The Buccaneers Bay

[jammi]

King had been in the midst of the brawl, having himself provoked the third tributary scuffle that had helped form the larger estuary of violence through a snide comment about someone's mum. Some miscellaneous object thumped him over the back of his head, nearly causing him to fall over (which would have got him trod on) and making black spots dance in front of his eyes. Black spots be bad luck for pirates. He straightened up and smacked the offending party in the teeth for retribution, cutting his knuckles in the process.

Someone else lunged for him, so he grabbed a nearby prospect and used him to intercept the blow. Then there was the crack of laserfire and a stolen chandelier dropped from the ceiling onto the hapless meatshield. Grudges forgotten, all were quiet (save the muted crying of several trampled prospects) like a assembly of school children called to attention by their headmaster.

Then the Cap'n dropped the bombshell. Roars of celebration worryingly rattled the windows. Charles dived back under the counter as his small, insignificant barricade that stood between a mob of thirsty Buccaneers and free drinks was vaulted over and assailed. The mood was good. King had already found a syphon, a fuel pump and a keg. This was going to be a damn good night.

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