FicWad

"Mary, Mudder of God!" Nagi shouted, waving a broom in Crawford's general direction with a look of abject horror on his face. "I've not any control of me actions, Cap'n!"

"Aye, lad. 'tis a foul curse upon us," Crawford replied with a shrewd glance about the room. There was a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that came from years of weathering storms and catching tides. How it got there Nagi wasn't exactly sure. The only time Crawford had ever been at sea was that one time he stepped onto Takatori's yacht to check security. Even then he'd needed a Dramamine.

It was there though, nonetheless, along with an air of superstition. The oracle clutched a carton of Morton's Salt as a sort of protection ward against ill spirits. "I've a mind ta keelhaul the scallywag causin' all this," he snarled with a spit.

Then grimaced at his actions.

Nagi grimaced along with him, even as his unoccupied hand suddenly decided to scratch his balls. "SCHULDIG, YE SON OF A DOCK WHORE!"

The German just waggled his eyebrows. "Arrr, baby. Arr."

"I can't take this abuse anymore," Nagi managed to ground out in as normal a tone as he could. "Put a stop to it or I'll have yer hide!"

Schuldig tsked and examined his nails. He'd have to file them soon. "I don't know what you're getting to upset about. It's not my fault you two didn't want to play along with a time honored tradition."

Farfarello looked thoughtful. "I've no' noticed anythin' different about myself."

"There was nothing to screw with there, Far," Schuldig drawled, earning a glare from the other team members. "You've got an accent and an eyepatch already. You're playing whether you want to or not, even without my...assistance."

"Ah. I suppose I can count myself lucky."

"We've no time for games!" Brad said angrily interrupted, storming up to the smug redhead. The American meant to point angrily but the hand that came up decided to curl his index finger into a hook. Annoyed, he pushed the hand back down. "There's work to be done and here we are, standing about like lazy sons o' bitches."

"Decks ta swab, sails ta be mended, swag ta see ta, we'll be needing to careen the ship soon s'well..." Nagi counted off to himself.

"That's the spirit!" Schuldig beamed, patting the younger assassin on the head.

The telekinetic growled and pushed the other man away. "Arrr!"

"Exactly!"

Crawford had had enough. Grabbing the broom out of Nagi's hand, he wielded it expertly until it rested against the telepath's windpipe, pressing into it in a way that had to uncomfortable if not actually painful. "Schuldig."

"But Braaad...."

"Stop it."

"It's a real holiday though. Like Christmas. Or Halloween. Or Guy Fox day."

"Or ye'll be findin' a new home in Davy Jones's Locker..."

"And really, this is what you get for being so unpatriotic..."

Hard coffee-brown eyes narrowed. "/Savvy/?"

There was a long pause as the two faced off, both stubborn and determined to outlast the other. And both had the power of stubbornness and arrogance on their side. Nagi and Far stood unmoving, waiting for one to finally snap and pounce. Had they been brave enough at that moment, they probably would have found themselves wagering on who would win.

Eventually, Schuldig sighed and snapped his fingers. "Aye. I savvy. Fine. All gone. Happy, you fun killing bastard?"

"Quite."

Crawford and Nagi both shuddered at the same time, a feeling like cold water dousing their heads and spines. Farfarello thought it was a shame, really. It had been nice to finally be the more normal one in the group for a change.

"Crazy asshole," Nagi muttered and gave Schuldig a parting kick in the shin before stomping away. He needed to blog this or the feelings of outrage would make him implode. No one in this house understood him at /all/.

"Twas fun while it lasted," Farfarello reflected, patting his red-haired friend on the shoulder as if you say 'good game, better luck next time'. Hopefully that next time would include a tricorn hat and someone in a wench costume.

Why, Far. I didn't know you had a thing for bodices and shifts...

And someone on the gallows. Yes, that would be lovely.

Schuldig snorted and watched the Irishman wander away with a raised eyebrow. Moodily, he reached beside the couch and pulled up a bottle of rum, taking a swig without pause.

"You're sulking," Crawford noted, crossing his arms. The broom had been tossed aside, having seen the last of it's fighting days.

"I'm not sulking. I'm commiserating with the spirits of pirates past. Now there was a group of mates I could relate to," Schuldig sighed, raising the bottle in salute to his absent brethren.

Rolling his eyes, the oracle sat beside the redhead on the couch. "There's a time and a place, Schu. Also, next time to take control of any of us I will personally take a whip to your back."

A sly grin worked its way across the telepath's face. "Such a fine example of a Captain, taking care of his crew's needs."

Brad grabbed the rum and drank. No winning that one.

Wheedling tone creeping up. "Hey, Braddles. Say 'savvy' again."

"No."

"But you liked it."

Another swig. Passing the bottle back.

A grudging 'maybe' which meant yes.

Schuldig made a note to see about that wench outfit.

"So. Time and a place, huh?"

Crawford looked at the German from the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing despite his best efforts. "Precisely. Apparently he can be taught."

"Well then. Permission to come aboard, sir?" he drawled, already sliding onto Crawford's lap without waiting for an answer. Gulping down the rest of the rum, careful not to spill a drop, Schuldig purred when he felt strong hands wrap around his hips.

A pirate's life, he decided for the umpteenth time, was a wonderful life indeed.