This is probably the first pirate story I've written. It was a lot of fun. I generally can't stand reading or writing in pirate talk. It's always a question of verisimilitude. When writing in another universe, or history, how much do shift your own language to fit the time period? Some people refuse to read historical fiction that doesn't match the actual language. Others, myself included, can't really stand it.

Game of Thrones is good example. The Song of Ice and Fire books aren't 100% in medieval tongue. They only go so far as to get the feeling across, both with dialog and vocabulary. But its not written in language exclusive to an 11th century tome. It's still meant to be understood by contemporary readers. So there's a balance necessary, on the one hand, realism, and on the other, comprehensibility. Or, enjoyment.

Anyway that's what I thought about when reading the intro. The set up is clear: a battle between pirates and hunters. I choose the perspective of the other ship. Enjoy, and thanks for the prompt by @theironfelix.

oh ya btw this is week #35 of the Finish the Story Contest. <3

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Pirate hunters

by @theironfelix

Boots calmly walked towards an open window-hatch, a bottle of rum is lowered down onto the sill. Upon the placement, the pirate places his scarred-induced hands on his wailing back and pushes.

“Argh! Me back be free of this wretched ache! Well, guess I learned a lesson: take a break when the Cap’n says so. Welp, time to rest...”

Taking his cue, the sill creaked in annoyance as the pirate’s body self-inquired the best resting position while perched on a sill. With a hairy arm supporting his night-colored beard, he spent his leisure-time mentally capturing the seas itself. There the familiar specs of white dots danced about the blue sky; he gasped before slowly releasing the captured air, he remembered how deep in the seven seas the ship was. With the mind returning to boredom, his eyes scanned under the blue sky.

“Ah poor ship, how these blue, blue, waves harass yah. I can hear yer wails, but I judge not. And even when the harassment be over, the aches only then take over; yet only can I respond with ‘such is life’... Huh, what be a ship in these waters be doing here? Where’s me spotting scope!”

The boots thus began a chaotic dance recital; the arms took the center stage as it flailed around to uncover the hidden telescope. As the telescope may have enjoyed the scene, it soon squeaked loud upon the firm clasp on its metallic skin. The pirate returned to the window-hatch and his arms stretched the telescope wide-wards. Eyeing in on the odd element, his eyes darted around to find any friendly symbol but soon froze.

“Oh me Flyin’ Dutchman! We’ve been tracked! Hey ho! Sound the alarm, pirate hunters come and in full-mast they set sail towards us!”

Whatever wail the ship can ever muster, the cacophonies of a hundred bodies darting around alone had easily drowned out such sorrows. The pirate unsheathed his sword, the sun’s naïve light touched and bounced off the sword. Sheathing his sword, he unholstered his flintlocks and his arms helped his eyes scan such. Cocking and holstering them, his body emerged from his room and joined in the traffic of the workplace as pirate bodies shuffled and kicked around to ready on their position. Albeit the humidity would’ve granted a hasty rest through stroke, the adrenalin surging about the bodies had protected them from unwanted advances of humidity.

Finally getting to the deck, he about-faced and attempted advancing towards the Captain’s spot. However, the Captain echoed:

“Brace!”

And the pirate mass dropped dead and clung hard to any support they could find; as soon the ship screeched thanks the holes formed from the steel cannon-shots who mercilessly ripped through her. With that, the pirate mass resumed its circuitry and soon he met with the Captain; he screamed:

“Madame! I’m here, let me take over the steering and yah the commandin’!”

“Finally yer here, Wither! Please, they be gainin’ too much ground. So steer us towards oure enemy! And when we get close, steer us parallel to their starboard side and avoid portside! Today, I must accept my bounty and let them hath none of it!”

“Cap’n oh Cap’n! Are yah mad?”

“Mad? No! Blimey, avoid their hull Wither!”

My Ending

The Admiral grinned and lowered his brass scope. "As expected," he announced to his lieutenant. "They're headed for us in hopes of a flanking maneuver."

"Muskets are at the ready, sir. As is the ballista," Lieutenant Smith said. He gazed into his sextant, turning the dials for another confirmation. "My estimation is about ten minutes."

"Carry on, sir," the Admiral said and marched across the deck towards his quarters. Men shuffled from posts, making last minute checks on ropes and weapons. The captain of marines bellowed orders as the musket men readied their positions on each side of the ship. The ballista stood at the center of the deck, the rope strung taught as the arms stretched back. At the ready, the missile filled with black powder. His superiors had balked at the idea of loading an old Greek weapon aboard the ship. But the Admiral patiently argued his position and so it was done.

The Admiral reached his quarters and sat on the creaky wooden chair. He poured a glass of brandy for himself and for the woman strapped by rope across from him, despite the fact she wouldn’t be able to drink it. Her black hair was matted and thick with oils. Her breeches were ripped and torn. Her breasts pushed against the cotton shirt.

“It’ll be over soon,” he said. “And your captain will be a corpse on the seas.”

“You rotn’ bas’trd. Yuhl pay!”

“I’ll be handsomely rewarded, you mean. By Her Majesty. And finally return to London and away from you lice-ridden filth.”

“We’ll burn your town. All you gold lovers. We’ll burn it all.”

The Admiral sipped his brandy. “What you’ll do is have your neck broken by the hangman in the town square. I’m thinking of Virginia. I shan’t be taking you all the way back to London. I couldn’t suffer enduring your presence on such a long journey.”

“Bas’trd.” She spat again.

“This is why. This is what endows me with such pleasure at watching your demise. The language. Why would choose to speak in such tongues?” He scoffed. “Pirate talk? I’ll scuttle ye.” He laughed. “It’s incomprehensible. Imagine a reader attempting to make sense of such drivel. English must be pure. I’m not just cleansing the seas by eradicating your kind. I’m cleansing the very language.”

“Ye so certain?” the woman replied. “That ye’ll slay me beauty and slay me tongue ‘swell?”

“As certain as the pull of gravity,” the Admiral said with another mocking smile. He swallowed the last of his brandy and stood. “I’m off to watch your mates meet their devil.” The Admiral took a step, then stumbled. Must be the waves. You’re getting old he thought. He struggled to straighten out. Another step, then he fell to his knees. He gripped the table for support.

The black haired pirate giggled. He turned and saw her smiling. Then those once taught ropes holding her in bondage fell away, limp.

“Enjoy yer brandy?” she asked.

He wretched blood.