(posting story intros for a while, this is one)
“Captain! Captain! Captain!”
Thomas wasn’t actually fat, it was his ill-fitting waistcoat that made him look like he had an old man paunch even though he’s only a boy, however he was wheezing like a running fatman on account of he was overexcited.
Martialla caught Thomas by the back of his red-faded to pink jacket that was as ill-fitting as his waistcoat only with the opposite effect on his body shape, making his shoulders disappear as if they didn’t exist at all even though he was a strapping lad for his age.
“Steady as she goes Mr. Thomas, the captain is drunk at the moment and promises to be so for the foreseeable future, what’s the rhubarb?”
Thomas pushed his ridiculously feminine blonde curls off his ruddy face “We found a mermaid!”
Martialla raised an eyebrow “You sure about that? Last time you lot said you found a mermaid it was a manatee. And the time before that it was also a manatee. And then there was that time that it was a manatee. Now you did pull up a Barnacle Boy once, I give you credit for that.”
Thomas gulped for air “What about that time we found mermaid in Monarch’s Strait ma’am?”
Martialla raised an eyebrow “That was a neckless siren with lactating breasts Thomas and you know it.”
Thomas hung his head in shame “Yes ma’am” his excitement returned as quickly as it was dashed “but this time we found a real mermaid! We checked!”
Martialla didn’t stand up so much as slouched slightly less against the stairs to the aftcastle “And just what exactly did you check? And how did you check it?”
Thomas clasped his hands behind his back, looked down, and shuffled his feet “Well . . . we . . . uh . . . what happened . . . uh . . . was . . .”
Martialla sighed “Let’s go see what you’ve pulled up, but I swear to you Thomas if this is another manatee I’m going to womp you with my hat.”
Thomas went white as a sheet ghost and gulped at the mention of a hat-womping, but nevertheless ran excitedly back towards the midship where a group of salty sea dogs were gathered around poking with longish poles at something struggling in a net flopping wetly on the deck.
The men scattered like startled pigeons as Lucien the boatswain bawled for them to make way for the first officer. For a shark-kin Lucien is amazingly un-murdery, he couldn’t serve on a ship of this quality if he a bloodthirsty psychopath like most of his kind, but he brooks no disrespect from any crewman and even though be probably wouldn’t there’s always the threat that he could bite someone’s head off. Which is helpful for maintaining discipline.
Martialla removed her hat and squatted down next to the net to observe what can only be described as a mermaid struggling to get out and cursing up a storm in the King’s Tongue, perfectly understandable if a little watery sounding.
“Huh, that’s a mermaid all right.”
“Sloppy” Joe Bestfish eyed the benetted figure with a lascivious eye “What would we do with her sir?”
Martialla stood up smoothly and nudged the figure with her boot, setting off another round of cursing “Throw her back I guess.”
Rossy “Fiddlemaker” Custwell was shocked to her very core by the suggestions “Throw her back? What about our wishes?!”
“Mermaids can’t grant wishes you emptyskull, you’re thinking of selkies!” shouted “Sharky” Mansour Gilptoes from the back of the crowed where he couldn’t be seen on account of his unimpressive shortness.
“Which one is the one with the magic shawl?” “Sloppy” Joe Bestfish wondered aloud “They grant you a wish if you give them a walnut shell right?”
“Shut up everyone!” Martialla said, forestalling the inevitable brawl that always resulted from whenever the crew of the Duke Eagle started discussing various watery tarts “You in the net, can you grant wishes?”
“If I could grant wishes why would I be stuck in a net? Wouldn’t I just wish my way out?” the creature’s voice was oddly inhuman, but smooth as buttered whiskey.
Martialla grunted “Good point. How did you learn our language?”
“Your fish humping momma taught me when she wasn’t busy getting reamed by a school of tuna.”
Thomas gasped and Martialla motioned for him to cover his ears “Well there’s no need for that kind of rude language, I’ll have you know that my momma was an ugly back-alley whore on LAND not some degenerate who sleeps with the fishes, Gods rest her poxy soul.”
The net shook violently “No need for rude language? You have me in a net! I’ve been kidnapped and groped by perverts!”
“Yeah, that’ll happen” Martialla remarked with disinterest before walking back towards the aftcastle “send this foul mothed brine witch back to the sweet salty embrace of the sea boys.”
