Stavanger Bay I hope we stay thick as thieves, butter and bread

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's li— hoargh huagh," coughed the pathetic coywolf as a chunk of the wet sand he was patting down flew up into his mouth. He hacked and horked over the mostly covered cache, into which he had stuffed a pair of crabs and a single salt fish. Everything from the ocean was a salt fish in his eyes, but this one was particularly salty, probably because he had found it already dead. Whatever. The Cap'n hadn't told Blurryface what type of food to fill the galley with and this was the best the salt-caked wretch could do in the time given. At least the crabs had been alive when he found them.

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!" crowed the skinny creature, lifting a leg to pee over the sand he had tamped down. Swaying his frayed tail in time with the beat in his head, which was probably the product of having hit it one too many times, the swabby veritably yelled, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!" to the gulls wheeling high overhead.

@Ferahgo

He could hear his swab from down the coast. He was certain anyone could hear him, in fact, even the dead. Like a hungry bird, the coywolf was always squawking about something. "Ahoy, Scurvyface!" he called out as he prowled closer to his servant. The bedraggled thing was not much to look at and as annoying as a burr between your shoulder blades, but he was faithful and obedient. "What did ye find, me matey?" Ferahgo roughly shouldered his crewwolf aside to inspect the freshly packed sand.

The cur continued to belt out his song, offending even the gulls overhead with his raucous off-tune voice. His crowing only ceased when a call from the distance piqued his interest and Blurry turned quickly on the spot, spying an approaching Ferahgo. The man was rough and uncouth but the closest thing to family the wretched little coywolf had, and so his tail waved jovially as he called back, "Hoy, Cap'n!"

The submissive posture was automatic and so normal for Blurryface that he wasn't even conscious of it any longer. He oft sported it even without anyone around. His tail wiggled as he was pushed roughly aside, and almost proudly he declared, "thar be two o' them pinchy walkin' barnacles an' a salt fish, Cap'n, good an' dead like ye likes 'em." Okay, maybe Ferahgo wasn't a fan of already killed cuisine, but Blurryface wasn't well known for his ability to do exactly what was asked of him all the time. He blundered far too often, but he did his best.

"Oi, Cap'n," he blathered on, "thar be a righ' shiny chest off th'starboard. I saw it wit' me own eyes. I bet thar's a nice bit o' treasure fer the plunderin'." He cracked a mischievous grin. Blurryface hadn't dared to touch it by himself, but with Ferahgo here, there could be nothing wrong with taking a look. The captain would get the booty anyway.

Slight pp <3

Hmmm, hummed Ferahgo as he pawed at the piss-soaked sand to glimpse the broken carapaces and dead fish for himself. It was no feast the likes of which he had back in Tortuga, but they were adrift. Rough fare was to be expected, and so he nodded his approval, clapping a paw to his swab's head to rough up the fur on his crown before he shoved dirt back over the galley.

"Chest ye say?" There were few words that perked his ears more than the mention of a chest, a pile of treasure. "Shift yer paws, then, let's see it." The coywolf lead him to a tall ash tree, the tallest as it were, and beneath it, a mound. "Ho, ho," grinned Ferahgo. "Good job, me bucko, good job." There before him was an unmistakable grave, and between two rocks poked a bone.

The salty pirate shifted the rocks aside, revealing an entire skeleton. He laughed loudly, coarsely. "Haw haw!! Who would leave such perfectly good bones layin' about, de ye think, Blurry?"

Excitement glimmered in the coywolf's eyes as Blackbeard's interest turned toward the ship, and he was off, gallivanting around while crowing out yet another pirate shanty. Whether or not Ferahgo joined in, Blurry kept on singing until they reached the tallest ash in the area, beneath which someone had planted an old friend's bones.

"Here be booty, cap'n," he announced on the tail end of his song, his tail waving wildly with exhilaration. Ferahgo inspected it and soon had pulled up the bones of some unfortunate wolf that had found its way here. Its story was unimportant to the pair of pirates, who cared only that there was an entire trove of treasure here and it was all theirs for the taking. "Some righ' scurvy landlubbers, I reckon," answered the coywolf as his tongue wet his lips. "Them's strange in the head, cap'n, them's got the land sickness. Don' know the value o' good bones." Nodding absently, the swab sat back and postulated, "ain't no landlubber gon' miss 'em. I reckon they be all fer ye. A li'l gift for ye ship."

He tuned out his servant's chattering as he perused the bones. Had he not been so enamored with the fine of such perfect treasure he may have told the coy wolf the shut his hole, but he was occupied.

He was a selfish creature to the core, but he was a pirate, a Captain, and he at least upheld the bit of code that stated each pirate was entitled to their share of the booty. Of course, as Captain, he had the greatest share. He selected for himself the skull, of course, and while he could have taken more he decided not to.

"Arr, too bad if they do miss 'em, Blurry." He sniggered as he rolled the skull beneath his paw and admired its unblemished surface. "I'll be sendin' the crew to ye as I finds 'em," he said, and his eyes never left his treasure. "See to it that they each are offered a share. Ye can take what ye like first, me reward to ye fer findin' it."

"—and mayhaps ye can name yer ship Ol' Bones, get it?" he prattled on, but Ferahgo's response steamrolled over his. If he realized the captain had been ignoring him, Blurry didn't show it. He lived in his own little world most of the time, and the rest of the time he was on captain's orders and at least a little less self-absorbed.

Ferahgo fished the skull out of the pile, and declared that the rest would be split among the crew. When the next piece was offered to him, Blurry's face lit up and he said, "thank ye, cap'n, thank ye!" It was clear he wasn't used to being the first to get any pick of any treasure. Hell, the swab was lucky if he didn't get the shittiest bits of loot the crew dug up. It was his lot in life, though, and he didn't mind it. He was, perhaps, a little too dim to be overly envious of those above him. "Aye aye, cap'n, I be makin' sure e'ery buccaneer be gettin' his piece o' eight." It was an easy task. Even the skinny Omega couldn't possibly screw it up.

From the pile, he selected a sturdy femur. The bone was thick, much thicker than his own bones would've been, but Blurryface would not have guessed its owner had been a thickset viking in life who had died with illusions of grandeur in his head. He was just a dead man, sunk to Davy Jones' locker, and now he was naught but Ferahgo's crew's booty.

Not once did the Captain's piercing stare leave the skull, even as his swab chirped his thanks and swore to carry out the orders given. Ferahgo peered into those gaping, empty sockets as if he could stare into the eyes that once occupied them. It was a broad skull, a fine specimen, the perfect starting piece for his coffer. It heated up his blood and cause him to lift his head mostly suddenly to stare down the shoreline. He was spurred by this find of treasure.

"Right then. Carry on, me bucko, I'll go an' see what salty souls haunt these shores." He bent then and gingerly grasped the skull between his teeth, careful not to score the smooth bone. In most cases, he would have commanded his swab to carry his loot for him, but not this time. He took it down the shore with him until he found a place to tuck it away, and then he went in search of his crew and ship.

Blurry chuckled around the femur in his jaws, watching Ferahgo tote his own booty down the shore until the man had disappeared. He hoisted his own piece of loot, swinging it like a saber, and skipped down the shore back toward the damp galley they'd left in the sand to await the new members of their crew. Each would receive a bone from the poor landlubber buried in the soil, until there was nothing but a desecrated hole in the ground left to tell the tale of the "legendary" viking.