#captain of the czarina

[drac-kool-aid]

For real thinking that Dracula is FRENCH is the and saying it in such accusatorial tone cements that the guy is English.

Oh yeah, definitely. And it almost lines up like a punchline. If you didn't get the wordplay and are having trouble parsing what Van Helsing could possibly be talking to, then getting to the bit where captain is screaming about "Not letting a Frenchman (covered in blood) onto my ship (also covered in blood)" is where I think a lot of people could go, ohhhhhh. British.

[ltwilliammowett]

Christmas time is wedding time

Christmas and the time leading up to it are also often referred to as the festival of love. And not without reason, because many of the Sailors had to stay on land during this time because the danger of winter storms was too high. Therefore, many balls and festivals were held during this time so that these gentlemen could also go on a bride hunt. But this only applied to the officers who naturally tried to get hold of a lady from a good family with as much money as possible, as it secured their status and money in case they didn't earn any or got on their sweetheart's nerves at home on half pay.

The gallant Sailor - a Master and Commander with a lovely Lady, by Frank Dadd 1910 (x)

But the normal Sailors also held their own events and so there was also the so-called sailor stabbing, a kind of jousting tournament, but with Sailors and their specialities, in order to impress the ladies with their skills. It also often happened that the couples had known each other since childhood and then got engaged at that time. But it could take a long time in the 17th and 18th century before they were married, because in the spring they would all leave again, and if the couple was unlucky, they would stay there for a few years, so that the wedding would not take place until 7 or 9 years later. If it did take place, it was quite possible that the female relatives could find a better match during this time and then the engagement was ruined.

The Sailor and his Sweetheart, by R. F. Zogbaum 1898 (x)

And one should avoid making a mistake. It is known from the 1870s in England that a girl made a promise of eternal fidelity to her boyfriend. But because the sailor in question had forgotten her address, he was unable to contact her for over two years. When he returned to his home port, he found that she was already married and had two children. Oops -

But back to the time of balls and parties, if they spotted a lady, they wooed her, and in the wintertime it suited them well, because they were at home. Many people already had their lovetokens ready, which were made at sea as a precaution and then passed on to their sweetheart, leaving out the name for the time being and only adding it later.

A 17th century sailor's posy ring (x)

Whalebone Fork and Spoon, made by a Sailor for his sweetheart: Czarina▪︎Blossom ▪︎Dearest, c. 1843 (x)

In the 19th century, people largely dispensed with a long engagement period and the couple moved in together straight away, getting married barely two weeks later so that the couple had enough time for the honeymoon.

Sailor’s Wedding, by Howard Pyle 1895 (x)

The wedding of a captain or flag officer was held in a grand, ostentatious and ceremonial manner. Often the whole town was decorated with flags and ships were moored and fired shots of joy. All family members and friends were invited to the festivities, but above all the sailor's comrades. The wedding of an ordinary seaman, on the other hand, was celebrated quite modestly and only in a small circle. Of course, it also happened that seamen regretted their decision to marry at the last moment and literally left the bride at the altar, which was a great humiliation for the bride and her family. For this reason, the fugitive groom should not dare to set foot in this place ever again, as the bride's family might want to lynch him.

So you see, the Christmas season was truly a celebration of love - whether it came to pass or not.

[muzaplacha]

please explain to me the "with blood" bit?

Whereupon the captain tell him that he had better be quick—with blood—for that his ship will leave the place—of blood—before the turn of the tide—with blood. Then the thin man smile and say that of course he must go when he think fit; but he will be surprise if he go quite so soon. The captain swear again, polyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank him, and say that he will so far intrude on his kindness as to come aboard before the sailing. Final the captain, more red than ever, and in more tongues tell him that he doesn't want no Frenchmen—with bloom upon them and also with blood—in his ship—with blood on her also. And so, after asking where there might be close at hand a ship where he might purchase ship forms, he departed. "No one knew where he went 'or bloomin' well cared,' as they said, for they had something else to think of—well with blood again; for it soon became apparent to all that the Czarina Catherine would not sail as was expected. A thin mist began to creep up from the river, and it grew, and grew; till soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and all around her. The captain swore polyglot—very polyglot—polyglot with bloom and blood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and rose; and he began to fear that he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood, when just at full tide, the thin man came up the gang-plank again and asked to see where his box had been stowed. Then the captain replied that he wished that he and his box—old and with much bloom and blood—were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, and went down with the mate and saw where it was place, and came up and stood awhile on deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for none notice him. Indeed they thought not of him; for soon the fog begin to melt away, and all was clear again. My friends of the thirst and the language that was of bloom and blood laughed, as they told how the captain's swears exceeded even his usual polyglot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on questioning other mariners who were on movement up and down on the river that hour, he found that few of them had seen any of fog at all, except where it lay round the wharf. However, the ship went out on the ebb tide; and was doubtless by morning far down the river mouth. She was by then, when they told us, well out to sea.

Literally have no idea what happened here, don't understand one thing, could not google because the keywords are too common. please help????

[twistedtummies2]

The Scarlet Pirate - Chapter 5

This is the penultimate section of a six-part "Chapter Story" for my OC for Twisted Wonderland, James Killian - based on Captain Hook from Disney's Peter Pan. (Also featured are Smitty McCarthy, based on Smee, and Matthew Satyr, based on Peter himself...oh, and Nakoda - my Kaa OC - also has a role here.) The basic premise of this story has been in my mind for almost as long as James has, but for numerous reasons, it wasn't till just within the past few weeks I finally got a chance to develop and write it out.

The result is, I think, the single longest "Chapter Story" for any of my OCs for TW I've created so far. Take that information however you will. So long as this tale, that it went from a planned three-parter, to a planned five-parter, to now being a six-parter, standing at approximately 150 pages in total! Hopefully, all the work and length will be for the best. XD

As is typical for my Chapter Stories, I will be posting this one chapter at a time per day over the course of this week. For future reference, you can find the previous chapter here.

You can find the next chapter here.

WARNING: While this story, throughout all six parts, does not FOCUS on my kinks, there are instances of very mild stuffing/belching related content sprinkled throughout, as well as various instances of implied or near vore situations. If you're into these things, good on ya. If you aren't, just be warned they will show up here and there, although not with any degree of spectacle.

With that said...I hope you enjoy.

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“Heigh-ho, and up she rises! Heigh-ho, and up she rises! Heigh-ho, and up she rises, early in the mornin’!” The shanty’s tune echoed almost eerily through the bowels of the shadowy stone labyrinth. Down a sloping tunnel, at one end of the vast, maze-like network of passages in the old, abandoned mine, James Killian and Smitty McCarthy carefully marched. James had his right hand on the treasure chest, while Smitty used his left, as they cautiously carried it along between them. James grinned as he looked around at the dank cave at the bottom of the slope: long ago, the Dwarfs had found this spot in the midst of their mining. A part of the river, which ran through the woods and then down into the sea, came into the mountains via this cave. A deep pool of water stretched from the cavern into a short, black tunnel, beyond which was the river itself. There were several tall, rocky formations in the cavern, including one very high, flat-topped stone, almost like a miniature cliff or a rock hill, and a smaller, flatter spot towards the bottom. In one part of the pool, near the tunnel, a sailboat had been moored. Its sails were closed, its anchor stretching into the water; for extra insurance, a sturdy rope had been fastened (with an equally sturdy knot) around a stalagmite that jutted out of the cave’s watery floor. On the boat was brass plaque, which offered the name of the little craft: The Czarina. “Ah, my pretty little crate! We’re now only moments away from TRUE victory, Smitty!” laughed James Killian, his boisterous, booming voice rebounding off the cavern walls. “Who needs a contest prize, when I have enough treasure to pay off a King’s Ransom? This will be plenty for our purposes, once we reach a safe port!” “Aye, James!” smiled Smitty, and paused, closing the eyes behind his glasses and tilting his head upwards, almost dreamily. “Just think of it…finally, out on the open ocean…in a proper ship, doing what we always wanted…” “Indeed,” nodded James, with a more supercilious smile, flourishing his cane in his other hand as he spoke. “Where I shall be captain, and you shall sail with me! Split me infinitives, tis me hour of triumph!” James laughed again; Smitty winced, wringing out one ear with his free hand, and offering a nervous sort of smile. There was a sort of wild gleam in Killian’s eyes, which the smaller man didn’t much like…and there was a strange scent in the air, too. Not just the brine and the earthy odors of the watery cave, but another, chemical sort of odor…like ink… “I just hope it won’t take us too long to sail our way along the river to the sea,” McCarthy fretted. “Ha! Would you think I’m fool enough to not check the miles and depths along the path, Smitty?” scoffed James, resting the long end of his cane upon his shoulder. “I sailed Czarina here meself, and checked the distance to the ocean from this part of the island. I tell you, Smitty, I’ve reached my peak already! NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW!” “HA HA HA HA HA HA!” James and Smitty froze as a sudden, shrill, deranged laugh echoed through the cave. They looked around, startled to say the least, trying to spot the source. “What in blue blazes?!” exclaimed James. “Wh-who’s th-th-there?” stammered a rather scared Smitty. The mad laugh came again; it sounded lower, more ominous. Cautiously, the pair put down the chest, glancing from the left to the right, peering all around the damp cavern. “Speak!” demanded James. “Who are you, stranger?” A diabolical sort of voice came drifting through the cave. “You have stolen the cursed treasure,” it growled. “Now you shall face the ultimate penalty!”

“What are you talking about?” sneered James, standing defensively in front of the chest. “Tell me your name and show yourself, you craven…!” “JAMES! LOOK!” Smitty’s frightened shout alerted James. He saw his stout little companion pointing with a shaking finger up towards the ceiling of the cave. The scarlet pirate looked up…and his eyes widened as a group of five white-cloaked figures flew out from behind the stalactites that speared down from the roof of the cavern. They giggled and laughed and jeered, drifting together in a circle, like a collection of vultures. Most were roughly human in size, but one was much smaller, no bigger than a tiny child, at best. Sizes aside, it was clear what the pale, hooded creatures were. “G-G-GHOSTS!” squeaked Smitty, and ducked behind James. “What jiggery-pokery is this?” bellowed James, trying to seem unintimidated, but his voice carried an unsteady quiver. “We are the Keepers of the Treasure!” declared the smallest figure, in a yowling sort of voice. “Return to us what is rightfully ours, human!” another snarled. “Or you may face the consequences,” another warned, in a sneaky, subtle, smooth tone. “HA!” James rapped, and grinned ferociously. “I fear no ghosts. We have dozens of them at Night Raven College!” “I fear them,” peeped Smitty, who was trying to hide behind his superior. “Surrender the treasure to us!” hissed a fourth phantom. “Or we will be forced to take it,” the fifth said, rather plainly. James glowered. He had not come all this way to be foiled by a collection of meddlesome specters. “You want it?” he growled, shifting his feet to brace himself. “Ha! Well come and get it!” He then nudged the scared McCarthy aside and snapped at him: “SMITTY!” “Eep! Y-Yes, James?” Killian gestured to the ghosts with a hard, stony sort of glare. “Blast them,” he ordered, in a cold voice. Smitty blinked. He looked pale as a ghost himself. “But…b-but James…!” “BLAST THEM!” James roared. “That’s an order, you blundering blue-footed booby!” Smitty gulped nervously, lifting his arms, as if he were afraid of being struck, then nodded. “Aye-Aye, James,” he whimpered, and paused to adjust his cap, jacket, and glasses before waddling forward. He looked up at the circling white spirits, who were making spooky “Ooooooooh…!” noises as they hovered. Smitty took a deep breath and seemed to pluck up courage…then lifted his right hand, holding the palm outwards.

“Hold back no longer. Throw restraint to the wind. Fire at will,” he intoned in an incantation…and as he did so, the ghosts could see what seemed to be a crimson aura, gathering around his right hand. Then Smitty seemed to physically brace himself, as he uttered the name of the signature spell he now planned to use: “CORKSCREW CANNON!” BOOM! With a sound like a cannon being shot, a crimson sphere of energy shot out from the gathered aura around Smitty’s hand. It blasted towards two of the ghosts, who darted out of the way as the ball of red light flew between them… …But as the sphere hit the stone wall of the cave, it suddenly rebounded back again, bouncing like rubber towards the ghosts once more. The energy sphere struck one of them, and - BANG! - burst like some magical balloon. The concussive explosion knocked the ghost aside as they cried out, and flew back into a wall. “What the…?!” exclaimed one of the phantoms. “HA HA!” James crowed. “My compatriot’s Unique Magic creates an eruptive blast that stuns any enemy it comes in contact with. However, it only affects living things…or, in your case, things that were once living. If it hits anything else, it just bounces off.” “It can only bounce three times,” peeped Smitty, seemingly blushing at James’ elaboration.” “Minor details,” shrugged Killian, and pointed dramatically at the other ghosts, as the one who had been hit rather dizzily hovered away from the wall. “FIRE, SMITTY! SHOOT THEM DOWN AT ONCE!” “Aye, James,” Smitty replied, and sent another ball of energy zipping up towards the cave ceiling, aiming this time for the smallest of the white-cloaked figures. The force of the blast was so great, that it actually made him stumble clumsily backwards, nearly knocking him off his feet. The tiny ghost spun through the air, twirling out of the way. The Corkscrew Cannon once again rebounded off the wall behind them, but this time, the ghost was ready for it, and flew higher, the sphere passing beneath the cut of their white sheet. One of the other ghosts, however, was less fortunate, and got struck, smashing into a stalactite. They had not recovered before a third sphere went zooming upwards. It passed over the head of one ghost, who ducked…bounced once, and missed another, who swerved to the side…bounced twice, missed ANOTHER, who cartwheeled out of the way through the air…but on the third rebound, it struck the tiniest phantom, who yowled and flew back… …Only for one of the other ghosts to catch them.

“We have to avoid those blasts,” the small one whispered. “I know,” their savior nodded, then looked to the others. “GATHER UP!” The ghosts all huddled together, weaving and bobbing through the air as Smitty turned around to try and get a solid shot at them…but they kept ducking behind the stalactites and other cave formations. “LET ‘EM HAVE IT!” James raged, waving his cane around like a madman. “COME ON, YOU IDIOT! HIT THEM AGAIN!” “I-I can’t get a clear shot!” squeaked Smitty. The ghosts suddenly dispersed once more, nodding to each other, as if they’d decided on a plan of action. One of them went flying at Smitty straightaway, while the other four flew off in other directions. Smitty opened fire, and the ghost zoomed out of the way… …And as the red sphere of power struck the wall beyond, it came bouncing back…straight at Smitty McCarthy. Smitty froze. “...Oh, no.” BANG! The little man’s glasses fell from his face, and his cap was knocked askew, as the concussive blast burst before him and sent him shooting backwards. Two of the ghosts caught hold of him and lifted him into the air from under his arms. Smitty kicked and squirmed, crying out in alarm as they carried him to the sailboat. One of the pale, hooded specters in the white sheets produced a length of rope, and they tied him to the mast, making sure his hands were firmly set at his sides. Smitty struggled against the bindings as fiercely as he could. “JAMES!” he hollered. “JAMES, HELP!” James Killian hesitated, torn between helping his associate and guarding the treasure still behind him. Just then, he felt a rush of air behind him, and turned fast…just in time to see the remaining two spirits lift the treasure, each cackling wildly with seemingly crazed glee. “GIVE THAT BACK!” James yelled, and threw himself forward…only for the chest to be pulled away before he could reach it. He fell onto his belly, growling as he pushed himself back to his feet, and watched the spirits lift the treasure into the air… …Then felt something inside of him turn to ice.

The ghosts lowered the chest…and placed it on top of the high, sharp, flat-topped “cliff” of rock, overlooking the water. And there, hovering just a foot or two over the very tip of that outcropping, was a familiar, boldly grinning figure, dressed in green. A pixie sat upon his shoulder. James felt one of his eyes twitch. His free hand curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist, as he gripped his cane tightly. “So, Satyr,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “This is all your doing.” Matthew Satyr grinned wider. “Aye, James Killian,” he teased with a wink, hands on his hips. “Tis all my doing.” “Hey!” one of the ghosts called out. “Don’t take all the credit…” …And at that moment, you threw off the white sheet Sebek had conjured up, revealing yourself. One by one, your fellow “ghosts” did the same. You knew who they were. “After all,” you continued. “It was MY idea.” “Meh. Minor details,” shrugged Matthew, in a joking sort of way. James Killian just glared with more hate than you’d ever seen another human being wear upon their face. And by now, you’d seen a LOT of hatred. “How did you escape the beast?” he snarled. “Beast?” Smitty piped up, stopping his struggling. His eyes widened. “James! Wh-what do you mean ‘beast’?” “I believe he’s referring to the giant monster that attacked us in the pit,” replied Azul, as he touched down upon the deck of the sailboat, standing beside the mast. Sebek touched down beside him, smirking and leaning back against said mast. Nakoda touched down on James’ right, while you touched down on his left. Grim landed directly beside you. All of you glared at him critically. James briefly glanced at the three of you, but soon turned his attention back to Matthew. “What saved you?” he demanded to know. “I would have thought that thing would have at least slowed you down.” “You knew?” Smitty gasped, jaw dropping. “About…wh-whatever was there with them?” James briefly looked back over his shoulder towards Smitty. His expression was dull and vacant. Smitty looked hurt. “But…but you said…” “Quiet,” growled James, and then looked back at Matthew with a vengeful sneer. “How did you get away? Faith and Trust and all that rubbish?” “That, and a little bit of help from my new friends,” Satyr shrugged cheerily. “Easy on the ‘friends’ thing,” muttered Nakoda, who looked a bit uncomfortable at that endearment. James just snarled at Matthew, his fingers tightening harder around his cane’s topper. “Don’t you DARE use that word around me,” he said, venomously. “That’s enough, James,” you interrupted, firmly, and began to approach him. “We’re going back to Night Raven-” “WAIT!”

You jumped back as Satyr flew down from his perch and stopped, hovering about six inches off the ground, and a few feet away from James Killian. He pulled out his metal fighting rod, whipping out the collapsible object to its fullest extent, a steely look in his youthful eyes. “We’re not going anywhere. Not yet,” he said sternly. James grinned, as if he were pleased. “Are you insssane?!” hissed Nakoda. “We’ve already beaten him, what’sss the point?!” “I agree!” Azul called out. “We have what we came for, we should-” “NO!” Matthew said indignantly…then a sort of sadness crept into his voice and his expression. “None of you understand. This isn’t a normal fight. This is a duel. And it’s been waiting for a very long time. I need this…we BOTH need this.” He pointed his baton at James. “This man is mine.” James chuckled darkly and lifted his cane, holding it lengthwise in both hands. “Well spoken, Satyr,” he slithered. “If it’s a final duel you want, I shall gladly give it to you.” CLICK. James gave his topper a slight twist, and a sound like a lock being undone was heard. Then - SCHLING! - the sound of steel scraping against wood rang through the cave. Yourself, Nako, and Grim all stepped back, and worry crept into the faces of Azul and Sebek alike. James Killian flung aside the wooden “sheath” of his cane…and pointed the sharp, dangerous, very real sword tip of the weapon towards his nemesis. “Proud and insolent fool,” he challenged, grandly. “Prepare to taste defeat.” Even in the presence of an actual sword, Satyr showed no fear at all. “Dark and sinister man,” he returned. “Have at thee!” With a sort of scoffing battle cry, James Killian immediately plunged forward, and swung his sword around his head. CLANG! It connected with Matthew’s blade, as the smaller, hovering young half-fae blocked the attack. James whirled about, sweeping out for another, rather theatrical slash. CLING! His blade skimmed the rounded edge Matthew’s weapon, as it was batted away easily. Matthew then went on the offensive himself, whipping his baton about to try and strike at James’ face. With sharp, jerking, almost imperceptible motions, James parried the attacks. From that point on, for a time, there was no advantage on either side. Matthew Satyr was a superb swordsman, jabbing with the baton the way a wasp does with its stinger, in between parries that knocked his rival’s attacks aside with dazzling rapidity. He had the shorter reach, and no cutting or stabbing edge, but his weapon was sturdy and his movements fast.

James Killian was scarcely inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play. The Pirate of Hearslabyul forced his opponent back by the weight of his onset, swinging hard and strong. Time and again, he thrust his weapon forward, and each time he did, a collective flinch flew through every heart of those of you that watched. Each time, however, the thrust was turned aside by Satyr’s dueling rod, and Killian was frustrated again. Kes flitted about the dueling pair, ringing her bells in alarm. Annoyed, James swiped at her with his left hand…then squealed as Matthew smacked him in the rear, just as he had in the forest. With a roar of outrage, James lifted his sword up in a chopping motion, but the harsh blow was blocked by Satyr. Kes zipped over to Sebek, flailing her arms as if to get his attention. He seemed to understand what she said… “We should stop them!” he bellowed. Nakoda hissed with a nod, and began to stride forward in an attempt to do just that…but Azul halted all with a sharp call. “Don’t!” he snapped, and his own attention was on the dueling pair, his expression wary and razor-focused. “Let them sort out their differences. This is between them. It’s out of our hands now.” “Then shouldn’t we leave?” Grim suggested, and winced at another loud CLANG! as the metal weapons met each other. Azul shook his head, still focused on the battle. You soon understood… “James is out for blood,” you whispered, worriedly. “If he manages to get an advantage…” Grim gulped nervously, immediately realizing the gravity of the situation. You could see that Smitty McCarthy, still tied up where he was, seemed more than a little concerned. He was watching with very nervous eyes, chewing on his own fat little lip. “B-be careful!” he called out to the fighters, as each swung and blocked the other’s weapon. Which one he was addressing remained a mystery thereafter.

James seemed to grow tired of the even nature of the duel. His sword had yet to gain its prize. He glared, trying to back Matthew towards a wall…but just as Satyr grew close to the stone behind his back, he leapt up and over James’ head, flipping clean over him and landing on the other side. James spun ‘round and lunged, but Matthew spun out of the way, flying over the water. He laughed and came swooping back, swiping with the baton. James ducked the attack, and scowled as he watched the young fairy-boy fly upwards again. At that moment, as he saw Matthew zipping about overhead, a lightbulb seemed to come over James’ own head, and he began to move up the slope of the “cliff” inside the cave. “Go on!” he called out, mockingly. “Fly! Fly! Fly, you COWARD!” Matthew paused in mid-air, once more at the “tip” of the stone hill. “Coward?” he repeated. “Me?!” James laughed tauntingly as he prowled up the slope in a creeping predatory manner. “Ha Ha HA! You’d never DARE to face me man-to-man, foot-to-foot! YOU NEVER COULD!” he barked. “You’ll always fly away, like a COWARDLY SPARROW!” The words “cowardly sparrow” echoed through the cave for several seconds, as James finally reached the flat top of the rock, standing upon it at the ready. Matthew glared down at him, clearly offended. “No one,” Satyr said, seriously, “Calls ME a coward. Least of all you, James!” And then, Matthew Satyr did something you didn’t think you’d ever see him do on his own: he hovered down slowly towards the tall, stone tower…and landed upon it, his feet finally touching the ground. “If that’s how you want it,” he said to James Killian, daringly, and held out his rod almost invitingly. “I’ll fight you man-to-man. One hand behind my back!” James grinned ferociously. He leaned close, lifting his sword. Steel and steel slid against each other as weapons crossed, and he moved till he was almost nose to nose with Satyr’s defiant face. “Do you mean…you WON’T fly?” he cooed. Something about the way James said that made your blood run cold. “Don’t agree to that!” you shouted up at Satyr. “Keep the advantage!” Azul called out. “LISTEN NOT TO THAT RUFFIAN!” bellowed Sebek. “It’sss a trick, I promissse you!” warned Nakoda. Matthew Satyr didn’t seem to hear any of you. “I won’t fly,” he promised. “I give my word, James.” You heard Grim facepaw at your side and mumble, “Moron.” James Killian, for his part, looked like he’d just been made the happiest sleaze to ever sail the seven seas. “Good!” he cheered. “THEN LET’S HAVE AT IT!”

Without warning, James slammed himself against Matthew, knocking the smaller young man backwards. Matthew stumbled back with a grunt, and barely managed to avoid falling off the edge of the cliff. He had just enough time to block a ferocious, hacking slash from James’ sword, before the taller duelist swung up again, hammering blow after blow upon his foe, in a wild, frenzied sort of way. Killian seemed determined to drive Satyr over the edge. Finally, Matthew managed to duck and get behind James, but if he hoped to find an advantage that way, he was sorely disappointed. James spun around and slashed again. Matthew barely had time to duck, and then lifted his rod to block another strike. James wasn’t slowing down at all, and - unable to flit and swerve out of the way as he so often did while airborne - Satyr was clearly beginning to lose the fight. “I’ve had enough of thisss!” hissed Nakoda, clearly growing anxious, and began to try and run up the slope. “NO, DON’T!” you called out, afraid he would end up cleaved by Killian in the proverbial crossfire. James soon spotted Nakoda approaching and glowered. “DON’T INTERFERE!” he roared, and shoved Matthew aside. Satyr cried out as he fell over the edge…but managed to catch himself before he could hit the water. As Nakoda approached, extending an arm in an effort to grab hold of James, the left hand of his quarry swung out and slapped him across the cheek. Before Nakoda could recover from the sudden smack, James snapped his fingers…and Nakoda hit the stone slope like a sack of potatoes, weighed down by the crushing intensity of his own negativity. “Nako!” you cried out, and hurried up the slope to check on him. Nakoda had his hands on his ears, gritting his fangs as he curled upon the ground. “Sh-shut them up,” he whimpered, as if the fear, loathing, and sadness that filled his heart was bringing voices to his head. “Shut them up, please!” Grim mewed as he trotted up beside you, nudging the naga, but Nakoda just flinched away. Both of you looked up with great concern as you saw Matthew then return to the top of the stone. James wasted no time and swung his sword again… …And, to your horror, just as Satyr regained footing, his metal dueling rod was sliced clean in half. It had been weakened by the battle, and a final, strong strike had rendered it officially useless. Desperately, Matthew flung the blunted half at James, who swatted it aside, then jabbed out with his sword. Satyr stumbled and fell onto his back. Matthew looked more scared than you’d ever expected, as James Killian pointed the tip of his cane-sword at his throat. “Looks like I’ve got the upper ‘hook’ now!” taunted James, showing off the tattoo on his left hand. He then swept it behind his back and reeled back with his sword hand. “And now we end this…”

“NO! JAMES DON’T!” you shouted. “YOU CAN’T!” Grim yowled in alarm. James wasn’t listening. There was murder clearly visible in his eyes… …But you two weren’t the only ones who saw it. “He’s…he’s actually going to do it!” Azul gasped, as he heard James’ words. “We should stop him!” insisted Sebek, as Kes frantically nodded in agreement beside him. “How?” Azul said. “If we get close he’ll use his power on us.” “We can hit him from afar!” Sebek insisted. “Don’t you think he’d be expecting one of us to try that?” Azul snapped back. “Let me loose.” The two looked up at Smitty McCarthy. “What?” they asked in unison. “Let me loose!” Smitty repeated, struggling against the ropes. “And fast, before it’s too late!” The head of Octavinelle and the guardian of Diasomnia looked at each other…then nodded. The octopus and the crocodile hurriedly undid the knots…and just as James began to ready himself for the killing strike, Smitty landed on the deck, and lifted his right hand. “JAMES!” he shouted. Killian looked up, alerted…just in time to see the red energy gathering around Smitty’s hand. His face showed something close to horror. “HOLD IT, YOU FOOL!” he shrieked. “NO! NO!” Smitty shut his eyes tight, as if to try and give himself deniability…and launched his attack. BOOM! The Corkscrew Cannon fired…and the sphere of concussive energy rocketed towards James. Killian quickly tried to plunge his sword down and finish the job…but Matthew, now with ample time and warning, was able to roll out of the way.

The sword’s edge was stuck in a crack in rock…and a second later, the concussive blast struck James Killian, and he was blasted clean off the cliff. He flew off the edge and plunged into the water below, landing with a murky, loud SPLASH! Thus the duel between James Killian and Matthew Satyr was finished by Smitty McCarthy. Smitty opened one eye…and when he saw the ripples in the water, indicating where James Killian had fallen, both eyes leapt wide open. “JAMES!” he shouted, and scrambled his way off the Czarina, racing around the rocky “port” to the side of the deep pool in the center of the cave. Matthew, no longer obligated to keep his word, flew over to Smitty’s side as they approached the water’s edge. Azul and Sebek crept off the ship and over to join them. You, meanwhile, helped Nakoda onto his feet, as he was still reeling from James’ Unique Magic. The naga was clutching his stomach with one hand, letting out sort of hissing whimpers, as if he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days, or even weeks. “Easy there,” you whispered, and helped him limp along to join the others. “I’ve got you.” Nakoda just let out a feeble sound and slumped along beside you, one arm over your shoulder as your own arm slung over his. Grim followed close behind you both as you approached the lake. Kes was floating over Matthew’s head, a nervous look in her eyes, as if she was scared of the water…or something inside of it… “James!” Smitty called out again to the water, as the pool began to still. His voice held a note of panic. “James, please, come up!” “I’ll go in and get him,” Matthew said, sternly, and began to rise higher into the air. “But he tried to kill you!” Sebek exclaimed. “Yeah, I know,” Matthew sighed, and gave a sort of weary smile. He seemed ready to dive down into the water from his height. “It’s hard being a hero, isn’t it?” Kes suddenly rang her pixie bells in wild alarm, and flew in front of Matthew’s face, shaking her head frantically. “Don’t try to stop me!” Matthew snapped. “I can’t just-” KA-ZLOOSH! Satyr’s words were cut short, as was any attempt to rescue James Killian, when the water of the cave suddenly seemed to explode outwards, as if a bomb had gone off. Kes hid behind Matthew in an instant. All of you stepped back, Grim yelping and ducking behind your legs…as a familiar swirl of inky black mist came spiraling out of the cavern lake. In the middle of the black cloud, pulsing red and violet light could be seen, like a glowing heart beating rapidly. “Wh-what’s going on?” Matthew exclaimed, somehow jumping in startlement in mid-air. Azul and Grim shuddered. They knew very well. “Overblot,” hissed Nakoda, ominously; he was equally familiar.

Sebek growled, gritting his teeth and moving into a battle-ready pose. As for yourself and Smitty, the two of you watched with matching, anxious expressions, as the black cloud began to dissipate… …And the first thing you saw were the iron hooks. Upon James’ left hand was visible a metal gauntlet, the fingers of which ended in long, hook-shaped claws, almost like a raptor’s talons. Upon the back of the gauntlet was painted the image of a red skull and crossbones, a shade of crimson that matched his long, red coat. The coat now more closely resembled a red Naval uniform coat from days long past…the cuffs of which were completely soaked in black ink, as if they had been dipped in the stuff, some of the ink spilling in ribbon-like patterns back along the sleeves. The brass buttons of the coat also were speckled with ink, and the black lapels seemed to drip ink onto other parts of the tarnished red outfit as well. The coat and the skull-and-crossbones were the only signs of vibrant color upon the whole ensemble. Beneath this, James’ usual outfit was visible, but the colors had changed; the boots were still black, but now ended in what looked like steel toes, which were spattered with drops of ink. He wore black trousers, a black shirt, and a belt the color of mud, the Jolly Roger buckle of which had turned silver instead of gold. Instead of a bandana, atop his head was perched a tricorn hat, colored a sort of pale, grayish purple, with a raven’s feather stuck in it. To top all of this off, the rings around James’ fingers on his un-gauntleted hand had also turned to silver…and one of his eyes had turned a glowing shade of crimson, with a familiar, fiery aura surrounding it.

James glared at you all, sneering as he floated downwards, soon lighting upon the rocky poolside of the dank cave. His voice echoed through the cavern, and seemingly through the entire mine, as frigid as a bitter North Wind. “Children,” he snarled. “I am surrounded by children. Selfish, idiotic, backstabbing little monsters who think they know better, when they know absolutely nothing. And the worst part is, when I decide to show the same form, they seem to think I’m being unfair. Loathsome! All of you! Well, I’m through playing games. I’m through spoiling you all with victory after victory. This time, I’M going to win! This time, I’M going to come out on top! And so I think it’s time all of you recognized…” He held out the gauntlet clad hand, fingers splayed out. “...What it feels like to grow up.”

To Be Concluded in Part 6…

[semusepsu]

Captain of the Czarina Catherine: “You had better be bloody quick, because my ship will leave this bloody place before the turn of the bloody tide”

Van Helsing version: “Whereupon the captain tell him that he had better be quick—with blood—for that his ship will leave the place—of blood—before the turn of the tide—with blood”

[cascadiums]

Captain of the Demeter, a good brave man, meet Captain of the Czarina Catherine, a man who is physically incapable of reaching the end of a sentence without using the word fuck

[vickyvicarious]

Oh If I remember correctly the captain of the Catherine ship later who ignorantly calls his crew superstitious fools is Scottish

I think you're right, but he too is superstitious himself, at least somewhat:

"At first I inclined to slack off sail and beat about till the fog was lifted; but whiles, I thocht that if the Deil was minded to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it whether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would be no to our miscredit wi' the owners, or no hurt to our traffic; an' the Old Mon who had served his ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us for no hinderin' him." This mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said:—

He's willing to consider the possibility that the Devil is trying to influence the journey. Later on he gets a bit more open about it, too. And yet his reaction is practical and money-minded regardless: let it speed me along then, I'll just try to make sure my ship is safe and I get paid. Meanwhile, this is what he says of his crew:

"When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to grumble; some o' them, the Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a big box which had been put on board by a queer lookin' old man just before we had started frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put out their twa fingers when they saw him, to guard against the evil eye. Man! but the supersteetion of foreigners is pairfectly rideeculous!"

This Captain is used as a sort of butt of the joke here, as well as following this pattern of the more 'civilized' people not being willing to listen to foreigners/their social inferiors. He decries their superstition despite impressing van Helsing with his own just before, seemingly oblivious to any contradiction there. Maybe to a certain extent superstition is acceptable, but only so long as it follows his own beliefs and doesn't get in the way of business, apparently.

That could be an interesting commentary on capitalistic matters as well, but he definitely seems to tie in to those same ideas we see with Jonathan and with the Captain of the Demeter. Unlike either of them, though, he isn't willing to listen to the warnings he's given - not even just to appease them. Instead, he follows the impulse expressed by the Demeter's mate and physically beats them with a handspike to 'convince' them. Even though he admits to being uneasy himself, he's not willing to compromise his cargo. That, in itself, isn't so different from Jonathan still going to the castle, or the Captain of the Demeter trying his hardest to get back to Whitby as planned - the difference here is that the concession to Weirdness isn't listening even a little to the lower-class foreigners but in making his own decision that actively mocks/harms them. (Admittedly, it sounds like things came closer to mutiny on his ship, since they actually had the box on the deck to more easily toss overboard. Still, it doesn't sound like he made any effort to soothe their worries in a kinder way before things got to that point.)

A part of me wonders if some of this positioning is due to his nationality. Scottish, at least according to British stereotypes, isn't as civilized as English... but would probably still be more so than the Romanian crewmembers. As such, his reaction is more openly superstitious than the English characters, but less so than the foreigners. But then, of course, that brings us to how he is framed as foolish, not really given the same grace that Jonathan gets to learn better. The Captain of the Demeter learns his error as well, but he doesn't get to make it out alive... and he also in the end chooses his duty to complete his journey over worrying about the danger he may be delivering, just like the Captain of the Czarina Catherine. Obviously, their role as minor characters/plot devices plays a part in that, but it's still interesting to look at in this lens. (And at the same time... this Captain and his crew all don't suffer negative consequences themselves from his choice. In that way, he gets off a lot easier.)

Not to mention, Stoker being Irish adds another interesting dimension since I presume it would be viewed as closer to Scottish in terms of how 'civilized' a nationality it is viewed as in the British Empire. I am decidedly no expert but that's my impression: more respected than Eastern European foreigners (at least the lower-class ones) but not as respected as the English. So perhaps there's a deliberate element of mockery here, and yet at the same time the fact that both English characters (I'm fairly certain the Captain of the Demeter is English? at least I've been assuming so this whole time) are more understanding than the presumably Scottish one undercuts that somewhat, doesn't it.

[gandalfthemorallygrey]

[Image ID: image template of people going violently feral labelled with the words “The Czarina Catherine’s captain when he’s slightly inconvenienced”. End ID].

[perfidiously-snatching]

There has been no munching action from Drac on his recent voyage.

Conclusions:

Dracula was mostly starved when boarding Demeter.

Demeter blood is far tastier than Czarina Catherine blood.

How can Dracula tell if the food is good? Does he sniff a person like in Twilight? Or do people that are generally pleasant appeal more to him?

Czarina Catherine's captain cussed out Dracula to his face numerous times, indicating bitter blood rather than the umami taste Dracula prefers.

[ourgoodfriendjonathan]

I'm disappointed by the reports we get on this journey. Nothing from the captain of the Czarina Catherine, barely anything from our good friend Jonathan, and not a freaking peep from any of the other pack members. I did not sign up for this, Matt

[ltwilliammowett]

Courting and marrying Sailors

Christmas and the time leading up to it are also often referred to as the festival of love. And not without reason, because many of the Sailors had to stay on land during this time because the danger of winter storms was too high. Therefore, many balls and festivals were held during this time so that these gentlemen could also go on a bride hunt. But this only applied to the officers who naturally tried to get hold of a lady from a good family with as much money as possible, as it secured their status and money in case they didn't earn any or got on their sweetheart's nerves at home on half pay.

The gallant Sailor - a Master and Commander with a lovely Lady, by Frank Dadd 1910 (x)

But the normal Sailors also held their own events and so there was also the so-called sailor stabbing, a kind of jousting tournament, but with Sailors and their specialities, in order to impress the ladies with their skills. It also often happened that the couples had known each other since childhood and then got engaged at that time. But it could take a long time in the 17th and 18th century before they were married, because in the spring they would all leave again, and if the couple was unlucky, they would stay there for a few years, so that the wedding would not take place until 7 or 9 years later. If it did take place, it was quite possible that the female relatives could find a better match during this time and then the engagement was ruined.

The Sailor and his Sweetheart, by R. F. Zogbaum   1898 (x)

And one should avoid making a mistake. It is known from the 1870s in England that a girl made a promise of eternal fidelity to her boyfriend. But because the sailor in question had forgotten her address, he was unable to contact her for over two years. When he returned to his home port, he found that she was already married and had two children. Oops -

But back to the time of balls and parties, if they spotted a lady, they wooed her, and in the wintertime it suited them well, because they were at home. Many people already had their lovetokens ready, which were made at sea as a precaution and then passed on to their sweetheart, leaving out the name for the time being and only adding it later.

A 17th century sailor's posy ring   (x)

Whalebone Fork and Spoon, made by a Sailor for his sweetheart: Czarina▪︎Blossom ▪︎Dearest, c. 1843  (x) 

In the 19th century, people largely dispensed with a long engagement period and the couple moved in together straight away, getting married barely two weeks later so that the couple had enough time for the honeymoon. 

Sailor’s Wedding, by Howard Pyle 1895  (x)

The wedding of a captain or flag officer was held in a grand, ostentatious and ceremonial manner. Often the whole town was decorated with flags and ships were moored and fired shots of joy. All family members and friends were invited to the festivities, but above all the sailor's comrades. The wedding of an ordinary seaman, on the other hand, was celebrated quite modestly and only in a small circle. Of course, it also happened that seamen regretted their decision to marry at the last moment and literally left the bride at the altar, which was a great humiliation for the bride and her family. For this reason, the fugitive groom should not dare to set foot in this place ever again, as the bride's family might want to lynch him.

So you see, the Christmas season was truly a celebration of love - whether it came to pass or not.

[ubeetlebum]

The captain of the czarina

[kattyham]

Unless the full crew has been wearing garlic around their necks the whole voyage, I fear that Czarina Catherine won’t be signaling anyone. The captain’s diary might be interesting, though.

[dedicatedfollower467]

i forgot how funny it is when van helsing relates/interprets the captain of the czarina catherine swearing lmao "polyglot, very polyglot, polyglot with bloom and blood" just say the b word van helsing i bet mina's heard worse.

[fixaidea]

Pour one out for the crew of the Czarina Catherine and her delightfully polyglott captain. I wonder how many of them makes it to Varna alive.

[hwestil]

It's the funniest thing when Jonathan, Seward, and Van Helsing go talk to Captain Donelson of the Czarina Catherine and Jonathan tells us that Donelson's "mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and commercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing".

Like, yeah - that absolutely tracks 🤣 He would be into that lmao, it's so him.