Copyright J.B. Norman
“Alright,” Kat growls, trembling with rage as she kicks open the door of the dockside tavern. “Where is he?”
“You!” Amara growls as her eyes fall on the target of her — and her companions’ — ire.
Kat and Lena follow Amara’s gaze and the three young adventures storm across the tavern and encircle the table.
“Oh, sure,” ‘Gingham Gregory’ Rackman-Kowalski sighs in exasperation. “You maroon a group of teenagers on a horrible death island one time, and suddenly you’re the bad guy. There’s just no justice in the world.”
“We have things to discuss, Mister Rackman-Kowalski,” Amara seethes.
“We’ve been over this,” Gingham Gregory notes. “It’s Commodore. Or, no, let’s say it’s Admiral.”
“Mister Rackman-Kowalski,” Amara repeats, pointedly using the word Mister. “We really must speak with you.”
“Funny, that,” the pirate murmurs, tossing a few coins on the table and rising from his chair. “I love to want to. But, you see, I’m late for… an appointment… to walk my… laundry… in the oven. Or something.”
Kat moves to cut him off.
He glances at Kat and tries to go right.
Lena moves to cut him off.
He sighs again, lowers himself back into his chair and signals for the bartender to bring him a new bottle.
“And what might this be concerning, ladies?” he asks, pouring himself another glass, setting it aside and taking a deep swig from the bottle instead.
“What do you think this is about?” Kat asks.
“Well, it couldn’t possibly be about that whole business on Mors Dira,” he notes. “That completely accidental, unintentional business on Mors Dira for which I couldn’t possibly be tried, convicted, and shipped off to the salt mines for any combination the crimes of conspiracy, theft, attempted murder, or operating a vessel under false pretenses. And for which, despite my clear and obvious innocence of said aforementioned crimes, I apologised profusely and repeatedly.”
“That is not what happened!” Lena cries.
“In fact,” Amara adds. “You’re exact words were sorry, not sorry as you sailed away.”
“I was sailing away,” Gingham Gregory notes. “I could have been saying anything, you really can’t trust your ears at this distant. Especially when there’s a volcano erupting nearby.”
“There’s always a volcano erupting on Mors Dira!” Amara shrieks.
“Precisely. Far too much noise for your claims to have any merit in a court of law,” Gingham Gregory says. “Glad we’re in agreement.” He takes another swig form his bottle.
“I…” Kat begins, trailing off as she notices she’s missing something. “Did you just steal my wallet?”
“Could be anybody’s wallet,” Gingham Gregory answers with a shrug, stuffing a pouch with the words If lost, return to Katherine H. Darkstone embroidered on it. “Besides, for all you know, I’m planning to bring it back to a local constabulary, like the good, proper, civic-minded citizen I am.”
“Can I hit him now?” Kat asks her friends. “I’d really like to hit him.”
“And now she’s uttering threats!” Gingham Gregory gasps. “I don’t have to sit here and be accused of crimes nobody else here saw me commit. Good day, ladies!”
He rises from his chair, turns away from Kat and takes a step. He’s forgotten that Lena is in the way, and promptly trips over the young Goblin, sending him crashing through a nearby table and leaving him senseless and groaning on the floor.
“Right,” Kat tells the others. “You two stay here. I’m going to find the Marines.”
Technically, Gingham Gregory began life as an appearance by Plaid Jack that I eventually felt didn’t really fit Plaid Jack’s personally — Plaid Jack was supposed to be mischievous, but ultimately benevolent and charismatic, but in that original scene, he came across as a villain who wasn’t doing a very good job of concealing his inevitable plans to betray out heroines.
Hence, I rewrote the scene, made Gingham Gregory Plaid Jack’s cousin to maintain some level of connection with that original version while also keeping Plaid Jack as basically a Face and if, anything, going even further in making Gingham Gregory even more obviously evil, or at least a jerk…
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