Chapter Text
Moira (Trelian? Moira? I don’t know at this point, and I’m too afraid to ask) told me that I should start keeping a journal as a way to try to remember anything useful from my past. Joke’s on her, I’m using it as a way to be useful in the present. A present from the present, for we all know that where there is alcohol, the Captain’s probably nearby.
“It would quite behoove you to understand that, Master Hunkle, as we do operate under a fair and just society, we assume that all suspects are considered innocent until proven guilty,” a croaky voice called out. Hunkle, perched on a barrel of salted pork, rolled their eyes, but stopped moving their quill. In their hands was a small journal, bound in red leather and clearly well used, with a list of names written in a neat column on the open page. Dinkleshire, dressed in his usual blue coat, peered over Hunkle’s shoulder. “Although I agree that writing in code is quite a brilliant idea, lest others tamper with our evidence.”
“It’s not my fault Earthlings use a different script,” muttered the changeling, as they resumed writing. “And you have no evidence I am being biased against the Captain.” I am writing in my native Torilean script, because Earth letters are stupid, but for the record I swear that no one is aware of our project except for me, Dinkleshire, Zoe and Jimmi. Hunkle paused and looked up. “What do you think, Zoe?”
“Well I think Dinkleshire is right, in a way. I’d blame the Captain first too, but lately she’s only drinking seven times a day instead of ten, and even with her levels of drinking I don’t think she can drink five barrels of rum in a night,” said Zoe. The siren leaned back on a bag of dried peas. “What I don’t understand is, why are we having our meeting in the food storage?”
“Because it’s fucking secure, that’s why!” grumbled Jimmi Hendrix, the ship’s cook. His normal grimace was replaced by an outright sneer; one could easily imagine small wisps of steam escaping through his tensed ears. “I ain’t stepping outside this room if my life depended on it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Look what happened last time! I wake up, go cook breakfast, look at the stash, and five fucking barrels of rum are gone! Five barrels! Do you know how much that will fuck up our rations? The Captain is going to have my fucking head, if the rest of the crew doesn’t stage a mutiny first. All because one of them,” he yells, pointing at the red journal, “decided to fuck off with five barrels of rum. Five barrels! That’s like a fortnight’s worth of rum!”
“Not if the Captain’s drinking,” said Hunkle snarkily. “And stop pointing, did anyone teach you manners?”
“You stabbed my fish and then died, don’t lecture me on manners, Kid!”
Before the two could descend into squabbling, Dinkleshire let out a loud cough. “If I may say so myself, I do not believe manners are anyone’s strong suit on this ship,” he said as he scanned around the crowded room, “and if we were to be any louder, we would alert the Captain, Simon, and Neil, and I believe that would result in a difficult position for all of us. Now,” he nodded to Hunkle, “could Master Hunkle please give us a summary of the case and our suspects?”
The Case of the Missing Alcohol Barrels
Goal: find out what happened to the five missing alcohol barrels (rum, worth roughly 300 gold pieces in total) before anyone finds out.
Suspects so far
- Captain Moira (biggest alcoholic on this ship)
- Jonathon Chelsea (seems like he drinks)
- Jimmi Hendrix (who is noted to be severely offended by being on this list)
- Arthur (also an alcoholic)
- Simon (drinks when thinking of Ophelia)
- Neil???? (Would be pissed if he found out rum is gone)
- Darra??? (Likes to drink while repairing the ship)
“What do you think will happen if we don’t find the alcohol?” Hunkle wondered aloud. “Will we get a pay deduction?”
“We’ll be lucky if we end up with just a pay deduction,” Zoe responded, “and not turned into mutiny sashimi.”