💾 Archived View for tranarchy.fish › ~autumn › break › captain3.gmi captured on 2023-09-08 at 16:25:23. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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<- Back to break: a hypertext exercise in hyperempathy
you rap the ornate sea-serpent knocker against the door to the captain's quarters.
a voice from inside raps back. "is that a cabin-boy with my dinner?"
"aye sir!"
"ah, finally, bring it in then"
you hold the bowl gingerly with one hand while you turn the handle and close the door behind you. inside, the air is warm and smokey, the dark green walls are hung with plundered ornaments and the bones of great bronze creatures. the captain lounges in an upholstered chair with his feet up on the corner of his desk, and above him a broken chandelier swaggers with the motion of the ship.
the captain himself is dressed in loose frills, with his top few buttons undone to expose beating ventricles behind a heatsink ribcage. his face resembles a simplified human skull, large black glass disks in the eye sockets and crude zippered steel jaws. he idly flicks his fingers through the lit candle sitting beside him on the table -- the only open flame on the whole vessel.
you set the bowl down next to the candle. the captain reaches under his shirt and unplugs what looks like an old battery, and places it on the table. he takes two mismatched metal prongs from the device and sticks them into the exposed flesh of the lemon, and a small red light blinks on the battery as it charges. then he dips his fingers into the bowl and begins to massage the grease into his joints.
"mm, that's good stew... my computations to the chef. here lad, come sit"
he gestures to a chair across the table and you sit, quietly watching the tips of his fingers work calmly and methodically around bearings and worn hinges. his dark glassy eyes reflect only the candle, no emotion or intent beyond his placid focus on his task. he could be watching you closely in the corner of his vision, or just staring blankly, it's impossible to tell.
"yer a prissy one aren't ye" he says, eventually. "not so handy aboard as the other boys. sleeping on your shifts, fumbling baskets, no chance of fitting that arse of yours into any tight spots"
"um-"
"no matter, so yer a special-purpose droid. we just need to put ye to use where it suits ye..."
he clicks his fingers and points at the floor at the foot of his chair, still not gracing you with eye contact.
- [get up and kneel at the captain's feet](kneel.html)