The Pirate Game
Ratpeg on Azothil
Damn, I wish he’d take that fuck’n mask off. Makes me wanna punch ‘im. Creepy enough that he don’t hardly talk, without wearin’ a fuck’n demon mask all the time too. It ain’t right to not let a fellow see your face. How’s ya s’posed to know what he’s feeling – if ’e feels anythin’, that is.
Spends too much of ‘is time watchin’, all quiet-like. Waitin’, maybe? Too cool by ‘arf, I reckon. ‘Specially given how fuck’n hot it is. He don’t even sweat like the rest of us –‘though that were worth a laugh, seeing Plugg and Scourge’s faces when he stepped outa the box fresh as a fuck’n daisy.
Maybe it’s an elf thing? Can’t say’s I know many elves. Me mam’s elf stories were always woodsy, full o’ flowers and shit. This one ain’t woodsy, I tell y’that for nothin’. I ain’t no lubber but, watchin’ him, I reckon ‘e’s spent less time ashore than most. Treads the decks like ‘e was born to ‘em and swims like a fuck’n fish, too.
An’ seems he’s chosen our side. Not much choice, though – the other fuckers’ side weren’t much chop and weren’t friendly like good ol’ Ratpeg and company. Even with the mask and his made-up gobble-de-gook, he ain’t bad company, really. ‘Appy to buy ‘is round even if ‘e don’t drink it and ‘e don’t whine about ‘is work, or, leastways, iffen ‘e does, ya can’t understand, so it ain’t no ‘ardship.
Same in a fight: quiet but not shirkin’. ‘E ain’t what I’d call a natural wi’ that spear of ‘is but it don’t stop ‘im steppin’ up when called. Gotta like that. An’ in the water, ‘e’s worth ‘alf-a-dozen, easy. Like a shark, maybe, dangerous ‘nuff on deck but a fuck’n nightmare when the waters close over your ‘ead.
Y’know, I reckon I’ve worked out what he reminds me of. It ain’t a shark, it’s the fuckin’ sea. All blue and calm. But I know the sea – and it don’t stay calm forever. Don’t fancy bein’ around when the tide turns. Still, ‘til then, I can keep m’self amused imaginin’ him an’ Mara getting’ together – those’d make some blue fuck’n fingerlings. Hah!