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Thread: Monkey Business

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    Default Monkey Business

    Well, I've just dug this up from my pc, and I must say that even though I've written it quite a while back, I like it immensly. Now, before I decide to continue writing this story, I think I'd like some feedback, so I'll upload the three chapters I've written and then hope I wasn't being delusional about it being good. I'll put the chapters in different post because in case I continue this, that's what I'll do with the subsequent chapters as well.

    Monkey business

    And the monkey was born. On a small island in the pacific. The island was called, very appropriately, monkey island. In the center of the island, there was a large volcano, around it a wood of palm trees and a beautiful coastline surrounding that with pleasant beaches. Except for the monkeys, there was no-one to enjoy the beaches though, because the island was uninhabited. There were thousands of monkeys on the island, it was one of the island’s few strengths: richness in monkeys. Apart from that, they also had palm trees, bananas and lava. What set the newborn monkey apart from the rest of the monkeys, or indeed, from his entire species, was his intelligence. The monkey had a human intelligence, even though he was in every other way a monkey. This made him an outcast on the island. In a small community, it’s a bad thing to be different. The monkey was sent away, to the top of the mountain, the only place where no other monkeys lived. On the top of the mountain, there was one single tree, because nothing else could grow there. It was an ancient, charred tree that was as hard as stone. The tree was huge but bore no leaves, so it offered no protection from the rain. The monkey would welcome rain though, because the branches hung above the volcano, and it was burning hot at all times in his home. Whenever he could, the monkey would secretly leave the mountain and go refresh himself in the fresh ocean waters. He took these trips in the middle of the night, when all other monkeys slept. On one of these trips, as he was drinking the cool water, he suddenly saw lights on the horizon. The monkey walked into the water, as far as he could, and stared in the distance. As he focused, he could hear…singing. And there was yelling, and a bang, and for a second he could see a flash of light in the distance, the faces of three scruffy bearded men flashed by and the shadows of many others. Then there was a splash. Monkey waited. Not much happened for a while. The sounds got fainter, and the lights faded. The monkey wiped away a tear. The only thing that had ever happened in his life, the only thing that wasn’t other monkeys screaming at him, had passed. All that was ahead of him now, were more days of sitting in the hot tree, and nights of sneaking past his former family. The monkey turned around and started walking back to the shore, when suddenly, he heard a muffled sound. Monkey looked around quickly and stared at the dark sea. He saw nothing. But then the water moved. Somewhat ahead, it had bubbled up and it had made a somewhat disturbing slurping sound. The monkey ran into the water, which was not a smart thing to do, all things considered, but the monkey was in desperate need of some change in his monotonous life. Monkey ran up to the wet heap of clothes that was drifting in the water and dragged the package to shore. He wasn’t going to let the current take this away from him. He dragged the package through the sand and started searching it eagerly. He found a bottle with a strange siropy liquid, a small leather pouch and a rusty dagger. The monkey put the objects on a rock and stared at them. He had never seen such wondrous things in his entire life. He eagerly unscrewed the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. The stuff burned in his mouth like a thousand fires! He spit it out immediately. Then he tried to open the pouch, but it was knotted shut with a leather strap, so the monkey took the dagger and started cutting the strap. As he did this, the package suddenly started moving: it swayed, back and forth, and waggled up to the rock. There he stood, watching the monkey trying to open his pouch. Driftwood, because that was his name, or at least what they called him, scratched his head, grabbed the bottle of rum and took a large swig. The monkey jumped, dropped the pouch and looked around. The package he had dragged to shore a few seconds ago had turned out to be alive, but it was not a monkey. Wasn’t a fish or a bird either. Monkey thought fast. The package must be some kind of weird monkey, from another island. Another island? This was good news, great news, glorious news!!! Finally something new! The ideas this gave him, the possibilities,…!!! Monkey suddenly realized the package had stumbled back. Monkey looked had him in surprise. Maybe the package had never seen a monkey of his kind before…but still, that didn’t explain why he seemed to be afraid, the package was three to four times his size. Monkey followed Driftwood’s eyes to his hand, where he still held the dagger. Monkey smiled apologetically (as much as monkeys can do that) and slowly put the dagger back on the rock. Driftwood relaxed, walked up to the monkey and patted him on the head. “Now that’s a good monkey” he said, and he pocketed both the dagger and the leather pouch, he kept the bottle at hand though. “You the only one of your kind here?”.
    “No”.
    What did you say?!!”.
    “No”.
    “You can talk?!! How the hell is that possible?!!”.
    “Why did you ask if you didn’t think I could talk?”.
    “I don’t know…”.
    “Well, I don’t know how it’s possible that I talk”.
    “Maybe I drank a bit too much…A good night’s sleep’ll do me good right about now”.
    “Ok, follow me”.
    “Allrighty then, said the drunk pirate, and he followed the talking monkey!”.
    “Are you coming, or not?”.
    “Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’m too drunk ‘n too tired to argue”.

    Driftwood opened his eyes. For some reason, he was in a tree. He looked down and immediately grasped the braches with all his might. Beneath him bubbled boiling lava.
    “You know, it’s only an idea, the fear. You’ve got to just forget about it, it doesn’t matter there’s lava down there. If you fell, it would be the fall that killed you, not the lava”. Driftwood looked at the monkey, loosened his grip somewhat and laughed.
    “God, it wasn’t a dream, I really did end up on friggin’ talking monkey island!!!”.
    “Oh, no, dear lord, you’re not. My brothers and sisters don’t talk”.
    “You’re the only one that talks?”.
    “Yes…” the monkey bowed his head, “you have no idea how lonely it is…”. Then he cheered right up, “But now you’re here! And it’s all okay now!”. Driftwood looked at the monkey, shrugged, and slowly climbed down from the tree. His stomach growled.
    “You got any food around here?”.
    “Sure!” the monkey responded cheerfully, “We’ve got plenty of food, I’ll show you!”.
    The monkey ran down the mountain. “Are you coming or not?”.

    At the edge of the mountain, there was an open spot in which a bunch of monkeys were eating nuts they plucked from the trees. “See? We got plenty of food! We’ve got nuts, bugs and a few bananas, but we keep those for special occasions”.
    “Are those your brothers and sisters?”.
    “Yes, but be quiet, they don’t like me”. Driftwood took a large stick from the ground.
    “And please don’t move so much, Mr. Driftwood, they might see us”.
    “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” said Driftwood and he walked into the open spot.

    “You know, that is not what I meant by food” said monkey as he warmed his hands by the campfire.
    “Hey, if you don’t want your monkey steak, you can always give it to me!”.
    “No, no, I’ll keep it. It’s much better than nuts. It tastes like chicken”.
    “Do you even have any idea what chicken is?”.
    “Is it a nut?”.
    “Not really, but close enough”.

    Mr. Driftwood did not feel like staying on the island, even though the monkey steak was quite good. So, on the third day, he started building a raft.
    “Why are you leaving so soon, Mr. Driftwood?”.
    “I never wanted to be on this island in the first place, monkey”.
    “Then why did you come here?”.
    “I didn’t, they threw me off the ship”.
    “Why did they do that?”.
    “Boy, you sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”.
    “Yes…So why did they throw you off the ship?”.
    Sigh…Let’s just say I’m a bit of a nasty drunk”.
    “Ok, Mr. Driftwood”. Driftwood pulled the improvised ropes that held the logs together tightly.
    “Looks like she’s finished, monkey!”.
    “Oh”.
    “So, I guess I’ll be leaving now”.
    “Right. Bye, bye Mr. Driftwood”.
    “Yeah, bye, bye monkey” said Driftwood and he started pushing the raft into the sea. As the raft hit the water, Driftwood jumped on and pushed it off with his big stick. Monkey waved, and Driftwood waved back and yelled something at him, but the monkey couldn’t hear, because he was too far off. Monkey sighed and started walking up the beach again, he’d have to get back to the volcano before the remaining monkeys realized the pirate had gone, they’d kill him in revenge. But it was too late: at the brim of the forest his whole family was waiting for him, with rocks at hand. Monkey turned around, and started running as fast as he could, across the beach, into the water and on as far as he could. In a rain of stones that were thrown at him he crawled onto the raft.
    “Can I come with you, Mr. Driftwood?”. Driftwood smiled and patted Monkey on the head, “Sure you can, I bet they’ve never seen a talking monkey in Tortuga!”.
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


    The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles

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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    A bit of a nasty drunk

    Tortuga. One of the only free harbors left. Naturally, this status caused it to attract an “undesirable element”. Freedom is not always a pretty sight, or so Tortuga proved. One thing could be said about Tortuga though: it was a lively place. There was not a corner you could turn without running into a whorehouse, a bar brawl or a cutthroat. This night was a particularly lively one: The Mistress had docked in the harbor. The Mistress was the most dangerous pirates ship to sail the seven seas, and when it made shore, the crew was sure to have a lot of gold at hand to spend. Being a part of the crew of The Mistress was the ultimate honor for any pirate, so when they made shore, every pirate in the vicinity would be attracted and hang around in the hope to get hired. Even with all the commotion the ship caused, it was not the most remarkable ship to dock in Tortuga that day. The most remarkable was a small raft, sailed by a pirate thought dead and a talking monkey.
    “So this is Tortuga?” the monkey asked.
    “Yup. Nastiest town on the face of the earth”.
    “Well, I like it”. Driftwood laughed loudly and tied down the raft to a pier.
    “So, Mr. Driftwood, what are we doing here?” Monkey asked.
    “We’re hiring a crew, and it looks like it’s out lucky day: The Mistress is in town”.
    “Who’s she?”. Driftwood laughed again jumped onto the pier and yelled “C’mon, I’ll show you the town!”.

    “Showing the town” turned out to be code for “Let’s head to the nearest bar”. The nearest bar turned out to be the Rough Rock Café, one of the least shabby places on Tortuga (which is not saying a lot). The Rough rock was built on, well, a rock, a pretty large one in fact. The only way of getting in was taking one of the two elevators, where you were pulled up by some of the Rough Rock’s crew, in exchange for a small fee of course. This is what gave the Rock it’s somewhat exclusive atmosphere: it was one of the few places penniless vagrants did not wander into. Monkey found the crowded bar somewhat intimidating, but Driftwood seemed to be right at home: five minutes after entering, he had found an old comrade of his. After five more minutes of talking, the comrade had been found willing lend his boat to Driftwood “for an undetermined period”. I guess it’s true what they said: you could convince a man to do anything if he’s drunk.
    “And now, all we need is a crew!”.
    “And where are we going to get that, Mr. Driftwood?”.
    “Look around you! This is Tortuga, matey! If you can’t find a crew here, you can’t find it anywhere”. Driftwood turned to the tavern and yelled: “Who wants to go sailing with me! Great treasure promised for all who join us in our search!”. Heads turned. Suddenly it was silent. All you could hear were the occasional whispered words “treasure!”. The barkeep looked up too and tapped a sign above the counter: “NO RECRUITING PLEASE”. Driftwood shrugged and sat down and sipped someone else’s rum. “Do we have treasure, Mr. Driftwood?” the monkey asked.
    “Not yet, not yet, but we will if we manage to find a crew”.
    “And where are we going to get the treasure then?” Monkey asked. A large man with a huge black beard and a broad rimmed hat with some scruffy red feathers joined them.
    “Yes” he said, “where are you going to get that treasure, Mr. Driftwood?”.
    “You know my name?” Driftwood asked.
    “Of course, I make it my business to know who’s in town when I dock, a man like me needs to know these things, there are plenty who would welcome my death with great joy”.
    “Who are you then?”.
    “LeChuck’s the name, but that’s not the issue here”.
    “What’s the issue then, Chuck?”.
    “You, Mr. Driftwood! You are the issue! You and that supposed treasure of yours!”.
    “I don’t think I feel like telling you about, I’m afraid, Chuck”. The large man growled and fire seemed to beam out of his eyes.
    “The name’s LeChuck, and you’d do good to remember it, it might be your downfall some day!”. LeChuck turned and limped away, it was only now that Driftwood noticed that the imposing man had a wooden leg. Before he could ask about it, LeChuck turned around and said “Croc got it, but it doesn’t make me any less of a man!”. LeChuck turned again and walked off.
    “So, where are we going to get the treasure, Mr. Driftwood?” the monkey asked again.
    “Not in here, I’ll tell you later”.
    “Did you know who that was you just insulted?” asked the man who’s rum Driftwood had been drinking.
    “Chuck” Driftwood answered.
    LeChuck” the man answered, “the captain of The Mistress! Not a man to be on the bad side of”.
    “Too late for that now, couldn’t you have said something earlier?”.
    “No, sir, I was way too scared!”.
    “Suddenly I’m not so sorry about drinking your rum anymore…”.
    “And you shouldn’t be, don’t worry about me. I’m a bit of a nasty drunk anyways”. Driftwood looked at the man. He was scrawny, wearing both too big boots and a hat that almost sunk over his eyes and for some reason he only wore a beard on the right side of his face, which was quite an odd sight to behold.
    “Yes, I’m sure you are. I’m guessing you’re not interested in joining my crew?”.
    “Oh, no, sir, much too dangerous for me! Besides, you’re not allowed to recruit here, the barkeep might get angry”.
    “You’re not much of a pirate, are you?”.
    “Not really, no. But I know a place where you might be able to find a crew”. Driftwood poured the last bit of the guy’s rum in his throat and got up “Then take us there! What’s you’re name anyways?”.
    “Tucker, Tucker Brown, sir”.

    The Hog’s Head was a lot less civilized than the Rough Rock Café, and it was, in fact, one of the shabbiest joints in Tortuga. The Hog’s Head was the place where the hopeless, the poor and the outrageously drunk ended up. In short, it was the perfect place to recruit a crew. As they walked in Tucker was clasped by a large hairy man, presumably either the barkeep or a large chimpanzee, who seemed to know him.
    “Tucker, how have ya been? Are ya still the fear of every tavern?” bellowed the man.
    “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid you’re mistaking me for someone else”.
    “Hahaha!!! Good ol’ Tucker, always in for a joke, eh? Come on, follow me to the bar, I’ll buy ya a drink!”. Before Tucker could protest he was dragged to the bar by the man. Driftwood didn’t seem to care much and walked to the middle of the tavern. There he scaled a table and yelled “Which one of you scurvy bastards has got the guts to go sailing with me? There’s plenty of treasure for all who join my crew!!!”. At the sound of “treasure” people jumped up and gathered around the table: there seemed to be plenty of interest. Driftwood jumped of the table and yelled at the men they had to queue up. Strangely, most of them were sober enough to understand this.
    “Anyone here have steering experience?” Driftwood yelled.
    “Arrrr, I do!” said an old man with a pipe in the corner of his mouth. He stepped up to the table, blew out a cloud of thick black smoke and shook Driftwood’s hand.
    “The name’s Charlie, but they call me the Chimney”.
    “And I can see why-cough- So you can steer a ship?”.
    “Arrrr, the ship I cannot steer is yet to be built, matey!”.
    “Splendid, you’re hired. Next!!!”. The Chimney wandered off and a huge, fat man walked up to the table.
    “So, what’s your name?” Driftwood asked with a pinch of doubt in his voice.
    “They call me the Keg” he said with a deep voice.
    “And you want to sail with me, Keg?”.
    “Is the food any good?”.
    “As good as it gets on sea, I suppose”.
    “Then I’m in!”.
    “Great! Next!!! Who are you then?”.
    “My name’s Henry Mops, and I want to be a pirate!”.
    “That’s good for you, Henry. Have you got any pirating skills?”.
    “Well, I can hold my breath under water for five minutes!”.
    “How very…admirable. But I suppose you could do your name honor and sweep the deck if you like. Next!!!”. Next in line was an old hunched man, dressed only in his pajamas. His hands were shaking like a leaf and he seemed to have missed driftwood yelling at him because he was distracted by one of the ladies at the bar. The one behind him in line was about to pass him, but unfortunately, the old man noticed it was his turn just in time and ran up to the table.
    “’Lo there, lad!”.
    “Are you sure you’re in the right line? The undertaker’s next door, you know”.
    “Hee, hee! No, son, I’m sure I’m in the right line, I want to be a pirate!”.
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea? With your age and all?”.
    “Now son, I’ve listened to other people my whole life, I’ve always done things the safest way possible, and I’ve always abided by the law, but now I’m an old man, and I can feel my time is coming. A few days ago, I realized I had done nothing in my life. Accomplished nothing, seen nothing, done nothing. And I decided it was time I went out there and lived a little for a change!”.
    “Can I change your mind about this?”.
    “Nope, son, you can’t, and I’m gonna stand here and whine all night long, ‘till you hire me! I’ve got nothing better to do, you know”.
    “Very well then, you’re hired, now please get out of my sight. Next!!!”. The next one in line was also the last one in line. Finally a man who looked like a decent pirate: the guy wore a hat with a feather on it, an eyepatch, a long green jacket with a set of guns in it and a belt with a cutlass. Just as he was about to step up to the table, Tucker cut in line. He looked somewhat different, more confident in a way.
    “Tucker, what are you doing here? I’m busy”. Tucker clinged to the table and responded: “I’m here to enlist, skipper, and so I will, by Neptune’s beard!”.
    “I thought you didn’t want to enlist?” Driftwood answered. Tucker drew a gun he hadn’t had earlier and pointed it at Driftwood.
    “Listen to this, skipper, I WANT TO ENLIST, ya hear? Keelhaul the bastards that say otherwise!”. In the back of the bar someone yelled “Hey Tucker, that’s my gun you’re slinging!” and Tucker turned and shot away at the fellow. Now, there’s one things you need to know about bars on Tortuga: they’re always one gunshot away from a bar brawl. In the blink of an eye everyone had drawn their weapons and all hell broke loose, somehow, Tucker seemed to be in the middle of it all, swinging from the chandelier and cursing like a fiend. Driftwood had been prepared for this as: he was used to the inflammable mood on Tortuga. As soon as Tucker had turned away from him, he’d turned over the table creating a make-shift barricade. Sadly, the monkey, who had been sitting on the table, hadn’t been prepared for this. The poor fellow had been knocked out by Driftwood’s sudden maneuver. The “real pirate”, the guy that had been in line behind Tucker had drawn his weapons like everyone else and was already at the door by now. Driftwood swung the monkey across his shoulders and took hold of Tucker’s feet as he swung by. The three were catapulted out of the bar in a rain of glass, into a puddle of mud outside. The “real pirate” exited at the same time. He stepped up to Driftwood and helped him up.
    “My name’s Joe Black, and if you were talking the truth about that treasure, I’m interested in enlisting myself for your cause”.
    “Pleased to meet you, my name’s Driftwood, and you’re hired. Now that we’re acquainted, could you help me drag these two to our ship? It looks like they’re out cold”.

    Monkey opened his eyes. He was in a small room, a small room that seemed to be moving. His eyes adjusted to the light. There was a kid leaning on a broomstick, looking at him.
    “What are you looking at?”. The boy looked at him and his mouth dropped open.
    “You…You…You can talk?!!”.
    “So? You can too!”.
    “But…But…But…”. Driftwood walked into the room.
    “That’s enough, Henry, go sweep the deck”. Henry nodded at Driftwood, started walking towards the door, reconsidered and turned around, nodded at the monkey too and walked out.
    “Where are we?”.
    “At sea. We sailed out hours ago. You slept through all of it, like him” Driftwood said and he pointed towards the next bed, where Tucker lay snoring away. Monkey crawled out of bed and walked out the door.
    “This ship looks nice”.
    “I don’t know if I should trust a monkey’s judgment about ships, but thanks anyways”.
    “So, it looks like everyone showed up, right?”.
    “Yep, the whole ragtag bunch of them. I even got that last guy to come with us”.
    “The “real pirate”?”.
    “Yup, him”. Driftwood pointed Joe out, who was eagerly working on the ship.
    “He seems to be the only good recruit we got in Tortuga, the rest is just a band of lowlifes” said Driftwood.
    “So why did you hire them?”.
    “They’re the best you can get without paying up front, I’m afraid”.
    “Yes, about that, you were going to tell me about the treasure?”.
    “Oh, yeah, sure. See, I wasn’t entirely honest with you when I said I was thrown off that ship for being drunk. I was thrown off because I stole something from the captain: a map”.
    “And they let you keep the map?!!”.
    “No, of course not, the captain took it from me as soon as he figured me out”.
    “Then how come you know what way we need to go?”.
    “There was this guy on the ship, the called him Squid Jones”.
    “Squid?!! Why? Was he slimy? Did he have eight arms?”.
    “No, it was because he had a way with ink. He was a tattooist”.
    “A tattooist?”.
    “Yeah. I let him ink the map on my skin, but before I could safely return the map to the captains room, they caught me and threw me off board”.
    “Can I see it?”.
    “Sure”. Driftwood lifted his shirt, and on his scarred stomach, a pattern of ink was drawn: a map. Suddenly there was a stumbling inside. Driftwood dropped his shirt.
    “It looks like Tucker woke up as well”. Driftwood and the monkey went inside. There Tucker lay, curdled up in a blanket. He looked up at them with big eyes and asked “Where am I?”.
    “You’re on my ship, Tucker”.
    “Whaaaaat? I want off, right now!!!”.
    “Errr, that’s not possible, we’re out at sea”.
    “Oh, Christ, how did this happen?”.
    “You enlisted yourself yesterday in that bar, remember?”.
    “No”.
    “What do you mean “no”?”.
    “Well, to tell you the truth, I kind of have a drinking problem: I’m a bit of a nasty drunk”.
    “You told us that, what does that have to do with anything?”.
    “Well, when I drink, I’m not quite myself. It’s…a gipsy curse”.
    “Ok, I guess that explains it”.
    “Yeah, these gipsy curses are quite common lately. One of the monkeys on my island had one”.
    “Which one?”.
    “The one with the tentacles”.
    “Oh yeah. He tasted better than I expected. Sort of a fishy flavor”.
    “But when will I be able to leave this ship?” Tucker asked.
    “As soon as we dock somewhere, you can take your leave. Don’t expect any payment though” Driftwood answered, “Anyhow, whilst you’re on the ship, you’re going to have to work like everybody else”.
    “So your saying I have to work for you for free?”.
    “Yup. That’s what I’m saying”.
    Tucker sighed. “Very well sir, I guess I’d better get to work…”.
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


    The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles

    Help me run my very first campaign.

  3. - Top - End - #3
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    Another night in Tortuga

    “So, Jones, you’ll be taking yer leave then?”.
    “That’s right, cap’n. I’ve seen enough of the seven seas, I’m through. I’m gonna start a nice little tattoo shop in Tortuga, no more bloodshed, gunpowder ‘n treasure for me, cap”.
    “I’d tell ya ta reconsider, Jones, yer one of the finest men on ma ship, but I can see ya made up yer mind”.
    “The Seabisquit will fare well without me too, after all, it has the best cap’n on the seven seas”.
    “Arrr, ya flatter me, matey, but ya know that’s a fib. I’m not fit to lick the boots of the likes of LeChuck!”. Jones smiled, and the lights flickered.
    “Looks like we hit shore, matey, you’d best be going, we’re going to get leaving soon. Can’t let that treasure wait, now can we matey?”. Jones got up and swung his bag across his shoulder.
    “Goodbye cap’n Barbarossa, may we meet again!”. The captain nodded and took up a sheet of paper: the map. Jones had lost his attention, to the captain, he did not exist anymore. Jones even doubted that if the ship stopped by Tortuga again, the captain would seek out the tattoo shop, but he didn’t mind. There wouldn’t be a tattoo shop to visit anyways. Jones had very different plans, and he had certainly not grown weary of treasure. About two weeks ago, one of the sailors came to him with a very strange request: to paint a treasure map on his skin. Jones was no fool, and he had immediately recognized the map as the captains, yet he’d fulfilled the sailor’s request. But he’d done more: he had made a copy for himself. When Driftwood had left his quarters, Jones had gone to see the captain. Driftwood had been thrown overboard, and was no longer a competitor, but Jones’ actions had also returned the original map to the captain. The only way he’d be able to get to the treasure first, was to find a small, fast boat and man it with an own crew. And, as everyone knew, the perfect place to hire a crew was Tortuga. Ratting out Driftwood to the captain had brought Jones a decent reward, and with the money, he’d certainly be able to hire some experienced men.

    Jones walked off the pier and looked around: it looked like it was his lucky day: The Mistress was in town. This meant lots of pirates looking for employment. Suddenly a man dressed in rags came running up to him.
    “Squid Jones, is that you?”. It was somewhat of a stupid question. One could recognize Jones from miles away. The bald man had tattooed himself allover with the form of a skeleton with an octopus wrapped around it. Jones never wore more than pants alone, so his tattoos were always visible, this also allowed people to see his impressive muscles, which was a great asset with the ladies. To top off the threatening impression, Jones wore two large hatchets in his belt. Jones grunted. Charlie Muck was not the man he wanted to see right now.
    “What is it, Charlie?”.
    “Nothing, it’s just that I’m glad to see you’re here. It’s always good to see an old friend”.
    “We were never friends, Charlie”.
    “Now that hurts me, Squid! Anyhow, you’ll be leaving again soon I suppose, so how about you and me hit the town, for old times sake?”.
    “I’ve left ship, Charlie”.
    “So I suppose you’ll be settling down then?”.
    “Not really”.
    “Ah, I see: looking to get hired by LeChuck, eh? Well, you’re one of the better sailors out there, Squid, you have a good chance. I suggest we go to the Rough Rock Café, that’s where LeChuck’s been hanging out”.
    “I don’t wanna work for LeChuck Charlie, I’m gonna be my own captain”.
    “Ah, you’re hiring then?”.
    “That’s right”.
    “Consider me hired! I’m sick of the townslife anyway. I’ve robbed everybody I could rob, cheated everybody I could cheat and ****ed everybody I wanted to ****!”.
    “With your odor and appearance, I find that hard to believe, Charlie”.
    “Well, believe it. If you can walk the walk, and if you can talk the talk, all doors open for you”.
    “Well that might be so, but I still don’t like ya, Charlie”.
    “Hehe, you and your jokes, Squid! I really missed you, you know? Now how about we go hire you a crew and get some rum, eh?”.
    “All right then, for old times sake”.

    Barbarossa put the map down. They’d be leaving in a couple of hours, so if he wanted to get a drink and some fresh air, he’d have to be fast. The captain put on his nicest hat, stroked through his fiery red beard and walked out of his cabin. He took a deep breath of the nights air and smiled. Tortuga, the only place in the world where fresh air smelled like rum and tobacco. Then his smile faded. The Mistress was in town. It might have been pitch-dark, but he didn’t need his eyes to know that. He could smell the gunpowder in the hold, the dried up blood on the deck and above all, the smugness of the captain. LeChuck. Barbarossa hated the bastard. All his life, he had been beaten in everything by LeChuck. LeChuck was stronger, smarter and meaner. He was the perfect pirate, but Barbarossa couldn’t help hate him. He smiled everytime he saw his gnawed off leg, and had to keep himself from crying when he saw his smug face. It’s horrible to be second in everything. And still, he admired LeChuck, for he was indeed the better pirate, and an example to him. Barbarossa had been thinking about going to the Rough Rock Café, but now that he knew LeChuck was in town he was having second thoughts, since he’d almost certainly run into him there. But a pirate does not sway from his intentions, so Barbarossa shrugged and walked on to the pier. Maybe if he was careful not to attract any attention, LeChuck wouldn’t see him.

    “I’m telling you, Squid, this guy is the best steersman in whole of Tortuga!”.
    “I very much doubt he’s better than Seabisquits or The Mistress’ steersman, Charlie. Besides, the man smells like a bleeding tarpit!”.
    “He’s the best steerman on the island without a job! The rest isn’t available anyways. My point being: he’s the best you can get!”.
    “All right, Charlie, I’ll hire him if he takes that damn pipe out of his mouth”.
    “Doesn’t look like he wants to do that, Squid, but he’s really worth the bother cause…”.
    “Cause he’s so damn good! Yes, I know Charlie, you told me a thousand times. “He’s the best you can get” you claim, but let me just say this: if the best I can get is a bleeding chimney, I don’t want it! Smokers don’t bother me, Charlie, but generally they’re not producing as much smoke as a bleeding forest fire! If he won’t put away the pipe, I’ll shove it up his unmentionables!”. Charlie Muck wasn’t quite pleased with this reaction. Charlie might have been a reeking degenerate, but he knew people, hell, Charlie was people. Charlie understood everyone because he was everyone, it was only a pity everyone included all those bums and cutthroats. Charlie knew people, knew Chimney, enough to realize that Jones had gone too far. However, Charlie also realized Chimney wasn’t a violent man in the least, he was just very stubborn and he didn’t forget. Insulting the Chimney like this was making an enemy for life, and he wouldn’t forget Charlie had been there. Chimney puffed up a cloud of smoke, as black as the night’s sky, and took his pipe out of his mouth. With the sting of the smoke in his eyes, Charlie wasn’t sure he was seeing this right. Of all things, this he had not expected. Chimney looked briefly at Charlie and then stared Jones right into the eye. Jones stared back, he was a stubborn man himself and there was not the slightest chance of him apologizing, unless it was absolutely necessary. Chimney clasped Jones’ hand, turned his pipe, and slowly poured the red hot ashes on Jones’ hand. Jones screamed and pulled back his hand, but the old man’s grasp was firmer than you’d expect. Charlie grabbed the old man from behind and tried to pull him back. This didn’t work either. As the ashes burned out, Chimney let go on his own account and let himself be dragged out of the bar.
    “You owe me some tobacco, Squid”.

    Barbarossa sat down on a barstool and ordered a grog. He wasn’t feeling too well: he’d just seen a ghost: the ghost of Driftwood. He’d seen the bastard pass as he was going up with the elevator. He’d seen Driftwood in the other elevator, going down. He’d only seen him for a split second, but he was sure it had been him. Driftwood, with a monkey on his shoulder. Barbarossa was absolutely baffled. He’d killed many men in his life, often for much sillier reasons than stealing from him, as had been the case with Driftwood, but none of them had come back to haunt him. Surely, his death had not been so horrifying that Barbarossa deserved eternal taunting? He’d drowned, or been eaten by sharks maybe, but that wasn’t so bad! Barbarossa had made men eat their own livers, he had cut people to pieces and fed them to the fishes and he had even buried men alive. But never had he been bothered by their ghosts. Off course, this could just be one of those gipsy curses he’d heard so much about, but he couldn’t really remember pissing off any gypsies lately. Unless, off course, Driftwood had been one, or known one, whichever. Barbarossa poured down his grog and nodded. That must have been it. Well, he could deal with one pathetic little ghost! He was, after all, the great Barbarossa, terror of the seven seas! This thought made him feel much better (though the grog could have had something to do with it too). Someone tapped Barbarossa on the shoulder. He looked around and stared right into the eyes of LeChuck. This made him feel much worse.
    “Barbarossa, my old friend, it’s a pleasure to see you here!”. Barbarossa grunted and answered “Likewise”.
    “What have you been up to lately, you old seadog?”.
    “Sailing the seven seas, robbing ships and searching treasure, ya know how it is, LeChuck, but I’m sure ya have much better things ta do than ta listen to the likes of me”.
    “I must say I indeed do, captain Barbarossa, but I felt I simply had to say hello”.
    “Well, ya said hello, maybe ya also felt like sayin’ goodbye?”.
    “Hahaha, good one, sport! Tell me, have you been on the trail of any good treasure lately?”.
    “No, but if I were, you’d be the first ta know”.
    “I know I would, but I’m not sure I’d need you for that, if you catch my drift? Still, I’d appreciate such a gesture, I feel you don’t quite like me, captain Barbarossa”.
    “Now where did ya get that idea? Pure cat piss!”.
    “As I thought. Now, I’ll be taking my leave of you, always a pleasure”. LeChuck made a slight bow, as it was all he could afford with his wooden leg (not that he would have bowed deeper without it) and he wandered off.
    “I like it when ya leave too, ya smug bastard” Barbarossa mumbled.

    Squid Jones and Charlie Muck had hired their crew. All that was left to do was to find a boat, but they would do so in the morning at the pier. Luckily, by then the Seabisquit would have left. Tonight, all that was left was to get drunk. Charlie claimed he knew a place where the rum came cheap, but since there was a bar fight going on, the two headed to the Rough Rock Café. Even though they greased the doorman’s palms Charlie Muck was thrown out on account of being stinky. Jones was quite relieved, even though Charlie promised to meet him the next morning at the pier. Jones sat down in a smoky corner with a bottle of rum and rubbed the burnt spot on his hand. Barbarossa was sitting at the bar, but Jones didn’t feel like talking to anybody, it had been bad enough having to talk to Charlie all night. It turned out it wasn’t Jones’ lucky night. After sitting in the bar for five minutes, captain LeChuck showed up at the table.
    “Hello there, son. You know who I am?”.
    “You’re LeChuck, the most famous friggin’ pirate on the seven seas”.
    “That’s right, son, and what’s your name?”.
    “They call me Squid Jones, not that you don’t already know that”.
    “Hahaha, you figured me out, son. Say, I happened to hear you’re not working for Barbarossa over there anymore”.
    “You happened to hear right”.
    “So, son, are you looking for employment, I can always use a hand on the Mistress, and I heard a lot about you”.
    “With all due respect, sir, I’m not interested, and please stop calling me son”.
    “Boy, you’re making a grieve mistake here. This is a once in a lifetime offer, and I’m not the kind of man you can say no to, understand?”.
    “I don’t bleeding care! I just want you to leave me alone! LeChuck, or no LeChuck!”.
    “You’ll be gravely sorry for this, I assure you, Mr. Jones. But as a sign of my good will, I will assume that you are simply too drunk for reasonable conversation”.
    “Yeah, assume that, and bugger off, Mr. LeChuck!”.
    “That’s enough!” LeChuck bellowed, “You’re not leaving here alive, Mr. Jones, drunk or not drunk!”.
    “Are you going to beat me up? Have your best shot!” said Jones and he jumped up with his hatchets at hand.
    “Me? No! Not that I couldn’t, but I prefer to keep my clothes in one piece, these come at a price, you know” said LeChuck as he tapped his hat, then he stepped back a couple of paces and four of his men that had been staying out of sight stepped forward.
    “Sorry, Mr. Jones, I would have loved to have you on my crew, but I can’t have people insulting me like that and living to tell the tale. You understand how that would be a problem to me, right?”. The four men stormed at Squid Jones. Jones turned over the table and threw one of his hatchets to the men before ducking. The hatchet sliced the skull of one of the brutes in two. As he sunk to the floor, the others hesitated, and LeChuck disappeared towards the elevators. The three regained their senses and stormed the table, where Jones was waiting for them with drawn axe. In the mean time, the rest of the tavern had erupted in chaos and gunfighting. Blood tainted the floor and the bartender yelled in anger and pointed at a sign saying “NO GUNFIGHTING PLEASE”. Jones fought like a lion, but even he couldn’t take on three burly men by himself (by this time they were two, but Jones had been shot in the arm). Suddenly a shot erupted and the two remaining goons dropped to the floor. The smoke cleared and Jones saw captain Barbarossa with two drawn pistols. Barbarossa pulled the hatchet out of the goons skull and said “I believe ya had misplaced this, Mr. Jones?”.
    “Cap’n! Am I glad to see you!”.
    “I’d dare say so, matey, but now’s no time for idle chatter” answered Barbarossa and he pointed out five more goons LeChuck had sent as reinforcements. Barbarossa tucked away his guns, as they were useless now, and drew his cutlass. Squid smiled, showing some blickering, golden teeth.

    Charlie Muck had finally found himself some cheap rum, and he was now celebrating his newfound employment in the streets. It was unfortunate for bystanders that his way of celebrating was singing pirate songs.
    …Yohoho, and a bottle of rum!”. Suddenly he heard a sound from a nearby alley.
    “Gimme the basket, lad, and no harm’ll come to you!”. Cutthroats. Nasty vermin, but Charlie understood them perfectly. On a regular day Charlie would have just passed by, it was none of his business after all, but today was different: Charlie was drunk. Charlie was, in his own words, a bit of a nasty drunk. But that was because Charlie was a coward and he would describe any measure of courage as nasty. Charlie wandered into the alley and saw two men: a cutthroat with drawn knife and a young lad with a wicker basket under his arm. The boy seemed to be carrying nothing else of value. The boy was looking straight at Charlie, but the cutthroat had his back to him.
    “I’m sorry, sir” said the boy “but I can’t give you the basket”.
    “I don’t want the bloody basket!” Charlie answered without thinking. The cutthroat startled and turned around, just in time to see Charlie smash the empty bottle of rum in his face. The bottle shattered into pieces and the cutthroat ran off with his hands held to his bleeding face. Charlie picked up the knife the cutthroat had dropped.
    “Hey, lad, you forgot your knife!”. The cutthroat didn’t seem to care much. Charlie handed the knife to the lad.
    “Here boy, so you can defend yourself”.
    “Thank you, sir”.
    “You want to thank me? Buy me a bottle of rum then!”.
    “I’m sorry sir, but I have no money. I’ve enlisted on a ship though, so I’ll be making money soon enough”.
    “No money? Ah, no problem, I was getting too drunk anyways. It’s not good when I go around helping the helpless, it’s much safer to help those who aren’t”. The kid nodded. Charlie sat down on the boardwalk.
    “What’s your name, son?”.
    “Henry Mops, sir, and I want to be a pirate!” said Henry.
    “I wanna be a pirate!” screeched the basket. Charlie startled and almost fell off the pavement.
    “What have you got in there, lad, a midget?”.
    “No, sir, it’s my parrot. It used to be Silverbeard’s parrot”.
    “Silverbeard? I thought he was a legend!”.
    “So did I, but a gipsy sold me this parrot and told me it was his”. Charlie got up and took some steps back.
    “There ain’t no, ehm, curse on it, is there?”.
    “I don’t think so, sir”. Charlie sat down again, somewhat uneasily.
    “Good, good. Well, son, Henry, good luck with that pirating. I’m just gonna sit here for a while, I’m feeling a bit…drowsy”. Though Henry thought “drunk” would have been a better word, he nodded and walked off.

    Barbarossa and Jones had fought well, and only three goons were still standing, but they’d been driven to a corner, and their situation seemed quite hopeless.
    “This is it then, eh, matey? Looks like we’re done for!”. Jones looked at Barbarossa, and then at the window.
    “Not necessarily, you jump, cap’n, and I’ll hold them back”. Barbarossa looked at the window.
    “Now lad, I don’t know if a man my age should be…”.
    “Look, it’s either that or have these fellas get their hands on you”. Barbarossa took a deep breath and jumped. The glass rained down as the old captain swirled through the air, and onto a sail of a nearby boat. Jones looked down. The sail had been torn apart by Barbarossa’s, and there were no other boats nearby, only a small street by the docks straight down. Jones had no choice but to stay up and fight the goons by himself, it looked like he could say goodbye to that treasure. It seemed the goons preferred him to jump though, because in a brief moment of lost attention one of them shoved him off the edge. Jones plummeted down, towards his doom. He grabbed onto some ropes that hung off the rock, but he was going way too fast and it only caused his hands to be torn open. Jones screamed, and he hit the bottom. Something cracked and a fountain of blood spat up. Jones looked around, and even though he was covered in blood, he seemed to be all right. He had fallen onto a cutthroat who had been cut in the face and who had been wandering around aimlessly. It was his blood Jones was covered in. Barbarossa crawled out of the boat and stepped up to him.
    “One last blast, eh, Squid! One last adventure with yer captain before retirin’ for good! Sure ya won’t reconsider, matey?”. Jones almost felt guilty for lying to the captain. Almost.
    “No, cap’n, this was truly my last adventure”.
    “Arrr, suit yerself, matey”. The captain nodded friendly and walked off, the fight had had a strange, invigorating effect on him. Jones stepped away from the corpse he had been sitting on and ran off. No doubt LeChuck’s men would come down looking for him soon enough.
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


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  4. - Top - End - #4
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Surfing HalfOrc's Avatar

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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    White space is your friend.

    I read a bit, and it's not too bad, but it's very unreadable. Walls of text are the bane of internet writers.

    "Person A" said,

    "Person B" said/replied,

    Begin new paragraph. Describe the action for a few sentences, then start another new paragraph.

    Like this one.

    Conversations are also a bit long. Unless you're sitting across a chess board, usually you're doing something while you're talking. Even when I talk with my wife on the phone, I'm doing something else as well. Cooking, walking, surfing the web.

    You might want to buy a Strunk and White's. A very useful book on the art and craft of writing.
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    Thanks for the feedback, Surfing Halforc!
    The main reason the text is built like this is probably that it was originally meant to be read in print, and not on a computer screen.

    Also, it's a pity you only read a bit, because it only gets good from the second chapter (A bit of a nasty drunk) on.

    I guess you might be right about the whole "doing something while they talk" thing. Main reason that's the way it is, is because I was focusing on the dialogue a lot, trying to not make it seem forced (as is often the case with anything with an inplausible plot).

    Anyone actually read the second part? Or does anyone have comments on any part of the thing, really?
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


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  6. - Top - End - #6
    Orc in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    i liked it but surfing halforc is right there is an awful lot of unbroken text which makes the reading a little laborous.
    Waiting for that day, when we all have the time.
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  7. - Top - End - #7
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    True, and I'll mind that next time a write a text for the internet. This one was originally written to be printed though, and only later added on the forums.
    I'm glad you liked it though
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


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  8. - Top - End - #8
    Ogre in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    You do know you can edit your own posts? Let me demonstrate what I was talking about:

    Quote Originally Posted by MrEdwardNigma View Post
    Well, I've just dug this up from my pc, and I must say that even though I've written it quite a while back, I like it immensly. Now, before I decide to continue writing this story, I think I'd like some feedback, so I'll upload the three chapters I've written and then hope I wasn't being delusional about it being good. I'll put the chapters in different post because in case I continue this, that's what I'll do with the subsequent chapters as well.
    Spoiler
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    Monkey business

    And the monkey was born. On a small island in the pacific. The island was called, very appropriately, monkey island. In the center of the island, there was a large volcano, around it a wood of palm trees and a beautiful coastline surrounding that with pleasant beaches. Except for the monkeys, there was no-one to enjoy the beaches though, because the island was uninhabited. There were thousands of monkeys on the island, it was one of the island’s few strengths: richness in monkeys. Apart from that, they also had palm trees, bananas and lava.
    (Begin New Paragraph)

    What set the newborn monkey apart from the rest of the monkeys, or indeed, from his entire species, was his intelligence. The monkey had a human intelligence, even though he was in every other way a monkey. This made him an outcast on the island. In a small community, it’s a bad thing to be different. The monkey was sent away, to the top of the mountain, the only place where no other monkeys lived.

    On the top of the mountain, there was one single tree, because nothing else could grow there. It was an ancient, charred tree that was as hard as stone. The tree was huge but bore no leaves, so it offered no protection from the rain. The monkey would welcome rain though, because the branches hung above the volcano, and it was burning hot at all times in his home. Whenever he could, the monkey would secretly leave the mountain and go refresh himself in the fresh ocean waters. He took these trips in the middle of the night, when all other monkeys slept.

    On one of these trips, as he was drinking the cool water, he suddenly saw lights on the horizon. The monkey walked into the water, as far as he could, and stared in the distance. As he focused, he could hear…singing. And there was yelling, and a bang, and for a second he could see a flash of light in the distance, the faces of three scruffy bearded men flashed by and the shadows of many others. Then there was a splash. Monkey waited. Not much happened for a while. The sounds got fainter, and the lights faded.

    The monkey wiped away a tear. The only thing that had ever happened in his life, the only thing that wasn’t other monkeys screaming at him, had passed. All that was ahead of him now, were more days of sitting in the hot tree, and nights of sneaking past his former family. The monkey turned around and started walking back to the shore, when suddenly, he heard a muffled sound. Monkey looked around quickly and stared at the dark sea. He saw nothing. But then the water moved. Somewhat ahead, it had bubbled up and it had made a somewhat disturbing slurping sound.

    The monkey ran into the water, which was not a smart thing to do, all things considered, but the monkey was in desperate need of some change in his monotonous life. Monkey ran up to the wet heap of clothes that was drifting in the water and dragged the package to shore. He wasn’t going to let the current take this away from him. He dragged the package through the sand and started searching it eagerly. He found a bottle with a strange siropy liquid, a small leather pouch and a rusty dagger.

    The monkey put the objects on a rock and stared at them. He had never seen such wondrous things in his entire life. He eagerly unscrewed the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. The stuff burned in his mouth like a thousand fires! He spit it out immediately. Then he tried to open the pouch, but it was knotted shut with a leather strap, so the monkey took the dagger and started cutting the strap. As he did this, the package suddenly started moving: it swayed, back and forth, and waggled up to the rock. There he stood, watching the monkey trying to open his pouch.

    Driftwood, because that was his name, or at least what they called him, scratched his head, grabbed the bottle of rum and took a large swig. The monkey jumped, dropped the pouch and looked around. The package he had dragged to shore a few seconds ago had turned out to be alive, but it was not a monkey. Wasn’t a fish or a bird either. Monkey thought fast. The package must be some kind of weird monkey, from another island. Another island? This was good news, great news, glorious news!!! Finally something new! The ideas this gave him, the possibilities,…!!! Monkey suddenly realized the package had stumbled back. Monkey looked had him in surprise. Maybe the package had never seen a monkey of his kind before…but still, that didn’t explain why he seemed to be afraid, the package was three to four times his size.

    Spoiler
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    Monkey followed Driftwood’s eyes to his hand, where he still held the dagger. Monkey smiled apologetically (as much as monkeys can do that) and slowly put the dagger back on the rock. Driftwood relaxed, walked up to the monkey and patted him on the head. “Now that’s a good monkey” he said, and he pocketed both the dagger and the leather pouch, he kept the bottle at hand though. “You the only one of your kind here?”.

    “No”.
    What did you say?!!”.
    “No”.
    “You can talk?!! How the hell is that possible?!!”.
    “Why did you ask if you didn’t think I could talk?”.
    “I don’t know…”.
    “Well, I don’t know how it’s possible that I talk”.
    “Maybe I drank a bit too much…A good night’s sleep’ll do me good right about now”.
    “Ok, follow me”.
    “Allrighty then, said the drunk pirate, and he followed the talking monkey!”.
    “Are you coming, or not?”.
    “Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’m too drunk ‘n too tired to argue”.

    Driftwood opened his eyes. For some reason, he was in a tree. He looked down and immediately grasped the braches with all his might. Beneath him bubbled boiling lava.

    “You know, it’s only an idea, the fear. You’ve got to just forget about it, it doesn’t matter there’s lava down there. If you fell, it would be the fall that killed you, not the lava”. Driftwood looked at the monkey, loosened his grip somewhat and laughed.

    “God, it wasn’t a dream, I really did end up on friggin’ talking monkey island!!!”.
    “Oh, no, dear lord, you’re not. My brothers and sisters don’t talk”.
    “You’re the only one that talks?”.
    “Yes…” the monkey bowed his head, “you have no idea how lonely it is…”.
    Then he cheered right up, “But now you’re here! And it’s all okay now!”.

    Driftwood looked at the monkey, shrugged, and slowly climbed down from the tree. His stomach growled.
    “You got any food around here?”.
    “Sure!” the monkey responded cheerfully, “We’ve got plenty of food, I’ll show you!”.
    The monkey ran down the mountain. “Are you coming or not?”.

    At the edge of the mountain, there was an open spot in which a bunch of monkeys were eating nuts they plucked from the trees.

    “See? We got plenty of food! We’ve got nuts, bugs and a few bananas, but we keep those for special occasions”.
    “Are those your brothers and sisters?”.
    “Yes, but be quiet, they don’t like me”. Driftwood took a large stick from the ground.

    “And please don’t move so much, Mr. Driftwood, they might see us”.
    “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” said Driftwood and he walked into the open spot.

    “You know, that is not what I meant by food” said monkey as he warmed his hands by the campfire.
    “Hey, if you don’t want your monkey steak, you can always give it to me!”.
    “No, no, I’ll keep it. It’s much better than nuts. It tastes like chicken”.
    “Do you even have any idea what chicken is?”.
    “Is it a nut?”.
    “Not really, but close enough”.

    Mr. Driftwood did not feel like staying on the island, even though the monkey steak was quite good. So, on the third day, he started building a raft.

    “Why are you leaving so soon, Mr. Driftwood?”.
    “I never wanted to be on this island in the first place, monkey”.
    “Then why did you come here?”.
    “I didn’t, they threw me off the ship”.
    “Why did they do that?”.
    “Boy, you sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”.
    “Yes…So why did they throw you off the ship?”.
    Sigh…Let’s just say I’m a bit of a nasty drunk”.
    “Ok, Mr. Driftwood”. Driftwood pulled the improvised ropes that held the logs together tightly.

    “Looks like she’s finished, monkey!”.
    “Oh”.
    “So, I guess I’ll be leaving now”.
    “Right. Bye, bye Mr. Driftwood”.
    “Yeah, bye, bye monkey” said Driftwood and he started pushing the raft into the sea.

    As the raft hit the water, Driftwood jumped on and pushed it off with his big stick. Monkey waved, and Driftwood waved back and yelled something at him, but the monkey couldn’t hear, because he was too far off. Monkey sighed and started walking up the beach again, he’d have to get back to the volcano before the remaining monkeys realized the pirate had gone, they’d kill him in revenge. But it was too late: at the brim of the forest his whole family was waiting for him, with rocks at hand. Monkey turned around, and started running as fast as he could, across the beach, into the water and on as far as he could. In a rain of stones that were thrown at him he crawled onto the raft.

    “Can I come with you, Mr. Driftwood?”. Driftwood smiled and patted Monkey on the head, “Sure you can, I bet they’ve never seen a talking monkey in Tortuga!”.


    Now that flows a bit better.
    Last edited by Surfing HalfOrc; 2007-12-03 at 07:44 AM.
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  9. - Top - End - #9
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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    I did you last posted chapter for you Ed.

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    Another night in Tortuga

    “So, Jones, you’ll be taking yer leave then?”.
    “That’s right, cap’n. I’ve seen enough of the seven seas, I’m through. I’m gonna start a nice little tattoo shop in Tortuga, no more bloodshed, gunpowder ‘n treasure for me, cap”.
    “I’d tell ya ta reconsider, Jones, yer one of the finest men on ma ship, but I can see ya made up yer mind”.
    “The Seabisquit will fare well without me too, after all, it has the best cap’n on the seven seas”.

    “Arrr, ya flatter me, matey, but ya know that’s a fib. I’m not fit to lick the boots of the likes of LeChuck!”. Jones smiled, and the lights flickered.
    “Looks like we hit shore, matey, you’d best be going, we’re going to get leaving soon. Can’t let that treasure wait, now can we matey?”. Jones got up and swung his bag across his shoulder.

    “Goodbye cap’n Barbarossa, may we meet again!”. The captain nodded and took up a sheet of paper: the map. Jones had lost his attention, to the captain, he did not exist anymore. Jones even doubted that if the ship stopped by Tortuga again, the captain would seek out the tattoo shop, but he didn’t mind. There wouldn’t be a tattoo shop to visit anyways. Jones had very different plans, and he had certainly not grown weary of treasure. About two weeks ago, one of the sailors came to him with a very strange request: to paint a treasure map on his skin.

    Jones was no fool, and he had immediately recognized the map as the captains, yet he’d fulfilled the sailor’s request. But he’d done more: he had made a copy for himself. When Driftwood had left his quarters, Jones had gone to see the captain. Driftwood had been thrown overboard, and was no longer a competitor, but Jones’ actions had also returned the original map to the captain. The only way he’d be able to get to the treasure first, was to find a small, fast boat and man it with an own crew. And, as everyone knew, the perfect place to hire a crew was Tortuga. Ratting out Driftwood to the captain had brought Jones a decent reward, and with the money, he’d certainly be able to hire some experienced men.

    Jones walked off the pier and looked around: it looked like it was his lucky day: The Mistress was in town. This meant lots of pirates looking for employment. Suddenly a man dressed in rags came running up to him.

    “Squid Jones, is that you?”. It was somewhat of a stupid question. One could recognize Jones from miles away. The bald man had tattooed himself allover with the form of a skeleton with an octopus wrapped around it. Jones never wore more than pants alone, so his tattoos were always visible, this also allowed people to see his impressive muscles, which was a great asset with the ladies. To top off the threatening impression, Jones wore two large hatchets in his belt.

    Jones grunted. Charlie Muck was not the man he wanted to see right now.
    “What is it, Charlie?”.
    “Nothing, it’s just that I’m glad to see you’re here. It’s always good to see an old friend”.
    “We were never friends, Charlie”.
    “Now that hurts me, Squid! Anyhow, you’ll be leaving again soon I suppose, so how about you and me hit the town, for old times sake?”.
    “I’ve left ship, Charlie”.
    “So I suppose you’ll be settling down then?”.
    “Not really”.

    “Ah, I see: looking to get hired by LeChuck, eh? Well, you’re one of the better sailors out there, Squid, you have a good chance. I suggest we go to the Rough Rock Café, that’s where LeChuck’s been hanging out”.
    “I don’t wanna work for LeChuck Charlie, I’m gonna be my own captain”.
    “Ah, you’re hiring then?”.
    “That’s right”.

    “Consider me hired! I’m sick of the townslife anyway. I’ve robbed everybody I could rob, cheated everybody I could cheat and ****ed everybody I wanted to ****!”.
    “With your odor and appearance, I find that hard to believe, Charlie”.
    “Well, believe it. If you can walk the walk, and if you can talk the talk, all doors open for you”.

    “Well that might be so, but I still don’t like ya, Charlie”.
    “Hehe, you and your jokes, Squid! I really missed you, you know? Now how about we go hire you a crew and get some rum, eh?”.
    “All right then, for old times sake”.

    Barbarossa put the map down. They’d be leaving in a couple of hours, so if he wanted to get a drink and some fresh air, he’d have to be fast. The captain put on his nicest hat, stroked through his fiery red beard and walked out of his cabin. He took a deep breath of the nights air and smiled. Tortuga, the only place in the world where fresh air smelled like rum and tobacco. Then his smile faded.

    The Mistress was in town. It might have been pitch-dark, but he didn’t need his eyes to know that. He could smell the gunpowder in the hold, the dried up blood on the deck and above all, the smugness of the captain. LeChuck. Barbarossa hated the bastard. All his life, he had been beaten in everything by LeChuck.

    LeChuck was stronger, smarter and meaner. He was the perfect pirate, but Barbarossa couldn’t help hate him. He smiled everytime he saw his gnawed off leg, and had to keep himself from crying when he saw his smug face. It’s horrible to be second in everything. And still, he admired LeChuck, for he was indeed the better pirate, and an example to him.

    Barbarossa had been thinking about going to the Rough Rock Café, but now that he knew LeChuck was in town he was having second thoughts, since he’d almost certainly run into him there. But a pirate does not sway from his intentions, so Barbarossa shrugged and walked on to the pier. Maybe if he was careful not to attract any attention, LeChuck wouldn’t see him.

    “I’m telling you, Squid, this guy is the best steersman in whole of Tortuga!”.
    “I very much doubt he’s better than Seabisquits or The Mistress’ steersman, Charlie. Besides, the man smells like a bleeding tarpit!”.
    “He’s the best steerman on the island without a job! The rest isn’t available anyways. My point being: he’s the best you can get!”.
    “All right, Charlie, I’ll hire him if he takes that damn pipe out of his mouth”.
    “Doesn’t look like he wants to do that, Squid, but he’s really worth the bother cause…”.

    “Cause he’s so damn good! Yes, I know Charlie, you told me a thousand times. “He’s the best you can get” you claim, but let me just say this: if the best I can get is a bleeding chimney, I don’t want it! Smokers don’t bother me, Charlie, but generally they’re not producing as much smoke as a bleeding forest fire! If he won’t put away the pipe, I’ll shove it up his unmentionables!”.

    Charlie Muck wasn’t quite pleased with this reaction. Charlie might have been a reeking degenerate, but he knew people, hell, Charlie was people. Charlie understood everyone because he was everyone, it was only a pity everyone included all those bums and cutthroats. Charlie knew people, knew Chimney, enough to realize that Jones had gone too far.

    However, Charlie also realized Chimney wasn’t a violent man in the least, he was just very stubborn and he didn’t forget. Insulting the Chimney like this was making an enemy for life, and he wouldn’t forget Charlie had been there. Chimney puffed up a cloud of smoke, as black as the night’s sky, and took his pipe out of his mouth. With the sting of the smoke in his eyes, Charlie wasn’t sure he was seeing this right. Of all things, this he had not expected.

    Chimney looked briefly at Charlie and then stared Jones right into the eye. Jones stared back, he was a stubborn man himself and there was not the slightest chance of him apologizing, unless it was absolutely necessary. Chimney clasped Jones’ hand, turned his pipe, and slowly poured the red hot ashes on Jones’ hand. Jones screamed and pulled back his hand, but the old man’s grasp was firmer than you’d expect. Charlie grabbed the old man from behind and tried to pull him back. This didn’t work either. As the ashes burned out, Chimney let go on his own account and let himself be dragged out of the bar.
    “You owe me some tobacco, Squid”.

    Barbarossa sat down on a barstool and ordered a grog. He wasn’t feeling too well: he’d just seen a ghost: the ghost of Driftwood. He’d seen the bastard pass as he was going up with the elevator. He’d seen Driftwood in the other elevator, going down. He’d only seen him for a split second, but he was sure it had been him. Driftwood, with a monkey on his shoulder. Barbarossa was absolutely baffled.

    He’d killed many men in his life, often for much sillier reasons than stealing from him, as had been the case with Driftwood, but none of them had come back to haunt him. Surely, his death had not been so horrifying that Barbarossa deserved eternal taunting? He’d drowned, or been eaten by sharks maybe, but that wasn’t so bad! Barbarossa had made men eat their own livers, he had cut people to pieces and fed them to the fishes and he had even buried men alive. But never had he been bothered by their ghosts. Off course, this could just be one of those gipsy curses he’d heard so much about, but he couldn’t really remember pissing off any gypsies lately. Unless, off course, Driftwood had been one, or known one, whichever. Barbarossa poured down his grog and nodded.

    That must have been it. Well, he could deal with one pathetic little ghost! He was, after all, the great Barbarossa, terror of the seven seas! This thought made him feel much better (though the grog could have had something to do with it too). Someone tapped Barbarossa on the shoulder. He looked around and stared right into the eyes of LeChuck. This made him feel much worse.
    “Barbarossa, my old friend, it’s a pleasure to see you here!”. Barbarossa grunted and answered “Likewise”.

    “What have you been up to lately, you old seadog?”.
    “Sailing the seven seas, robbing ships and searching treasure, ya know how it is, LeChuck, but I’m sure ya have much better things ta do than ta listen to the likes of me”.
    “I must say I indeed do, captain Barbarossa, but I felt I simply had to say hello”.
    “Well, ya said hello, maybe ya also felt like sayin’ goodbye?”.
    “Hahaha, good one, sport! Tell me, have you been on the trail of any good treasure lately?”.

    “No, but if I were, you’d be the first ta know”.
    “I know I would, but I’m not sure I’d need you for that, if you catch my drift? Still, I’d appreciate such a gesture, I feel you don’t quite like me, captain Barbarossa”.
    “Now where did ya get that idea? Pure cat piss!”.
    “As I thought. Now, I’ll be taking my leave of you, always a pleasure”. LeChuck made a slight bow, as it was all he could afford with his wooden leg (not that he would have bowed deeper without it) and he wandered off.
    “I like it when ya leave too, ya smug bastard” Barbarossa mumbled.

    Squid Jones and Charlie Muck had hired their crew. All that was left to do was to find a boat, but they would do so in the morning at the pier. Luckily, by then the Seabisquit would have left. Tonight, all that was left was to get drunk.

    Charlie claimed he knew a place where the rum came cheap, but since there was a bar fight going on, the two headed to the Rough Rock Café. Even though they greased the doorman’s palms Charlie Muck was thrown out on account of being stinky. Jones was quite relieved, even though Charlie promised to meet him the next morning at the pier. Jones sat down in a smoky corner with a bottle of rum and rubbed the burnt spot on his hand. Barbarossa was sitting at the bar, but Jones didn’t feel like talking to anybody, it had been bad enough having to talk to Charlie all night. It turned out it wasn’t Jones’ lucky night. After sitting in the bar for five minutes, captain LeChuck showed up at the table.

    “Hello there, son. You know who I am?”.
    “You’re LeChuck, the most famous friggin’ pirate on the seven seas”.
    “That’s right, son, and what’s your name?”.
    “They call me Squid Jones, not that you don’t already know that”.
    “Hahaha, you figured me out, son. Say, I happened to hear you’re not working for Barbarossa over there anymore”.

    “You happened to hear right”.
    “So, son, are you looking for employment, I can always use a hand on the Mistress, and I heard a lot about you”.
    “With all due respect, sir, I’m not interested, and please stop calling me son”.
    “Boy, you’re making a grieve mistake here. This is a once in a lifetime offer, and I’m not the kind of man you can say no to, understand”?

    “I don’t bleeding care! I just want you to leave me alone! LeChuck, or no LeChuck!”.
    “You’ll be gravely sorry for this, I assure you, Mr. Jones. But as a sign of my good will, I will assume that you are simply too drunk for reasonable conversation”.
    “Yeah, assume that, and bugger off, Mr. LeChuck!”.
    “That’s enough!” LeChuck bellowed, “You’re not leaving here alive, Mr. Jones, drunk or not drunk!”.

    “Are you going to beat me up? Have your best shot!” said Jones and he jumped up with his hatchets at hand.
    “Me? No! Not that I couldn’t, but I prefer to keep my clothes in one piece, these come at a price, you know” said LeChuck as he tapped his hat, then he stepped back a couple of paces and four of his men that had been staying out of sight stepped forward.

    “Sorry, Mr. Jones, I would have loved to have you on my crew, but I can’t have people insulting me like that and living to tell the tale. You understand how that would be a problem to me, right?”. The four men stormed at Squid Jones. Jones turned over the table and threw one of his hatchets to the men before ducking. The hatchet sliced the skull of one of the brutes in two.

    As he sunk to the floor, the others hesitated, and LeChuck disappeared towards the elevators. The three regained their senses and stormed the table, where Jones was waiting for them with drawn axe. In the mean time, the rest of the tavern had erupted in chaos and gunfighting. Blood tainted the floor and the bartender yelled in anger and pointed at a sign saying “NO GUNFIGHTING PLEASE”.

    Jones fought like a lion, but even he couldn’t take on three burly men by himself.
    By the time there were two, but Jones had been shot in the arm. Suddenly a shot erupted and the two remaining goons dropped to the floor. The smoke cleared and Jones saw captain Barbarossa with two drawn pistols. Barbarossa pulled the hatchet out of the goons skull and said “I believe ya had misplaced this, Mr. Jones?”.
    “Cap’n! Am I glad to see you!”.
    “I’d dare say so, matey, but now’s no time for idle chatter” answered Barbarossa and he pointed out five more goons LeChuck had sent as reinforcements. Barbarossa tucked away his guns, as they were useless now, and drew his cutlass. Squid smiled, showing some blickering, golden teeth.

    Charlie Muck had finally found himself some cheap rum, and he was now celebrating his newfound employment in the streets. It was unfortunate for bystanders that his way of celebrating was singing pirate songs.
    …Yohoho, and a bottle of rum!”. Suddenly he heard a sound from a nearby alley.
    “Gimme the basket, lad, and no harm’ll come to you!”. Cutthroats. Nasty vermin, but Charlie understood them perfectly. On a regular day Charlie would have just passed by, it was none of his business after all, but today was different: Charlie was drunk. Charlie was, in his own words, a bit of a nasty drunk. But that was because Charlie was a coward and he would describe any measure of courage as nasty.

    Charlie wandered into the alley and saw two men: a cutthroat with drawn knife and a young lad with a wicker basket under his arm. The boy seemed to be carrying nothing else of value. The boy was looking straight at Charlie, but the cutthroat had his back to him.

    “I’m sorry, sir” said the boy “but I can’t give you the basket”.
    “I don’t want the bloody basket!” Charlie answered without thinking. The cutthroat startled and turned around, just in time to see Charlie smash the empty bottle of rum in his face. The bottle shattered into pieces and the cutthroat ran off with his hands held to his bleeding face. Charlie picked up the knife the cutthroat had dropped.

    “Hey, lad, you forgot your knife!”. The cutthroat didn’t seem to care much. Charlie handed the knife to the lad.
    “Here boy, so you can defend yourself”.
    “Thank you, sir”.
    “You want to thank me? Buy me a bottle of rum then!”.
    “I’m sorry sir, but I have no money. I’ve enlisted on a ship though, so I’ll be making money soon enough”.
    “No money? Ah, no problem, I was getting too drunk anyways. It’s not good when I go around helping the helpless, it’s much safer to help those who aren’t”. The kid nodded. Charlie sat down on the boardwalk.
    “What’s your name, son?”.

    “Henry Mops, sir, and I want to be a pirate!” said Henry.
    “I wanna be a pirate!” screeched the basket. Charlie startled and almost fell off the pavement.
    “What have you got in there, lad, a midget?”.
    “No, sir, it’s my parrot. It used to be Silverbeard’s parrot”.

    “Silverbeard? I thought he was a legend!”.
    “So did I, but a gipsy sold me this parrot and told me it was his”. Charlie got up and took some steps back.
    “There ain’t no, ehm, curse on it, is there?”.
    “I don’t think so, sir”. Charlie sat down again, somewhat uneasily.
    “Good, good. Well, son, Henry, good luck with that pirating. I’m just gonna sit here for a while, I’m feeling a bit…drowsy”. Though Henry thought “drunk” would have been a better word, he nodded and walked off.

    Barbarossa and Jones had fought well, and only three goons were still standing, but they’d been driven to a corner, and their situation seemed quite hopeless.
    “This is it then, eh, matey? Looks like we’re done for!”. Jones looked at Barbarossa, and then at the window.
    “Not necessarily, you jump, cap’n, and I’ll hold them back”. Barbarossa looked at the window.

    “Now lad, I don’t know if a man my age should be…”.
    “Look, it’s either that or have these fellas get their hands on you”. Barbarossa took a deep breath and jumped. The glass rained down as the old captain swirled through the air, and onto a sail of a nearby boat. Jones looked down. The sail had been torn apart by Barbarossa’s, and there were no other boats nearby, only a small street by the docks straight down. Jones had no choice but to stay up and fight the goons by himself, it looked like he could say goodbye to that treasure.

    It seemed the goons preferred him to jump though, because in a brief moment of lost attention one of them shoved him off the edge. Jones plummeted down, towards his doom. He grabbed onto some ropes that hung off the rock, but he was going way too fast and it only caused his hands to be torn open.

    Jones screamed, and he hit the bottom. Something cracked and a fountain of blood spat up. Jones looked around, and even though he was covered in blood, he seemed to be all right. He had fallen onto a cutthroat who had been cut in the face and who had been wandering around aimlessly. It was his blood Jones was covered in. Barbarossa crawled out of the boat and stepped up to him.
    “One last blast, eh, Squid! One last adventure with yer captain before retirin’ for good! Sure ya won’t reconsider, matey?”. Jones almost felt guilty for lying to the captain. Almost.

    “No, cap’n, this was truly my last adventure”.
    “Arrr, suit yerself, matey”. The captain nodded friendly and walked off, the fight had had a strange, invigorating effect on him. Jones stepped away from the corpse he had been sitting on and ran off. No doubt LeChuck’s men would come down looking for him soon enough.
    Spoiler
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    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    DD: .... DEM HIPS.
    Quote Originally Posted by faerwain View Post
    Why do I have the feeling that you actually really grind Smurfs to make your ice cream?
    Quote Originally Posted by banjo1985 View Post
    My wedding underwear has a picture of Dallas Dakota's face on them.
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  10. - Top - End - #10
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    MrEdwardNigma's Avatar

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    Default Re: Monkey Business

    Wow. That's real nice. Does read a whole lot better
    Thanks, fellows.
    Avatar by the illustrious Dr. Bath.


    The essence of a riddle is that it states facts by means of a combination of impossibilities~Aristoteles

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  11. - Top - End - #11
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Dallas-Dakota's Avatar

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    May 2007

    Default Re: Monkey Business

    Doooooont fade onto page 2!

    Btw, plz, another chapter....please?
    Spoiler
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    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    DD: .... DEM HIPS.
    Quote Originally Posted by faerwain View Post
    Why do I have the feeling that you actually really grind Smurfs to make your ice cream?
    Quote Originally Posted by banjo1985 View Post
    My wedding underwear has a picture of Dallas Dakota's face on them.
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