Chapter 69
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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We appear on a ship. I stumble for a moment, but then catch my balance, moving my body in time with the rhythm of the waves. I always did enjoy going out on the water.
The others all also seem to find their sea legs, and I take a second to simply bask in the sun on my back, and the salt on the breeze. The day is warm, the waves rock the ship in a soothing cadence, and we seem to be surrounded by pirates.
They've formed a ring about us, each armed to the teeth and absurdly scruffy. Interestingly, there's not a single peg-leg to be seen, but still, the black flag flying up on the mast is a bit of a dead giveaway.
"And who are you?" a woman's voice rings out. "To go appearin' out of nowhere on my Golden Hind wit' no regard for her captain?"
Wait. The Golden Hind? But that's...
I'm beginning to suspect that historians and artists might just be spectacularly bad at discerning gender.
"Captain Francis Drake, I presume?" I ask, feeling dead inside as I turn towards the voice. She's... oh dear God. How? How the ACTUAL FUCKING HELL DID ANYBODY MISTAKE HER FOR A MAN? I quit. I fucking quit. Humanity isn't worth saving, if this is a thing. I don't want to live in a world where this is a thing.
"You presume rightly, stowaway," Sir Francis fucking Drake replies, in all her busty, pink-haired, extremely feminine glory. She's even dressed like a pirate-themed stripper! What the actual fuck?
"My Queen?" a decidedly male voice asks from the captain's cabin. "What are you doing?"
A brown-haired man, clad in dark-brown trousers and a white shirt, emerges from the cabin. He looks around in irritation, and then turns back to stare at the pink-haired woman, who's looking slightly sheepish.
Wait. Is that?
"Elizabeth, I am ever your most loyal subject, but please, for the love of God, stop pretending to be me." the real Sir Francis Drake admonishes, simultaneously restoring my faith in humanity. "And, as for the rest of you-" the various deck hands all look a bit nervous. "for God's sake, don't encourage her." He makes his way towards us, before stopping and looking disapprovingly at one of his crewmembers. "Smith, what the Hell are you wearing?"
"A-an eyepatch, sir."
"I know for a fact that you have two perfectly functional eyes, Smith, so why are you wearing an eyepatch?"
"Ah-um- I-"
"It was because she thought it looked cool, wasn't it?" Smith nods. "Take it off, and I had better not see you wearing it again unless you've lost an eye, understood?" Smith nods again, already taking off his eyepatch. "Good. Because, regardless of what Elizabeth says, or whatever bizarre, unending sea we find ourselves in, we are privateers. Not pirates!"
He turns back to us. "Now who the Hell are you?"
Actually, I have the perfect answer to that question. Galahad seems to know what I'm about to say. "Flynn, no."
"We're time pirates."
"Goddammit, Flynn!"
The others all also seem to find their sea legs, and I take a second to simply bask in the sun on my back, and the salt on the breeze. The day is warm, the waves rock the ship in a soothing cadence, and we seem to be surrounded by pirates.
They've formed a ring about us, each armed to the teeth and absurdly scruffy. Interestingly, there's not a single peg-leg to be seen, but still, the black flag flying up on the mast is a bit of a dead giveaway.
"And who are you?" a woman's voice rings out. "To go appearin' out of nowhere on my Golden Hind wit' no regard for her captain?"
Wait. The Golden Hind? But that's...
I'm beginning to suspect that historians and artists might just be spectacularly bad at discerning gender.
"Captain Francis Drake, I presume?" I ask, feeling dead inside as I turn towards the voice. She's... oh dear God. How? How the ACTUAL FUCKING HELL DID ANYBODY MISTAKE HER FOR A MAN? I quit. I fucking quit. Humanity isn't worth saving, if this is a thing. I don't want to live in a world where this is a thing.
"You presume rightly, stowaway," Sir Francis fucking Drake replies, in all her busty, pink-haired, extremely feminine glory. She's even dressed like a pirate-themed stripper! What the actual fuck?
"My Queen?" a decidedly male voice asks from the captain's cabin. "What are you doing?"
A brown-haired man, clad in dark-brown trousers and a white shirt, emerges from the cabin. He looks around in irritation, and then turns back to stare at the pink-haired woman, who's looking slightly sheepish.
Wait. Is that?
"Elizabeth, I am ever your most loyal subject, but please, for the love of God, stop pretending to be me." the real Sir Francis Drake admonishes, simultaneously restoring my faith in humanity. "And, as for the rest of you-" the various deck hands all look a bit nervous. "for God's sake, don't encourage her." He makes his way towards us, before stopping and looking disapprovingly at one of his crewmembers. "Smith, what the Hell are you wearing?"
"A-an eyepatch, sir."
"I know for a fact that you have two perfectly functional eyes, Smith, so why are you wearing an eyepatch?"
"Ah-um- I-"
"It was because she thought it looked cool, wasn't it?" Smith nods. "Take it off, and I had better not see you wearing it again unless you've lost an eye, understood?" Smith nods again, already taking off his eyepatch. "Good. Because, regardless of what Elizabeth says, or whatever bizarre, unending sea we find ourselves in, we are privateers. Not pirates!"
He turns back to us. "Now who the Hell are you?"
Actually, I have the perfect answer to that question. Galahad seems to know what I'm about to say. "Flynn, no."
"We're time pirates."
"Goddammit, Flynn!"
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