South Pacific 1878
She had once been the dominant ship of her trade, nearly unbeatable. She was rendered obsolete by the foul smelling steamers. "Why would anyone want to work with such disgusting creatures." She thought as she sailed into Fiji. She was like several clippers who survived the purge. Forced to abandon her trade and scowering the docks like a lowly tramp to find work. Her one advantage down here was speed and that enabled her to pick up whatever cargo was available. On this trip it was tallow. Cutty Sark hated tallow, it was greasy and smelly. A far cry from the sweet smelling tea she once carried. Oh how she missed her beautiful tea.
She limped her way along the coast, her smooth sail hampered by her exhaustion. Reaching the distant British outpost of Hong Kong, Cutty Sark happily offloaded that cargo and brought on something completely different. This was a load of sweet smelling orange petaled flowers. Curiously, she sniffed one and was amazed at how relaxed just breathing in its scent made her. "I could use some of that." She chuckled and decided to secretly snag a bushel or two for herself. It was the worst mistake she'd ever make.
Thermopylae sighed to herself, occasionally glancing to the ship next to her while trying to hide her concern. When Cutty Sark arrived in Valparaiso four days ago it was immediately obvious to the older cutter that she was drunk as a board. Once docked she proceeded to go on an even heavier binge and Thermopylae was not imagining things when she smelled the sweet scent of opium drifting on the breeze. She'd finally crashed 2 days ago and had yet to wake. Finally unable to take it anymore, Thermopylae turned and looked at her friend. Cutty Sark made for a pitiful sight, lying on her side masts strewn across the pier. She was very thin and scraggly looking, her once beautiful bright hull now torn and rusted. That is not to say they all weren't a little worse for wear but at least they still kept some flesh on their frame. Looking at her now Thermopylae could see the ugly truth. Cutty Sark was dying. Brought down by her own addiction and self hate. She was skin and bones. There was a wheeze in her breathing and her breath smelled foul. Touching her bowsprit to her flank, Thermopylae's sensitive appendage registered a fever as well. The older cutter tried to contain her fear. This was how ships of her type died. She had seen it before on several others, once proud clippers unable to cope with becoming mere tramps. They turned to the opium trade and it always proved their undoing. "But not you. Oh Ancients please, don't let me lose you." Thermopylae whispered desperately. With no verbal answer given, she pressed her bow into Cutty Sark's flank and cried.