Blame Marquis de Riv

The Misadventures of Red and Bluestocking: Silly Staves off Pirates

It is late, the end of October. The sea is tired and happy. A spoiled prince is departing a large cream-colored vessel at an easterly port-of-call. There are many light brights in the sky. There is a young and law-abiding red lady and a bluestocking aboard the yacht. There is no where to turn but back. They move in a slow, about face. There are pirates watching, fifty pirates, dressed in tight blue coats, seething, foamy-mouthed like the sea as they watch. It is dark and light. The boat heads westward. It is slowed by cries from below, from the deep dark blue, cries of "stop! stop! stop that creamy boat!" They glide. Slow-motion swimming. Blue streaks. It takes a long time to stop a boat, the red lady explains to the blue bellow. There are words, there are no windows. They are obsolete on this kind of craft. "Is this a stolen ship?" the blue pirate asks. His uncoverd eye gleams like cerulean sea glass. "No silly", unwittingly flitted back. "Silly, silly pirate." "Argh, we want to plunder your vessel, but alas we are feeling red right now. Yar, don't cross this line again, brazen wench." The boat motors forward, towards the river. A pirate stream in the distance. "Nothing like a high-pitched silly to save the day," said bluestocking. "Nothing like a silly."

The Misadventures of Red and Blue Stocking: Black Man in Yellow Raincoat

It is raining still. Both rivers are flooded. The first November descent, stubborn, lingers. Red and bluestocking are waiting in a warm vessel, their coterie slashed in half by men. Little bald men all tied up. They are waiting for something, nothing. Gaggling. Sails are lifted, finally. There is a clattering. Clat Clat Clattering. Click Click Click. Click Click. Clik. There are high-pitched sounds. A captain in a white raincoat approaches, charges them with lunacy. "Give him a silly," says bluestocking. They move, slowly, navigating the storm. They dock to fill their bellies with ale, the ale flows like water on the shore. There is a sailor. A black sailor in a yellow raincoat. They do not want raincoats. The sails are lifted once again. Click. Click. Time passes like air, salty air. Click. There are words, red wet words. The man in yellow raincoat dives under the vessel, wait. Now. Try it again. There. Tighter. Now? Are you sure? Now. He looks up, he is more sure than any man on the sea. The surest one who sets us free. No thanks to Danny.