Spiffy's Rough Draft Repetoire

Stalking through the forest a man is

Walking through the night.

His scratchy beard misshapen,

Sweat clinging from the fright.

His eye a hollow vessel shining like the moon;

The other filled with webs of crimson spiders,

Spinning and searching for his doom.

His golden watch is cracked and broken,

His velvet coat exchanged for furs.

Furs now wet and soaken with the fluids of the curse.

Liquids dry and cracked, 

Blood lukewarm and flowing,

Sweat which no one lacked,

All from the beast and my roaming.

Lo! His hands how they tremble,

The metal how it quivers,

A coward’s pair they doth resemble.

A fragile shell in the rivers.

I laugh as I look on him,

How unprepared is he!

For even the bright and the dim

Know a gun cannot kill me.

The wind obscures my footsteps,

The snow a muffled blanket,

This opportune moment I barely can resist.

Not a stone’s throw away I watch waiting in the night,

The moon will soon be clear and then he’ll fear my might!

I smell the blood seeping from where I bit him last.

A moment more and I shall see, if he can run just as fast.

I’ll bite him in the neck!

No. That’s much too quick!

I must play with him first,

See if I can make him sick.

I’ll howl at the stars,

Let him fire into my chest.

Then claw his legs as he runs away,

Then trap him for the rest.

My paw a crushing weight,

His life squirming in my grasp.

I see myself in his hollow eye,

A sight to make warriors gasp.

His fingers crunch in my jaw.

He bellows with booming rage.

If not for I his only flaw,

Would have been opening the cage.

His open mouth screaming;

Let the village hear him roar!

I clamp my teeth around his neck,

at last settling the score.

I take and eat my pickings,

His muscles oh so lean.

I rest knowing my tradition’s come,

“Now slow down here Johnny, let’s think about this for a bit-”

“Are you screwin’ my wife you bastard?!”

Johnny had pulled out and pointed his colt 1903 with shaking hands. The bartender had stopped cleaning his mugs, rag in hand. The piano player had gone silent. The few other patrons of the speakeasy pointed their concerned attention towards the unfolding scene.

The man with a gun pointed at him glanced around the room and spoke in a stressed but hushed voice. “I ain’t done nothing with Sharla alright.”

“Keep your hands up!” Johnny thrusted his gun forward, halting the man’s attempt to lower his hands. Johnny rapidly looked over both of his shoulders, all eyes were on him. “What was she doin’ at your place all night?” He pushed his gun forward again. “Eh?”

The other man tilted his head downwards. “Look. Sharla was cryin’. She said you had a fight, I got her dinner and gave her the bed while I was on the couch.” He eyed Johnny up and down. “I was just tryin’ to help.”

Johnny’s pits had damp spots showing through his shirt. Beads of sweat were dripping down his face. His mouth attempted and failed to form words several times before spitting out: “Liar!”

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can solve this in a better way.”

“You shut up!” Johnny changed his gun arm to be pointed at the interrupting bartender before pointing it back at the man in question. “This doesn’t concern you.” Johnny looked over his shoulder and gestured with his gun. “Why don’t you follow me Dan.”

Dan slowly tried lowering his hands again. “Look Johnny, we don’t got to do this.”

“MY WIFE IS MY BUSINESS DAN!” Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed. “YOU’RE COMIN’ WITH ME!”

The door to the speakeasy opened. The noise distracted everyone in the room enough to steal a glance at the door. Johnny whipped around and pointed his gun at the door. “SCRAM!”

He looked down his gun and saw a man in a black suit. The man raised an eyebrow, then he turned to the nearby coat rack, unconcerned, and removed his hat and jacket before turning and catching the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey on the rocks if ya would.” His accent made it obvious that he was not born in New York.

Johnny kept looking back at Dan but pointed his gun at the foreigner. “Who do you think you are?”

The man took a seat by the counter, the gun following his position all the way. He smiled and nodded at the bartender, who looked back at him with apprehension, before saying: “A man lookin’ fer a drink.” The accent was Irish.

Johnny looked at the Irishman, and then pointed his gun back at Dan, stealing glances back at the Irishman. “Let’s go Dan.”

“Where you two goin’?” The Irishman swivelled around in his chair to face them.

“Screw off ya green.” Johnny spat out at him before taking steps forward. Dan stumbled backwards as he backpedaled into a chair, trying to keep some distance between him and the gun.

“Are ya gonna kill him?” The Irishman asked.

Johnny looked back over at the man. “I’ve got half a mind to kill you right now too.”

The Irishman stood up, drawing the gun towards him. “It’s just that, if yer gonna kill a man I feel like we should know why.”

“It’s none of your God. Damn. Buisness.” Johnny thrust the gun towards the Irishman with each of his last three words.

The Irishman lifted an open palm. “A murder can be a lotta people’s business.” He lowered his hand. “I think we should work this out a bit first.”

Johnny’s eyes were sharpened into daggers staring into the Irishman’s. In a jerk motion, Johnny raised his hand to eye level and pulled the trigger. Before he had though, the Irishman had already begun to duck down and to the side. The Irishman was a head below the gun by the time the bullet flew over and into the wall behind him. The Irishman then crossed his torso and sent his right fist flying into Johnny’s jaw. Johnny staggered backwards and nearly fell on the same chair Dan had backed into. The Irishman took a step forward and sent a second punch, sending Johnny onto the floor.

“Oh my gosh! That is the best thing I’ve heard all week.” Josh looked across the table as the pair giggled. This was the best date eharmony had ever sent him on. Sophia was friendly, easy to talk to, smiley, and really attractive.

“Aw, thank you! I love telling stories, everyone’s got them and I’ve always tried to find the best ones.” Sophia’s eyes crinkled as she smiled.

Josh nodded his head fervently. “I agree! Totally. All the world's a stage and all it's people players.”

Sophia cocked her head to the side. “Now that sounds fancy. Where'd you get that?”

Josh waved a dismissive hand. “Oh it's just from Shakespeare, As You Like It.”

Sophia nodded. “Oh yeah! I've heard of that movie.”

Josh opened his mouth. “Movie?”

Sophia nodded. “Yeah, it has Tom Hanks in it right?”

Josh shook his head. “No, it's, it's actually a Shakespeare play.”

Sophia waved the dismissive hand now. “Oh I'm not caught up on Broadway.” She put down her wine glass. “Have you ever been to New York?”

Josh’s mouth was still slightly open. “No, afraid not.” He leaned forward. “Do you know who Shakespeare is?”

Sophia's smile went away. “No. He's a movie star right?” She watched as Josh’s joy vanished from his eyes. She shifted in his chair. “I'm sorry. Is that bad?”

Josh rested his head on his hand, staring off into the distance. “Oh Sophia. I like you. You're so incredibly sweet.”

Sophia glanced to where Josh was looking with her brows knit. “Thank you. I like you too Josh… Is everything okay?”

Josh covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh boy. Ohhh boy.” He let go of his head and patted his pockets before pulling out a pen. “I need. I need a day.” He scribbled on a napkin and handed it to Sophia. “Will you call me tomorrow sometime?”

Sophia took the napkin apprehensively. “Oh. Oh-Kay.”

Josh stood up. “Sophia this has been one of the best evenings I've had in years and you're very very lovely but I'm sorry I have to go.” He pulled his wallet out and threw some money on the table.

Sophia’s large eyes glistened just a bit. “Okay. It was really nice for me too.”

Josh started backing up. “See you later Sophia.”

Sophia raised her napkin hand to confusedly wave goodbye. “Bye. I'll, I’ll call you!”

The boat lurched from one side to the other in its forever persistent dance atop the ocean. The crew each instinctively shifted their weight from one knee to the other to keep their sea legs, but their focus was turned as one to the door of the upper cabin and the horrible noises coming from within.

The Quartermaster poked his head up from below deck and looked up the long pole up to the top where the Jolly Roger was flying. He then looked around and was perturbed by the lack of what he saw.

“Oy!” He shouted and the group of crewmen by the cabin door looked over and offered their attention. The Quartermaster pulled himself up onto the deck. “What are you lot lookin’ at!? The deck aren’t going to swab itself!”

The pirates looked at each other with wide eyes, before the private nearest the door stepped forward, his hat furled up in his hands in front of his chest. “Sir. It’s the captain again. He’s doing it again sir.”

The Quartermaster’s face turned from one of anger to one of sternness. He stepped forward and made his way up the short flight of stairs to the cabin. He motioned with his hands. “Make way.” The two crew members by the door stepped aside. The Quartermaster turned his head to the door and leaned in. There was a faint panting from behind the door for several moments, and then a loud noise unmistakable to that of a retching on par with someone who’s very organs rejected the body they were inside and attempted bailing.

The Quartermaster knocked on the cabin door. “Captain? I’m coming in.” Without waiting for a response he pushed forward and walked inside the door while it was still just half opened, and quickly closed it behind him when he stepped inside.

The room was small and cramped and dimly lit by candlelight, but it was fit for a king in comparison to the hammocks the crew got down below deck. The Captain, not sitting on the hay mattress, or in the shakely carved table and chair on the side of the wall, but on the wooden floor clutching a bucket, was pasty white with his mouth hanging only slightly half open.

“Ah, welcome Quartermaster.” The Captain pointed one of his black-gloved hands over to the table. The arm dipped and swayed unusually in the air. “Look into the bag there on the table.”

The Quartermaster took his hat off. “Sir, I don’t think that-”

“Smell it.” The Captain interrupted as he clutched his hand back around the bucket, which dripped fluids ever so slightly from the poorly sealed boards that made up the wooden container.

“Cap’n, you’re takin’ too much of this-”

The Captain jabbed a finger through the air in a straight line towards his second in command. “What you do not smell-” he paused for breath, “is iocane powder.”

“Aye Cap’n we know, and I do-”

“It is among-” the captain stopped mid sentence to swallow down some regurgitation. “It is among one of the more deadlier poisons known to man.”

The Quartermaster shook his head and trudged forward, intent on getting a full sentence in. “We know Cap’n. But this can’t be good fer yer health.”

The Captain slammed his fist down against the floorboards. “Damn my health! My true love is betrothed to another, and I must be prepared for absolutely every-” The Captain’s neck lurched forward and caught him mid-sentence, forcing him to turn his face back to the bottom of his bucket in continuation of the bodily purge.

As he was throwing up the Quartermaster continued. “We know Cap’n. The crew were all mighty inspired by yer speech.” He nodded his head in assurance. “We’re goin’ to Florin, we’ll let you go an’ find her. But sir-”

The Captain stuck out a finger and curled it and uncurled it past the Quartermaster’s legs. “Pass the other bucket please Santiago, this one’s full.”

“Captain! The men be losin’ their faith in the Dread Pirate Roberts when he be spendin’ most of his day retchin’ in a bucket in his cabin!” Santiago the quartermaster’s eyes were knit together with concern.

Westley lifted a hand and raised his mask up from the bridge of his nose to his forehead and met Santiago’s gaze directly. “You think I’ve gone soft.”

Santiago shifted his weight. “No Cap’n, it’s just that-”

“Damnit this is important to me! I love her Santiago!” interrupted the Captain.

Santiago lifted his arms from his sides in exasperation. “When in the bloody world is a poison from Australia gonna make any difference!?”

Westley pointed at Santiago again. “Every. Situation. I must be prepared for-” His neck lurched forward again and he pointed towards the bucket against the back wall once more. “Please Santiago, the bucket if you would.” Santiago obliged and gingerly took the vomit filled

bucket from the Captain and exchanged it for the empty one. Westley gratefully took the fresh bucket and spat several times into it. “Have one of the men throw that overboard.”

Santiago put down the bucket. “Please Cap’n, just stop eatin’ the powder.”

Westley stood up shakily, using the furniture in the room as support, staggered, and then pointed a finger with his bucket-free hand. “I will rescue my true love, see if she still loves me, marry her, and build up an immunity to iocane powder and no one can stop me!” In one fast motion he half slumped down half fell back into his position on the floor. “Tell me once we’ve reached the coast.”