Oh hai guise. Been awhile. Yeah. Like I've been literarily constipated. Then an old favorite shot me some good literary fiber, yeah that good Poseida Lunar kiddo. (The fiber wheatgrass shot was something like "dude, where the fuck have you been," except PLunar is a lot more polite than that). All scat jokes aside, I've decided to make this bit here somewhat more educational. I think all pieces will be bit more educational from now on. There will be a point to them! And ultimately, some sense of cohesion. I've also decided to cut back on the choppy dialogue, because I've decided it is embarrassing to my work. Anyway, sorry about the wait. "sorries" and "my apologies" aren't gonna change the long delay, but an update will. Have fun. I want something sexy next chapter. Do you? Yes. Yes, you do.
White spittle rained from angry man's mouth as railed against inherent evil of human nature and the coming rapture. Not a soul was spared.
"Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure towards hell; and if God should merely let you go, you would immediately sink and swiftly descend and plunge into the bottomless gulf and your healthy constitution, and your own care and prudence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness (etc. etc.), would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell! You all are held the way a revolting spider is held over a flame! (How do you do that?) Only by the grace of God do you not fall into this flame! And you children! Do not assume that your youth protects you from hell! God's rage is like the great and ever increasing waters that are damned at the present. They rise higher and higher until an outlet is given. Mark my words! Get your pencils and paper! (Pencils and paper!) God's raging waters (Pencils and paper!) will be released a year and a day from now! (Pencils and- wait, that's a pagan term, that year and a day. How sacreligious! Pencils and paper!) Make your fellow men of moral fiber! (Ehehehehe, moral fiber? Will that give us regular holy shit?) As of now, our councilors are trying to decide whether or not to pass bill 167. Bill 167 makes the purchase and consumption of various hallucinogenics illegal. (What's wrong with a good time, Father?) In addition to addressing these dangerous drugs, this bill will also increase funding to religious communities such as ours. With more funds, we will be able to lead our young away from crime and raise them to be moral citizens until the Great Flood. (Pencils and paper guys, it's the "Great Flood")
(I think an explanation of this island is in order)
"Pardon me, Father, I merely wish to make an announcement.
I HAVE PURPLE WEED FOR CHEAP. FIRST COME; FIRST SERVE"
There were so many gasps, you'd think that this was hell for balloons. Nevertheless, a handful of kids and a few scruffy old characters followed Rusla. Rusla said some thank-yous to the fellows who followed her and passed a bit of weed around. Seeing that most of the people here were content, she asked them all a question- What on earth was the history of this screwy island? The kids jumped around excitedly mumbling and yelling about the version they learned in school. It went a little like this: some time ago, after the void century, a group of religious people moved to this island after getting pushed out of every other island. Of course, there were some native people on this island, but as it goes, winner takes all, and the religious people won. The religious folks moved to comfy areas of the island and controlled the resources of the island and the labor of the natives. The natives, according to textbooks, are kind, deserve love, but have a weird culture that causes them to act, well, weird. But we must all be tolerant of culture and we must allow the natives to be weird, and we must continue support them financially if need be. When Rusla finished reciting this, one of the scruffy older men present interrupted. Sure, it was a good summary of the textbook, but this was the textbook. The local government funded the production of the textbook, so naturally, the textbook said what the local government liked. The part about the religious guys getting all pushed out of the island is correct and the part about the religious guys swiping the nice spots of land from the natives and putting them in forced labor is correct, but there is a big hole in their assessment of the natives. They've been painted as a bunch of weird guys who work the land and the religious folks are painted as a bunch of tolerant guys who try to help them with their charitable donations. So let's restart this. Some time ago, the religious nuts ended up out here, pushed out of other islands, whatever. They claimed the resources from the natives and the natives were reduced to little more than slaves. According to the literature of some self-immolating, hyper tolerant religious nut, the natives were taxed into submission. At first, they were charged a small tax to keep their land, and that tax was paid in the form of natural resources, then the tax was raised. They kept raising the tax until all the natives had to themselves was enough to feed themselves. The natives would've like to fight back, but they lacked the resources to. Instead, they developed a fatalist culture. They partied hard, and death became almost insignificant to them; life would never change. They learned not to seek anything better. The religious elites perpetuate this culture, whether they are aware of it or not. The elites supplement the meager earning of the natives with charitable donations and subsidized living and medical care. You'd think that this would help these people, but why work when you can feed yourself for free? Since the beginning of the Pirate Era, some of the natives have woken up to this madness. They won't take it anymore.
And so went the story.
Their story. Not "herstory" or any of the inane bullcrap. Freaking reality for ya.
But that doesn't explain the apparent middle class around this island. The Kidd pirates docked at a semi-busy port? It's typically the middle class who-
"Oh gosh! I should, like, change my name to Sakura. Sakura Tenshi!" gushed a girl with dull brown hair and even duller brown eyes.
"Eh? Oh she gets that way when she's high. Get's these odd fancies. One time, she thought her eyes were changing color based on her mood." The old geezer mumbled and appeared a tad embarrassed.
The Sakura girl stood up suddenly and let her gaze linger at one of the guys. "You're supposed to swoon over me." … "My mother died when I was but a young girl." … "My first boyfriend raped me" … "I had no friends in school; they were all jealous of my looks" She turned sharply and dramatically posed at Rusla. "Don't you hate being so pretty sometimes" The girl's eyes grew comically. The geezer moved in to shut her up, but Rusla stopped him. The old drunks at that bar (what was it called again? It's been so long…) never got this carried away. The girl tripped and fell. "Oh my gosh, I'm so clumsy…"
"She's waiting for someone, aka Mr. Right, to waltz up to her, help her up, and fall right back down in love with her," The geezer whispered to Rusla. "Very, very far down," he added quietly.
"How'd you know she wants that?"
"I see it happen a lot with these girls. Especially the wealthy ones who are butt ugly. They start flashing reebus-knows-what at poor blokes and throw attitudes like reebus wouldn't believe at any potential competition. Then they write about it like they're something worth looking at. Except, even their writing shows their shallow minds and irritating naïveté"
Rusla had something else she wanted to tell this group of kids, but she forgot. Thoughts fly when you're high. The weed soon ran out, and Rusla slowly walked back to the ship. Killer informed her of the plans to drink for one last night at one of the local bars.
"Are you going to hook up with Kidd again?"
"Probably not. He could barely perform last time."
"Heh. Repeat that when we get back to the bar. I want to see the look on that kid's face."
"Well played, my good sir."
A sudden sense of respect developed between the two at that particular moment. The mask sharply nodded at the woman who returned the gesture. They walked on without so much as looking back at each other, content with their mutual understanding of a good word play. The sun cast its light on Rusla's face, highlighting her features with its golden glory. And inversely, the shadows settled on Killer's masked mien, demonstrating the gravity of the meeting. Never before had two pirates on Kidd's crew participated in something so significant, as a clever remark. Nothing clever ever happened in Kidd's presence. Such an event yields exaltation, and not the Mormon variety. Rusla stopped before the ship and felt as though she stood on the edge of glory...
And then she decided on a quick nap before she'd join the crew at the bar.