Disclaimer – Yes, another update – and, for Cynlee, this one is a tad bit longer in length, too! Go me. Seriously, though, I feel mildly rejuvenated regarding this story. Ideas I never would have thought of before are now making themselves known. Had I escaped the clutches of Writer's Block 'way back when', I would have missed using the many mishaps for our guys and would be now lamenting about my muses' restrictive creativity. So, for those of you struggling through your next chapter, groaning to get every word and sentence written or typed down, remember this…by rushing through your story, you might miss all the good ideas and plots and ugly situationsin which to put your character(s)that might otherwise come to mind while weathering your dry spell. Sometimes, Writer's Block can be a good thing. :0 Yes, it could. :0)

Anyway, giving nothing away, happy reading!

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Chapter 23– There Be Landlubbers Here, Matey

Mike was bored.

Seriously and unequivocally bored.

With legs straddling the bowsprit, the orange-wearing turtle lay sprawled on his plastron, comfortably positioned above the Pearl's prow. While he held onto the spur for support, he looked down into the waters far below him, watching as a pod of porpoise raced the ship. It was a family, he surmised, with several smaller versions of the species keeping up with the larger variety.

"Babies," he decided and then Mikey smiled at how fortunate he was to witness such a scene. Then, he remembered why he was so fortunate and – sighed again.

The ocean-born mammals stayed just ahead of the ship while the Pearl made its way through the Caribbean. Occasionally a few of the adults would dart in front of the vessel, as if playing chicken with the wooden hulk. And Mike always held his breath, too, fearing that one would misjudge the ship's presence and crash into it, but none came close enough to risk a collision.

"Must be ninja…" and Mike giggled at the thought, only to wonder next what it would be like to swim among them. He thought about what Don told him only a few days earlier, that pirates considered porpoise good luck, which gave Mike a considerable amount of relief. It meant he didn't have to worry about the crew harpooning the elegant creatures for food. Of course, because of the curse, no one could eat anyway, so it didn't really matter.

Then, he thought about what Gibbs said, about how a Greek god had once turned men into sea creatures.

"Was it Dynonicus? No, that's not right, that's a dinosaur." Mike's brow crinkled in thought as he lay there, riding the prow as it dipped and soared over the waves. Suddenly, his face brightened, "Ah, it was Dionysus!"

Dionysus – according to Gibbs – could turn people into porpoises, especially pirates who jumped ship.

What they did to deserve such a fate, Mike didn't know and, quite honestly, he really didn't care and he certainly didn't believe such tales, either. Porpoise were cool creatures, though, that much he knew.

At least, that was what he told Raph when Raph questioned him about why he spent so much time on the prow. His red-wearing brother didn't want to believe his reasons either, that all Mike wanted to do was to watch the various forms of sea life, such as porpoise and the occasional whale. Instead, Raphael thought Mike was more interested in the figurehead, a carving of a voluptuous woman. Consequently, he threatened to strap Mike to it, which had Mike yelling, "Fine, go ahead. At least she won't tell me to get out of the way or look at me like I'm going to be the main course once this curse is lifted!"

He huffed then and walked away to pout, and – well – here he was, again, on the prow, trying to keep out of the way of rude brothers and captains and…hungry looks. It didn't help that he had already won the crew's ire, too.

"Just because I don't know anything about pirate superstition and sailing and curses, doesn't mean I'm…stupid!" He pouted again, wishing for land, any land, even…a volcanic island. He mulled over the past two weeks that had brought him to his current mood, how sick he was when they first set sail. He would never forget that spittoon, either…or port-a-potty, as it turned out. In any event, Mike finally had to admit that he was indeed what every crewmember had hissed behind his back for the past fourteen days.

He was nothing but a landlubber.

"As if I care."

Unfettered by Mike's sullen mood, the ship sailed along at full speed, its prow dipping and soaring as it rode each wave. Cutting through the sea, the vessel displaced the water, creating huge sprays, with some of it reaching as high as Mikes dangling legs. He smiled a little bit. It was cool and refreshing, especially considering the warm environment of the West Indies. He looked up, though, towards the horizon and slowly, as before, his smile evaporated.

The expansive sea once again reminded him of just how trapped he was.

The Black Pearl might have been a big ship for its day, but to Mike and his energies it was just too confining. Especially after what he and his brothers had all been through. Between the earthquake in New York and then the strange portal that sent them over two-hundred-years back in time, to end up on an island of gators and acid lakes and incredible treasure – not to mention the curse, the past two weeks had so far been the most boring part of their adventure.

"Seriously, dude, this sailing stuff's way overrated!"

And when his offer to help 'tend sail' found him rebuffed, it became another reason to mope and resign himself to the bowsprit. At least here, at the front of the ship, there wasn't anyone trying to tie something down, repair a sail, or use their work as an excuse to keep the poor turtle down in the Captain's quarters and out of sight, the way his brothers were. Mike needed fresh air, he needed to be outside, and where he had so little of it back home – other than doing his nightly patrols, Mike wanted to take full advantage of his good fortune, such as it was.

Still, Mike became bored in a hurry and, as far as he was concerned, this adventure was turning into one big yawn.

And to think that at one point he'd had enough of adventures. Of course, that one point was AFTER they had almost burned to death from the pyroclastic flow, which came AFTER the island, the acid lake, and all the glorious treasure blew up. And, if not for the 'wonderful' curse, they would have been charcoal from the searing hot tsunami, too.

"It's the little things ye have t'be grateful fer, me lad!" Gibbs had told him.

Of course, afterwards, Mike had to ask Donnie about how the pyroclastic flow happened and why it happened and all while Gibbs, Sparrow, and the crew looked on. Forgetting where he was, Don tried to explain the science of the event, how it was possible for such flows to go to sea by riding on a cushion of superheated air, etcetera, ending his little dissertation with "The force of the blast was probably equal to two hundred megatons of TNT, which added to the tsunami, and thereby helped to carry the flow even farther."

Fortunately, Don had stopped short of comparing the event to an atomic bomb, but his monologue still earned him the nickname Messdeck Lawyer – or, know it all - from Mr. Gibbs, who just shook his head in befuddlement.

"Talkin' turtles are one thing, lad," Gibbs had spat, "but here – on this ship – ye of the four best keep yer beak shut! No pirate wants t'be made to look like a squiffy!" and he walked away, quite offended.

Mike learned later that a squiffy was a pirate's word for buffoon and from then on he had his own nickname for his brainiac brother, which didn't sit well with Donatello.

"Hey, Mr. Squiffy, how's doin'?" Mike would tease, or, "Mr. Squiffy's lookin' spiffy!" which would earn him another reason to hate living on such a small boat. There weren't enough places to run to or places in which to hide. Inevitably, Mike would end up with a sore arm, or lock in the hold or the brig or, if he was lucky enough to escape his brother - where he was now, on the bowsprit, watching the porpoise race the Black Pearl.

Nevertheless, no one could refute how truly scary the volcanic eruption and the aftermath had been. To feel the heat and yet not feel the heat had been rather confusing, if not weird. Had something to do with the curse again, Mike was sure of it, since Jack explained shortly afterwards that one would always feel 'cold' when under the Aztec enchantment, no matter the situation.

"Not THAT cold," Mike whispered, still remembering how the flow of volcanic ash and tsunami had nearly engulfed the ship and would have if Sparrow hadn't ordered all sails hauled in and lashed. It kept the wind from pulling the boat over. Nevertheless, Mike certainly felt the 'bite' then of what he termed as superheated chocolate mousse.

He was rather smug with his term, too, and, of course, Raph took advantage of his brother's witty remark. Rapping him upside the head for naming something that even sounded like food, it earned a few chuckled from the crew, which lightened the somber mood for everyone, at least for a while. But then Don - once again, a fountain of information and justifying Gibb's nickname for him - tried to explain that the flow was nothing more than eighty percent superheated air mixed with whatever was left of Isla de Muerta and so it wasn't anything like mousse, but was more like foamy mud.

Still, Mike was unimpressed.

"Who cares about how much of 'whatever' created it, Don, it was still HOT!"

And, for once, Mr. Gibbs, the captain, and most of the crew were in agreement with the orange-wearing mutant.

And, much to his relief, Mike didn't burn up the way he feared he would. In fact, no one on the Black Pearl so much as had a singed strand of hair – or scute, as in the case four ninja turtles. And, thankfully, the Black Pearl didn't incinerate, either, which was a good thing since they would have lost their only mode of transportation if it had.

Mike shuddered at the thought of having to tread water where there "be sharks", at least by what one pirate said.

Just the same, the ship rode the mucky giant wave just as it would the sea. The good thing was that the tsunami's momentum took them far away from the point of origin faster than they would have sailed normally. In fact, it was quite the rush! The pirates had never moved so fast and Don, again, explained that more than likely they were traveling in excess of seventy miles an hour, which was amazing in and of itself, no matter the century.

Regardless, though, they missed most of the volcanic projectiles spawned from the island's destruction. They traveled quite far, too, only it took them in the wrong direction that Jack wanted to go. Because of that, they were now in the process of doubling back and after two weeks with nothing but the deep blue sea to look at – other than pirates, the ship, and (interestingly enough), Elizabeth - Mike had become annoyingly bored.

Well, annoying to the crew and at least one of his brothers, anyway.

And despite his ruminations, his flashbacks, and watching the marine mammals swim below him, Mike was still very much bored out of his mind.

"I mean, com'on," he complained half aloud to the porpoise below, "there's gotta be more ships on the sea, so – where are they?" He looked to the heavens, declaring loudly, "I. WANT. SOMETHING. EXCITING. TO …!"

And then, perched atop the crow's nest, a crewmember hollered, "SAIL HO!"

Mike startled and if not for the bobstay, he would have fallen into the ocean with the porpoise. Fisting the support line and saving himself from an impromptu bath, Mike clambered back onto the bowsprit and straddled it, looking around, wondering what the crewman had seen, excited that at least something was happening. Shielding his eyes against the glaring sun, suddenly he saw what the lookout had spied.

Off to his left, there it was – and then he corrected himself, because one never said left – or right - on a pirate's ship. Apparently, it was bad luck. In fact, apparently pirates saw many things as bad luck. Mike shuddered, in fact, remembering what happened the first time he uttered a forbidden word. It was shortly after they realized that they were heading in the wrong direction – thanks to what Jack's strange compass determined. When he figured out which way they had to sail, the captain announced that they had to change course. Confused with the term 'starboard', Mike had asked which direction that was and when Gibbs pointed, Mike remarked, "Oh, you mean right?"

Big mistake. His comment had nearly every crewmember coming down on top of him.

"Ye want Neptune hisself sending us t'Davy Jones' Locker? Ne're utter that word…or…the other!" cried Gibbs, wedging himself between the turtle and the enraged crew, who wanted to toss him overboard.

"Other what?" Mike was truly confused.

"Ye know, tha' other word, kind of like…the first word." Gibbs made some jerking motion with his head, to imply what the 'other' was, but Mike was still confused.

"Say what?"

"Ya know, opposite of…tha'other word." And once more Gibbs jerked his head hard.

"Oh, you mean…left?"

That time, Mike nearly found himself keelhauled, and if not for Sparrow ordering him back to the captain's quarters – for safekeeping, Mike would have been soup de jour that evening, regardless of the curse. There were shouts of "Neptune's fool" and "feed'em t'the sharks 'fore Neptune claims us."

It was pure pandemonium for a moment, but once in Jack's quarters, Mike found himself chastised by both Raphael AND Donatello about shutting his beak from now on, while Leo stayed on deck, doing his best to impress upon the 'locals' that his brother was a simpleton. Of course, that was when the crew began using 'landlubber' to describe Mike.

The turtle shuddered again at the thought of becoming turtle stew, though, or was it salamander stew? "No, that wasn't it…what was that word", Mike thought, and then he remembered it. Salmagundi. Anyway, he nearly swooned at the thought of becoming soup but then Mike remembered the 'Sail ho" call.

Quickly standing, with one hand on the bobstay for balance, and the other still shielding his eyes from the bright sun, Mike stared hard at the object. Off in the distance and just short of the horizon on his leeward side, sailed a tall three-mast ship, similar to the Black Pearl. It was bigger, though, and its flag was different, too. The colors of the flag were at first indiscernible, but the closer it sailed to the Pearl, the clearer the colors became. Finally, he could tell that they were red, white, and blue and, for a moment, Mike's heart leapt for joy, only – he slowly realized that the colors weren't HIS red, white, and blue.

These were different.

At first, he couldn't say why they were different. But, as the vessel sailed even closer, the detail on the flag became more pronounced, and reminded Mike of crosses and X-es and then he remembered Splinter's lesson on countries and their flags. Not that he cared at the time, since he was more than certain that he would never, ever get a chance to visit any of the countries Sensei talked about, but there were a few that appealed to him for one reason or another. Suddenly and as he stood there balancing on the bowsprit, he remembered what country to which this flag belonged.

England.

Mike became even more excited and so he stood up on the slippery beam, still holding onto one of the bobstay lines. He waved and waved and waved, a huge smile plastered on his face. He just loved people who talked with English accents and he knew they were a friendly lot, too, at least from the few tourists he had met in New York, while under the disguise of his trench coat and fedora hat, of course. Maybe the British ship would stop to pay a visit, enjoy a spot of tea, but then Mike realized that maybe they would not be as kind to him and his brothers as Jack and the pirates were. For some strange reason, that sounded wrong and on so many levels, until Mike remembered that the Black Pearl flew the Jolly Roger.

Mike's joy suddenly turned to anxious trepidation. Once again, Splinter's lessons came back to him; this time regarding history and pirates and patrolling British ships. With much disappointment, Mike realized that a friendly visit from the Brits would not be forthcoming.

Yet before he could consider what Jack Sparrow would do, the Pearl suddenly veered starboard and away from the fast approaching English frigate. Considering she was a water-born ship coursing through the dense Caribbean Sea, the force of the turn wasn't as abrupt. For Mike, though - who wasn't expecting it at all - it was enough to catch him completely off guard. The fact that the bowsprit was slick with sea spray only compounded that problem, too.

Before he could brace himself, Mike slipped from the bowsprit, losing his hold on the line, and found himself falling head first into the sea.

Below deck and safely ensconced within the Captain's quarters, Don had taken a break from reading maps and was currently gazing out the large rear window of the ship. Leo and Raph were competing over a chessboard (which was quite the sight, no less) a few feet away.

In any event, with his elbows propped up on the wide sill and resting his chin on top of his clasped hands, the moment the ship turned away from its course, Donatello sat up in his chair. He looked around and then back through the window again, confused by the change of direction, but then what he saw next had his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.

There, floundering among the Pearl's rough and foamy wake and falling further behind the ship floated Mike, waving his hands frantically and, considering his wide-opened mouth, apparently screaming for help.

TBC

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A/N – Bwahahahaha