The tavern in Nassau had no name or sign outside the door, but everyone knew it. Almost everyone. It was a shame the place wasn’t known to any decent brewers, Oliver thought, as he tried to drink some lackluster ale.
“I told you to get the rum.”
“I don’t have your tolerance for that beverage yet, Captain.”
He shifted uncomfortably as she sipped from her own mug.
“You keep doing that and he may relieve himself on you out of spite.”
“I’m not used to wearing a live animal,” Oliver protested, as the parrot preened on his shoulder.
St. Armand looked at Turnbull.
“‘Bring him along’, you said, ‘It’ll be good for him to get out and about.’”
“I meant Woodruff, not the pa—not Roscoe!”
“Well, Woodruff, are you enjoying being out and about?”
He took another sip of the ale, worried that if he tried to respond he’d break out into a huge grin. He was sitting in a disreputable tavern in the Caribbean, with two dangerous pirates, and a parrot on his shoulder. This was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him, and being here today brought home to him how gray, structured and boring his life in Manchester was.
--[WIP] What the Parrot Saw (Mattie's Story)
September 19 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, where you get to channel your inner pirate and talk with too many "Aarrrrs!" in your speech. Be sure to celebrate, pirate style, which may involve rum, booty (I will not elaborate on that) and basically, freeing yourself a tad from society's restrictions.
Pirates: Adding excitement to boring lives for over 2,000 years.