The Weepy Drunk

[bleu]

At a two people table sat a sorry looking, carved, wet, wooden treasure chest. A wooden hand swung slowly in the air holding a pint of well brewed rum, splashing most of it over the edge.

"Drink and the devil had done for the rest." The treasure chest, Solomon Trunk, sung sadly. Tears slid down the polished wood washing away the sand and dirt that had lodged itself in the coiled carvings, where the tears came from was any one's guess. Only a day ago he had been a man, a pirate in fact; one of the best. He was the happiest he could have ever been, he had gold, he had rum and he had his Captain. At the thought of his captain the poor chest burst into a fresh wave of tears. Solomon did not cry, but under the circumstances, his was a good reason for any sea weathered pirate to cry.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike, the bosun brained with a marlinspike," He continued to sing out of tune between sobs. If it was not for that wretched sorceress (as pretty as she was) he would not be in this situation. As a coffin, as a man, and even as a chest Solomon Trunk could still not understand the mind of a woman. It was clearly stated in the Pirates Code of Conduct that no woman was allowed on board, and there was no way that he would ever consider giving up his life on the sea.

His Captain, his poor Captain Jack. What had become of him? His good Captain had done nothing. He had done nothing. What had he done to be turned into a treasure chest. He gave his ability to see ghosts to turn into a man only to be turned in a chest after a few years, was this some kind of cruel joke?

"And cookey's throat was marked belike, It had been gripped by fingers ten; And there they lay, all good dead men, Like break o'day in a boozing ken-
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."

An annoyed bar keep stalked over and Solomon flicked him a gold coin to keep him away. If there was one good thing that came from this is that he was left with a never ending pile of treasure. When he sang, glimpses of glittering jewels and shining coins could be seen, but Solomon would trade all the gold in the Spanish main to find his captain. He would trade even more to become a man again.

"Fifteen men- DAMN THAT RED-HAIRED WITCH!" Solomon slammed his cup on the table, spilling the contents. Some people in the inn turned to stare, other more frequent visitors ignored him. Solomon had just phased into the state of anger. It was all part of his mental healing, his captain would say.

[Cybele Renard]

“…and then she tried to cut off my head! It was one of the best nights of my life!” Hatter pushed open the door to the Demens Inn and stepped inside. “Of course, you would know that, wouldn’t you? I suppose you were there too.” Hatter raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Oddly enough, no one followed him into the Inn and no one seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention.

This didn’t concern Hatter, though, as he continued his conversation with himself. “One of these days you’ll have to explain why I can’t pull you out of my head like I did with that umbrella.” Hatter pantomimed pulling an umbrella out of his ear and approached the bar. He tapped his cane on the bar, getting the bartender's attention. “Barkeep! The usual please?” Alas, the barkeep had no idea what Hatter was talking about, so he poured Hatter a scotch on the rocks. “Terrible! Hatter exclaimed and downed the drink in one gulp. “I’ll have two more please.”

"Fifteen men- DAMN THAT RED-HAIRED WITCH!" a voice rang out across the bar, catching Hatter’s attention. A red haired witch? Perhaps the voice meant the Queen? Hatter picked up his two new drinks and walked towards the voice. He popped through a crowd and came face to…something with a treasure chest; a slightly inebriated treasure chest from the look of things.

“My good friend! How unfortunate to see you. I’m so delighted!” Hatter waved to the chest, flinging the drink in his right hand across the bar. It smashed into the back of someone’s head, knocking them unconscious. Hatter stared at his right hand, confused as to why his drink was gone. He dismissed the thought and took a seat across from the chest. Hatter had never met the chest before. Well, he supposed he hadn’t anyways; one can never be to sure. He downed his remaining scotch and signaled the barkeep to bring another two drinks for himself and one of whatever the chest was drinking.

“You seem overjoyed.” Hatter said, returning his attention to the chest. “Did this red haired witch cut off your head? I love when that happens.”

[bleu]

Without thinking Solomon picked up the new drink the barkeep had brought him and poured it into his 'mouth', he did not realise he had a guest, he simple went with the flow of things. His treasure was curiously not soaked in any form of liquor considering the amount he drank today. The lid of the chest shut with a bang then opened again as soon as it closed.

"Overjoyed? I bet that witch be overjoyed. She probably took the crew and tossed 'em o'erboard!" With his spare wooden hand he made wide and wild gestures of falling off the edge of a ship. "She might've chopped ol' Tom's head an' handed in o'er ter the marines. he had a fair bounty on his head that one did.." He chuckled a gurgling sort of chuckle, remembering his old friends, but this only lead to fuel his anger even more.

"If I ever get my hands on that witch I'll wring her throat I will! I'll show her what happens when you mess with the crew of the Lady Anne. Why if only I can-" All of a sudden he froze, looking like an ordinary chest with floating hands. Then slowly he adjusted himself to look at his guest, as if noticing him for the first time. The chest seemed to lean forward as if getting a better look, if Solomon had eyes he would stare, but since he had no visible eyes he just leaned. His first thought was that this boy would not last five minute out at sea only remembering that not everyone was a pirate. If they were there would be far too much competition. His crew would still be the best.

"Who're you s'posed to be? What business you got 'ere?" Solomon tried to attempt his very best pirate growl but it sounded like a slur or words rolled in gravel. He took another swing of rum and clamped his lid shut again. If the man wanted his treasure he would have to go through an unbreakable lock first.

[Cybele Renard]

Why were people always asking Hatter who he was? It didn’t make any sense. After all, Hatter didn’t go around asking people who they were. Since time had been killed, there just weren’t enough moments in the day to spare on trivial inquires. Then again, there were rumors spreading around that time had been revived with the help of the White Queen, so perhaps Hatter could spare a moment.

“I’m supposed to be me, unless I’m not.” Now there was a frightening thought. What if he was supposed to be someone else? Hatter shuddered and picked up one of the glasses the bartender had left for him. “People who don’t know me call me ‘Hey you!’ or ‘Hatter.’ People who do know me call me ‘Hatter’ or ‘Hey you!’ The voice in my head also responds to ‘Billy.’” It didn’t really, but Hatter felt like teasing the voice.

Hatter downed the glass and slammed it back onto the table. “As for my business here, well that’s public knowledge which only I know.” He leaned in closer to the chest, eyes darting around. He didn’t see anyone attempting to read his thoughts, but Hatter put a hand up anyways, shielding his mouth from the rest of the bar. He added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Between you and me, I’m looking for the Red Queen. She was supposed to put me on trial today, but she never showed. Quite unlike her.” Hatter leaned back. “I’m also celebrating your unbirthday! As luck would have it, it falls on the same day as my unbirthday! Happy Unbirthday to us!”

Hatter saluted the chest with his other drink then proceeded to finish said drink. “I take it your red haired witch is not my Queen, though. Different murderous tendencies. Pity.” Rather than return the glass to the table, Hatter held it up to the light. “Now that my identity and business have been determined, what of yours friend? Judging by your outbursts and the hue of the light through this glass, I would guess you are having an amusing, yet unfulfilling day. Sounds like you could use an unbirthday…” Hatter lowered the glass and took a bite out of its lip.

[bleu]

"Billy, eh?" Solomon was only half listening, or was able to only half listen. He could ear the blood pumping through his non existent ears, anger seemed to flood his body like a broken ship in a storm. He watched the Hatter ramble on about some Red Queen putting him on trial, he could hardly imagine this boy doing anything that would lead him to being placed in a trial. He probably insulted someone, he mused. The boy did not seem happy to be let of the trial so Solomon thought that the Hatter must be mad.

“I take it your red haired witch is not my Queen, though. Different murderous tendencies. Pity.” The Hatter seemed to have thought that the Red Queen was that sorceress. To Solomon, she was anything but the pretty bar maid that she made out to be.
"Tha' woman don't bother with trails and teh like..." Solomon growled under his breath, but it went unnoticed as the Hatter carried on.

He had no idea the hue of the glass determined his day. Curious, he raised his own glass to the light and only saw golden, frothy liquid inside a glass mug. Solomon lowered his glass and carried on. It was proper courtesy to introduce yourself after you met someone.
"I be Solomon Trunk, Pirate, master gunner of the ship Lady Anne!" His voice boomed with pride, especially at the 'pirate' part. He appeared to look around the room as if daring someone to make a move against him. If someone started a tavern brawl then all the better. He could put these wooden fists into practice. Since nothing happened he calmed down a bit, only a bit and looked at the Hatter in utter confusion at the mention of unbirthdays. Alas, expressions are not very well conveyed though the face of a treasure chest.

[Cybele Renard]

Hatter munched on the glass, head slightly tilted. It wasn’t a very good glass to be honest. Hatter preferred China or Porcelain above all, but one could not be picky when one was in a bar. He decided the glass could use some salt and maybe a dash of blue. Happy with his conclusion, he took another bite out of the glass.

At Soloman’s introduction, Hatter raised an eyebrow. The chest stated his name and flagship with such bravado then appeared to look around the bar. Hatter attempted to follow Soloman’s ‘gaze.’ He was somewhat disappointed when no one rose to the implied challenge in Soloman’s voice; had a brawl broken out, someone may have thrown a salt shaker at him. Hatter doubted anyone had spare blue that they would be willing to throw for the sake of a brawl, but he could hope.

“A Pirate? Splendid!” Hatter took another large bite out of his glass. He made a sweeping motion with his arm, taking in the bar, which it turns out was actually a pirate ship and not a bar. “Although, I must admit, your ship seems rather like a bar. And doesn’t appear to be going anywhere quickly. You should see if the cabana boy is steering the ship correctly.” Hatter understood why one would build a ship in the middle of a city then fill it with drunken beings. What he didn’t get was why one would name a ship Anne when Alice was such a nicer sounding name.

Hatter signaled the barkeep, who he now understood was the ship’s Quartermaster, to bring several more drinks to the table. “So did this red haired witch steal your treasure? Or turn your shipmates into gazelles who overwhelmed you and ate your treasure?” Actually, Hatter wasn’t sure what kind of treasure Soloman had inside him. He had seen flashes of gold, but honestly, who cares about gold? So he asked, “What kind of treasure do you keep anyways? Have anything valueless?” Hatter finished munching on his glass and absently licked his fingers.