original ficlet: Point of Origin
This was one of the Halloween stories that was late. Very late. Not my fault - blame the 'gentleman of fortune.'
Title: Point of Origin
Rating: Arrrr (R, for violence)
Note: Original story - do not copy
Trish found it in the cutest little ‘ye olde pawn shoppe’ down in the French Quarter. That’s what she said, anyway. Having never been to New Orleans, I believed her. Even so, I wondered aloud what one did with a real cutlass.
“But darling, think of Halloween!” she exclaimed.
I don’t, or at least, not often.
Trish lives for that particular night, or month, considering the event has now encompassed all of October. She would be a pirate this year, she told me, and would put the cutlass to good use as a prop.
I didn’t think more on the matter, for it was only August.
In the first week of September, she reminded me she would be a pirate when I came over for the usual Wednesday-night-chick-flick-and-pizza-bash. The cutlass was swung around enthusiastically and she ‘Arrrrrred’ as she stomped about her apartment in her T-shirt, shorts and bare feet. I laughed, I’m afraid, and found myself facing the tip of the steel weapon as she stood across the room from me. “Avast ye scurvy dog! Are ye makin fun of me?”
“Not you,” I assured her as I popped in the DVD. “Only the idea of me dressing up for Halloween. You know I don’t do that. Carol will go with you, I’m sure.”
But Carol didn’t show that night, so Trish yammered on through the movie about eye patches, skirts, blouses, boots, and sashes, ruining what could have been a nice film while she whacked at the pizza with her blade. I made sure to curl my feet under me on the couch so she wouldn’t take to whacking anything else on the coffee table.
Next week’s chick flick turned out to be that pirate movie with Johnny Depp in it - the first one. I groaned as I have an aversion to skeletons.
“But it’s homework!” she exclaimed.
I didn’t care. Bones are creepy.
When she moved to pop the second of the trilogy in, I claimed I needed to go in to work early. The way she swashed the cutlass around during the fight scenes might have encouraged my newfound fondness for office productivity, but I didn’t admit to it as I closed the door behind me and skedaddled.
I hauled Carol with me to the next Wednesday night bash. I could then eat popcorn unabated as the two of them plotted on about being pirates on Halloween.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. There was no movie, only a sewing machine, some patterns, and lots of scissor-work for me to do while they pinned and stitched. When they started measuring me for a peasant skirt and blouse, I brandished the scissors at them and they beat a hasty retreat.
I missed the next Wednesday, fearing more of the same, but forgot around mid October and attended. I found they had guessed my size and cajoled me with the promise of viewing “Star Trek: Into Darkness” as a reward for trying the clothes on. The blouse and skirt were actually not too shabby and I could make them work as casual dress with the right shoes. Resigned to my fate, I agreed to accompany them on Halloween. They plotted our course on a paper towel as we dined on pizza rolls and watched the latest adventure of the alternate-time-line Enterprise crew. There would be three points of call, they explained: a library, a restaurant, and a dance club. I felt sure I could make up some excuse and stay berthed at the library, where I would at least be happy among the books.
-*-
And so Halloween fell upon us, gnawing at my insides and brightening up their smiles. All the while we readied ourselves, I kept thinking there was something amiss but couldn’t fathom what it was for the life of me. Carol was a saucy wench from a port of call. I was a common peasant, stolen in a raid, and Trish, well she was decked out in her finest buckles and feathers, her three-cornered hat perched atop a mass of artificially created curls and braids. I hated to point out to her that female pirate captains were few, and pretty ones were mostly the stuff of legend and film, but I did the deed anyway. She was quick to rebuke my words, and showed me my place with a slap of the cutlass flat to my backside. Something within me growled, but I stowed it. To the library and then I would be quit of them.
But the library, though fun and filled with chit and parent alike all dressed in what sparked their inner fancy, did not satisfy the palate and my stomach growled once more when punch and cookies did not sate.
I said as much and we three walked across the street to a nearby bistro in the waterfront district, open and encouraging to those dressed in foolery enough to celebrate the season. We did meet the expectations of the proprietors and dined within. The meal was a merry one. All the while, though, our female captain’s hand drifted to the hilt again and again, and I did mark it and growl anew at the false touch. And when at last we shoved off for the grog-shop and dancing, I was much pleased to keep her close and the steel closer.
It was then I knew what was missing and steered us to a small shop nearby whereupon I purchased a knife, much to my companions’ consternation. I sheathed it in leather opposite the cutlass and tugged at her belt with satisfaction.
“A pirate should fight with steel in both hands, don’t you think?” I offered.
They smiled at that and jabbered on with no further decline in spirit until we neared our named destination. It was at that point we were set upon by three curs with tongues foul enough to cross me, and I did look my fellows over and discover their fear from their slack faces. Angered now, I whirled round till I was navel to navel with our supposed leader and grasped her hilts with ease and grace while I drew and turned in one motion, tooth bared for battle against our foes.
“Alow and aloft, I’ll gammon thee as soft and quick as an ‘hore’s whisper of thirst and promise,” I said in a vicious tone.
They did answer me with oaths and I replied in kind, the points of my blades never wavering.
Because I never moved, and made good my intentions with a dark laugh, they lost the battle of looks between us and saw reason through their fury. They backed away like the beaten dogs they were and went to sniff up some other morsel for an easy picking.
The hilts did match my grip well and I could feel the energy of life and death strum from the cutlass and up through my bones and sinew. It was welcome. With two healthy lasses, buxom enough to catch the attention of a man and hold it, standing there eyeing me with such interest, I marked my annoyance at the vessel I found myself in and lamented the fact that this clay pot had no tool with which to pin them to the wall. It was at that point I did wonken well as if heady with drink and fall to the ground and sleep.
When I awoke, it was to the sound of feminine whispers.
“Should we call a cab?”
“I don’t know,” hissed the other. “She hasn’t had any alcohol. I’m not sure what’s wrong with her.”
“She won’t let go of the cutlass. Where did you get this thing? From Shelby? Does she want it back?”
“No. Some old lady caught me going to my car late one night a few months ago and shoved some cloth at me, demanding I buy whatever it was. She told me it was meant for me. She said it was my ‘destiny’ or something like that. I opened the cloth and found the sword, so I bought it. I told Shelby I bought it in New Orleans.”
“Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know. That woman said something about New Orleans, so I thought it came from there. Help me get it out of Shelby’s hand!”
I opened my eyes, let loose the dagger, and pulled the dark-haired missy to me by her curls to match my lips to hers before I shoved her away and stood. I picked up the dagger and laughed.
“This blade,” I said as I admired the cutlass in the queer lantern light of the street, “is mine and be from New Orleans as that old woman said, and I’m thinking the hag meant me to have it, not thee. Where be this hag now? I have words to bandy with her. And if she lies, I’ll wash her brisk and sun dry her a few times for her foolishness.”
They stared at me. The one dressed for business asked, “Who are you?” even as the other touched her lips with wondering fingers. It was not my first time to make a woman tremble like that, and I smiled.
“A man, no more than any other, but honest enough when needed. A witch feared me and cursed me foul when I told her truly what she was before her master,” I explained. “Her gentleman of fortune and mate of mine did fling her to the stones and quit himself of her favors with no more backward glance than for an ‘hore of port already paid and done with. She objected to this and did make her curse come to pass, for I am in a land I know not, with strangers around me, and in a body that isn’t my own. I am cursed for certain, though I reckon not how she dealt the blow.”
I heard music and followed, needing a drink from the grog-shop they had spoke of before.
“Wait! Shelby?”
I turned. “Be Shelby the name of this clay I wear?”
“Um, yes?” said the one with curls.
“Then it’s Shelby I’ll thank for a strong arm and a keen eye to deal with the devil that steered me this foul course. But first I have needs of some rum.”
“Oh!” cried the curly-haired one. “Oh, this is where it happened!”
I looked around. “Are we in Alexandria? King’s street?”
“No, no I mean this is where that old lady grabbed me. I was here because of Janice’s last day at work. The luncheon for her was held where we just ate.” She turned around and pointed. “That’s the way to the downtown parking garage. That’s where the old lady grabbed me.”
I did not think, but acted rashly, racing forward to my fate on feet fleeter than mine own had been.
-*-
Title: Point of Origin
Rating: Arrrr (R, for violence)
Note: Original story - do not copy
Trish found it in the cutest little ‘ye olde pawn shoppe’ down in the French Quarter. That’s what she said, anyway. Having never been to New Orleans, I believed her. Even so, I wondered aloud what one did with a real cutlass.
“But darling, think of Halloween!” she exclaimed.
I don’t, or at least, not often.
Trish lives for that particular night, or month, considering the event has now encompassed all of October. She would be a pirate this year, she told me, and would put the cutlass to good use as a prop.
I didn’t think more on the matter, for it was only August.
In the first week of September, she reminded me she would be a pirate when I came over for the usual Wednesday-night-chick-flick-and-pizza-bash. The cutlass was swung around enthusiastically and she ‘Arrrrrred’ as she stomped about her apartment in her T-shirt, shorts and bare feet. I laughed, I’m afraid, and found myself facing the tip of the steel weapon as she stood across the room from me. “Avast ye scurvy dog! Are ye makin fun of me?”
“Not you,” I assured her as I popped in the DVD. “Only the idea of me dressing up for Halloween. You know I don’t do that. Carol will go with you, I’m sure.”
But Carol didn’t show that night, so Trish yammered on through the movie about eye patches, skirts, blouses, boots, and sashes, ruining what could have been a nice film while she whacked at the pizza with her blade. I made sure to curl my feet under me on the couch so she wouldn’t take to whacking anything else on the coffee table.
Next week’s chick flick turned out to be that pirate movie with Johnny Depp in it - the first one. I groaned as I have an aversion to skeletons.
“But it’s homework!” she exclaimed.
I didn’t care. Bones are creepy.
When she moved to pop the second of the trilogy in, I claimed I needed to go in to work early. The way she swashed the cutlass around during the fight scenes might have encouraged my newfound fondness for office productivity, but I didn’t admit to it as I closed the door behind me and skedaddled.
I hauled Carol with me to the next Wednesday night bash. I could then eat popcorn unabated as the two of them plotted on about being pirates on Halloween.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. There was no movie, only a sewing machine, some patterns, and lots of scissor-work for me to do while they pinned and stitched. When they started measuring me for a peasant skirt and blouse, I brandished the scissors at them and they beat a hasty retreat.
I missed the next Wednesday, fearing more of the same, but forgot around mid October and attended. I found they had guessed my size and cajoled me with the promise of viewing “Star Trek: Into Darkness” as a reward for trying the clothes on. The blouse and skirt were actually not too shabby and I could make them work as casual dress with the right shoes. Resigned to my fate, I agreed to accompany them on Halloween. They plotted our course on a paper towel as we dined on pizza rolls and watched the latest adventure of the alternate-time-line Enterprise crew. There would be three points of call, they explained: a library, a restaurant, and a dance club. I felt sure I could make up some excuse and stay berthed at the library, where I would at least be happy among the books.
-*-
And so Halloween fell upon us, gnawing at my insides and brightening up their smiles. All the while we readied ourselves, I kept thinking there was something amiss but couldn’t fathom what it was for the life of me. Carol was a saucy wench from a port of call. I was a common peasant, stolen in a raid, and Trish, well she was decked out in her finest buckles and feathers, her three-cornered hat perched atop a mass of artificially created curls and braids. I hated to point out to her that female pirate captains were few, and pretty ones were mostly the stuff of legend and film, but I did the deed anyway. She was quick to rebuke my words, and showed me my place with a slap of the cutlass flat to my backside. Something within me growled, but I stowed it. To the library and then I would be quit of them.
But the library, though fun and filled with chit and parent alike all dressed in what sparked their inner fancy, did not satisfy the palate and my stomach growled once more when punch and cookies did not sate.
I said as much and we three walked across the street to a nearby bistro in the waterfront district, open and encouraging to those dressed in foolery enough to celebrate the season. We did meet the expectations of the proprietors and dined within. The meal was a merry one. All the while, though, our female captain’s hand drifted to the hilt again and again, and I did mark it and growl anew at the false touch. And when at last we shoved off for the grog-shop and dancing, I was much pleased to keep her close and the steel closer.
It was then I knew what was missing and steered us to a small shop nearby whereupon I purchased a knife, much to my companions’ consternation. I sheathed it in leather opposite the cutlass and tugged at her belt with satisfaction.
“A pirate should fight with steel in both hands, don’t you think?” I offered.
They smiled at that and jabbered on with no further decline in spirit until we neared our named destination. It was at that point we were set upon by three curs with tongues foul enough to cross me, and I did look my fellows over and discover their fear from their slack faces. Angered now, I whirled round till I was navel to navel with our supposed leader and grasped her hilts with ease and grace while I drew and turned in one motion, tooth bared for battle against our foes.
“Alow and aloft, I’ll gammon thee as soft and quick as an ‘hore’s whisper of thirst and promise,” I said in a vicious tone.
They did answer me with oaths and I replied in kind, the points of my blades never wavering.
Because I never moved, and made good my intentions with a dark laugh, they lost the battle of looks between us and saw reason through their fury. They backed away like the beaten dogs they were and went to sniff up some other morsel for an easy picking.
The hilts did match my grip well and I could feel the energy of life and death strum from the cutlass and up through my bones and sinew. It was welcome. With two healthy lasses, buxom enough to catch the attention of a man and hold it, standing there eyeing me with such interest, I marked my annoyance at the vessel I found myself in and lamented the fact that this clay pot had no tool with which to pin them to the wall. It was at that point I did wonken well as if heady with drink and fall to the ground and sleep.
When I awoke, it was to the sound of feminine whispers.
“Should we call a cab?”
“I don’t know,” hissed the other. “She hasn’t had any alcohol. I’m not sure what’s wrong with her.”
“She won’t let go of the cutlass. Where did you get this thing? From Shelby? Does she want it back?”
“No. Some old lady caught me going to my car late one night a few months ago and shoved some cloth at me, demanding I buy whatever it was. She told me it was meant for me. She said it was my ‘destiny’ or something like that. I opened the cloth and found the sword, so I bought it. I told Shelby I bought it in New Orleans.”
“Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know. That woman said something about New Orleans, so I thought it came from there. Help me get it out of Shelby’s hand!”
I opened my eyes, let loose the dagger, and pulled the dark-haired missy to me by her curls to match my lips to hers before I shoved her away and stood. I picked up the dagger and laughed.
“This blade,” I said as I admired the cutlass in the queer lantern light of the street, “is mine and be from New Orleans as that old woman said, and I’m thinking the hag meant me to have it, not thee. Where be this hag now? I have words to bandy with her. And if she lies, I’ll wash her brisk and sun dry her a few times for her foolishness.”
They stared at me. The one dressed for business asked, “Who are you?” even as the other touched her lips with wondering fingers. It was not my first time to make a woman tremble like that, and I smiled.
“A man, no more than any other, but honest enough when needed. A witch feared me and cursed me foul when I told her truly what she was before her master,” I explained. “Her gentleman of fortune and mate of mine did fling her to the stones and quit himself of her favors with no more backward glance than for an ‘hore of port already paid and done with. She objected to this and did make her curse come to pass, for I am in a land I know not, with strangers around me, and in a body that isn’t my own. I am cursed for certain, though I reckon not how she dealt the blow.”
I heard music and followed, needing a drink from the grog-shop they had spoke of before.
“Wait! Shelby?”
I turned. “Be Shelby the name of this clay I wear?”
“Um, yes?” said the one with curls.
“Then it’s Shelby I’ll thank for a strong arm and a keen eye to deal with the devil that steered me this foul course. But first I have needs of some rum.”
“Oh!” cried the curly-haired one. “Oh, this is where it happened!”
I looked around. “Are we in Alexandria? King’s street?”
“No, no I mean this is where that old lady grabbed me. I was here because of Janice’s last day at work. The luncheon for her was held where we just ate.” She turned around and pointed. “That’s the way to the downtown parking garage. That’s where the old lady grabbed me.”
I did not think, but acted rashly, racing forward to my fate on feet fleeter than mine own had been.
-*-