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Sep. 8th, 2003 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdCurrently taking advice on a small town on the coast of Morocco that could have been ruled by a pirate lord in the 18th-19th century.
Note: Heater is secondary canon--novels and radio plays. He's Jabba's right hand man, and he swishes audibly.
The Barbary pirates sailed out of sight, leaving the Falcon adrift. Everything. They’d taken everything except a single cask of water and a crate of ship’s biscuit. It wasn’t going to be enough to get them to a safe port, and even with strict rationing, they were going to be very hungry and thirsty by the time they reached Jabba’s town.
Solo stood at the wheel, steadying his lady with one hand, the other fingering the hole where they’d taken even the gold earring that would pay for his burial. The crew went about their tasks with no enthusiasm. And indeed, why should they? This had been the Falcon’s last chance to redeem herself. She was fast, but unlucky. Some of the crew mumbled that Jabba’s wizard-enforcer, Heater, had hexed them.
He shouted for the crew to assemble. All ten of them, with great Bacca looming over the others, awaited his word.
“We sail by night. Sleep by day. It will save water in this heat. We’re going straight to Jabba. Any man who wants off before we get there, you’re welcome to swim for it when we get in sight of land. But I won’t live the rest of my life on the run.”
“You’re mad, Captain, and dead too when Jabba gets hold of you.”
“Maybe so, maybe no. We sail. One biscuit and a cup of water per man each day. Anyone caught stealing gets the lash.”
A murmur went up as the seriousness of their predicament sank in. Captain Solo hated the lash and had promised each when he came aboard that it would never be used. In ten years of sailing with him, Bacca had seen him use it only once, on a man who’d bought a slavegirl in port and tried to bring her aboard. He’d beaten the sailor bloody, tossed him overboard in the harbor and sailed with the girl in his own cabin as an honored guest. She’d used the money he’d given her to open a cookshop in Marsailles. The crew of the Falcon ate for free when they were in port.
Solo turned the prow for Morocco and Jabba.
The Falcon limped into the harbor of **, her crew gaunt and slow with thirst. To a man, they had decided to stand behind their captain. Heater stood on the dock, his red silk robes gleaming in the sun, watching as they dropped anchor and tied up. Slowly, carefully, doing everything as if for the last time, the crew left the Falcon in perfect shape, ready to sail.
“Han, my boy, you’ve disappointed me for the last time. You and your crew are the most unfortunate ship on the seas, and no longer fit to sail for His Exaltedness. Your crew will be sold to pay your debts. Jabba has personal plans for you and the Sicilian.”
Jabba’s guards, fierce desert nomads, herded the crew away, leaving Han and Bacca to follow Heater into the gloom of the palace.
Note: Heater is secondary canon--novels and radio plays. He's Jabba's right hand man, and he swishes audibly.
The Barbary pirates sailed out of sight, leaving the Falcon adrift. Everything. They’d taken everything except a single cask of water and a crate of ship’s biscuit. It wasn’t going to be enough to get them to a safe port, and even with strict rationing, they were going to be very hungry and thirsty by the time they reached Jabba’s town.
Solo stood at the wheel, steadying his lady with one hand, the other fingering the hole where they’d taken even the gold earring that would pay for his burial. The crew went about their tasks with no enthusiasm. And indeed, why should they? This had been the Falcon’s last chance to redeem herself. She was fast, but unlucky. Some of the crew mumbled that Jabba’s wizard-enforcer, Heater, had hexed them.
He shouted for the crew to assemble. All ten of them, with great Bacca looming over the others, awaited his word.
“We sail by night. Sleep by day. It will save water in this heat. We’re going straight to Jabba. Any man who wants off before we get there, you’re welcome to swim for it when we get in sight of land. But I won’t live the rest of my life on the run.”
“You’re mad, Captain, and dead too when Jabba gets hold of you.”
“Maybe so, maybe no. We sail. One biscuit and a cup of water per man each day. Anyone caught stealing gets the lash.”
A murmur went up as the seriousness of their predicament sank in. Captain Solo hated the lash and had promised each when he came aboard that it would never be used. In ten years of sailing with him, Bacca had seen him use it only once, on a man who’d bought a slavegirl in port and tried to bring her aboard. He’d beaten the sailor bloody, tossed him overboard in the harbor and sailed with the girl in his own cabin as an honored guest. She’d used the money he’d given her to open a cookshop in Marsailles. The crew of the Falcon ate for free when they were in port.
Solo turned the prow for Morocco and Jabba.
The Falcon limped into the harbor of **, her crew gaunt and slow with thirst. To a man, they had decided to stand behind their captain. Heater stood on the dock, his red silk robes gleaming in the sun, watching as they dropped anchor and tied up. Slowly, carefully, doing everything as if for the last time, the crew left the Falcon in perfect shape, ready to sail.
“Han, my boy, you’ve disappointed me for the last time. You and your crew are the most unfortunate ship on the seas, and no longer fit to sail for His Exaltedness. Your crew will be sold to pay your debts. Jabba has personal plans for you and the Sicilian.”
Jabba’s guards, fierce desert nomads, herded the crew away, leaving Han and Bacca to follow Heater into the gloom of the palace.
