Duke Crocker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
betterthanaplan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh2019-09-11 01:28 am
betterthanaplan) wrote in fandomhigh2019-09-11 01:28 am
Entry tags:
So You Want to Be a Pirate!, Wednesday, period two
"Arr, ya filthy landlubbers!" Duke greeted at the top of the class — still a couple minutes late, though this time appearing in the rigging, leaning casually amongst the ropes, rather than stumbling in the door after being pushed by a moose.
Never let it be said that Duke was unwilling to commit to a bit.
"Look at the grubby lot of ya! Hardly a one come prepared to sail these seven seas!" He dropped to the deck in front of the students with a stumble he very quickly turned into a swagger. This week, he looked every inch the pirate, from his tall, shiny leather boots to his long hair kept out of his face by a bandana and a hat. He tipped said hat back on his head as he strode across the deck, one hand on the hilt of the cutlass on his belt, surveying the students and occasionally nodding or nudging them into line. "Why, I be almost afraid to call any one of ya my crew." He leaned in close to one of the students with a scowl, then straightened again and smiled. "But only almost."
He kicked one of the crates dotting the deck, causing its wooden sides to collapse in a heap and reveal a pile of cloth in a wide variety of colors, cuts, and states of repair.
"In the crates and barrels and — aye — at least one treasure chest around ya, ye'll be finding the sorts of garments ye'll be needing to be a proper pirate on this ship. Ya got yer vests!" He drew his cutlass, pulling a long, vented black vest from the pile. "Ya got yer jackets! Yer puffy shirts, yer tatterred pants — or skirts if those be more yer fancy! Hats and boots and bandanas galore and aye —" He turned dramatically as he reached the edge of the deck again. "Yer eye patches." He pulled his own patch out of his pocket and held it aloft. "Ye'll be wantin' one of these when it's time to go below-decks. But we'll be coverin' that sort of thing at a later date."
He gestured to the door leading into the ship behind him. "For those of ya with a modest disposition, thar be changin' rooms below decks. But I warn ye, there ain't much privacy in a ship's berths.
"If'n ya already came prepared to class in the proper attire, or find your outfit quickly, I'll ask that ye lend a hand to yer shipmates. A pirate crew must be fierce! It must be fearless! And most importantly, it must work as a team, or we'll all be meetin' in Davy Jones' locker, see if we don't!" He waved the cutlass again grandly, then hopped up to sit on top of a handy barrel. "When ye're all finished, we'll be havin' us a little fashion show, so we can all admire our new, rebellious sartorial choices. Now hop to! Or ye'll be walkin' the plank instead of the catwalk!"
Never let it be said that Duke was unwilling to commit to a bit.
"Look at the grubby lot of ya! Hardly a one come prepared to sail these seven seas!" He dropped to the deck in front of the students with a stumble he very quickly turned into a swagger. This week, he looked every inch the pirate, from his tall, shiny leather boots to his long hair kept out of his face by a bandana and a hat. He tipped said hat back on his head as he strode across the deck, one hand on the hilt of the cutlass on his belt, surveying the students and occasionally nodding or nudging them into line. "Why, I be almost afraid to call any one of ya my crew." He leaned in close to one of the students with a scowl, then straightened again and smiled. "But only almost."
He kicked one of the crates dotting the deck, causing its wooden sides to collapse in a heap and reveal a pile of cloth in a wide variety of colors, cuts, and states of repair.
"In the crates and barrels and — aye — at least one treasure chest around ya, ye'll be finding the sorts of garments ye'll be needing to be a proper pirate on this ship. Ya got yer vests!" He drew his cutlass, pulling a long, vented black vest from the pile. "Ya got yer jackets! Yer puffy shirts, yer tatterred pants — or skirts if those be more yer fancy! Hats and boots and bandanas galore and aye —" He turned dramatically as he reached the edge of the deck again. "Yer eye patches." He pulled his own patch out of his pocket and held it aloft. "Ye'll be wantin' one of these when it's time to go below-decks. But we'll be coverin' that sort of thing at a later date."
He gestured to the door leading into the ship behind him. "For those of ya with a modest disposition, thar be changin' rooms below decks. But I warn ye, there ain't much privacy in a ship's berths.
"If'n ya already came prepared to class in the proper attire, or find your outfit quickly, I'll ask that ye lend a hand to yer shipmates. A pirate crew must be fierce! It must be fearless! And most importantly, it must work as a team, or we'll all be meetin' in Davy Jones' locker, see if we don't!" He waved the cutlass again grandly, then hopped up to sit on top of a handy barrel. "When ye're all finished, we'll be havin' us a little fashion show, so we can all admire our new, rebellious sartorial choices. Now hop to! Or ye'll be walkin' the plank instead of the catwalk!"
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