“So here be your three cornered hat you left behind, Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate. And your rum.”
“Thanks be to ye Saucy Wendy for being such a good bar wench to me, arrr.”
She smiled, dropped her own fake accent. “Soo, you still heading off into space with that old jalopy outside like you talked about?” She’d watched him sail in on the thing; had her doubts that it was really that seaworthy let alone space-worthy. And so should he.
“Aye, I be doing that very thing still, Saucy Wendy. And…” Dare he ask her to go with him? Too soon? He’d left his hat and his alcohol behind just for this very excuse. To come back and invite her to the stars. Could he go through with it? He’d experienced fierce battles, fierce storms on water. Yet this might be the hardest thing he’d ever done: cold feet on land suddenly; wanting to run away from commitment.
“So, erm, how does all that work exactly?”
He dropped his own fake accent, trying to accustomize himself to land loving ways. “You just aim up instead of forward.” He’d tested it out already. Trouble is, he’d gotten the right creator recommended by fellow pirate and long time mate Black Pearl who he trusted implicitly in the matter of ships, just the wrong vehicle. She actually meant this…
… while what was waiting outside for him and him alone was this:
The thing never stood a chance. Luckily Saucy Wendy elected to stay behind to start a now famous fast food franchise specializing in hot dogs. Initially.
Jim Randolph’s wrecked ship appearing on Red Dead’s planet…
Sunklands 