-------------------------------
Given the Choice
-------------------------------
cursed is the fool who's willing
Can't change the way we are,
one kiss away from killing
- Bishop Briggs
River
there’s a cure comes with a kiss
the bite that binds
the gift that gives
- TV on the Radio
Wolf Like Me
kiss (v.)
Old English cyssan “to touch with the lips” (in respect, reverence, etc.),
from Proto-Germanic *kussjan (source also of Old Saxon kussian,
Old Norse kyssa, Old Frisian kessa, Middle Dutch cussen,
Dutch, Old High German kussen, German kussen,
Norwegian and Danish kysse, Swedish, kyssa),
from *kuss-, probably imitative of the sound.
Gothic used kukjan. Of two persons, “to reciprocally kiss,
to kiss each other,”
- www.etymonline.com/?search=kiss
choose (v.)
Old English ceosan “choose, seek out, select, decide,
test, taste, try; accept, approve”
(class II strong verb; past tense ceas, past participle coren),
from Proto-Germanic *keus- (source also of Old Frisian kiasa,
Old Saxon kiosan, Dutch kiezen, Old High German kiosan,
German kiesen, Old Norse kjosa,
Gothic kiusan “choose,” Gothic kausjan “to taste, test”),
from PIE root *geus- “to taste, relish”
- www.etymonline.com/?search=choose
-------------------------------
Louis blinked rapidly; the fluttering of his eyelids brought reality back into focus. Shadows deepened as dusk set in. Ethereal whispers trailed off into distant silence. Had he been daydreaming? He shook his head and looked around to gain his bearings.
The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor stood on a raised platform in the middle of the dining area. He held up his hands to gather the crowd’s attention.
“Welcome. Welcome, pirates. Welcome aboard Ye Brew D’Agon.”
Even without a bullhorn, his voice carried well enough to be heard by everyone. The boisterous pirates fell quiet, except for a few grumbles and laughs from the visiting captain’s table. The Reverend Doctor bowed deeply with a dramatic flourish.
“I be thy most humble host, Ye Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones, captain o' Ye Brew D'Agon, & C.E.O. o’ Brew D’Agon Traiding Compagnie, Incorpirated.”
As The Reverned Doctor addressed the visitors, an odd couple strolled from table to table. One of the pair was the same ogre who had met the crew of the ketch at the top of the gangplank and intimidated Louis. The ogre held up a large, heavy platter full of red, white, and black lanterns. A smaller man scowled as he used his hook hand to take a lantern from the platter, carefully choosing the color before placing one at the center of each table as they passed. The pair paused at the bar and placed a black lantern near Louis. The battle scarred ogre’s gentle eyes twinkled merrily and rolled as The Reverend Doctor hammed up the intro. Arthur Aquino smiled knowingly and chuckled as he continued his conversation with his partner, Rob the Hook.
“What? No B.S, Ph.D., S.T.D., or Esq. this time?”
“I’m surprised he didn’t at least add PBUH, but I suspect that bit would be lost on this lot.”
“Hah ha ha! Everyone loves a clown, unless they don’t get the joke, right?”
“That's when they start calling the clown ‘stupid’”.
“Nudge, nudge. Poke, poke. Wink, wink.”
The smaller man stopped scowling and laughed, almost coquettishly, as his companion poked him in his ribcage.
“Say no more.”
The chatty pair grew silent as they moved on to the next table, where the murderous captain of the ketch and his closest henchman had chosen to sit. The Hook, suddenly appeared meek and timid, noticeably hesitating before he reached through the belligerent posturing of the sea-thugs and placed a red lantern in the middle of the table. When he was finished, Rob quickly scurried on to the next table. Arthur hurried behind him – uncharacteristically hunched over, head down, cowering like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs –, careful never to look directly at the ketch’s captain. A chorus of snickers and catcalls followed after the fleeing pair.
“Fooking sissies!”
“I told ya, Cap’n. These little boys look like big men, but they still be suckin' their mommas' teats.”
“Come back ‘ere ‘n’ get yer kisses, ladies! Muah! Ha ha!”
The ketch’s captain laughed loudest. The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones continued his speech as if non of this had happened. All assembled could hear him as clearly as if he were whispering in their ear.
“Verily, mi bred’ren, take as much food & drink as thou doth wish. I beggeth thee, eat as iffen ye sun shallst not rise on ye morrow. Drinketh as iffen this night be thy last upon ye sea. ‘A pirate’s life be ‘short but merry’. Aye! 'Tis unadulterated truth for most pirates, forsooth. But, what iffen we couldst offer thee more?”
A shrill cry rang out. The ketch’s second mate held a serving lass’s ass cheek in his calloused grip. His rough fingers clawed her flesh as he pulled her rudely towards him. The lusty sea-dog laughed as she slapped his face. He spat out a bit of blood and continued laughing, harder. The prospective rapist’s equally lecherous captain sneered and called out to The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor.
“You already promised us more, remember? Forgive my men while we partake in the “free entertainment” and “friendly companionship” we were promised. If this wench were truly friendly, she would already be on her knees entertaining us for free.”
In an instant, an unnatural silence descended on the crowd. No one could have spoken if they'd tried. No one dared try. Rob the Hook placed the last lantern on the last table and backed away to stand where Arthur Aquino waited in a dark corner. Almost every eye on deck was focused on The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones as he began to glow brighter than a beacon in the night. Even his black clothes shone with an otherworldly light – this illumination the result of a psychological illusion, a mind-trick enhanced by both natural and supernatural light sources.
Light and dark flickered, shuttered, and reversed. The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor was not shining; he was shadow. Perspective and proportions altered. He lengthened, growing a few inches in height. His shoulders broadened. His head cocked forward and sideways as he fixed an aquiline stare firmly on the ketch’s captain, like a bird of prey measuring the distance between itself and its meal. Eerie, blue-black shadows danced menacingly across the billowing sails above him – dark foreboding wings whose feathers trembled expectantly in the wind.
The ketch’s captain seemed to be the only one aboard who was not afraid of The Reverend Doctor's shadow. Too blinded by greed, too drunk on imaginary power, and too proud of his ability to see what others could not; the pirate continued his provocative speech, unaware of the forces gathering around him, encircling him, preparing to strike.
“Nothing to say, huh, Doctor Jones? Of course not. You’re not a real pirate. You're no Sea King. This is all theatrics, smoke and mirrors. You're a drama queen. Just another soft fop like that infamous fool, Stede Bonnet. You thought you would buy a pretty pirate ship and masquerade around the Caribbean on a pleasure cruise? I will play Blackbeard to your Stede, Doc. I’ll be the scoundrel who teaches you a valuable life-lesson by snatching your beautiful ship from your hand. It will be like taking candy from a baby.”
“Yarrr! Haarrr! Give em wot for, cap'n."
One of the villainous captain's minions chimed in, the hold on him broken. His boss, the self-proclaimed scoundrel, smirked greedily, thinking of the easy victory within his grasp. His glare fixed unwaveringly on Heronimus Jones, the only man standing between him and the prize.
"You’re a weakling. You do not deserve such a ship. We will be taking some of your crew, too, especially the pretty ones."
"Yarrr!!!"
Another cutthroat shook free from his stupor and shouted his support. The villians' captain began to find his stride. He smirked as he felt himself close in for the psychological kill.
"This whore here? My lads will take her right now, right on this table. You can’t stop us. I have yet to see one of your men capable of stopping my crew from taking this ship. Not a man on your crew is a match for….”
“Pardon moi, but I must object, mon ami. You presume far, far too much.”
The arrogant pirate captain’s Adam’s apple froze, afraid to move and risk being lopped off by the razor-sharp edge of the meat cleaver pressed against it by the strong hand of an angry woman. Momma’s brow furrowed scornfully as she grabbed her prisoner’s right arm and twisted it painfully behind him. For a large woman, she moved surprisingly quickly and stealthily than expected.
Another voice sounded.
“You forgot a great many critical variables in your equation. Your hubris blinded you. Thus, your mistakes were made before you even began your calculations and you factored incorrectly”
As he finished his brief sermon, the first mate of The Brew D’Agon placed the barrel of his flintlock pistol against the ketch’s second mate’s temple. Tall and gangly, Christian possessed a deceptive strength and an incredibly long wingspan; add the length of a sabre, and Christian could kill a man from seven feet away without so much as a lunge. Before he could fully stand, the ketch's first mate was pushed back down by a sabre-point held to his chest by Christian’s other hand.
The serving girl who had been so roughly handled cried tears of rage as the gentle but unyielding arms of a crewmate whisked her away from danger. His dark, calloused fingers interlaced with hers, lovingly, affectionately restraining her.
“Damn it, Jacques! Let me go! I will castrate that son-of-a-bitch!”
“Non, mon cherie. The capitaine et crew will handle this with ease. The unworthy blood of these fools will not stain these beautiful hands.”
Jacques kissed her porcelain fine fingertips as he carried her away from the ignorant men who had provoked her wrath. He was not protecting her from those pirates, he was protecting her from herself. He loved her fiery spirit, but her rage did not always serve her well.
Pirates at two other tables stood up to join the fight, but all three tables – the three marked with red lanterns – found themselves outnumbered and surrounded by the crew of The Brew D’Agon, who swarmed up from below deck or dropped down from out of the rigging above when the signal was given.
Not one of the pirates sitting at a table marked with a black or white lantern moved to help their embattled comrades. Who could blame them? This was the greatest meal of their lives. A full stomach and strong spirits are enough motivation for most pirates to sit idly by while others are manhandled. A few of the men at the tables with black lanterns didn’t even bother to stop eating, completely undisturbed by the ruckus; one former rumrunner raised his glass of spirits in ironic salute.
Still sitting on his stool at the bar, Louis seconded the salute, drained his goblet, and called to the bartender for more. The bartender nodded, smiling as if all of the commotion was perfectly normal, and casually poured another drink. Louis recognized the bartender as the man he had once heard babble about mermaids having two tails, but Louis couldn’t remember the man’s name. On stage, The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor held up his hands and called for everyone’s attention.
“Avast! D’Agon fhtagn.”
The ship grew unnaturally silent, again. Only the ocean and the wind dared make a sound.
“‘Twouldst appear our hospitality hath unexpectedly discombobulated our guests & impaired their mental acuity. Forsooth, as one who hath oft preacheth Ye Word, ‘twouldst be hypocritical iffen I doth not forgiveth their trespasses as I doth beggeth them to forgiveth us when we doth trespass against them."
The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor paused to further focus the attention of the stilled throng.
"Ipso facto, posthaste, & forthwith; by ye power invested in me, I doth hereby grant these pirates safe passage to return to their own vessel. ‘Tis ye bindin’ & solemn word o’ Ye Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones. D’Agon fhtagn.”
The crew of The Brew D’Agon were none too gentle as they herded the now cowed prisoners out onto the gangplank. After a few steps, the ketch’s captain realized something was horribly wrong.
“Wait! Wait! Stop! Stop! STOP!!!”
He screamed at his men to halt, but the mass of pirates being pushed onto the gangplank behind him forced the once proud captain to reluctantly shuffle out until his toes touched the end.
“WHERE IS OUR FUCKING SHIP?!?”
The first clue his ship was gone had been the angle-of-descent or, more precisely, the lack thereof. He remembered climbing up a steep incline to board the larger vessel, but now the gangplank was parallel to The Brew D’Agon’s deck, sticking straight out into the air. The sea below them washed against only one hull, not two. The ketch gunboat was nowhere to be seen. The toes of the pirate captain’s boots edged further out into empty space as his compatriots pushed against him in their desperate attempts to escape the deadly wall of steel blades advancing on them from behind. The once proud captain voice was shrill with fear as images of black shadow wings flapping across unfurled sails flickered in and out of his consciousness.
“WHERE IN THE BLOODY FUCK IS MY GODDAMNED SHIP?”
The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones leapt on top of the gunwale with the aid of a taut rigging rope. He held a hand over his brow as if he were shielding his eyes from the sun. He exaggerated his squinting as he peered off into the distance over the sea, then licked his thumb and held it up as if gauging the wind, miming intense concentration on mental mathematics for comedic effect. Finally, The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor gave his grim verdict.
“I doth reckon ‘tis approximately three miles in an east by north-easterly direction, iffen she doth be driftin’ true to ye wind & currents. Iffen thou canst swim sufficiently swiftly, thy might be back aboard her afore dawn. Be Aware, only ye fishiest & most fleet amongst thee shallst surviveth to see ye morrow. Cast thy gaze beneath thee and behold how ye sharks doth inevitably congregate when we dumpeth our detritus o’erboard. Godspeed thee on they journey, pirates! D’Agon fhtagn.”
The doomed and damned man shook his head in disbelief. The Brew D’Agon’s flamboyant captain’s peculiar way of speaking was difficult to understand, but the defeated pirate captain thought he caught the gist of it. He was dead; he couldn’t swim.
The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor smiled his crooked crescent moon grin and gave the downward thumb signal. The gangplank disappeared from beneath the doomed pirates' feet. The fins of circling sharks were already positioning to greet the fresh meat. Beneath them in the Deep, giant shadowy tentacles waited to snatch up any morsel missed in the ravenous bull sharks' frenzy.
-------------------------------
And they did all eat, and were filled.
- Mark 6:42
King James Bible
-------------------------------