An Island, Two Mares and a Bottle of Rum

Chapter Eight

Ponies Be A-Drinkin'

***

"No shit."

Octavia sighed with a sombre grunt as her marefriend decided to sum up the whole experience of the past few minutes in a couple of words. If Octavia was the one to speak, she would say that the trip aboard had been far from pleasant: the salty waves of the ocean had ruined her mane and made her coat itch in most inconvenient places. Moreover, the ship itself (or 'herself', as the pirates' captain would have said) was far from being cosy: the dirty upper deck full of pirates (none of whom missed the opportunity to whistle at the two mares) led to a cramped kitchen, which, as it seemed, served as the dining room, and the cook's bedroom at that. Before them stood a wooden table, overcramped with empty bottles.

Yes, 'no shit' sounds like a good summary of the situation, the cellist mused, eyeing the cook's hammock with disgust. However, it seemed that Vinyl had other ideas in mind.

"That's so damn awesome!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with awe and passion. "You've got a real pirate ship, with all the dirty scum, and pirates, and rum!" She turned towards the red-bearded pirate, who had a mixed look of embarrassment and pride on his face, topped with a hint of confusion. Apparently, he had never been praised in such a way before, not to mention so genuinely.

"Arr, that be nothin'," the captain replied, throwing the bottles off the table with a swift hoof motion. "Let us be drinkin'!" he announced, levitating a couple of bottles of rum onto the table.

Wondering how the pirate managed to use such a high-polluted phrase as 'Let us' and nausea-evoking grammar mistakes in one sentence, Octavia sighed and admitted that, in any way, she had to put up with it, at least for the time being.

Vinyl, on the other hoof, didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. Casting an estimating glance at the nearest bottle, she shrugged. "You call that rum?" she addressed the captain dismissively. "My horn's harder than that stuff!"

Octavia raised a brow. The joke was lost on her: apparently, Vinyl's horn was harder than any kind of alcohol. 'Cause horns were hard... like horns. Dammit, did Vinyl's stupidity and vocabulary issues pass on to me through kissing? she thought with a grunt and sat down at the wooden table next to her marefriend, opposite the pirate, whose face broke into a frown.

"Yer be drinkin', both of you," he confirmed, receiving an eager nod from the white unicorn and a weak admitting sigh from the grey earth pony. "Then I be needin' help of me cook 'ere."

Wincing at such a disgusting disregard towards grammar and pronunciation, Octavia looked at her marefriend, who nodded with a shrug. "Sure, that would be only fair."

The captain whistled loudly, eliciting a gasp of admiration from Vinyl, and immediately, a white earth pony rushed in from the outside, his black mane falling freely from underneath his white cap.

Calling him a pony would certainly have been a severe understatement. That... being was roughly twice the captain's size: his sole leg was bigger than Octavia's head! Or Vinyl's ego, the grey pony thought with a chukle. Still, it was obvious that... he could consume all the rum that has ever existed, and still feel fresh as a morning daisy. If pirates could ever feel as a morning daisies, that is. They surely didn't smell like ones.

Moreover, Octavia wasn't sure if it was morning. The dim round window didn't let any natural light in, and the single candle was the only source that was nurturing the cellist's vision.

"So, we begin!" the captain announced, placing a full bottle before each pony.

Octavia frowned. "May I have a glass?" she addressed the pirates, having no desire to fall so low as to drink straight from the bottle.

The captain's face broke into a frown, and the cook looked like he was ready to stomp Octavia to death with his own hooves. Which he was, to think about it.

Vinyl chuckled uneasily. "Hehe... Tavi here just be jokin', mateys!" she addressed the pirates in her new 'awesome pirate-y' accent, immediately whispering into her marefriend's ear, "Are you crazy? Asking for a glass? What next?" She frowned. "A handkerchief?!"

Actually, a handkerchief sounds like a good idea, given how dirty these bottles are... Octavia thought, but decided to keep her frivolous ideas to herself.

The corks shot open, and the game began.

***

"And he said no! No, he said, yer be gettin' a ship!"

Vinyl nodded sympathetically as the captain cried into his beard.

"Yer ain't getting no doll, sonny, he said!" the pirate cleared his nose audibly. "I were jes' a lil' colt back then! I didn't want no ship!" he exclaimed, hitting his hoof against the table. "I wanted a doll!"

Vinyl shed a tear, and Octavia noticed, not without confusion, that it was a genuine show of sympathy.

"I so feel your pain, bro!" Vinyl exclaimed with a hiccup. "When I was a little filly, I wanted a gun, but my folks bought me a dress! A Celestia-damn dress!" Now it was Vinyl's turn to hit the poor piece of furniture.

Wait, what?! Octavia blinked, taking another gulp of rum. A gun?! The cellist pondered for a moment. ...You don't want to know, Octavia, she told herself. Not ever.

She downed her third (fourth? fifth?) bottle and tapped her hoof against the table gently. "Excuse me? I'm done."

"And they said, no, you won't be shooting ponies in the streets like Colt Eastwood, you'll be-"

"I'm done." Octavia cleared her throat audibly, commanding the drunk ponies' attention.

The captain looked at her, then at Vinyl, then at the cook, who, surprisingly enough, had falled asleep after consuming the first botte. Either his alcohol tolerance was low, or he'd had a hectic night shift. Octavia assumed the latter.

"How much has she had?" the pirate asked gravely, even his accent vanishing in the wake of astonishment.

"Three, I believe," Octavia replied, wiping her mouth with a hoof. A handkerchief would come in handy right now...

"Tavi, you super-awesome pony!" Vinyl yelled happily, jumping up and hitting her head against the low ceiling. This, however, did not ease her vigour. "I've had only one, and the cap'n here one and a half!" She threw her front legs around Octavia's neck, almost strangling the poor mare. "You've won!"

"Let... me... go..." the cellist managed to let out before Vinyl realised that it was not a very bright idea to kill her marefriend in a drunken show of affection and let go of her.

Sensing that the phrase was addressed to him, or just being grim due to his failure (or his father's past rejection to buy him a doll, a fact that Octavia still couldn't put a hoof on), the captain barked, "Sure, you be free t' go. All accordin' t' the Codex."

It's funny how his accent is different every time he speaks, Octavia mused. "Mr. Captain?" she called out.

"Jeffrey," the pirate interrupted her. "Me name's Jeffrey."

The cellist blinked, exchanging a confused look with her mare. "Um... Jeffrey? Could you take us to the nearest Equestrian port?" she asked, hoping that the pirate would oblige.

He did not. On the contrary, he stood up and glared at the mares, making them shrink visibly. "Yer be askin' me t' take two ground rats like you on my ship?!" he roared. "Not t' mention there's no coin in me for this!" He stomped his hoof against the floor. "G't out, you two!"

Needless to say, the mares obliged dearly and trotted away at a fast pace, the captain's muffled moans (something along the lines of 'I jes' wanted a doll!' and 'I'd be brushin' 'er mane ev'ry day!') reaching their ears up to the moment they reached the island.

Swimming was never Vinyl's forte (among many other things, including thinking, manners, and vocabulary), and, given her drunken state, she fell onto the warm sand. The sun was already rising, but the white pony wanted nothing more than to hit the hay, or, given the circumstances, hit the sand (Weak puns! *hic* For the win! *hic*) and have a good sleep. But before that, she needed to know one thing.

"Tavi?"

"Mmhm?"

The DJ rolled over, facing her mare, who was lying next to her, smiling widely. "How come you've drunk so much and aren't drunk at all?"

"Well..." Octavia winked. "You do not sniff the bottle before you drink, Vinyl?"

"No, of course." Vinyl shook her head. "I just drink what's inside."

"Well, it's good that the cook obviously has a particular fondness for rum, and presumably at night, when the crew's asleep..." The grey pony's face broke into a huge grin.

Vinyl frowned. "I don't get it, Tavi. Modern Equestrian, please."

The cellist sighed and tapped her mare's head with her hoof. "Vinyl, the bottles I've drunk were filled with water. The cook's drunk the rum and refilled them with water, hoping that nopony would notice."

Vinyl lay in silence for a few moments, processing the information. "Tavi," she said slowly. "You're a genius. And I love you so much. You know that I'm very drunk right now, but I love you so very much right now." She looked at the smilling cellist. "If I said that I wanted you... As in, I wanted you, right here, right now... What would you say?"

The cellist blushed and looked at the rising sun. "Well..." she drew a circle on the sand with her hoof. She turned towards Vinyl and leaned in, so that her breath was falling onto the unicorn's ear.

"I certainly wouldn't object."