In his chair, Captain Hook's face turned pure white at hearing that dreaded sound, his eyes darting from side to side as he frantically searched the area for the ravenous crocodile that was determined to finally finish consuming the most delicious meal of its life, a repast this reptile had truly yearned for ever since it had feasted upon that man's hand years past. Suddenly realizing his fears were groundless, Hook's features then contorted in absolute rage, as he shot up from his chair onto his feet, the abrupt, savage stab of pain coming from behind his belt buckle only adding fuel to the pirate's fury, as he raised his own hand with its deadly weapon to threateningly shake it towards Mistress Joyce's direction, as the master of the Jolly Roger roared at his full lungpower, "BELAY THAT, YE CURST WENCHES!"
"Tick…tock. Tick…tock. Tick…tock," steadily continued the unruffled women as they duplicated the sound of a ticking clock inside a crocodile's stomach, swallowed long ago by that animal and still busily working away to give warning to the enraged man before them, who was now approaching actual incandescence.
At least, until Captain Hook abruptly managed, with the utmost effort, to get a grip upon his temper. Ignoring all others there, including the wenches still chanting and myself and the rest of the men uneasily watching this, the pirate captain hissed into the face of the woman before him, "D'ye think that'll truly change my mind? It's a bothersome sound, true enough, but you'll have to come up with something much better than a bunch of doxies acting as if they're blessed with no more brains in their heads than a dozen parrots!"
Over the sounds of her followers still chanting away, along with the indignant "Hey!" from Engelbert somewhere in the crowd, Mistress Joyce simply smirked into Hook's set face with his glittering eyes, and she stopped her own intonation to instead carefully recite, "Extra starch in the cuffs, and kindly do something about the bloodstains, will you, madam?"
"What?" gobbled out a baffled Captain Hook, as unnoticed, the pirate wenches stopped their chant to listen in total fascination what they hadn't been told about during their recent instructions from the woman who now evenly continued, as she absently waved behind herself at those ladies.
"If you'll care to look, I'm sure you'd recognize your laundress back there. More to the point, she's still got enough of your clothing that'll allow our subsequent scheme to work! Viz, unless you strike your colors here and now, and declare Xander Harris to be the King of the Pirates, on the next dark, moonless night, we'll use your unwashed attire to create a scent trail from the waterline of the bay to your lodgings! Think of it, you might be coming home unsteadily from the nearest tavern to take your rest in your bed, or actually be in this cot while suddenly awakening from a horrible nightmare about a muffled clock in the stomach of a crocodile, to then realize in the last seconds of your life that it's come true, and there's at the foot of your bed a big, wide-open mouth with dozens of white, sharp teeth about to chomp onto one James Hook!"
As she finished her grisly narrative, Mistress Joyce gloried in the shuddering silence of the awed crowd, that was only ended by a trembling whisper: "You wouldn't."
Instead of replying to that, this terrifying woman merely pointed at me. His face turning slack, Captain Hook seemingly became a broken man, as he now abruptly slumped back down in his chair, with this action causing that pirate to then produce an anguished whimper that made every other male there, myself included, wince in shared sympathy. Mistress Joyce simply lifted an inquiring feminine eyebrow, which was enough.
"Oh, all right!" groaned the seated man in absolute surrender. He glumly regarded me standing there, to then heavily say, "I, James Hook, do declare this…this boy to be the King of the Pirates, and at least he's not that other shadow-losing youngster!" As the entire crowd roared with jubilation over hearing that, with several pirates yanking out their pistols to fire celebratory shots into the air, and other corsairs and sundry wenches happily patting me on my back (I think Anya was the one who goosed me - well, I hope she was), the defeated man sat there balefully continuing to study me.
When the crowd's high spirits and ensuing noise subsided enough for him to be confident he'd be heard, a recovering Captain Hook then said grumpily, "Well, since none of you idiots thought to ask, I'll be the one to say it. You there, the recently appointed ruler of these dimwits, when do we get our money back?"
I cheerfully announced to the pirate mob that had quieted down remarkably fast at that essential question, "I'll send a message right away. However, ladies and gentlemen, you should all be aware that there'll be a few trivial deductions taken out of the treasure for some minor expenses. From you in particular, sir." That last comment was casually directed towards the only person there not on their feet.
"Me?" blurted a very startled and quickly becoming annoyed Captain Hook. "What the devil for?"
"Ah…" I tried to think how to best express what I'd been told through my charm. "It seems that while Buffy was looting your own personal vault, she dropped a chest full of gems against her foot and scuffed her best pair of shoes. So, she naturally considers this your fault, and my friend's going to replace her ruined footwear with whatever it takes to buy the newest, most stylish shoes on the market, from out of your pocket."
Hook goggled at me, until a sardonic smile then slowly appeared on that man's face, with him carefully leaning back, to give a deep chuckle and languidly wave his hook in a dismissive gesture of true panache that showed this bloodthirsty pirate did indeed possess a fine sense of dashing style. "Eh, let the lassie have her pretties, even if it costs me a coin or two. After all, how expensive can a pair of woman's shoes be, anyway?"
I managed to keep a straight face then, despite the sudden sniggers from every female there, and the accompanying deeply suspicious glower from Captain Hook, who'd realized that there was something going on that he'd missed. At that point, however, our - indeed, the entire crowd's - attention was abruptly distracted by some other noise coming from the back of the throng clustered around the chair in the middle of the village square.
"Make way there! Make way, ye swabs!"
Craning my neck, along with the others, allowed me to see where people at the back were hastily stepping aside from someone who'd just barked that while coming nearer to the center of the plaza. Those pirates' odd actions were supplemented with an equally bizarre sound of something smacking hard against flesh, and as I glanced around, I saw that Mistress Joyce, Captain James Hook, and Long John Silver were equally perplexed about this.
Finally, we saw a curiously-burdened Bos'n Smee pushing his way past the last of the pirates surrounding us, with the Irishman then stepping into the space where the chair rested. In his left hand, this mature pirate was carrying by its wire handle a small, glowing-red cauldron that from the looks of it, plus the ominous puffs of steam shooting past its tight lid, it had been recently heated to a fantastic degree. However, what was even more strange was what Smee held in his right hand, which had clearly been the cause of these whacking noises. Just a moment ago, to allow him through, that pirate had been hitting his comrades with a six-foot long pole that had wrapped around on the front end a thick wad of white, soft wool, something I recognized from sea stories as a cannon sponge that was used to scour the insides of those weapons menacingly peering from the flanks of sailing warships.
Paying no attention to anyone there as he bustled forward with a slightly maniac glint in his eyes, Smee happily burbled to his paling captain in the chair, "Now then, yer awfulness, sorry for the delay, but I had to get yer medicine at the proper temperature. So, if yer'll just loosen yer britches, and bend over the chair, we'll fix ye up quicker than ye can say Jack Robinson…"
Bos'n Smee then trailed off in his remarks, as that man also came to an abrupt halt, uncertainly looking around as he at last became aware of his surroundings, with all of us there now staring at him, and in the end, the pirate sheepishly mumbled, "Er, did I miss somethin'?"
"…and that, Pippi, is how I became the King of the Pirates," concluded Xander Harris.
His last words hung in the hushed air, as if the night itself was listening. It was totally quiet in the sitting room on the lower floor of Villa Villekulla, since the thunderstorm outside that had recently been raging had now blown itself out perhaps an hour ago, with even the rain stopping soon after. Neither of the people lying down on the collapsed sofa in the middle of the room had noticed the slightest, with one occupied with his tale, and the other engrossed in what she was being told.
Xander dipped his head from looking up at the ceiling to examining the girl's head that was resting upon his chest. Pippi Longstocking had curled up beside him, with her upper body lying on top of him and her right arm thrown across his torso. She hadn't made any sound for the last few moments, not even her near-constant giggles that had been produced throughout his entire silly story, and her slow, steady breathing that was tickling his bare skin made Xander think the nine-year-old girl had finally fallen asleep.
The New Council troubleshooter learned he was mistaken, when a soft, satisfied whisper came from the motionless child: "I wanna be a pirate wench…" Instead of finishing that, Pippi now gave a contented yawn, and snuggled closer to Xander, who in turn gave a final comforting squeeze from his left arm around her shoulders, as the girl at last entered her relaxed slumber.
Not moving at all, Xander allowed the slow tears running down from the corner of his right eye to soak the side of his head, until he was positively sure that Pippi wouldn't wake up. Then, the lonely man bent his head forward to softly kiss the top of the girl's sleeping head, and to whisper to her as quietly as he could, "Not for a long, long time, I hope. But when that comes to pass….my ladies will take care of you, then."
A man who'd survived the Sunnydale Hellmouth now dropped his head back onto his pillow, closed his eye, and gratefully went to sleep, knowing that for at least this one night, he wouldn't have any bad dreams, as Xander Harris gently held in his slumber someone he could once again watch over and protect.