitcase for her outfit.

"Nope, not gross sweaty pirates. Sleazy, sweaty whores." Claire answered, staring in befuddlement at her intention of drawing a skull and cross bones. It looked more like a squashed pumpkin and crossed cylindrical objects with the top part of hearts as ends.

"Ew." Veronica replied distastefully, holding up the bustier in front of herself at arms' length, yet looking over at Claire and wrinkling her nose. "Well my character will just look like a prostitute. She won't be one."

"Smart choice," Claire answered absently, finally ripping off the page and dumping it into the wastebasket by the desk she was sitting at.

"Right. Well, anyway, I'm going to go try this on. Okay?" Veronica said, clutching the material of her dress to her bosom and admiring the way it billowed when she twirled.

"Alright, sure."

-x-

Come a few minutes later, while Claire was lounging on the bed, reading a piratical novel about Anne Bonny, Veronica came out of the bathroom and curtsied with a flourish. Propping herself up with her elbows, Claire applauded.

"You look beautiful!"

"As always," Veronica agreed, posing with no humility whatsoever. She was wearing a white blouse that hung off her shoulders and a black bustier with a gold thread lining and pattern. The skirt was off-white and made out of pure cotton, ending down at her ankles.

To be honest, Claire was surprised at the lack of cleavage. "So modest! I can hardly see anything." she snickered.

"Pshaw, you haven't seen me around the men yet. Then you'll find out how modest I am." Veronica retorted in mock bawdiness.

"I'm not going stick around you long enough for that. I don't want to hear any ribald comments being made." Claire said, grabbing a keycard and her wallet, then stuffing them both in the pocket of her waistcoat.

"No fun lady," Veronica pouted.

"Decent lady," Claire disagreed.

-x-

The pirate festival lasted for a week, though they were both leaving tomorrow, and Claire convinced Veronica that if she really needed to, they'd pick up men at that time, since she wasn't thrilled at the idea of having strangers in their hotel room overnight.

Claire was driving them in her Camry towards the mission where the event was being held. A few times, they needed to consult the Mapquest page they printed out, but found the mission with relatively few hitches. The easiest giveaway was the building itself…and all the tricorn hats, plastic hooks, and giggling groups of tweens dressed like older women.

Paying for their admission at the door, -Veronica had lifted a coin purse from between her breasts, and winked at the man collecting- they were ushered into the courtyard of the mission, where a beautiful and ornate fountain stood guard. It was rimmed with lapis lazuli stained tiles, and wildflowers grew trim and collected around the base.

A stage with gold bowers was set up with its back to the fountain, and a man closely resembling Mr. Smee from Disney's animated Peter Pan was rousing the rabble that had gathered in front with good ol' pirate jokes.

"Isn't he cute?" Claire asked Veronica, pointing at the man.

"You like older guys?" she asked in confusion.

Claire's brows furrowed, and answered laughingly, "No way, of course not! I mean cute like a little old grandpa, or puppy kinda cute."

Veronica patted her back and said, "Just stick with young, buff men. 'Kay?" she advised airily.

Claire half-smirked, and nodded. Taking her wrist, Veronica led her over to a stand where they were selling pirate necklaces and merchandise and held up a baby doll shirt that displayed in pink, flowing letters, 'Kiss me, I'm a pirate.'

"Now this is cute. Forget the guys!" Veronica said excitedly. "Well," she added after a short pause and a dubious look from Claire, "forget them for…a little while, at least."

After a quick exchange of cash, Veronica was toting around her new top and a purple rhinestone studded skull and crossbones necklace in plastic bag that said 'Enjoy your day!' with a blue smiley face.

They then veered towards the games area, and had participated in the best dressed pirate competition, yet lost to an adorable five year old bundled up like a replica of Jim Hawkins from the 1950's Treasure Island movie. Walking away from the event, Vera said in disgust, "The kid was sweet and all, but ugh! It was completely judged on cuteness. If I had known, I'd have dressed differently."

"Oh c'mon," Claire said reasonably, "you'd have dressed up like a hag if it would have gotten you an award."

After pursing her lips thoughtfully, Vera said, "Well, a sexy hag, maybe."

A passing couple overheard the conversation and their gazes lingered on Veronica. They looked wary, but made no comment.

-x-

A little while after, they split. Claire enjoyed herself getting involved in many other piratical activities like pin the eye-patch on the pirate, and so on. Veronica had turned to browsing and flirting with many rogues that had attended.

At six-thirty, they both decided it was time to head back to the hotel room and rest up. Besides, the festival closed in an hour, and they still had much of tomorrow to come back.

Veronica was driving this time, and she took a different route than Claire had, gliding along a street that ran parallel to the ocean. From the passenger seat, she looked out calmly at the serene waters, admiring the orange lines that streaked across them, cast by the final, dying rays of the sun.

When they turned back inland, Claire shifted in her seat and closed her eyes, imagining herself on an eighteenth century sailing ship, clinging to the rigging like a monkey, dancing around the shrouds and bounding to the fo'c'sle to rest while the remainder of the crew went topside, belaying nautical terms back and forth.

It was all a nice daydream, but soon she had to help Vera lug back all her souvenirs, none of them men.

After ordering in pizza, and watching Forrest Gump on pay-per-view, they both retired to their own beds, expecting an eight o'clock wakeup call in the morning.

Claire couldn't wait for sunrise.