Story [POTC] "Short Work" (Humor)

Discussion in 'Non Star Wars Fan Fiction' started by Jedi Gunny, Jul 24, 2008.

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  1. Jedi Gunny Yahtzee Host

    Game Host
    Member Since:
    May 20, 2008
    star 8
    Title: "Short Work"
    Author: JEDIGUNSHIP
    Characters: Marty
    Summary: A typical day on the ship for everyone's favorite midget pirate, Marty.

    Morning on the high seas was always brisk, as the ocean wind richocheted off the waves and blew in your faces. Even in the spring and summer, you always felt somewhat cold. Even Marty, who could hide behind the ship railing, got cold every morning; however, the cold was always replaced by extreme heat and exhaustion as the day wore on. Today was no different; Captain Jack Sparrow and the crew of the Black Pearl were heading towards a small island in the Caribbean Sea. Now, there are plenty of islands in the sea, but this one was much more special than the others. Jack's compass had led them closer and closer to the target, while most ships would go off course.

    Marty stood there on a crate, looking out at the vast sea that the ship was in. Rays of sunlight glimmered off the ocean waves as the hull of the ship crashed through the surf, sending a spray of water aloft. It was a nice day to be sailing; the temperature was just right, and there was treasure to be had. A pirate's best dream could not produce anything better; they could hit the jackpot on this one. According to Jack, there was a large stash of golden coins left there by a Spanish ship almost two hundred years before; if they could dig this up, then they would each have a tiny fortune. Mr. Gibbs, the First Mate of the Pearl, was walking by on his way to the ship's helm when he saw Marty standing there. "Marty, aren't you supposed to be doing somethin'?" he asked.

    "I guess," grumbled Marty, jumping off the crate.

    "Well, make yourself useful and hold this. Gibbs handed Marty a stack of wood that was taller than he was. "Now, come along," said Gibbs, pointing out the way.

    "Can't . . . see," said Marty, his muscles giving out underneath the weight of the boards.

    "Oh, you'll be fine," Gibbs said confidently. "Now, this way."

    Marty moved forward . . . or left . . . or right . . . or whatever way it was; he couldn't see, so he was moving in whatever direction he thought was straight. "I can't see!" he said.

    "You're not moving straight, matey," said Gibbs. "What are ye doin'?"

    Before Marty could respond, his muscles gave out, and he fell on the deck. Unfortunately, the pile of wood fell right on him, making it look like he had been hit. "Stop playing games," snapped Gibbs. "You know better tha' that." Marty groaned; it was going to be a long day.
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    An hour later, the wood had been moved to its new location, and Marty was bored. As he walked from the galley with an old crust of bread in his hand, he could see that the crew was rigging up the sails. As he walked alogn the deck, none of the others responded to his presence. He shrugged and started up towards the bow of the ship. Noticing Jack with his compass, Marty took another bite of bread and stood next to Jack. "Sir?" asked Marty.

    "What?" asked Jack lazily. Turning around, he looked and, since Marty was so short, did not see him. "Great. Now we're all being followed by phantom voices," he said nonchalantly as he resumed looking at the compass. Marty tugged on his shoulder, and Jack's head popped up again. "Now I swear that this voice is touching me. How odd." Again, he went back to his compass. A second time, Marty tugged on Jack's sleeve. "It must be a spirit," said Jack. "Spirit, get me some rum." Marty, taking this as an order, grabbed some rum and headed back over to Jack. "Ooh!" said Jack, taking the rum, still not seeing Marty. "The spirits are being very friendly to me today. Flying rum; what's next?" He thought that the spirits had grabbed the rum and levitated it to him magically. Popping the cork, he began to chug.

    "Jack!" Marty yelled. Jack, in mid-swig, spit the rum out of his mouth and onto the deck.

    "Angry spirits," he said before looking down. "Oh, Marty."

    "Am I needed?" asked Mart
  2. NYCitygurl NSWFF Manager

    Manager
    Member Since:
    Jul 20, 2002
    star 9
  3. KELIA Manager Emeritus

    Member Since:
    Jul 26, 2005
    star 6
    Marty rolled his eyes; it had not been his day

    That's putting it mildly!

    Poor Marty [:D] [:D]

    He can only hope tomorrow won't be as bad

    Nice job on this

    =D= =D= =D= =D=
  4. Idrelle_Miocovani Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Feb 5, 2005
    star 6
    Poor Marty. Definitely not his day. :p

    Nice work -- I love seeing PotC fics written from the POVs of the crew members. :D

    =D=
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