8.2 CAUGHT IN A HANGOVER

The day of arrival of John roughes and departure of Ryan.

(This is a pov of Robin. A soldier in a navy Columbia.)

What the hell is up with this man, covered in the evaporating foam of rum. Giving off the stench of a deep down distilled molasses. I don't even want to look at his face covered with the thick drool of the mouth as it overlaps with his hazy curly hair covering his whole face. Is he took a bath in a rum of sea before coming here.

"Robin get the luggage in, we are going onboard,". John said.

"Ok, wait what does that 'we' suppose to mean" I said.

"Just as you heard,"

Dammit man, what does he even thinking. That bastard of vice admiral. Increasing my work on the day off. Who does he think he is..

"Get on the deck, sailor." John giving him the sign to onboard.

"Yes, sir."

Well, nevermind. Those heavy luggage what are in them anyway. I put those into the corner of the boat. As that bastard of the admiral sat near the tiller(steering pole attach to rudder) of the boat giving orders to open the sail and to depart from the dock. The winds were chilling. I tide the mast sail(vertical main pole,where sail is attached) to the end of the boom(horizontal pole) and rotated the boom straight at 90 degree from the winds. The end boom pole revolved over the sleeping dork of useless drunken man. It should have hit him straight onto the face, damn if he was standing rather than laying on hull(deck of the boat).

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"Ready to sail," I said. With the next heavy gust we deported. The puff of the main sail was proudly tearing it's way through the wind. Vice admiral is getting his shit together handling the direction of the boat. He moved tiller(handle). The direction changes as the underwater rudder moves with respect to the tiller. I have to just adjust the sail perpendicular to wind. Guess this is not that bad.

4 hours later, I am going to die like seriously. Wind had been died down, it was once looked like a begining of storm. Turned out to be serene sea. But what is really pissing me off is why I am the only one rowing the boat. My hands are not that big dammit, it just oars are way bigger.

"Sigh" this suck I should had stopped me from going through hell. Sitting near between the mast(horizontal main sail pole) and the pointed apex of the boat. I gripped the end of the oars passing through the oarhole firmly and rotated it anticlockwise looking straight towards the admiral near tiller.

Life sucks as I moved my head up towards the stary sky, oh Polaris's.

"Hmm, come near me Mary, let me give you a kiss." John was sleeptaking. Like whaaaaaat the hell he is spouting. He was in his sweet slumber and I am suffering from deep lumber. This situation cannot be more bad than this.

After 2 hours of constant paddling through oars, "blub, blub" haah it's storm we were clearly sailing on boast. But I am suffering this time too dammit. Water is filling inside, as I removed them it doubled. With the splashes of the salty spray sprung over. 'splash' haah it's chillingly freezing. Admiral had woken up but what about drunken frisky hair. He is still paying his visit to his merry Dreamland of rum. Ohhh just kill me already.

'Splash'.