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The Adventures of TAN
The whispy biting waves smashed with a thud against the bow of the ship. Crest after crest of frothy sea water peered loomingly over the side, crashing onto the deck with an almighty roar. Posiedon stirred ominously that night. The worst was ahead. Below deck the mood was as content as ever it would be on board the Tan. The calmness felt was in stark contrast to the unforgiving swells above. The warm musty-smelling master room of leisure swayed gingerly to and fro with the tide. Right and left, slowly, right and left. It was a darkened room. Situated in the centre a large rectangular table nailed down. Above it a wooden chandelier with bright candles twinkling away, casting a magical light show on the adjacent walls. In the four corners smaller tables with dimly lit candles nailed into them. Right and left, slowly, right and left. Strewn across the room in no discernable order a number of rickity chairs, the backs of which were either tied together with withered rope or completely torn off, the remnants of which hold distant memories of a violent drunken fight, of which there were no winners, only broken bones, bonds and egos. Right and left, slowly, right and left.
Sitting, lying and awkwardly propped up against each of the tables and chairs were the inebriated lifeless bodies of the wooden vessel's shipmates. A class of pirates with souls so contempatable Blackbeard would not let them board his wretched ship. Pirates Captain Jack would move out of his way for. These were souls darkness wouldn't hold, for even the night held beauty. A pirate clan of misfortune. Their voyage marked by no maps, a boat rudderless, sales amast in all weather, all in the hope of finding hope. Their only guide a reason that they had to keep going on. They had seen the golden calfs of Arabia, the red jungle beasts of the Americas, fought against Galleons twice their size. These perilous souls didn't care where they ventured as long as it went somewhere. They had seen everything else. Desensitized by blood, raw human nature and savagery they had seen it. Only fate would take them somewhere different. Only fate would grant them the hope of redemption they all so craved. The hope of a light at the end of the tunnel.
Right and left, slowly, right and left. The low ceiling beared down on all. Smells of vomit, ale and sweat you could almost taste. Faint rumblings heard in one of the corners. A darkened figure worms around under a table. His face contorts as his body awakens. Rubbing his face all over with dirtied paws he groans and stretches. His sudden consciousness brings to the fore his realization that after countless tankards of rum the previous night his head has swollen, his brain pressing excruciatingly against his skull. His moans grow louder and louder until with one sudden burst of ferocious energy he screams "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck iiiiitt", fingers for the nearest half empty bottle and violently throws it across the room, ending with a deafening chorus of smashed shards that reverberate around the room and into the sensitive ears of every shipmate.
An almost immediate and increasing sound of groans is heard around the small room. "What the fuck" one blurts out, then retreats into silence as his own speech causes his ears to ache. Movements can be seen across the floor like the wriggling of insects in a forest undergrowth. The forlorn figure cautiously stands up, his gammy left leg shaking in pain at it having the full weight of his right one on it all night. He steadies himself with both hands on the table, easing his back and neck straight, groaning in pleasure at the morning stretch. With eyes near glazed over he makes a bee line for the centre table, zig zagging the near corpse ridden bodies on the floor until he at last makes it with outstretched hands. Plumping himself down on the creeking stool he lays his head in his hands.
Lifting his heavy weight head up again he composes himself and speaks deeply but quietly and slowly. "Right mates today is another day.....you know the drill....get into action....but not too quickly", He stifles a deflated chuckle. This man of drunken twisted merit was the high order of this motley crew and the captain of the ship. His name was Captain Big and was regarded highly among his men. The groaning and moaning turns into mutterings. The various wriggling movements turn into bodies standing up and shaking themselves of the nights festivities, ones sittin down contemplating the nights goings-on and others trying to remember what even happened. Eyes still clouded, heads even more so. But with every waking second comes increasing moments of clarity. All they need is time.
Out of the darkness in the distant footsteps are heard. With a slight pace to them they become louder and louder. Above their heads they sound, the thuds deafening, piercing every ear. The thuds move away, then crash down with ever more vulgar intensity as the feet crash down on each set of steps until the figure is outside the door at the far end of the hallway. "Aagh who the shit is that bloody fucker, my head!"
Louder and louder they crash up the hallway. A body sitting at the table by the door projectile vomits onto the chest of the person next to him, the rattling in his ear too much to bear. Then with an almighty smash the door flies open and a fresh faced smiling figure adorns the doorway. He raises his right hand and waves poetically.
"Hey good morning guys it's Jeff here. Who wants pancakes?"
An almighty rapturous response bellows from the bosom of every drunken fiend and blurts out in unison "Jeff Fuucck Offf!"
(The voyage has begun. Watch out for Chapter 2 for the further adventures of TAN)