Silver
The feel, smell, even the sound of clinking coins did not excite him like it had in the past. I mean, who knew how many tormented souls had touched the prized possession prior to him? Not to mention tormented and diseased souls to boot. That thought, surprisingly, made his stomach crawl with the possibility of an upheaval. Which never came, thank the swirling tides of all the oceans he'd ever traversed. And that would be all of them.
Subtract piracy from his life, and what was left? Uh, well, there was . . . Nah, that wouldn't work. And what about . . . Woof, even worse idea. There had to be something, he silently agonized.
Beloved pets tended to have the uncanny knack of "knowing" when something was up with their idiotic, yet loving, owners. Yeah, try convincing a cat of not being the owner in that usually one-sided relationship.
Specifically, the captain's tuxedo cat, Silver, poked her head around the doorway which led into his private cabin. Her charming, wide-eyed, inquisitive expression always melted his heart, in addition to his spine. (It was crystal clear who wore the nametag of
Owner in this relationship). As if she owned the place (hint: she did), the feline sauntered forward to see what was amiss with her troubled, scatter-brained deckhand. Captain?! Ha!
But first, a brief history as to how a black and white cat was named Silver. When she was initially and desperately thrust upon him as a kitten, his lover at the time insisted Dmitry take the cat, due to the fact that her rampaging husband had somehow found out about his spouse's cheating. She was married?! Who knew?!
Of course, Dmitry balked at the inconceivable thought. What did he know about raising an innocent kitten?! His lover, however, emphatically laid out clear and precise mental images of potential torture techniques performed upon her beloved tuxedo kitten. The woman, after all, knew all too well about her husband's loathing of her pet. After hearing that story, however true or untrue, he took the kitten, kissed her fully on the lips with ample tongue action, squeezed her glorious ass for one last time (sad days), then bolted for the docks where his ship was located.
At first, he watched the kitten's mannerisms, her likes and dislikes, anything for inspiration. Sadly, he still came up with nothing. Until he seriously took note of her coloring. Black and white? Surely, there must be something there, as it was right under his nose all along. One color did not dominate the other, though he didn't bother to take measurements. So he considered a merging of the two. And, rather boringly, he ended up with gray. No chance of that becoming a name for her, so Dmitry decided to up the ante. Silver shined a whole lot brighter than gray.
Okay, so much for
brief.
> > > > > >< < < < < <
A knock, and then a slight opening of his door, "We've docked and anchored, Cap'n," his first mate said. "If you're interested, we're gonna meet up at
Siren's Song for drinks and who knows what," he said with an added wink. Dmitry knew what that meant. Tankards of strong ale was always the beginning. What usually followed were song and women, and not necessarily in that order. And after that? He hoped nothing would be broken by the end of their night there, which could include furniture, glass, and body parts.
True to his word, Dmitry spotted his first mate at a round table with six other crew members. The man waved at his captain, and as he did so, a buxom brunette lugging a tray adorned with seven steins followed his gaze. The woman stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Dmitry. The men looked at the waitress, then their captain, then back again. Finally, the first mate stood and nudged the men sitting on either side of him. They retrieved their ale from the motionless tray, passed the mugs around to their mates, and quietly sat back down, eagerly waiting for the fireworks to begin.
Dmitry and a jilted lover, perhaps? One with child? What were the odds? The men began to wager amongst themselves as to the fate awaiting their leader. A slap or punch to his face? There was also the unlikely chance of a passionate kiss. A knee in the groin? There was also the unlikely chance of a caressing hand.
The woman, having been ogled enough by his crew to have all of her clothes removed (in their horny minds, at least), casually placed her tray on their table and swung those ample hips toward Dmitry. All of his men seemed to swig healthily from their mugs at the same time, with "knowing" nods and grins also exchanged.
"Dmitry," she cooed. "Never thought I'd ever see you again."
"What are you doing here, Carmelita?"
"I live here now," she replied.
With a head bob over his left shoulder, the captain stated, "Walk with me." The waitress established eye contact with the barkeep and he nodded his approval. It was a slow night, and the other waitress could more than manage. The pair left the tavern, much to the chagrin of his men, who drank and bickered about the unexpected turn of events. Needless to say, no coin would be swapped this evening.
Carmelita and Dmitry strolled through the town, small talk easily mixed with silence. They ended up dockside, conveniently facing the right side of his ship. "Come aboard, M'lady," he smoothly invited. "I have something to show you."
"Yeah, I bet you do," she seductively replied. Against better judgment, she followed him anyway, ending up a few paces from the door to his private cabin. "You are so predictable, Dmitry," she accused. "You haven't changed after all this time."
With an annoyed grunt, he stepped forward, knocked on his own cabin door, and then swung it open. Carmelita, unsurprisingly, wasn't budging. "You're gonna have to do better than . . ."
A black and white head slowly and inquisitively peeked around the doorframe. . . .