Category Archives: Alphabetic Dialogues

An experiment in writing based on the classic improv comedy game, the imaginatively titled ‘Alphabet Game’. 26 exchanges each beginning with the next letter of the alphabet. The results are sometimes odd. To read more about the Alphabet Game, read here: http://missimp.co.uk/2011/03/13/the-alphabet-game/

The Wedding Adventure

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Pirate's Wedding by Razor Geisha

Pirate’s Wedding by Razor Geisha

Cat-calls and whistles rang out from the foredeck as Sharon danced and wheeled. Dark though the night was, we’d fought it back with gaily coloured lanterns and affixed candles to our clothes such as those flingin’ wax from Sharon’s shimmies. Every crewman was on deck, save for a sole lookout in the crow’s nest, his peepers peeled for trouble. For tonight was a time of celebration.

Gaargh, me betrothal to me beloved Roberta Clementine had been a stressful and dangerous time. Her brother’s me arch-nemesis y’see- the indefatigable bastard Admiral Kneehorn. I’d bested him in cunning on many occasions and seen me men busted in irons. Just the presence of Roberta Clementine on board The Grim Bastard placed us all in terrible danger. Know ye that the heart of a pirate cannot be quenched with the bowel-watery fear of steel, additionally ye have to prioritise in this job. Lovely she were, laden with white silks, plundered jewels and gold. Men would happily die just to get a glimpse of her winking charm.

Ne’er before has me chest swelled with such pride as I stepped onto deck, me unicorn of the sea peg leg and black velvet night-smiting suit cutting an equally fine figure. Oh, certainly the narwhal’s face spike gouged horrible holes in the deck, as tis mainly for harming the ships of others’ on special occasions.

Proudly I took her arm and led her twixt a corridor of mooning pirates to the forecastle where we’d installed our captive priesty-man. Quellglum, or Reverend Quellglum as he insisted, we’d lately acquired from a missionary vessel which had willingly spread her legs for us. Reading us the ceremony his delivery was marred only a little by the tics and stammer that afflicted the shy clergical. Signalling to Gashin’ Alan to draw off his blade from the vicar’s throat seemed to aid his wordery.

The ceremony was lovely: No Hands Mick gave a rousin’ shanty and the cabin lads’d sought out some moving verse to enchant and inspire the night. Under the glow of our lanterns and grins of me men I took Roberta Clementine’s hand and placed a ring upon it, for she was a thing I liked. Virginal she seemed, and though twas laughably untrue for either of us, we were reborn in our vows.

We kissed and the wedding entertainment unfolded. Exceeding fully me expectations (these being the lads who’d inflated squid for strewing about the Christmas tree) we had bunting o’ stolen lace, music, dancing and an ominous soliloquy. Ye tone was odd but Gashin’ Alan had had an awful lot of rum so we cheered him regardless. Zealously he concluded his solo by hurling himself from the ship. After fishing him out we further rummed ourselves and danced the night away.

Bright was our future, so bright that it blinded me to the unmanned crow’s nest and that the Reverend Quellglum was signalling with a lamp into the night…

The Smuggling Adventure (Alphabetic 19)

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Me heart sank like a man wrapped in chain. Never more would me nights be brightened by the babbling banality of ‘Jabbery’ Jackigan Samuels. Oh aye, he was an annoying fellow in his own way. Particularly when ye sought sleep and his endless tongue-flapping persisted into his snoozling drone. Quilts, pillows and sacks of gold merely muffled his ceaseless speech. Recognisin’ the special qualities of a fellow is me own special talent as pirate captain. This lad was one I could send into any sticky situation confident he’d either talk his way out or be permanently silenced; tis a victory either way.

“Unmentionable” is one of the many ways to describe The Fishwife’s Bra tavern and brasserie which skulked under the cliffs at Doompoint. Verucca-footed and syphilis-cheeked were the pockmarked profiteers who managed the local black market from her filthy corners. Why we’d chosen to trade with them’s a matter of debate with knives upon The Grim Bastard. Exit strategies from our arrangement we’d had several and all rejected for such frippery as the difficulty in persuading sharks to pose as night-maidens.

Ye matter was growing serious for the Doompoint Boys were well known for their violent treachery and unwholesome business ethics. Zen was not in their nature. Add to that the further difficulties into which Jabbery Jackigan had gotten us. By leaving the garrulous fellow on his own in their company we’d erred severely. Call me naïve if ye will but I truly thought that even Jackigan had the sense not to tell the bootleggers about our “other deal” with the King of Tarsus.

Deal with the devil it were – Tarsus had granted us privateer rights in his waters, provided we repaid him by occasionally uncloakin’ the viler bandits that troll in the shallow ends of the rock pool. Ever since that unfortunate affair where his son dressed up as a courtesan and slipped aboard our ship durin’ our special time we’d been in Tarsus’ pockets as well as his prayers. For my part I’d no love for these keel-juice men – our treasure trove was the greater for their loss.

Gaargh, but that damn fool with the flapping face had unveiled us as the King’s men. Hell broke loose when we arrived at the booty cave, the Doompoint Boys had sharp swords, pistols and mean faces pointed at us. In the froth of battle I accidentally set light to the bootleggers’ overproof rum which blasted ‘em out of the cave and into the sea. Jellyfish season was in so they’d no chance of swimming for it: they were trapped in that congealed sting-a-ling beast custard.

Kneeling by the shore was Jackigan Samuels still prattling to the bloated, numb and singed smugglers; next to him lay a length of chain. Like I said, me heart sank exactly like the man wrapped in chains with a stream of bubbles a testament to his inability to keep his trap shut.

The Mercenary Adventure (Alphabetic 18)

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War came to the tiny island o’ Gibbelania. Exhibitin’ all the traits o’ the scornful stereotypes with which her rivals painted her people, they shrieked, hopped and babbled in fear. “Yarr” we cried in excitement as her castle walls fell to our cannons’ punchin’. “Zero mercy” had been declared by our patron and paymaster in this mission. Aye, we were in it for the doubloons – we owed a favour to the King of Tarsus and he’d see it repayed with the swash of our swords. Booty were also part of our enticement; a crocodile’s weight in gold on devastation of the town.

Changing from iron to incendiaries we rained flame upon the gibbering locals. Doubtless they’d offended Tarsus through their mangled speech – twas irritatin’ enough to hear ‘em scream. Every dwellin’ of Gibbelania was afire and we considered our work complete and without setting boot to land, to boot. Feeling well pleased with ourselves we set sail for Tarsus and our shiny reptilian prize.

Gales whisked us to and fro about the sea, sending us twisted about the archipelago of Grim’s Basket, so named by the locals for the bastard creatures ye’re like to stumble across upon your doorstep when ye wake. Had I more wit about me I’d have delayed our passage but the allure of gold’s reliable in damping me caution. I regretted our haste when the first beastkins of the Basket pounced upon us.

Jealous of our life and freshish breath ghostly figures emerged from the sea and clawed at our timbers. Killing ‘em were no option for us owing to their post-life states. Leadshot confused ‘em though, shreddin’ their essence on the waves; the spirits fell behind us as we navigated the straits of the Basket. Me heart sank further as serpentine throats rose out of the rocky reefs, teeth snapping and hissing as we passed.

Now our fears’d come alive: the Morbid Serpent was a beast known to all seamen – tis the ‘cumulated memory of all those fallen to ye blade. Orange faced, spear-toothed with a hide of scales reflectin’ the faces of weeping and raging foes the creature snarled at me men – a head for each of us. Perhaps I’m less sensitive than some of me crew for rather than quail at the sight I merely loaded me whale gun and unloaded her spark-wise into the brute’s familiar patchwork skull. Quite what result I’d expected I couldn’t rightly say, but I’d certainly not imagined the meta-Morbid Serpent – a confusticated writhing of victimised serrpent flesh, turning its face inside out to reveal its own abused soul. Royally puzzled it bit off its own heads and collapsed in a swirling self-hating heap of ooze.

Suddenly smooth sea guided us out of Grim’s Basket and into the port o’ Tarsus. Twas most convenient and we fairly bounded into the King’s throneroom – makin’ clear twas to claim our prize, and definitely not to run away from the ocean. Unbeknownst to us the King had a range o’ pet crocodiles and he ushered only the smallest and unhealthiest runty lizard onto the scales for balancin’ against the gold. Virgil was the King’s name and I determined never to allow his name any sway in my future dealings – so it was that I waited till evenin’ to ensure his daughter suffered not from that burden.

 

The Priests of Tzazanoth

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Twixt Earth and Moon lie creatures whose existence I’d never even suspected. Unless you peer upwards through a device wrought by the dark astronomical arts you’d never perceive them. Vile, amorphous shapes loose in the Earth’s halo, sheltered by the mystic shroud the Moon casts over them. Wizened travellers from the birth of time, they lie in wait about our tiny hub of life; they wait to consume it.Extolling the virtues of Nethersight the priesthood of Tzazanoth hold rituals ghastly and foul at the Lunar apex. “Yield to our influence, embrace the sacred blinding hood and have your will sapped and fed to the masters”. Zealotry drives them and their combination of archaic speech and sensory deprivation appealed to me.

After I succumbed to their ideals I found myself clad in black, kneeling in a ring about their temple enclave. By midnight we were cold and bored, the other devotees and I. Calling for the undead gods of a dimension twisted between our own and the death of the universe was tiring.

Despite the lack of response from hours of incantation and exhortation the Tzazanothian priesthood’s spirits remained high. Ever optimistic of summoning the end of the world they bade us rise and bear flaming brands. “Fling them moonward” they cried with their slackened faces and blazing eyes. Galling though it is to admit now I too tossed my torch into the air. I was stunned when it hung there, seemingly lodged in some invisible structure. Just as I was thinking of slipping out the back too.

Keys were produced by the priests, great horned pieces of filigreed iron which they raised and twisted in the air. Light of a dark and ethereal nature rained down on us like burning rainbows. My eyes burned with unnatural hues, men fell screaming to the ground, their minds unable to grasp the palette of the undead gods. Near the heart of the temple formed an apparition: a twisting figure of wings and writhing tentacles which obscured a fanged skull and hungry leer.

Obsidian blood spattered over us, soaking the ground, rising to our knees and hardening the portal into the undead realm. Perhaps it was then that the reality of the ritual finally hit me – I could not be party to this welcoming of death. Quickly I leaped for the nearest key which had become ossified in the air and with a savage twist, snapped the head off it.

Really, that was the diametric opposite to my intention. So the gateway could not now be closed; gargantuan forms laughed at us their horrid laughter echoing like the death of stars through time. That was my part in the revenance of Earth my friends, and that is why we huddle now in this cellar as Tzazanoth’s hordes scratch at the door.

The Citric Adventure

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Water’s cold when it slaps ye in the face, wettin’ ye features and dragging ye into its arms. Xanthic fish darted about me, evadin’ me splashy bubbles. Yellow they were, and reminded me o’ how I’d come to be sinkin’ face first into the deeps. Zesty indeed had been the feast prepared by our chef, Monty McBuboe. As we’d grown terrifiyingly loose in the tooth during our voyage about the horn of Nepal, I’d made sure to insist that our citric stocks be refilled when we slapped into land once more. Benevolence was the name o’ that harbour, though she were far from’t.

Cautiously our vessel ploughed through their rude pier and came to rest in the general grocer’s. Damned if they weren’t the least friendly o’ folks whose livelihoods we’ve crushed on a poor landin’. Every one of ‘em was in uproar about some matter, whether it were the state o’ their matchwood fishin’ craft, the now open-air market or the grim fate of the orphan crab lads who’d dwelled beneath the pier. For my part I can take such discourtesy only so far, and then I feels obliged to retort ye see. Gashin’ and slashin’ we went, till ye ornery peasants were quieted. Havin’ asserted what the lack o’ manners’ll get ye we appropriated what items we needed for our onward journey. I selected for meself a rare rum or two and left Monty to do the quartermasterin’.

Just as we were to take our leave a wench presented herself – not as a gift, mind ye (which somewhat spoiled me mood) but as a way o’ payin’ off our supposed debt for esposin’ the weakness o’ their portly structures. Keryn were her name, a brooding and malign creature proffered to us at the end of long pointy sticks; I distrusted her immediately, for ye should trust no one who cannot rightly spell their own name. Lest I should seem rude meself I accepted the lass, and promised to convey her to a land of her choosin’. Me next minutes were involved in the sniffin’ o’ them sharp waxy treats that Monty secured on deck, and I quite lost track o’ the mispelled maiden. Neatly we hauled ourselves out from the rubble o’ their town and back into the scurvy sea. Over the horizon and far from where ye enemies can spot ye, that’s me motto.

Perhaps I should have reviewed our inventor more carefully, for tea time brought with it some surprises. Quince be spat into the ocean – for tis lemon that makes the finest tart, and Monty with his dusty top scrapin’s made the finest tart on the ocean. Readyin’ me dessert knife I readied me gullet for its tangy treat, suspectin’ nothing for I’d made no notice of the wench hangin’ above me in the dark. Suddenly I caught her reflection in me blade as she pounced,  teeth bared and eyes ablaze.

Twas then I recalled the reason for mistrust that ought to have preceded her mauled monicker. Usually ye savage Murther-Kin o’ Nethery Hatchet sought me out on land for the offences I’ve caused ‘em. Vanity’s a cruel mistress to their assassins and their greatest weakness so I slapped the tart in her face, followed by me cake blade. Well I’d reckoned without her havin’ a suicide powder tooth ignited by the touch o’ citrus, though it did explain her fearful breath as I was blown backwards into the waiting sea.

Dusting – Alphabetic Dialogues 15

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Sir Bramley Facespierre, master of the immaterial arts reflects on a life of conflict and deceit in his twilight years. He is attended in his manor by Bronzewick, his long-suffering servant.

Sir BF “Vanquished are mine enemies, at long last.”
B         “Well done sir.”
Sir BF “Exterminated with extreme prejudice and elegance.”
B         “Your powers are ever impressive sir.”
Sir BF “Zealously have I slain those who mocked me and scattered their playthings in the mud.”
B         “And we are both grateful and worshipful sir”
Sir BF “Bronzewick, do I detect a faint note of sarcasm in your otherwise obsequious tone?”
B         “Considering the awe-inspiring depths of your insight into the minds of man, sir, I would be astonished if such a thing fell beneath your notice. Sir.”
Sir BF “Doubtless a mind such as mine is indeed proof against deceit.”
B         “Everyone says so sir.”
Sir BF “Fulsome praise indeed, and wholly merited.”
B         “God himself would warm you with his approbation sir.”
Sir BF “Have I ever told you how I came into possession of my powers?”
B         “If I may sir, I do have an awful lot of household duties to accomplish this morning.”
Sir BF “Just a moment Bronzewick, this will take but a moment.”
B         “(Kill me now).”
Sir BF “Look out beyond those trees – over the horizon.”
B         “My sir, what an uncommonly attractive view.”
Sir BF “Oh Bronzewick, ever is your mind fastened to the mere surface of things.”
B         “Please sir, I have dusting to attend to.”
Sir BF “Quell your anxieties Bronzewick, I shall reveal all; we are all made of the same dust – its presence on baubles can surely matter little.”
B         “Rarely is a servant so blessed with such an elightened and generous employer.”
Sir BF “So, one Tuesday or perhaps Thursday in a June long ago I located-“
B         “-through wit, intuition and mastery of the practical arts-“
Sir BF “Unless you cease your interruptions I’ll never manage to relate to you my secrets – oh, I see.”
B         “Very good sir, now if you don’t mind I’ll be about my spoon polishing.”

 

The Dancing Adventure

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imageAllow me to relate to ye the tale o’ Alan and the giant. Burly he were, and rough and tumble in manner except for his feet. Childlike would be the kindest way to describe ‘em, for they were minute and soft with the daintiest nails o’ which ye could conceive. Defining his tasks aboard ship’s tricksy – his bulk made him a fine marauder, and his twinkle-toes were ideal for dancing. Every third moon he’d combine the two in ye pirate dance-off contest.

For many years now ye buccaneer’s boogie had been the highlight o’ the seasons held down at Captain Spim’s Honolulu Boogaloo Hut, up Knifer’s Creek way.Gaaargh, twas a dance to the death. Halibut Harry (a man rank with fishy pores) was the judge at the end o’ the springy months when we returned from sea and tossed Alan into ye dancin’ pit. I’d high hopes o’ victory and wrestin’ ye ivory dancin pump back from Captain Aaaarsbeard.

Just before Alan’s opponent leaped into the pit I’d one of me hilarious premonitions o’ doom. Knives and fire danced before me eyes and cruel mocking laughter filled me ears. Less than a second’s fraction later there came a “ho ho ho” and a vast figure of a man parted the crowd like butter and stepped into the pit. Me heart thumped; Alan’s failed. Now he were a brave lad, make no mistake: he’s taken down men as wide but never so tall. Over ten foot tall at me best reckonin’, for his head pierced the open mouth o’ the pit. Perhaps he came from foreign lands where they prized his unnecessary heightitude.

Quickly the jiggy-bout was over. Right out of ye flutey gate (ye tempo was set by a hammers and metal bars and ye melody fluted o’er the top) Alan ran up the giant’s back, his delicate feet carefully placed to ride his knobbly spine. So swift was Alan’s ascent and so dainty his step that the giant barely noticed till it was too late. Tip-tap tippy tap: Alan’s tap-shoe clad feet slammed and punted into his foe’s head and shoulders. Unless ye’ve been slapped about the head with them steely toe-tips ye’ve no knowin’ of the harm they wreak. Virtuoso style Alan skipped and spun to the flighty flute-tune, every step an elegant kick to the skull and testament to his skill.

We were silent as the music tailed away, and Alan’s mount swayed in memory of his pounding. Xylophones burst into life to sound the end of the contest and the giant collapsed. Ye could not believe the roar of approval and applause as Alan nimbly hopped from the falling giant to the pit’s lip and landed in a plie. Zealously we guarded him as we seized up the ivory dancing pump and our rum reward.

An Amourous Pirate – Alphabetic Dialogues 14

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Captain Ignatius Pigheart samples the dubious pleasures of ‘Old Maisy’s Hole’, one of the few hostelries that offer welcome to a man of the sea. Within its dank walls lie the scum of the port; gamblers, thieves, cripples and night ladies sprawl across the stained furniture. Ignatius brings out the old Captain Loveheart routine for the pretty barwench. Not Old Maisy mind. Braver men than he have attempted to plunder her charms and beaten a hasty retreat as lesser men.

‘Bashful lass eh? Come to me lap ye fine chested beauty. Don’t fear a man with just one hand. Eye too. For tis a sign o’ me bravery and manhood. Gaaargh, ye seems not tempted. Have I an unappealin’ scent about me? It be to ye credit that ye be so honest. Just withhold ye further candour for fear o’ harmin’ me pride. Know ye that I’ve wooed many a lass, above and below ye waves. Let me regale ye with such a tale o’ me piscine paramour. Me state were one o’ inebriation. No, not ye same degree as me present. Oh, for ye moon were spinful and ye stars a thicket. Pray, imagine ye the calll of a merwench. Quite the most allurin’ sound to pierce a fishy gill. Readyin’ me lovin’ portions I were, for action. Softly I called to her. Twas an arrow through me heart when she splashed towards me. Under the waves our bodies met, me leg and her tail entwined. Velvet soft was ‘er touch, aye, ye captain shivered in her embrace. Wet too, but tis expected in ye ocean. eXitin’ ye tavern already? Ye’ll be sad to miss out of the climax o’ me tale. Zephyrs o’ sighs spilled out of ye merwench in delight. And ye could be so lucky, if’n ye so choose…’

Burnin’ Vermin – Alphabetic Dialogues 12

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The Grim Bastard: Captain Ignatius Pigheart and ship’s cook Monty McBuboe decide on their priorities.

MM ‘Topsail’s a-flame cap’n.’
IG ‘Ulcerated albatrosses! Douse her lads, douse her!’
MM ‘Vermin are diving overboard sir.’
IG ‘Well hook ‘em back an’ bag ‘em for supper Monty.’
MM ‘eXpertly braise on ye wood fire for a satisfyin’ly smoky rat steak.’
IG ‘Your cuisine’s more appetisin’ when anonymity shrouds its shame.’
MM ‘Zoology were a bitter disappointment – they shunned me fragile digits for I were cack-handed in me mammal-handling. Now I eats ‘em in vengeance.’
IG ‘After ye’ve exhausted ye gland o’ self-pity perhaps ye’d be so kind as to return to the matter o’ me mastly immolation.’
MM ‘Burnin’ ye say?’
IG ‘Could ye kindly re-affix ye listening ear Monty. Tis lyin’ upon ye caulkin’.
MM ‘Dear captain, where would me senses be without you?’
IG ‘Everywhere about the ship I’d imagine ye leprous dog.’
MM ‘Fret not cap’n, tis but a job for a dab o’ narwhal paste.’
IG ‘Get ye ear, and get ye rats snaffled for vittlin’. Then get ye a bucket.’
MM ‘Have a heart cap’n, ye riggin’ grabbin’ll tug off me loosely hung limbs.’
IG ‘I’ve no heart for ye moanin’ – aye it’ll be some ludicrous punishment for ye.’
MM ‘Just wait till I find me union representative.’
IG ‘Killed in action last week.’
MM ‘Luckless Larry never did well in battle.’
IG ‘My doubloons were on ye enemy from the start’
MM ‘Now cap’n, lose not your heart. Ye have a fine ship and crew.’
IG ‘Oh Monty, would that I could rely on me shipmates to put out fires, and yet ye stand here a-chunterin’.’
MM ‘Perhaps ye might get more from ye crew with less sarcasm cap’n.’
IG ‘Quibbles and quiddities McBuboe!’
MM ‘Right sir, re-affix me ear, gather rats and aid ye de-flaming efforts?’
IG ‘Stop ye prevaricatin’ – tis ye fire that grows most urgent.’
MM ‘Tis a moot point now cap’n for ye sails be cindered.’

Alphabetic Dialogues 11 ~ Your Daughter, Sir

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Franklyn de Gashe fresh returned from adventures with android zombies in the past has crashed a party and fallen in love. It is not appropriate to his station, nonethless he is a persistent man. At length he consults with the father of his newfound love Emily, in the drawing room of her father’s house Greypairs, the seat of the Duke of Welmschably. It is not a comfortable conversation.

FdG “Gallantly, I stalked her across the ballroom”
DoW “Have you a different definition of gallantry, sir?”
FdG “I implore you to be silent while I recount my adventure, else you are like to misunderstand me”
DoW “Just get on with it”
FdG “Knife in hand I slipped past the champagne-touting waiters, and behind the chaise”
DoW “Let’s see, stalking and armed. This is how you come to my party?”
FdG “My dear fellow, one ought not to invite a chap if he can’t attend in comfort”
DoW “No – that’s not the same as arriving without a tie”
FdG “Oh, you and your rules. My dear duke, have you never wanted to feel free?”
DoW “Perhaps you’d consider loosening my bonds that I might embrace liberty myself.”
FdG “Quell your passions man, you’re among friends here.”
[a call from without] “Rally the guards!”
DoW “Spare me and my family and I’ll make you a wealthy man”
FdG “That’s the difference between you and she my good man. While you cower and bribe, she draped herself upon the chaise, surrounded by admirers as I approached, knifely.”
DoW “Unless you release me I shall call for my manservants.”
FdG “Very well. An honest ploy. And yet I doubt they’ll hear you”
DoW “Why you devil. You monster.”
FdG “eXhibiting a great deal of your daughter’s passion now Dukey. I like it”
DoW “Zounds man, if you’ve harmed her-”
FdG “And what if I have?”
DoW “By the good lord I’ll hunt you down if you’ve laid a finger on her”
FdG “Calm yourself. The knife was a gift.”
DoW “Doubtless your stalking was merely a dance step of sorts”
“Every move I make is a kind of dance. With death, with fate. With a lady”
DoW “FRANKLYN!”
FdG “Good lord, I’d no idea it was inheriting your lungs that made her chest so proud.”
DoW “Have you quite finished”
FdG “I have not, I’d planned to recount in full the joys of your daughter”
DoW “Joys!”
FdG “‘kerchief to wipe away your tears?”
DoW “Let me free and I’ll show you where you can put your handkerchief”
FdG “My my, perhaps I’ll have to gag you to prevent your spoiling of my tale”
DoW “No nummmph, nng, nmmuumph”
FdG “Oh, now you are tiresomely inarticulate.”
DoW “Pfah! You’re a monster de Gashe”
FdG “Query: would you commonly insult a man who’s tied you up and expressed his love for your first-born?”
DoW “Relinquish your claims to love sir, for you are a but an uncommonly debauched man and your pretense does you no favours”
FdG “So, you doubt the purity of my love for your daughter’s pale yet musuclar thighs, the bruising of her lips upon mine, the naughty twinkling in her starry eyes, the soft envelopes of her?”
DoW “Talk not of her lady parts lest I call you out in a duel”
FdG “Understand me now Dukey, after I despatched her watchers she and I eloped to a room of finery, gilded about the walls and strewn about with comfort…”
DoW “Vileness! You bedded her in her grandmother’s chamber?!”
FdG “Well there was a bony thing in the bed, but I thought it an odd doll or somesuch”
DoW “Xandria, my beloved mother”
FdG “You might find her somewhat flattened by our passions”
DoW “Zealously we shall hunt you down and make you pay”
FdG “And that’s why I offer to your charming and uninhibited daughter my hand in marriage”
DoW “Believe me when I say I’d rather endure her shame than have you as a son”
FdG “Calm now father, you’re becoming quite purple”
DoW “Don’t patronise me you scoundrel”
FdG “Everyone needs time to think things through, I’m sure you’ll reach the same conclusion about Emily that I have”
DoW “For the last time de Gashe, your insult to my family’s honour will not go unavenged”
FdG “Gallantly then, I shall now go and stalk your second, less attractive daughter.”

Alphabetic Dialogues 10 – The Moist Pirate

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The good Captain Ignatius Pigheart and his friend Horatio the Hermit are spending a penny or two in ye another Scandinavian bar. Their conversation degrades along with the whale ale.

HH ‘Tis damp out’
IP ‘Unnervin’ skill ye have there Horatio, o’ notin’ ye matters o’ least note’
HH ‘Verily was a worshipped as a Seer in the lands of me youth’
IP ‘Worshipped? Whipped I’d reckon closer to the tellery’
HH ‘eXcelling in the reading of the future was no beatable fate’
IP ‘Ye hide bears testament to a differin’ past’
HH ‘Zealots of mine enemies rose against me, jealous of my powers of foresight Ignatius’
IP ‘And so ye lurks in a cave ‘pon ye ocean’s snatch?’
HH ‘Belittling my gifts diminishes them not at all’
IP ‘Cuttin’ ye own guts out and bestrewin’ their lyin’ twists upon the floor might fray ye skills’
HH ‘Doubtless you’ve never had occasion to consult with one of my own profession, then?’
IP ‘Every seaman tosses himself into the wind no matter the squawkin’ of ye gut-wranglers’
HH ‘For shame Ignatius, have not I plotted your course true this night at least’
IP ‘Gods man, ye take credit even for the cooin’ night-lasses whose throaty tune lures us from ship to tavern?’
HH ‘Hark, doubting Ignatius’
IP ‘I be harkin”
HH ‘Just – be still and at peace a moment’
IP ‘Kill the blasted seal and tell me of me future then’
HH ‘Let me just… ah’
IP ‘Mark me! Tis a miracle the beastie could fit all that inside him, however did he float?’
HH ‘Now, within the swerving entrails I see your path – a dark, doubting path’
IP ‘Oho, tis rightful sir, for I’d scarce trust the tattered bridge that wends about the village here’
HH ‘Pestilence upon your mockery! The prophet’s eye is open and sees you through’
IP ‘Quiet you, lest ye wish to remain upon this wretched rock come morning’
HH ‘Resisting the future will bring you only pain Ignatius. Fight not the truth of my augury, for you flail futilely against my foretellings. Pain, pain!’
IP ‘So ye be stayin’ here in Mudflapperson then Horation?’
HH ‘There are many interpretations a man can draw from the innards of a seal. Mayhap I’ll cast again.’

Alphabetic Dialogues 9 ~ A Stump, My Kingdom For A Stump

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The Grim Bastard has suffered a fatal blow amidships. She’s like to meet Mr Jones on the ocean floor, unless the varied beasts of the deep tear her asunder. And yet, escape is not so simple for Captain Ignatius Pigheart and No Hands Mick…

I “I think me peg’s grown stuck.”

M “Jammed tight twixt ye plankings, Captain”

I “Kelp be damned! Tis poor timing”

M “Lever up ye planking and make yeself free”

I “Me leg’s too short t’function as a pivot – aye I needs more lever than me thigh can offer”

M “Nay cap’n, ye should not doubt yeself”

I “Oh Mick, ye confidence does ever boost me self esteem”

M “Perhaps once ye ship revolves as she sinks ye weight’ll pull ye free”

I “Quench ye tongue – me weight’s that of a dainty wench, with the muscles of a man”

M “Right ye are cap’n.”

I “So, ye waters lap at me prosthesis”

M “Tis the way of a sinking”

I “Unhand me man, I’ve every chance o’ extractin’ meself”

M “Very well cap’n, but perhaps tis time for ye crew to ready ye minor craft?”

I “Watch me drown from afar will ye Mick?”

M “eXitin’ a water-bound vessel’s no shame for an honest mate”

I “Ye be one o’ them, or a loyal mate Mick?”

M “Zoogonous was me mother, and ye knew her well – so ye should also know well that I’ll be with ye till ye lungs fill with the cold blood o’ the ocean”

I “And that’s just the reassurance I were needin’ Mick. Me thanks”

M “Be brave Ignatius, for the end’s near”

I “Could ye stand a last rum with ye captain?”

M “Do mermaids lust after pirates?”

I “Evermore Mick, evermore. [pop] Here, drink ye this”

M “Fine rum, it has the burn of quality attained only by maturin’ within’ ye detachable peg leg flask”

I “Good lord Mick – I’m free”

M “Hop now Cap’n, hop like ye’ve never hopped before!”

Alphabetic Dialogues 8 Chess

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‘Come on, I’m going to kill your blacks’
‘Do you mind, I’ve just sorted the pieces out’
‘Everyone knows white goes first’
**Flashback**
‘Green Jeremy. Green!’
‘Have you seen any two bits?’
‘I have seen a million Lego pieces, none of which you selected’
‘…Just want to make a tree.’
‘Kids!’
‘Lego’s for fun’
‘My god, fun? FUN? Let me tell you about fun’
‘No daddy, let’s just play Lego’
‘Oh we’re beyond that – never mix the colours!’
***Push forward through time, Jeremy is 35 and further on in the game***
‘Queen to Rook 4′
‘Really Jeremy, you surprise me’
‘Subtle’
‘That’s not a bluff, besides you’ve taken your finger off it’
‘Unless you plan to talk all day, why not execute your brilliant strategy’
‘Very well’
‘Will you stop tossing all the pieces in the box together!’
‘eXtricate yourself from that, bitch’
‘You can’t put them together – there are compartments’
‘Zealous today aren’t we’
‘All I want is to keep it tidy’
‘Beat me and I’ll let you’

Alphabetic Dialogues 7 The Bucket

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Alpha Strangemind and The Krayfish find themselves in a stand-off. (The Krayfish is a hive entity who exists mainly in a bucket. Of crayfish. Well, he/it is the crayfish – put enough of them together and they get smart.)

‘Come any closer and I’ll nip off your pointies’
‘Don’t threaten me you scabby prawn’
‘Eventually you will grow weak and I shall destroy you and your freakish children, Strangemind’
‘Fresh fishmeat for the table. That’s all you are Krayfish’
‘Gashing you open is only the start of my plans for you’
‘Ha! As soon as you lay your slimy shell fists on me I’ll be as chitinous as you’
‘I’ve far larger crayfish to call upon who will hammer out your weak meat’
‘Just try me, prawn’
‘Keep up the taunts Strangeskin. I’d step off that puddle of fish vomit if I looked like you’
‘Let’s get down to it. You, me and a Swiss Army knife’
‘Move one inch closer and I’ll swarm!’
‘No Krayfish, you see I’ve brought Mu-Tant Ra-Koon with me, and he’s quite capable of kicking your bucket’
‘On my word I never had planned to harm you, ah ha, haha…’
‘Perhaps you forget your place Krayfish’
‘Quell my fears old frind, stand down your fur-boy’
‘Relieving myself of the advantage? I think not’
‘Supposing I were to supply you with certain nuggets of information that might tease your interest?’
‘That could well be another matter’
‘Underwater there have been murmurs of Dementia…’
‘Volupine Dementia? That vicious witch’
‘Well, that sounds like a yes’
‘eXplain to me your sources and we may grant you some leeway’
‘You’ll need to do more than that. I know when and where she’ll be’
‘Zealous bitch. Done’
‘And my product will be unharmed’
‘Brain Jam – you call that a product?’
‘Can’t complain about a profit Strangemind.’

Alphabetic Dialogues 6 The Other Half is Silence

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Captain Ignatius Pigheart and the crew of the Grim Bastard are departing from the charming Isle of Letch. It falls to Mute Charlie, one of the cabin lads to do the ropey honours.

‘Avast there lad, cast off and we’ll be on our way’
…
‘Bring ‘em up swift lest we’re hauled backwise into ye port’
…
‘Charlie, I’ve no grasp of what ye’re seekin’ to convey’
…
‘Demonstrate ye meanin’ through a finer mime’
…
‘(Ever seen such gestures before Mick? Never mind)’
…
‘For the love of the sea-’
…
‘Grand, aye, tis righter for the rope’s in ye hand…’
…
‘Have ye no sense?’
…
‘I would have ye untie the rope from about yeself Charlie’
…
‘Just- what have ye done?’
…
‘Knots lad, get ye midget digits into ‘em’
…
‘Learning o’ the the sailorly crafts’ll be firmly impressed on ye in a moment’
…
‘My god, ye’ll be hanged if ye takes another tug’
…
‘Now see what ye’ve done’
…
‘Orphanin’ ye were never me intent, and indeed I’m awash with regret for it now’
…
‘Perhaps if ye could loosen ye right hand first…?’
…
‘Quell ye fears lad, I’ve some confidence in ye to avoid death’
…
‘Right, well done.’
…
‘So, havin’ en-looped yerself half to a mean fate through ill-mime perhaps we’ll try a fresh angle’
…
‘Tis a charcoal stick and canvas’
…
‘Unless ye fancy swimmin’ ye’ll place ‘em in ye feckless fists’
…
‘Very good, now scrawl’
…
‘Write! At least ye name – in lettering large enough for me old eye’
…
‘X?’
…
‘Ye have no letters do ye boy?’
…
‘Zwounds! I’ll be-letter ye yet.’