|Enter Stage Left!
||[Sep. 10th, 2006|09:41 am]
The 2ROT13 Cipher
The moonlight cast dancing fragments of light atop the glassy surface of the ocean. The back and forth motion of the waves, the tranquil ocean spray and the distinct smell of bitter salt made Angie Sporetto moan as she leaned over the railing of the Mushroom Kingdom ship.
"I knew I should have flown," she thought to herself as she heaved a load of attractive cargo overboard.
Wiping off her mouth, the mushroomer stared up at the moon; the soft white light seemed to calm her restless sea-sickness, at least until an order came audible from underneath the deck.
"Angie Sporetto? Angie? You're needed in the galley!"
"Just a minute!" she called back, shooting a quick glance back up at the night sky before husling back down into the ship's kitchen.
Angie was a cook by trade, and as such, her life's dream was to open up her own 5 star establishment. However, certain circumstances had made it difficult for her to scrounge up the funds nessesary to begin a buisness. Namely, lousy pay, a poor work environement and general failure to stand up for herself and make things happen.
All of these situations in place, Angie found herself taking on any job where a decent chef was needed. The latest task called for her to be a chef on a Mushroom Kingdom expedition to a newly found island. She wasn't told much about the island or even the expedition itself; only that there were plenty of mouths to feed.
Picking out some dry rations, she went to work on a basic split pea soup. The concoction came to a boil, and Angie watched the soup begin to churn and pulsate, the coloration being like the sea outside. The mushroomer stared deeply into the contents of the pot, and ran as fast as she could back out to the deck.
Click! Click! Click!
Jack gave out a long, profound yawn as he flipped through channels on his airhip's TV set. His eyes drooped a bit, and he felt himself nodding off, a documentary about wombats lulling him to sleep in the background. Nudging the television remote closer to himself like a child would snuggle a teddy bear, his eyes finally closed shut.
"Captain Jack! Captain Jack!"
Spotty came flying into the room, a mug of coffee in his hands. The contents sloshed out over the rim, dying bits of the carpet a light brown. Jack forcefully kept his eyes shut amidst Spotty's chaotic entrance, desperately wanting to sleep. Finally he spoke up, his eyes remaining firmly shut.
"For cripe's sake Spotty, I was about to go to sleep!" one of his eyes shot open, "And is that a coffee stain you just spilled on the carpet?!"
"Sir, I brought you a Latte. We could very well be coming up on the island soon, and I know you'll want to be awake-"
Jack interupted, "And that 'Sir' and 'Captain' thing. You're my best friend, not some stooge. You don't need to be overly formal."
Spotty ignored Jack and persisted, "Sir, please remain awake. You're going to want to be in peek shape when we get to the island if you want to reap all of the treasures."
Jack consented and took a long swig of Spotty's latte. The drink didn't take long to warm and wake the goomba's small body. He lifted the mug from his lips and stared at it wide eyed, as if admiring the workmanship of the cup, of course saying, "World's Best Captain."
"This is pretty good, Spot," Jack commended of the drink.
"Thank you Jack," the first mate replied, "I'm going to return to the bridge."
Jack watched him as he waddled out of the room. He stared absently at the documentary for a few more seconds before the rythmic Click! of the remote again rang through the room.