Best Served Minty fresh

Captain Haddock slept. Moonlight shone in through a narrow crack in the curtains, bathing a small strip of the room in an almost-eerie white light that cast a tinge of blue into the shadows. Unbeknownst to the Captain, a dark figure crept along the hallway. The door opened silently and slowly as the figure gained entry and slunk along the wall, carefully dodging a pair of shoes that had been tossed onto the floor over by the dresser and a voluminous pair of underpants that had fallen from the edge of the wash-basket and lay across the floor like a cotton trap.

The shadow slipped into the en-suite bathroom. There was a very slight noise – akin to something small being picked up and replaced by something else of similar size – before the shadow emerged scant moments later and took leave, creeping back to whence it came.

As the door closed quietly behind the shadow, the Captain snorted and turned over, oblivious to the dark machinations that had taken place that night.

x

Snowy catapulted onto the still-sleeping form of the Captain. The Captain woke with a startled cry and instinctively pushed Snowy away. It was the morning routine: Tintin always woke before the Captain and let Snowy out for a wee. When the dog was finished, he was always give a dental stick – a chewy dog treat that were affectionately called 'teef cleanies' – which he always ate in the Captain's bed. And Snowy always – always – catapulted himself onto the Captain's stomach.

"Good morning," Tintin called from the hallway. He always had to open the Captain's door for Snowy.

"Muh." The Captain rolled onto his side and threw an arm over his eyes.

"Can I leave Snowy here with you? I want to take a shower before breakfast."

"Yuh." Snowy had finished eating his teef-cleanie and was now lying stretched out beside the Captain, licking the man's hand.

"Thanks, Captain."

"Guh." He heard the soft click as Tintin shut the door behind him. These were dangerous times: Snowy was such a soft, fluffy, comfortable sort of dog that it was very easy to just fall back asleep together. It took all of the Captain's willpower to ignore the dog's wiles and push back the duvet. Snowy combated this by simply rearranging himself so that he was lying across the Captain's chest, pinning him to the bed.

Every morning the same damned thing.

With a groan of protest the Captain sat up. Snowy slipped off him and immediately staked a new claim by curling up in the warm spot behind the man. Suitably freed, the Captain swung his legs out of bed and got up. Snowy fell asleep.

The Captain staggered to the bathroom and relieved himself. When he was finished, he washed his hands and took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror.

It was hard to believe that his youth was behind him. Every day it seemed that there was a new wrinkle or a deeper line etched into his face. Where was that carefree youth gone? Where was the lad that was forever chasing girls and trying to score a cheeky kiss? Where was the lad who had to hide his cigarettes from his mum and wear buckets of cheap aftershave to mask the smell of the smoke? Where was the carefree young man who had laughed at the adults around him, and swore never to be like them?

With such contemplative thoughts to ruminate upon, the Captain broke wind loudly and burst out laughing.

Well, he's in there somewhere!

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the Captain grabbed his toothbrush and turned on the tap. Of course his skin was rough: he'd spent his life on the sea! There were weeks spent under blazing sun or freezing moon; days spent being battered by storms. Nobody had moisturised. Not even Chester – who was gay – had moisturised.

They laughed at young men today, with their manicures and exfoliation and moisturiser. Blistering barnacles, he still remembered times of sailing through such cold that simply smiling was enough to make the skin on his face crack and bleed!

No, he was fine. Sure, he was a little… worn, but that was life. He paused and squirted a blob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and, still smiling, started to brush his teeth. That's what you did: you lived. You couldn't stay young forever. His wrinkles, his lines, his scars… They were proof that he had lived…

… This toothpaste tasted odd. Sort of… burning. Burning at his tastebuds and the sensitive inner lining of his cheeks. He took a look at the tube.

Five Alarm Hot Sauce.

He took a deep breath from the shock.

Which turned out to be a bit of a mistake.

x

In his shower, Tintin paused as the first of the shouting and swearing reached him. He grinned, satisfied, and continued washing his hair.

Author's Note: if anyone replaces your toothpaste with hot sauce do not - that's do not - take a deep breath. That shit burns.