Headed by a Snake

⁆ Captain's Log, Date XXXX. ⁅

⁆ My entire crew is made up of idiots. ⁅

Lieutenant Tycon removed his Officer's cap and swept back his annoyingly perfect green hair before replacing it, "I feel the need to remind you, Brother-Captain... that best practice dictates that we work with what is provided to us."

"Yeah, man... I get it," Krysaos heaved a sigh. "No use cryin' over tossed loot and shite... but seriously-- sea god's f*cking suspenders, this is ridiculous."

He gestured upward at the main mast, "Our sails are made of patchwork and... and underpants. And they're RED."

Tycon placed his hand on his chin, "I thought it strange, the red paint... I'm assuming the order to paint them was not yours."

"It most definitely was NOT," Krysaos narrowed his eyes. "And look at the deck! Dozens of holes-- can't fix those, either. Remember the other sun where I almost fell through and you had to help me out?"

"The first sun, I believe," Tycon hummed, "but I recall no such instances in the past several."

"Well, I trip on a per-sun basis," Krysaos grimaced.

"By this point, we've memorized the ship's most common pitfalls, have we not?"

"Me and Wonderboy're real good at finding new ones..." Krysaos twisted his lips, "or the others at makin' em..."

"Granted."

Tycon just... nodded, like nothing could really be done about it.

Krysaos couldn't think of anything either... but he was honestly hoping for some sort of solution.

When the Tactician didn't have anything meaningful to add... that showed just how f*cked everything was.

"Then..." Krysaos shut his eyes, "there's the railings..."

"Yes... of course..." Tycon nodded gravely, "The railings..."

"We don't have f*cking railings, LT," Krysaos growled.

"We have..." Tycon pursed his lips, gesturing forward, "that one."

The LT was pointing at a single portion of railing-- one gods-damned section of it that remained on the starboard side. It was all alone... and it wasn't even five feet wide.

"I ain't even gonna say anything about that," Krysaos shook his head. "I think... honest-- I wanna move to the other ship, the Nemayan one. But... you know."

"I believe I do," Tycon smiled politely. "You fear it only a matter of time until your second ship falls to the same state as the Neptune's Revenge."

Krysaos tilted his head back, placing his hands on his face, "Aaaargh... The Sugar-Titted Siren II doesn't deserve that kind of mistreatment."

He was feeling a headache coming on... After taking his hat off and scratching his head, he massaged the spot above his nose, "I get that it's not all bad, though. We f*cked up the sea god's armories, thanks to Hades and the boys. We picked up a Sea Witch so the nasties below stop screwing with us so bad..."

Tycon nodded in agreement, "There is great value to our achievements, especially considering the short period of time they occurred within."

"But I'm at my wits f*cking end, LT!" Krysaos rolled his head in exasperation. "I swear... if the fates f*ck even one more thing up, this sun, I might put my gods-damned godslaying bullet into a not-god's brain housing group."

A certain Coral Boy's wooden armor clunked noisily as he swaggered up the steps to the top deck. Without hesitation, he spun in a perfect 180 and began to go right back down.

"Petty Officer Bob is a keen gentleman to know his concerns are unwanted," Tycon quipped.

"That guy..." Krysaos raised his voice after him, "Hold on a second, boyo!"

Bob... previously Twelve of Twelve or somethin'... was the biggest Coral Boy in the crew. He was easily the smartest too. The big guy froze like a statue-- not movin' a single rocky muscle.

Then... he ran.

The fates were DEFINITELY out to f*ck him!!

"Not so fast, you yellow-bellied scalawag!!" Krysaos immediately began to sprint after him, "BOB!!! C'MEEERE!!!"

He ran down the treacherous steps, probably putting too much trust in the side rails, and began chasing the Coral Boy down the corridor.

Bob grabbed a storage barrel, tossed Barrel Boy right out of it, and hopped in. Then, he began to roll away...

"The speed of which that gentleman moves is... surprising," Tycon remarked.

Even at Krysaos' top speed, it seemed that Tycon could keep up without even a mark of sweat. He was probably even faster, too...

That was good. Krysaos could use that.

He pointed at the fleeing Coral Boy, "LT, I'll let you inventory the Captain-al quarters if you stop that guy."

For just the occasion, Krysaos ensured that no one else got in his room when he wasn't around. Tycon didn't like to sleep around. He wasn't moved by food or alcohol, either-- since he provided most of that, himself.

He could be tempted, however, by the offer of... counting things.

"You are the Captain of this ship, Krysaos," Tycon chided, gesturing with his good hand. "You can give me orders without the promise of a reward. Also, 'Captain-al' is not a word."

"You gonna do it or not?"

"⌈Shadowfang.⌋"

The green-haired guy disappeared in a puff of smoke. Krysaos looked over to the other end of the hall expectantly-- and Tycon reappeared, stopping the rolling barrel with his boot.

The way he moved was definitely a lot faster than if Krysaos had made the request normally.

Bob the Coral Boy crawled out of the barrel... and proceeded to vomit all over Krysaos' floors.

...which was to be expected, really.

"Well, well, well..." Krysaos walked over to him, "Why ya tryin' to run away? Tryin' to hide somethin' from yer Captain, boyo?"

Bob stood up straight, wiping his mouth, "Sorry, Cap'n. Was just uh... havin' a bit of fun, eh?"

Tycon took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket... because of course he'd have something like that.

"No thanks, Bosun. I'z uh... I'm good," Bob waved it away.

"Take the damn cloth, Marine," Tycon frowned.

"Aye aye, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

"Now, then," Krysaos made sure he wasn't standing in bile and began to tap his foot impatiently, "Would you kindly explain to me... what the F*CK is goin' on?"

The larger man grimaced as he wrung his hands in OBVIOUS GUILT, "I uh... it's uh... nuffin' of int'rest, Cap'n. Maybe I can uh... discuss 'is wiv da Bosun? Nuffin' important, really."

"Nootttttt gonna work, boyo!" Krysaos rolled his eyes, "What's the problem this time, huh? Is it the poop closet? Did the elf and his stupid swords fall through the hull, or what?"

Tycon placed his hand on Krysaos' shoulder, "Brother-Captain..."

There was something in the guy's voice that chilled Krysaos' blood... "Y-yeah?"

"Perhaps you might inquire... about the location of Petty Officer Bob's Coral Boy peers?"

Krysaos' eyes widened as he realized just what his Lieutenant was implying.

The crew.

He hadn't seen most of them in the better part of the bell.

Sockets was in the Crow's Nest-- probably because he didn't know how to get down. And then there was Petty Officer Bob, who had just come on deck...

Oh, and Barrel Boy. There were a lot of barrels on the ship and a lot of Coral Boys, so Krysaos never put that one in his crew count.

Tycon was accounted for-- he was never an issue. Mina was back in her room, not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Krysaos judged where the light was coming through from the top deck and glanced back to check on his and Tycon's shadow. One of them waved in acknowledgment.

Ishmael was accounted for... good ol' Ishmael.

But everyone else...

Why wasn't Wonderboy swabbing his deck? Why wasn't Catshit repairing the riggings? Doc-- why wasn't he suturing the holes in the sails?

Where in the gods damned seven hells was Stickyfingers?

"Bob," Krysaos crossed his arms. "Where is my crew?"

"I uh..." Bob sighed wistfully, "Prolly best if I'z just show you, Cap'n."

...

"What the f*ck is this?" Krysaos asked.

Over thirty Coral Boys were on the bottom-most floor of the Neptune's Revenge. Bilgewater reached up to their ankles... looted supply boxes were strewn about.

The condition of the hull and its contents was consistent with the rest of the ship... but it was weird as hells to see them all... just standing there. They didn't stand in one place, either... but were scattered with a weird dispersion.

"So uh... nuffin' ta see here, Cap'n," Bob smiled with chagrin. "Ain't at right, boys? NUFFING TA SEE HERE, ROIGHT?!?!?!"

"Oh, yeah, Cap'n. Nuffin' to see," One of the Coral Boys shouted.

"Nuffin! Nuffin' at all!!" "Yeah, s'right!" "Everyfing's good, Cap'n!!"

"Quite suspicious," Tycon remarked.

"Ya don't say..." Krysaos muttered.

Bob's rocky grin wasn't fooling anyone.

One of the Coral Boys, Doc, was tittering nervously as he balanced atop of another Coral Boy-- that one lying face down in the bilge.

"Doc," Krysaos grimaced.

"AYE, CAP'N!" Doc shouted, "Roight 'ere Cap'n! We'z been good! No uncalled for surg'ries as requested!!"

Well... that was good. Some of the other Coral Boys were looking at him like he was a liar-- but what Doc likely meant that there were no *major* surgeries, as of recent.

"Doc... why are you standing on Wonderboy?"