Pirate Game Fan Fiction

 

Bob the Musketeer's Nutcracker by Sam Underhill

Bob the Musketeer was blissfully settling down for his afternoon siesta on his favorite bench outside the Gallo Loco Cantina in Santo Pollo. His afternoon so far had consisted of his daily defeat at checkers playing with Evita Hierra - the trinket vendor-, a bout of local gossip with the Toreador Novillero and his companion Alejandro Ramirez, followed by an impromptu singing lesson from the Dos Amigos y Uno (that had not gone well).

He was startled awake by a poke in the shoulder. “Pardon, senor.” Our hero, not fully awake, but not fully asleep either, leapt to his feet. Well, he might have done so had he not gotten tangled up in a coil of rope. Attempting to keep his balance, Bob’s flailing hands met the checker board, scattering the pieces about the porch. Next came a trademark somersault around the hitching post, landing poor Bob on his backside in the street. Evita and Serena Gutierrez came and assisted poor Bob back to a more or less upright position, before returning to their respective duties - one selling jewelry and the other standing with her father, greeting people on the street as they passed with a cheerful smile.

The offending poker was the barkeep of the Gallo Loco. “Pardon, senor, but this arrived for you several days ago,” the bartender explained, handing Bob a letter, sealed with a wax imprint. “I forgot to give it to you. Lo siento.”

“Gracias,” Bob replied. Eyeing the missive suspiciously, Bob concluded it looked utterly officious. He then read the letter through - twice. No, no, he hadn’t misread it, it actually was an invitation to the Annual Santo Pollo Yule Party to be held that very evening at the Stahlbaum hacienda outside the town. In his hurry back to the De La Vega manor to relay the news to the crew, Bob only stumbled over his own feet once on the way.

“Do you know how much that’ll go fer on the black market?” Ratbeard chortled, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “That’ll get us a new rudder for the Leakin’ Lizard!”

“I think I am going to go to the party,” Bob murmured. “What does ‘RSVP’ mean?” No one paid him the least bit of attention.

“Then with the leftover money we can stitch the sails back together and get back to piratin’.” The old Rat’s eyes misted over as he began gleefully envisioning a bright and glorious future filled with gold.

“It says here you can bring a ghost, Captain my Captain. I an’ I be the only one on your crew who even come close to qualifyin’.”

“Let me see that,” Bonnie Anne grabbed the invitation from Old Scratch’s skeletal hand. “It says guest, not ghost! Who taught you to read, ya lubber? Ooo Cap‘n, ye should’ve sent back a message sayin‘ ye was comin’.”

“I only got the thing ten minutes ago.”

A massive and egocentric (but nattily dressed) Bull sauntered into the courtyard where this congregation was meeting. El Toro’s alter ego, Don Rodrigo de la Vega, flourished an envelope, “I have my own invitation. And besides, the host, Don Stahlbaum, a humble land owner like myself, is an old friend. He will not turn you away.” Whereas Bob’s invite looked hastily scribbled at the last minute, Rodrigo’s was edged with gold leaf and had been skillfully calligraphed. “My lovely wife and I will certainly attend.” Mustang Sally appeared looking radiant in a deep blue formal ball gown. She played up to the whistles and catcalls of the crew, taking several bows and gaily waving her painted fan. Rodrigo looked pensive for a moment, then added, “Mind you, he is probably inviting that wacky toymaker, Herr Drosselmeyer, to provide entertainment again. But I do not trust him.”

“That means you have a decision to make, Captain,” Sarah Steele grinned winsomely at Bob. “There aren’t many females here to choose from.” She went and put a sisterly arm around Bonnie Anne.

“Aye, Cap’n. Sally’s married now, and so is Serena Gutierrez. That only leaves us,” Bonnie Anne tried to look winsome, but failed.

“The invite says the Cap’n ken bring a guest, not necessarily a date,” Ratbeard cut in. “That means he can bring whoever he wants. And as the senior pirate in this here crew, I believe that honor falls to me.”

“You’re not the senior pirate, you’re just the oldest!”

“Who’s calling me old? Why I oughta…”

“I an’ I still think it says…”

The air quickly filled with bickering over which companion should - or more importantly - should not go to the party.

Don Rodrigo sympathized with Bob and placed an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into the villa. “Come, my friend, let us do what we can to make you look presentable.”

 
 

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