(This is the thread in which the game will take place. Please ask any questions concerning the game here.)

The Captain paces up and down along the jetty before the assembled volunteers, his steps slow and heavy. He examines each in turn, and the parrot upon his shoulder does the same, glaring in a way only a parrot can. His is a large man, although whether this comes from a healthy appetite or the several big coats he wears to emphasise his authority is hard to tell.

'I be Captain Turbulent, as you all well know. As you be wantin' to come aboard the Brown Emerald, my ship, there be a few rules I'd be liking ter establish.'

He stops before a young boy with a knitted eyepatch, towering over him impressively. He plucks a strange object from the boy's shoulder and sniffs it--a malformed turnip, apparently--before throwing it over his own shoulder, where it lands in the sea with a plop.

'No extraneous birds,' he says, stroking the one on his shoulder. He walks over to a bearded man with an eyepatch, and attempts to dispose of his parrot in the same way. A brief battle between he and the bird ensues, accompanied by much cursing from both parties before it flutters stubbornly back to the man's shoulder and stays there, squawking triumphantly.

The Captain glares, but decides not to pursue the matter further. 'You can have that one as a special allowance, 'cause I be feelin' generous,' he says.

He strokes his beard thoughtfully, allowing himself to regain his former air of importance. 'Due to terrible miscircumstance, me last cook was woefully swallowed up by the giant seadaucuscarota along with the rest of me former crew. So I be needin' a new one. You,' he says, 'the one with the ponytail and the manky uniform. Harris, wasnit? You're the cook. Oh, and a cabin boyslashgirl. You with the messy hair. Olivia. Yarr.'

Captain Turbulent grunts in apparent satisfaction at this appointment. His parrot ruffles its feathers. 'Righty then,' he says. 'Aboard we go! We's got some PIRATIN' to do!'

0) Captain Turbulent (NPC)
1) Ms Olivia Moniker (Cabin Girl) (plaid)
2) Slightly Sterile (spiky)
3) Rick van der Karies (KaptenKaries)
4) Paisley Button (Katcal)
5) Seaman Richard 'Dick' Harris (Interim Cook) (Watchman)
6) Woodle Needlebaum (OmKranti)
7) Brian Shortbread (Tephlon)
8) Victoria Shembles (koshu)
9) The Duck (edster)
10) Bloodbeard (Orrdos)
11) Edward Jackson (allthatjazz)
12) Bob Amor (Delphine)

amelia: yo
i am a yoyo.

Chris: yes

Paisley stood for a while on the jetty as the other shipmates brushed past him, watching the turniparrot float away, bobbing happily, its carefully carved tail sticking pertly upwards. He swallowed back an unexpected sob, it was only a stupid turnip. So his mum had sat up late at night carving it, getting it just right, but it was still just a turnip, one day he would have a real parrot, one day he would have a ship of his own, and on his ship, people could have birds made out of any vegetable they wanted... or even real ones.

He picked up his carpet bag and slung it on his shoulder. Off to sea it was for him, his dream come true.

The turnip finally sunk with a plop.

Damn Spider pig

"Sorry Cap'n", says Rick with a gleeful smile, "I've tried to get rid of that foul beast too, believe me. He just won't seem to budge."

Rick walks off towards the cabins, silently muttering. "Good bird, Ludwig, good bird."

Before he could reply at all, the Captain had moved on. Ships Cook... A veteran of years of sailing reduced to boiling broth and chasing the rats out of the stores, he frowned in sour thought.

Ah, but it wasnt all bad, a nice warm berth, as much food as he could safely plunder without the stores depleting to an obvious level and immunity from the usual deck hand duties. A gradual smile began to form, the expression utterly alien on his craggy features as he strolled up the gangplank and began the hunt for the kitchens to take stock of his new domain.

Bob remained standing in his place in line as people around him wandered away. He glared through narrowed eyes at the spot in which the turnip parrot had sank.

"Obviously nobody considered the nutritional value of that parrot!" he grumbled, still glaring at the sea. "Might not exactly be a crate o' oranges, but it'd have been better than a wet fish for the scurvy..."

Bob walked to the prow, turned and leant against it, arms folded, and waited for a task to appear worthy of his expertise. Scrubbing the deck was not one of them.

That would also be... CONDENSATION.

Captain Turbulent stood on the deck, watching the crew file on.

"Right, you, cook... Harris! Kitchen is over thar," he pointed to his left, "you be needing to wash the dishes, last cook got swallowed before he had chance te do it."

He surveyed the rest of the crew. "Oliviaaar, my cabin is over thar," he pointed to his right, "go and clean it. As fer the rest of ye, me hearties, ye can scrub the deck! Can't sail with a dirty ship!"

(Playing blind Pictionary, me drawing)
Ella: Is it a giraffe?
Me (stops drawing): No
Ella: Star Trek?
Me: Yes!

"AH HAH YARRRRRRRRRRR!" exclaims Bloodbeard. No one seems to pay him any attention.

"YARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!" he tries again. Still nothing.

It wasn't like the olden days, that's for sure. Pirates just didn't get the yarring like they used to.

And too many of them were driking Rum for his liking. Rum. What a piss poor drink for a pirate. Real men drank GROG.

Not only that, but the deck was glaringly unswabbed. It was now [i:d156119f55]scrubbed[/i:d156119f55]. Fancy pants words, that's what it was.

Next thing, they'd be telling him that rape was off the agenda!

"Yarr" he mutters to himself, as he goes to find somewhere to nap

Why are pirates called pirates?

Brian looked around the ship.
"K'zrk, it's dirrrrrty here."

He started to scrub the deck.

"YARRRRRRRRRR!", someone yelled in his ear. Brian ignored him.
Eventually the guy went away. At least, Brian assumed it was a man, even though he had no beard...

_Light moves faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright, until you hear them speak._

Rick claimed a bunk in the cabins, dropping off the large chest he had brought to the docks. Ludwig now on Rick's right shoulder, he returned to deck, three brooms and wooden buckets in his hands.

"What are ye lot waiting for?", Rick yelled as he reappeared, "Have ye never been in the Navy? Ye heard the cap'n, start scrubbin!"

Rick violently thrusted a broom into Bob's hands and leaned the rest of the brooms against the closest mast.

The amused smile on Rick's face did not seem to match these words, and as he lowered a bucket on the end of a rope over the gunwale, he could be heard humming a happy tune.

"Hey, lad!", Rick yelled as he pulled up his bucket, "Yeah, you, Paisley was it?"

Rick walked up to the boy. "My name is Rick van der Karies, former Captain of the Dutch Navy. Never been on a boat before have ye?" he asked kindly. "Don't worry, you'll pick it up, I can see yer a keen lad. Here, take this here bucket, I'll go fill up another one."

Oliva only tripped over her skirt once on the way to the captain's cabin. Upon opening the door and smelling its musty alcoholic smell, she wondered where [i:2c227c56da]her[/i:2c227c56da] cabin was and hoped that it was lit better than this one.

She left the door ajar and began tossing things like brown scraps of cartography and manky old frilly shirts out onto the deck. As she worked she hummed to herself, stopping every three or four minutes to yank the ever-loosening ribbon from her hair and retie it around her brown curls.

joe pancake?

Bob was so shocked at having some poncey feather-wearing bird-loving pretender shove a broom into his hands and order him about, he almost forgot to glare.

After a moment, he recovered his composure, tossed the broom into the sea and stalked over to where a short pirate was unabashedly acting like a woman. He removed the brush from his hands and handed him a flask of grog in its place.

"God this place is is like a cruise liner," he muttered.

That would also be... CONDENSATION.

Woodle got on his hands and knees and started to mop the deck with his beard, plonking it in the filthy bucket of water before turning back to the grimey deck.

Someone yelled at him and threw a mop his way. He took it, gingerly, almost dropping it. It's handle was almost as big as his arms (because his arms were so thin, not because the handle was so thick) His hands wrapped around the mop, he struggled with all his might to srubb the deck as best he could.

"Bugger" he said as he dropped the mop for the third time and let it lay where it fell. Picking up the end of his beard, he put one soggy end into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, trying to figure out to do next.

Fuck Shoes.

Paisley was greatly impressed by the professional manner of Rick, and took the bucket from him eagerly.

"Aye aye sir !" he squeaked, and ran over to the side to fill it. And spent the next half hour unsuccessfully tring to fill it, but the bucket always seemed to end top upwards and therefore never get much water inside it...

But still, he concentrated on what he was doing, it was that or keep staring at the girl with the unreliable hair. Being at sea was a first to him. So were girls.

Damn Spider pig

Dismayed by the sudden crushing of his hopes for a cushy job, Harris nodded a quick thanks to the Captain before hurrying in the right direction. Descending into the ship he eventually found the kitchen, and the threatened mound of dishes.

Having checked through the sorry looking supplies and equipment whilst muttering abuse about the last cook, he returned to the main deck with pail in hand to fetch some water to begin the cleaning with. Arriving to watch with growing amusement a fresh-faced sailor's efforts to fill his own bucket.

After no little time the new cook eventually approached Paisley, "here lad, this isnt a well. You've got to throw it out a ways, rope ought to have plenty of slack, then pull it back to you, it drags the water in and up with it. Watch." Demonstrating quickly he hangs about for a moment to check the lad has got it right.