Episode 22: All in the Same Boat
Note to Discordians: In a sense, this is episode 23. Remember the Christmas Episode?
This episode is the second in a series of four, introducing us to four new sets of characters (three, if you want to be picky about it) who will provide the writer with a variety of material while he tries to determine how to present the stories of the four (five if you want to be picky about it) groups of already established characters. All groups will be returned to at a later date, unless they die in their first appearance, in which case they will, likely, not be revisited. Do not skip one of these "filler" episodes, as they are not really filler at all, and may in fact expand on themes and present clues as to the nature of the crisis; they may also, incidentally, expand on characters that have already been established.
On the Mediterranean Sea, somewhere, when the last note of the mysterious song rang out (8 AM, they had just crossed into a new time zone) there was a boat.
This boat had a fair crew. There was, of course, Captain Clark, who was made a captain May 17 of that year, at 2300 hours. He was a good captain.
His first mate was a Hispanic man named Jesus. Jesus had always dreamed of being a co-pilot (being a pilot had always felt like too much responsibility to him,) but he had a medical condition that prevented him from flying. This was the next best job he could find.
The second mate was a quiet man. Few people new his name (Simon) but everyone mildly liked him. He wasn’t at all creepy. But no one had ever been into his room. They didn’t know about his modified HAM Radio, or his mysterious black robe.
There were two other administrative crew members, Mates Rozenkrantz and Gildanstern. How either became an officer on a ship is nearly as mysterious as the black-robed men. Neither was fond of the sea, and neither ever knew what was going on. They were always together, so the majority of people who knew them thought of them as one entity, Rozenkrantzandgildanstern. Few people ever even knew which of the two was which.
There were four chefs. The head chef was named Jean-Yves Mabus (a distant cousin of Dr. Dave Mabus, named after their common ancestor who had been an integral, though forgotten, part of the French Student Revolts that Victor Hugo wrote of. The original Jean-Yves Mabus had been a very Harry Dude, and had a repressed and never apparent female persona named Mary-Sue) and was a much better administrator than chef. The best chef onboard was a woman named Daisy Kincade. She was not a good chef because she was a woman, but because her parents had, at an early age, sent her off to the only monastery in the world that studied the little known fighting style of Kung Food. Yes, the name sounds like a bad pun, but I assure you that it is real. The monastery is in Hungary.
The other two chefs were named Steve and David. There was absolutely nothing special about either of them, except for the fact that they had the capabilities to be chefs on a sea ship.
There were seven janitors, or swabbies, or whatever you call people on a boat who clean up. The head janitor was a man who took cleanliness very seriously. His name was Burt; he had been trained, from an early age, to be tidy and orderly in a very timely fashion. He was raised at a monastery deep inside of the easily forgotten nation of Aneristan, which had been free throughout the 20th century despite its position near the center of the USSR, only because no Soviet or American leaders ever took note of its existence for more than ten minutes. Burt was trained in the just-as-well-known martial art of Broom-Jitsu.
Captain Clark’s may have been the most absurdly, and surprisingly, well-protected ship on the open seas. Ever.
The other janitors included Moe, Larry, Curly, and Shemp (but nobody liked him; besides, oftentimes you could only see the back of his head) as well as Lauren and Artie (both men, for the record,) a tall man and a fat man who hated each other (Well, only Lauren hated Artie; Artie was perfectly fond of Babbit) and still spent all their time together. Babbit was very straight, in every sense of the word. He would have made a good Broom-Jitsu adept. Artie, on the other hand, had little personal restraint. They hated, despised, and abhorred Rozenkrantz and Gildanstern, and the feeling was mutual.
There were seventeen guards, armed with small arms. They were present solely for the cargo (whose contents will be described shortly) and were actually first time guards. Neither had any of them ever had any intention of being guards. But when the second mate had approached them with so much money, who were they to refuse? No one was ever suspicious of the hirings of course, because the second mate was so well trusted.
The ship also had a complement of 23 various other crew members who did all the various jobs; Bartenders (there were 3 bars on the ship) and Casino Manager (it was a small casino; ten slot machines and three video poker machines, all crammed together) and other odds and ends. There were, additionally, five engineers/mechanics in the engine room.
There were few passengers, for whatever reason. Amongst them were The World’s Greatest Assassin, World’s Most Successful Thief, The Rightful Ruler of Bavaria (possibly; either that, or a crazy man,) A Mistakenly Discredited Paranormal Investigator (she espoused the idea that giant jellyfish in the air caused the majority of alien sightings,) An Assorted Man Preparing to Kill Himself, and four Black-Hooded Figures.
The World’s Greatest Assassin called himself Bob. When he came to kill you, the first thing you noticed was his hat. He always wore it, but only his victims ever actually noticed it. For everyone else, it was just a hat atop a man. All his victims noticed it, though. It was a very round hat. If it was a long distance assassination, it was all that you would see. If he were to do the deed up close, the next thing you noticed would be his sunglasses. They were sleek: think Devo, but intimidating. Continuing to watch him approach you, ready to kill, you would notice his absolute lack of a smile. The jacket he wore vaguely resembled a trenchcoat, but was neither as long nor as heavy as one; it was somehow more intimidating than a trenchcoat would have been. He wore leather gloves. His pants were always black, to match everything else in the outfit. Now, you’re terrified with this man coming at you, right? Well, in despair, you looked own at his shoes, and they are black flip-flops. This always takes a moment to process, as does the red stain on them; it’s easy to see, that’s not blood, that’s pizza sauce. In terrified confusion, your eyes begin to rise again; his pants are coated in stains of varying colors. That terrifying jacket? It’s got water and pizza stains all over it. His leather gloves have a spattering of white paint, obtained when he helped someone paint the interior of their house. Oftentimes, that’s all that the victim will see of him; occasionally, though, they get to see his chapped lips, the scratches and water stains on his glasses, and the sheer floppiness of his hat. Anyone with a true grasp of the universe is struck with utter terror at that final fact. The victim who gets to see all this invariably has the last thought of "How the hell did I miss all that on the way down?" And then they are down and didn’t notice anything on that way down. All of the stains and such are engineered to lower people’s defences. Except for the floppy hat-that’s something that he really uses to intimidate the more courageous of his targets. But who suspects the man in flip flops who can’t eat pizza of intending to kill national leaders? No one, that’s who.
Staying in the room next to Bob (they were awful rooms; 10 foot by 10 foot, two bunk beds making a total of four beds, not containing a treasure chest and not guarded by an orc) was John, master thief. He had one of those headbands that thieves invariably wear if they’re any good, and sometimes worn by un-masked ninjas or hipsters from the 80’s. He also wore a tattered vest and a hungry, happy, conniving look. He was so obviously a thief that no one ever suspected him. Hiding in plain sight was his specialty, and it had made him rich. He continued to dress in his thievery clothes, though, so that he could continue to practice thievery without question. He was onboard because of the cargo. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know that it was guarded by 17 guards. He did his research; he knew that the guards were new, so it was probably some sort of trap for him. He didn’t know or care who had set it up, but he wanted to pull off the heist, both for the challenge and to show off to the fool who set it up, to send the message that he wasn’t that easy to beat.
Quasimodo Weishaupt, the man who claimed to be The Rightful Ruler of Bavaria, was 23, since his birthday on May 17. He knew that he would not be the one to take the throne, because his birth was not at the fated time or day. However, he had a 5-year-old son back in Delphi who had been born at Midnight, on Walpurgisnacht. He was now journeying to Switzerland, where the legendary Sword of Greyface was supposed to be hidden. He wanted his son to have a truly mighty weapon to lead his rise.
The Paranormal Investigator was named Gaz. She was working her way across Europe, seeking out ley lines to prove her major hypothesis (what giant jellyfish in the sky had to do with ley lines is a mystery, but so is what anything has anything to do with ley lines, which they certainly seem to be connected, anythings and ley lines) and simultaneously clearing her mind with a self-imposed paranormal society exile. She was of an Indian descent-not Native American, but rather sub-continental Indian-and was fairly short, with long, beautiful, black hair. Her face, strangely, vaguely resembled that of the sphinx, if it had a nose. She had seen John the Master-Thief hours ago, and had a gentle crush on him.
The Assorted Man Preparing to Kill Himself was named Dave. At the exact moment that the final note of the chant rang out, he flung himself overboard. He died upon hitting the water, and his corpse was caught in a current that would land him, remarkably after only three days, in Northern Algeria-Algiers, to be precise.
Obviously, the four black-hooded figures vanished at 8 AM, as did the second mate.
Also at 8 AM, the boxes in the cargo rooms began to make strange noises, and move slightly.
There were seventeen boxes, all of them large enough to hold, piled up, about a hundred corpses. They were of such structural integrity that a hundred slightly stronger than average men could break them open from inside after about fifteen minutes.
For one box, the time was considerably shorter, due to a dialogue between two guards that went much like this.
"Hey, what’s that noise?"
"I don’t know. Sounds like it’s coming from the boxes."
"Shouldn’t we check it out?"
"I dunno, we’re just supposed to guard them, we’re not supposed to, y’know, pay any attention to them or anything."
"But, what if it’s someone stealing it?"
"It’s gonna be hard to steal boxes that big."
"I think we should open it."
There was a pause.
"Yeah, you’re right. Go on, there’s a crowbar right there."
"What, me? No way, you’re opening it!"
"No, no, no, it was your idea!"
"Yeah, but you’re the one who… Oh, alright, fine, I’ll do it."
Some shuffling sound; then some creaking, then some more shuffling, then a thump.
"Oh, shit."
Followed by screams.
Surely enough, there were 100 corpses in the box. To no one’s surprise except for those involved, the corpses were not exactly dead in any traditional sense.
John quickly left his vantage point on the ceiling, to run screaming through the halls of the ship to make sure that everyone was awake. Soon, they were.
Previous Episode
Next Episode
This episode is the second in a series of four, introducing us to four new sets of characters (three, if you want to be picky about it) who will provide the writer with a variety of material while he tries to determine how to present the stories of the four (five if you want to be picky about it) groups of already established characters. All groups will be returned to at a later date, unless they die in their first appearance, in which case they will, likely, not be revisited. Do not skip one of these "filler" episodes, as they are not really filler at all, and may in fact expand on themes and present clues as to the nature of the crisis; they may also, incidentally, expand on characters that have already been established.
On the Mediterranean Sea, somewhere, when the last note of the mysterious song rang out (8 AM, they had just crossed into a new time zone) there was a boat.
This boat had a fair crew. There was, of course, Captain Clark, who was made a captain May 17 of that year, at 2300 hours. He was a good captain.
His first mate was a Hispanic man named Jesus. Jesus had always dreamed of being a co-pilot (being a pilot had always felt like too much responsibility to him,) but he had a medical condition that prevented him from flying. This was the next best job he could find.
The second mate was a quiet man. Few people new his name (Simon) but everyone mildly liked him. He wasn’t at all creepy. But no one had ever been into his room. They didn’t know about his modified HAM Radio, or his mysterious black robe.
There were two other administrative crew members, Mates Rozenkrantz and Gildanstern. How either became an officer on a ship is nearly as mysterious as the black-robed men. Neither was fond of the sea, and neither ever knew what was going on. They were always together, so the majority of people who knew them thought of them as one entity, Rozenkrantzandgildanstern. Few people ever even knew which of the two was which.
There were four chefs. The head chef was named Jean-Yves Mabus (a distant cousin of Dr. Dave Mabus, named after their common ancestor who had been an integral, though forgotten, part of the French Student Revolts that Victor Hugo wrote of. The original Jean-Yves Mabus had been a very Harry Dude, and had a repressed and never apparent female persona named Mary-Sue) and was a much better administrator than chef. The best chef onboard was a woman named Daisy Kincade. She was not a good chef because she was a woman, but because her parents had, at an early age, sent her off to the only monastery in the world that studied the little known fighting style of Kung Food. Yes, the name sounds like a bad pun, but I assure you that it is real. The monastery is in Hungary.
The other two chefs were named Steve and David. There was absolutely nothing special about either of them, except for the fact that they had the capabilities to be chefs on a sea ship.
There were seven janitors, or swabbies, or whatever you call people on a boat who clean up. The head janitor was a man who took cleanliness very seriously. His name was Burt; he had been trained, from an early age, to be tidy and orderly in a very timely fashion. He was raised at a monastery deep inside of the easily forgotten nation of Aneristan, which had been free throughout the 20th century despite its position near the center of the USSR, only because no Soviet or American leaders ever took note of its existence for more than ten minutes. Burt was trained in the just-as-well-known martial art of Broom-Jitsu.
Captain Clark’s may have been the most absurdly, and surprisingly, well-protected ship on the open seas. Ever.
The other janitors included Moe, Larry, Curly, and Shemp (but nobody liked him; besides, oftentimes you could only see the back of his head) as well as Lauren and Artie (both men, for the record,) a tall man and a fat man who hated each other (Well, only Lauren hated Artie; Artie was perfectly fond of Babbit) and still spent all their time together. Babbit was very straight, in every sense of the word. He would have made a good Broom-Jitsu adept. Artie, on the other hand, had little personal restraint. They hated, despised, and abhorred Rozenkrantz and Gildanstern, and the feeling was mutual.
There were seventeen guards, armed with small arms. They were present solely for the cargo (whose contents will be described shortly) and were actually first time guards. Neither had any of them ever had any intention of being guards. But when the second mate had approached them with so much money, who were they to refuse? No one was ever suspicious of the hirings of course, because the second mate was so well trusted.
The ship also had a complement of 23 various other crew members who did all the various jobs; Bartenders (there were 3 bars on the ship) and Casino Manager (it was a small casino; ten slot machines and three video poker machines, all crammed together) and other odds and ends. There were, additionally, five engineers/mechanics in the engine room.
There were few passengers, for whatever reason. Amongst them were The World’s Greatest Assassin, World’s Most Successful Thief, The Rightful Ruler of Bavaria (possibly; either that, or a crazy man,) A Mistakenly Discredited Paranormal Investigator (she espoused the idea that giant jellyfish in the air caused the majority of alien sightings,) An Assorted Man Preparing to Kill Himself, and four Black-Hooded Figures.
The World’s Greatest Assassin called himself Bob. When he came to kill you, the first thing you noticed was his hat. He always wore it, but only his victims ever actually noticed it. For everyone else, it was just a hat atop a man. All his victims noticed it, though. It was a very round hat. If it was a long distance assassination, it was all that you would see. If he were to do the deed up close, the next thing you noticed would be his sunglasses. They were sleek: think Devo, but intimidating. Continuing to watch him approach you, ready to kill, you would notice his absolute lack of a smile. The jacket he wore vaguely resembled a trenchcoat, but was neither as long nor as heavy as one; it was somehow more intimidating than a trenchcoat would have been. He wore leather gloves. His pants were always black, to match everything else in the outfit. Now, you’re terrified with this man coming at you, right? Well, in despair, you looked own at his shoes, and they are black flip-flops. This always takes a moment to process, as does the red stain on them; it’s easy to see, that’s not blood, that’s pizza sauce. In terrified confusion, your eyes begin to rise again; his pants are coated in stains of varying colors. That terrifying jacket? It’s got water and pizza stains all over it. His leather gloves have a spattering of white paint, obtained when he helped someone paint the interior of their house. Oftentimes, that’s all that the victim will see of him; occasionally, though, they get to see his chapped lips, the scratches and water stains on his glasses, and the sheer floppiness of his hat. Anyone with a true grasp of the universe is struck with utter terror at that final fact. The victim who gets to see all this invariably has the last thought of "How the hell did I miss all that on the way down?" And then they are down and didn’t notice anything on that way down. All of the stains and such are engineered to lower people’s defences. Except for the floppy hat-that’s something that he really uses to intimidate the more courageous of his targets. But who suspects the man in flip flops who can’t eat pizza of intending to kill national leaders? No one, that’s who.
Staying in the room next to Bob (they were awful rooms; 10 foot by 10 foot, two bunk beds making a total of four beds, not containing a treasure chest and not guarded by an orc) was John, master thief. He had one of those headbands that thieves invariably wear if they’re any good, and sometimes worn by un-masked ninjas or hipsters from the 80’s. He also wore a tattered vest and a hungry, happy, conniving look. He was so obviously a thief that no one ever suspected him. Hiding in plain sight was his specialty, and it had made him rich. He continued to dress in his thievery clothes, though, so that he could continue to practice thievery without question. He was onboard because of the cargo. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know that it was guarded by 17 guards. He did his research; he knew that the guards were new, so it was probably some sort of trap for him. He didn’t know or care who had set it up, but he wanted to pull off the heist, both for the challenge and to show off to the fool who set it up, to send the message that he wasn’t that easy to beat.
Quasimodo Weishaupt, the man who claimed to be The Rightful Ruler of Bavaria, was 23, since his birthday on May 17. He knew that he would not be the one to take the throne, because his birth was not at the fated time or day. However, he had a 5-year-old son back in Delphi who had been born at Midnight, on Walpurgisnacht. He was now journeying to Switzerland, where the legendary Sword of Greyface was supposed to be hidden. He wanted his son to have a truly mighty weapon to lead his rise.
The Paranormal Investigator was named Gaz. She was working her way across Europe, seeking out ley lines to prove her major hypothesis (what giant jellyfish in the sky had to do with ley lines is a mystery, but so is what anything has anything to do with ley lines, which they certainly seem to be connected, anythings and ley lines) and simultaneously clearing her mind with a self-imposed paranormal society exile. She was of an Indian descent-not Native American, but rather sub-continental Indian-and was fairly short, with long, beautiful, black hair. Her face, strangely, vaguely resembled that of the sphinx, if it had a nose. She had seen John the Master-Thief hours ago, and had a gentle crush on him.
The Assorted Man Preparing to Kill Himself was named Dave. At the exact moment that the final note of the chant rang out, he flung himself overboard. He died upon hitting the water, and his corpse was caught in a current that would land him, remarkably after only three days, in Northern Algeria-Algiers, to be precise.
Obviously, the four black-hooded figures vanished at 8 AM, as did the second mate.
Also at 8 AM, the boxes in the cargo rooms began to make strange noises, and move slightly.
There were seventeen boxes, all of them large enough to hold, piled up, about a hundred corpses. They were of such structural integrity that a hundred slightly stronger than average men could break them open from inside after about fifteen minutes.
For one box, the time was considerably shorter, due to a dialogue between two guards that went much like this.
"Hey, what’s that noise?"
"I don’t know. Sounds like it’s coming from the boxes."
"Shouldn’t we check it out?"
"I dunno, we’re just supposed to guard them, we’re not supposed to, y’know, pay any attention to them or anything."
"But, what if it’s someone stealing it?"
"It’s gonna be hard to steal boxes that big."
"I think we should open it."
There was a pause.
"Yeah, you’re right. Go on, there’s a crowbar right there."
"What, me? No way, you’re opening it!"
"No, no, no, it was your idea!"
"Yeah, but you’re the one who… Oh, alright, fine, I’ll do it."
Some shuffling sound; then some creaking, then some more shuffling, then a thump.
"Oh, shit."
Followed by screams.
Surely enough, there were 100 corpses in the box. To no one’s surprise except for those involved, the corpses were not exactly dead in any traditional sense.
John quickly left his vantage point on the ceiling, to run screaming through the halls of the ship to make sure that everyone was awake. Soon, they were.
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