"Shiver me timbers!"
Mirabelle digs through the sands of the shore, her hands displacing the crystal dirt as she uncovers the treasure buried there below the ‘X’. The waters of the ocean ebb in and out nearby, the smell of salt in the air as she works, consulting with the treasure-map she had found to make sure this is the right spot. Looking down below herself at the literal, giant cross that is scratched into the dirt that she is in the middle of, it seems like the correct place. Dread Pirate Mirabelle rolls the map back together, digging further until the glinting moonlight reveals what she has been seeking.
Booty. Buried below the sands of the hidden coast lies treasure — gold doubloons that are marked with fearsome skulls.
“Yarr,” growls the sea-faring fairy to herself, her wings buzzing in the winds of the cool night, as she unburies the treasure of another scurvy dog that is now hers. Working through the night, salt clinging to her skin and water dripping down the brim of her large, tri-cornered hat, the captain of the vessel hoists the coins out of the hole, transporting them one after the other onto her ship — the Dowager. The Dowager is a fine ship, commandeered from the men of the seas who fell to the blade of the rusted cutlass on her hip, which has seen more iron and salt than there is in any ocean.
“Yo ho, heave ho!” sings the pirate captain to herself as she works.
The Dowager rests on the shores, waves of the ocean splashing around it, the azure waters hammering against the sturdy vessel’s hull, filling the air with mist and foam that drips down her clothes as she works, the metal of the grim booty shimmering in the moonlight, reflecting it around the black ocean as if shimmering with a curse.
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“Hoist anchor!” yells Dread Pirate Mirabelle, pulling up a small string that is tied to a rock. “Drop the sails!” she shouts, yanking on a shoelace that is tied to a stick that serves as a mast. The sail, a black fabric handkerchief that she has painted with a skull, falls down like a grim banner in the winds of the night that press against her as she reaches to her belt, her knee long, brown leather boot standing firmly on a wooden outcrop of the Dowager as she pulls out a small piece of polished glass, looking through it toward the horizon. “Set course for due east, you slimy dogs!” orders the fairy, putting the looking glass away and grabbing the tiny wheel, spinning it as the Dowager, laden with treasures that men would kill for, begins to drift out into the open waters.
As a pirate, it is her duty to secure her booty. The treasure that has been stolen from the foolish scallywag that lost his map is now hers, and so, as is the nature of a pirate, she must find a place to hide it herself.
Due east, the distant shoreline of the great ocean.
The wind comes, pressing through the sails as the ship rocks in the waves, carrying her out into open waters — treacherous and dangerous.
“Here be monsters…” mutters Captain Mirabelle to herself, warily eyeing the horizon as the ship carries through the night.
The waves crash against the Dowager, sea foam showering through the air like rain as she holds onto the wheel with everything she has, the ship rising and falling in the storm. The wood of the old thing groans, complaining as she plants her boots firmly down onto the varnished wood, her elbows and raw hands screaming as she holds onto the wheel as the ocean tempest tries to throw her overboard.
Pressing her weight against the wheel and gritting her teeth, Mirabelle leans to the side, fighting to turn the Dowager so that the wind offers them more favorable conditions.
Her eyes scan the horizon, seeing only more water as far as they can look. The cresting waves of the black ocean rise and fall like crumbling towers, the ship moving just the same to meet them as something disrupts the sight of the endless nothing ahead.
A large, black silhouette, larger than her and larger than her ship, sits there on the water.
A sea-drake!
“Avast, you land lovers!” shouts Mirabelle over the storm. “Man the armaments!” she shouts, letting go of the wheel. “Batten the hatches!” orders the dread pirate as the wind takes the Dowager where it may, now that its captain has relinquished her control. “Secure the rum!”
Mirabelle runs across the ship, preparing for a fight on the ocean against a fearsome beast of the deep.
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Straining herself, she grabs an armful of her munitions, straining as she walks back to the front of the galley as they approach the creature, the thing that is rising and falling with the ocean. It turns its head her way, its beady, monster eyes shining in the moonlight as they fall upon her treasure and vessel. It spreads its body wide, shaking itself and its long, gangly neck that glistens in the moonlight — attached to which is a hard growth, like two single teeth waiting to gnash down on the bodies of those lost at sea.
“LOOSE!” yells Mirabelle, spinning to gain momentum as she throws her projectile as hard as she can out toward the monster as the fates of the waters bring them together. She stumbles as she lets go, her momentum mixed in with the crashing of the Dowager knocking her over and almost sending her overboard. Her hat flies from her head, and she jumps, a hand holding onto the ropes of the mast as she soars out over the ocean in that same second, catching it and putting it back on her head.
Swinging back to the Dowager on the ropes, Dread Captain Mirabelle’s eyes look up, watching as her ammunition strikes true, hitting the beast dead center in its chest.
Lowering its gaze toward its fatal wound, the beast drops its head and eats her projectile, as a last act of defiance as the Dowager sails past it, unsunken.
“Quack,” says the duck as it eats the soggy, big piece of bread floating in front of it.
Mirabelle shouts, pointing out over the ship. “The beast is slain!” she yells, letting go of the ropes and dropping down to the wood. Water splashes everywhere as her heavy, high boots strike against the deck. “Align us with the trade winds, you swabs!” she orders, pointing around herself as her hand rests on her cutlass. “Or I’ll score you with the cat-o-nine-tails!” She laughs heartily, grabbing hold of the ropes and turning the sails, before grabbing the out of control wheel, fighting against it as she, an experienced sailor, breaks the storm and heads east.
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Water runs down her soaked body as she stares through the looking glass from up atop the mast.
“Land ho!” yells Mirabelle, seeing something come into focus on the horizon. She climbs down from the crow's nest, running to the front of the ship as they come closer to the eastern shoreline of the starlit ocean. “Prepare for landing, you bilge rats!” she barks. “Prepare the anchor!” orders the cruel captain of the black-flagged ship. “Ready your swords!” she says. “Swab the poop-deck!”
— Dread Captain Mirabelle snorts, covering her mouth and looking away for a second so that nobody sees her laugh.
“- And if one of you even side eyes my treasure, I’ll eat your hearts!” she threatens, returning back into her role as she turns back to the deck of the Dowager. “Yarr!” yells Mirabelle, the ship coming closer to the shore as the ebbing tide carries it there.
She holds onto the wheel as the waters cast them to shore, the salty fairy holding herself firm as the Dowager beaches herself on the land.
They did it.
They crossed the ocean!
Captain Mirabelle looks behind herself at the endless waters of the loveless, cruel sea — the big pond beneath her tree — as the gold of her treasure glints in the moonlight.
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The anchor is set. Hoisting her precious booty out of the ship, Mirabelle begins to dig a spot on the shore where she can hide it, as any pirate worth their salt would do. The black flag flies behind her, still having been hoisted proud and strong against the night.
She’s rich! With this money, once she retires from being a woman of the seas, she’ll spend her days drinking ale and grog and chasing tavern wenches! Yarr!
“Quite the treasure you got there,” says a voice from the side.
Dread Pirate Mirabelle instinctively grabs her cutlass, pulling it free from her fabric belt, as she looks at the man who has seen her and, so, must die. He holds his old blade out toward her. “It will look exquisite in my collection.”
She swings her sword out, making contact with his blade and pushing it to the side. “The only thing that will look good are your bones in my galley, matey!” she replies, looking at the man, who looks like he is a privateer of some type.
“I’ll cut you down, you hornswoggling buccaneer!” he replies, as their swords meet and they begin to duel, sword hitting sword beneath the nightfall as they go back and forth over the sands, the glow of the moon and star reflecting off of the golden skulls next to them. The sounds of combat ring out across the shore, their impacts carrying out over the waters and being carried by the gales as they fight.
He strikes; Mirabelle parries it and ripostes, her cutlass not having the reach it needs to hit him. The man smirks, sensing her weakness as he counters. His long blade presses against her heart.
Dread Captain Mirabelle shouts in anguish, throwing her sword into the air as she stumbles back, clutching her chest. “Argh!” she says, looking down at the grim, mortal wound that has been inflicted on her. She looks back at him as her sword strikes into the sands. “You’ll…” Mirabelle stumbles and then falls. “- walk the plank… for this…” she says, and then dies, her body landing next to the waters where she has spent her life, the foam returning her to the sea.
Dread Captain Mirabelle is no more, her booty having been claimed by another.
— Someone picks her up out of the water.
Mirabelle opens an eye, looking at Grace. “You’re quite the actor, Marbles,” he remarks, laughing at her. “Maybe you should forget shoemaking and get on the stage?”
The two of them had seen a play in the night theater the other night. It was about pirates and the men of the sea, and she asked Grace to play pretend with her tonight. “I put a lot of work into this, Grace,” she explains. The two of them look down at the Dowager, a little ‘ship’ that is nothing more than a raft made of some tree bark, a long stick, and a handkerchief. The treasure is three Obols.
The ocean is the pond.
Her sword is a polished, curved twig. Grace’s is a stick.
The beast in the ocean was a duck.
— The hat is real, though. She made it herself, and it looks pretty good for her first try at making a hat! Mirabelle takes it off, rubbing the back of her wet head sheepishly. “Hey, Grace?” she asks, looking at the human who is holding her.
“What’s up, Mirabelle?” asks Grace, picking up the three Obols and then looking back at the fairy.
“What’s a… ‘tavern wench’?” asks Mirabelle. Grace snorts and tries not to laugh, his pursed lips pressed tightly together. “What?” asks Mirabelle. “What is it?”
Grace helps her clean up their stuff as he does his best to explain to Mirabelle the answer to her question, and by the time he’s finished, Dread Pirate Mirabelle finds that she might not have what it takes to be a grim captain after all — it’s much too embarrassing.
Mirabelle, the blushing fairy, and the laughing man who killed her share a cookie before they call it a night and return to keeping their feet on solid ground for the rest of their shipshape days.
Yarr.