Pirates Are Hot and You Can't Deny It

Today...I went to Julia's house so that she, Jinn and I could study Chem and Physics. Myeh...however we ended up talking and listening to stuff like Macy Gray and Panic! at the Disco. And Bill from Tokio Hotel sounds like a WOMAN! meh, he looks like one too.

Anyways here is the next instalment of The Pirate Story:


The days were carefree at the Cutlass Inn. Miere and Arla never had to feel lonely, for they had various customers to entertain, and more importantly, Henny and each other. Even though there were always floors to be mopped and dishes to spread, it was enjoyable work.

However Captain Seth’s restrictions proved to be bothersome. He himself seemed like a man with no feeling, pacing up and down the corridors and barking brusque orders at everyone he saw. He was the strange presence in the otherwise tranquil seaside stop. Miere and Arla couldn’t understand him. They knew he had a room upstairs which served as a study cum bedroom, but what did he do in there? There were times when he hardly used the room, and also times when he would barricade himself in and not come out until closing time.

Once Arla posed Henny this question when she was ordered to send up a meal to him, but Henny shrugged and muttered something which sounded like “Doing accounts.”They had only entered the room once, and then only upon the Captain’s request. It was almost as stark and scrubbed as its owner, the walls plain and whitewashed, with green lichen licking them. The floor was composed of rough floorboards. The decor consisted of a simple bookshelf, a table and chair, and a bed.

Captain Seth had turned around and fixed a stony stare on them. “You know I was a captain once,” he began. “A pirate captain who roamed the seas.”

Affirmative nod. The girls had heard all about it from Henny.

“So I’ll tell you my experience. It was the first time I’d been on it. The sea was quiet and the harsh sun shone on us. The ship hoisted its sails and rode away on the wind.

“I was on deck duty—scrubbing and cleaning it. The ship cut cleanly through the waters. Our captain, Sherwood, had a score to settle. We set off in pursuit of the Iron Maid, Our target ship.

“There was a twist in the atmosphere after half an hour of sailing. I knew that the Iron Maid was near. A dark mist descended over the waters. The maroon flag loomed before us.; The ships halted, prow to prow.

“Then all hell broke loose.

“The crew members went berserk. We launched ourselves onto the other ship and started knocking each other off. Cutlasses flashed ad swords bit into skin. I only possessed a small dagger, so I avoided the heated attacks up front. Instead I slunk along and attacked the opposing deck-swabbers.

“Having practiced with my weapon, I wasn’t too bad, but I couldn’t avoid the slashes to my face. My adversaries were deft, and I was partly lucky that I could parry their attacks. This sense of manic loyalty to Sherwood kept me slashing their throats.

“However in the mist something else emerged. It was the smell of blood, fetid. Like a snake, it ensnared the whole boat. And strangely, I like it. It was like a powerful engine injecting energy into me. I inhaled and lived on it at that moment. My brain was resisting but I was dying away. That smell was deluding me, making me think that I needed it. It was like I was the smell.“The blood came in different shades—black, red, brown, maroon—and it swirled around us like a swollen river. And living on that smell alone I hacked my way to my own minor victory. The bodies piled around me like dead houseflies.”

Here he stopped, and looked at the girls.

“Aren’t you scared to be here, in this room, with a man who loves blood?”

“No,” Miere spoke for both of them.

“Really?” Arla caught the slightest ghost of a smile.

They were then sent off. There was nothing particularly strange about the captain’s tale, but the way he told it was scary. His eyes had acquired the glow of a distant land and his tone fluctuated with passionate intonation. He had stepped out of his mould, but even so, this change was so disconcertingly familiar.

They passed a widely-arched window. Then it hit them.

The sea. The captain had become like the sea, voice accommodating, drawing them closer, his words like waves to sweep you off your feet. He had grown distant, like the sea receding because of the moon’s gravity pull. He had grown until he was too big and fragmented to come back.It was then Miere and Arla realised that they couldn’t live with the sea anymore. It would always be there, calmly roiling; incarnating into the captain to mock them. They hated the hollow feeling the sea gave them. It promised the excitement of unexpected lands beyond boundaries but at the same time, Captain Seth took it back from them. The sea stealing from the sea. This feeling was growing into the direction of fear.


And I am happy because if I do well in whatever I am supposed to do, I may go to Japan. ^_^
私は幸せである。

Comic Fiesta 2008!

My poster with Luffy's abs. XD

Awesome costumes.

Naruto!

Dog, Luffy, Anime Schoolgirl and Grandma. XD

My sis the anime schoolgirl.

Whoo! Today I went to Comic Fiesta, a comic convention, with my sister and Julia and Amanda. It was cool. There were so many people cosplaying--means dressing up--as characters from anime shows...some of the costumes were so extreme! I wish I'd taken more pics, but I was too busy holding all the stuff...-_- I cosplayed as Luffy from One Piece, but the female version. Yosh. One guy actually came up to me and said: "So you're the female Luffy. Cool!" I felt so proud. XD There were a couple of guy Luffys too, but I think I was the only female one. ^^

Anyways there were these dudes wearing miniskirts and girly jackets, and they were GUYS. With lace stockings and leather boots. Wow. Drag Queen. And also sailormoon group, and people in maid outfits and samurais with giant swords. so many people were selling things, so I bought some comics and posters. The costumes are so...well-prepared. I think next year I'll rent a space so I can sell some stuff and make money. $_$ ^_^

Ablablablabla.

Dear People Who Are Kind Enough to Read My Blog,

Hi. I'm having a nice time at home soaking up all the Grey's Anatomy's episodes. Damn. I cannot believe I watched 6 45-minute epidsodes in a whole afternoon. Meredith Grey reminds me of Jennifer Aniston. Dr. Derek McDreamy Shepard looks like Mr. Murali to me. Please don't ask me why, he just does. Personally I like Cristina cos she's got attitude. Sarcastic too...

Well, the point is I'm so addicted to it right now. Just dying to watch the 3rd, 4th and 5th seasons... I mean, pregnant guy, bomb in patient's chest, fork in neck, brain surgery....how do the producers of the show think of such things?

Besides that I'm going to vist my cousin in Australia tomorrow....can't wait, haven't seen them in a while. Well, quite a long while. If I can get any pics I'll put it up here.

Peace, people. Enjoy your holidays. =P

Ahhhhhhh......

Well, I've only got AO maths paper 2 and malay to go so life is good right now. And i'm gonna post another part of the pirate story.

and i want to say: if i were a guy, i want to be tall and moderately good looking so i can enjoy the feeling of having girls crowd around me. XD


Pirate story:
“Miere. Arla.”
The sisters froze in mid-step, slowly searching for the source of that dull voice. They saw Seth standing a little way behind them, face as expressionless as ever, neither smile nor scowl adorning the straight line of a mouth.
“Good evening, Captain,” the girls said, curtseying.
“Good evening. I will ask: How are you girls here?”
“F-fine.”
“Good. There is no reason to dislike this place, is there?”
“N-no...”
“Very well.” With that fragment, he turned away, taciturn as ever. Miere and Arla watched his stiff gait as he ambled away.
***
Iki laughed a careless laugh that bounced off the girls’ faces into the sky.
“You can’t cook?” he asked incredulously. “And you work in a restaurant?”
“Don’t laugh! I’m serious,” Miere pressed, trying not to laugh as well.
“How can you stand it?” Not knowing how the food you serve is prepared?” Mik interjected.
“Our point exactly,” Arla replied.
“You have to learn how to cook. It’s essential for survival. Well, a more comfortable survival,” Darien’s low voice cut in.
“All right! We got it already!” Miere cried in frustration. “If you’re so good, teach us!”
“Fine,” said Iki, and darted off into the bowels of his ship only to return with a small wok and a cylinder with a tripod-like structure attached.
“My lovely portable gas cooker,” Iki said, lighting a match in the presence of the gas. Flames appear. Balancing the wok on the tripod stand, he poured a swirl of oil. Soon the little pool of oil let off a fiery sizzle.
At this point Mik passes some chopped onions and garlic to Iki. The familiar fragrance permeated the air. Iki nimbly hopped over to the ship and retrieved a net full of mussels, grey-green shells reflecting the glaring sunlight. He produced a spatula and tossed the spices, before throwing in the mussels and adding a splash of seawater.
The mussel shells sprang open, shrivelled flesh absorbed the seawater, becoming plump. After some more tossing, Iki handed the girls a mussel each. They were full of flavour, and salty juices oozed from them.
“That’s it?” Arla asked. “So simple?”
‘Pretty much.” Iki shrugged. “But this is just stir-fry. We don’t really boil things, but that’s easy too. Just put food in a pot with water, cover it, and leave it for a while.”
Miere and Arla still couldn’t believe how easy it was. Cooking demystified. It had before seemed a nearly magical act, but now it all boiled down to simple skill. Why wouldn’t Captain Seth let them touch the stove then?

Part 3 of the pirate story.

Well, for Halloween I went to a dinner thing hosted by Carmen. We ate and then...took pictures and laughed at each other. Yeah. Random things. So afterwards 95% of the ppl migrated to KLCC to walk and things. I didn't follow cos my dad would skin me alive and think that I'm crazy. Though I understand he just doesn't want me to walk around at night. And he thinks the guys I hang out with are weird...wait, in fact he thinks all my friends are weird. Anyways I'm glad he's so nice and letting me go out without worrying so much anymore.

Here's part 3 of the pirate story:


Captain Seth had this strange stipulation in his contract—Miere and Arla were, by all means, expressly forbidden to even step over the kitchen threshold. They couldn’t understand why. They served the food, but had no idea about how raw ingredients were transformed into piping hot dishes.
Sure, they had seen their aunt cook before, but they had not been very interested. Now, however, the huge kitchen of the Cutlass Inn evoked strange feelings of leeching curiosity. The entrance to it was inconspicuous, a wooden door that looked like a part of the wall. The food was passed to the servers through a small window with a rickety countertop.
Miere and Arla felt a twinge of envy seeing all the other waiters streaming in and out of the kitchen, but Captain Seth was a formidable force to be reckoned with. When he had sailed the seas, he had the reputation of a powerful plunderer, pillaging and hacking his way to amassed fortunes of gold and jewels. This fortune had not come without some bloodshed and rolling heads. At least that was what Henny had sombrely narrated.
So they stayed away, only sneaking occasional glimpses into that elusive room as the servers opened and shut the doors. Miere gazed in awe at the groaning machines: a mass of grey and black, with purring boilers, snarling stoves and dead-cold iceboxes. Arla caught the pneumatic hisses, mechanical grinding and blunt snap of gas-gun-starters. The kitchen looked all the more mysterious as it was continuously wrapped in a cloak of dense white smoke, like fallen clouds of a summer’s day. The hardened faces of the chefs were only visible as fleeting circles of brown and white as the smoke made allowance.
What got to them most was the aroma. Everything smelled better when cooked, even garlic. Once it had browned in oil, the pungent smell was converted to a crisp fragrance, accentuated further if onions and mushrooms were thrown in. Meat sizzled; oil seeped in, and its smell was brought on a charred wind. Vegetables had a faint freshness as they turned limp and bright green in the wok.
Once, Arla had tried to sneak in, but halted when she saw the Captain looming over her, lamp-eyes fuelled by annoyance. Hastily she backed away, lips forming a silent apology. He just stared, like a stone sentinel.
***
Despite all that, the girls were allowed some freedom outside the inn. On slow days they were permitted to take walks on the beach bordering the inn, with the sea beyond it, crouching like another world.
Neither of them could swim very well, and when they stared out at the blue expanse, surface undulating unto the horizon, a feeling of inadequacy overtook them. It wasn’t just a normal feeling. It was the feeling that only their eyes remained as a point of view as their bodies disintegrated into sand. Their minds could not even begin to fathom the depth beneath the crystalline veneer, or the living things that lurked there. The sea emptied them, stripped them of sentience, and swallowed them whole. Their minds grew out of their bodies and floated off into the sky where seagulls ate their thoughts.
This was why the duo paid particular attention to the ships and boats moored at the port-warehouse, where their cargo was stored. It was a pleasant diversion from the mesmerising sea.
Many types of vessels would dock, form the ancient, barnacle-encrusted barges to the small boats used for recreational fishing. The whole area was as complicated as a construction site, planks leading to ships or lying about haphazardly. Pieces of rope were scattered like intestines. Debris skittered on the sand, which was dyed a dirty brown form oil spillage.
Most of the people who alighted in these shores were burly, dark-skinned labourers who moved the cargo into the warehouses. Sometimes Miere and Arla would get lucky and spot a hidden foreign dignitary, or even a glimpse of a different race they never knew existed. The most spectacular so far was the princess swathed in saffron and fuchsia silks with gold bangles ringing like melodious mini tambourines.
The beach was where they met Iki. As far as they could tell her seemed human, but his skin had a strange bluish tinge and his ears were slightly pointed. When they asked him about it, he just flashed an enigmatic smile and hung his head like a dog in the rain.
Iki had a ship, not very big but comfortable enough for about five or six people. His only companions were Darien and Mik. Darien resembled Captain Seth, in the sense that he mostly kept to himself and answered things in a curt manner; Mik was more carefree, full of failing jokes and lame one-liners. Both were of the same race as Iki, though Darien had a dark purplish hue to his skin, a sort of insignia for inner darkness perhaps.
Iki explained that the three of them were suffering from permanent wanderlust. Their aim was to wander aimlessly, seeing the whole world as it really was. It was a picaresque journey into their souls. Or maybe they just had too much time on their hands, Mik joked.
The three of them had decided to stay on this piece of land for a while. To this, Miere and Arla realised that Iki might own a map. Upon request Iki produced one, a yellowed sheet of paper showing spidery ink sketches. He gestured somewhere down south, to a small piece of land connected to a larger one.
Arla’s eyes traced the map, following its contours until she saw an island to the east. That was it! That was their old home, Akiba. They had followed Nature’s twisted fingers and arrived at Syraz, and this town, Karsal. Funny.
Then Iki asked about their lives—were they locals? To which the girls slowly unravelled their story, through many conversations. A friendship developed gradually, the three foreigners regaling the stranded sisters with stories of their nautical adventures.
And all the while, Captain Seth watched from his window, like a sniper who had lost his gun.

A continuation...

Here's the following part to the story about pirates:



Miere and Arla were assigned to Henny’s care. She became an important, if slightly distant, mother figure. She taught them the inn’s layout and the fastest route from this table to so-and-so destination and from that table to the current one. They were forced to balance many plates of food at once, moving through the crowd, fearful that their precarious stack of kitchenware would topple, and grace them with fine porcelain rain. Even though there were breakages, Miere and Arla soon learnt the principle of restaurant gravity and adapted to the situation. Soon they were passing dishes between tables like a pair of acrobats.
They proved to be popular. After all, they were girls of teenage age, at the peak of growth and enthusiasm, full of confident chatter. Not to mention that the way they wore their tousled hair in a bun and the taut, sinewy legs under the short waitresses’ dresses added to their appeal. It was a typical restaurant trick—pretty servers.
Not to say that they were vapid beings. Both girls possessed a good degree of education and intelligence, and they picked up the local slang quickly. They loved engaging in challenging banter with some of the more erudite customers, often tossing in a wink or smile for added effect. For the simpler roughneck drinkers, a wink and smile was often enough.
Henny also often purchased books, which the girls devoured with fervent ardour, even if some were cookbooks. From the solid lady herself they learnt finer craft such as stitching and embroidering.
There were of course the unwelcome attentions of male patrons foisted on Miere and Arla, but a sharp word was often enough to silence them. Sometimes Seth would intervene and insert an effective threat when things got bad.
However they were never allowed to go to the kitchen.


Yes I know it's a bit weird, but then what can you expect from me?

He died.

Dear readers,

Max, the family's 15-year-old Labrador Retriever, died this afternoon. The vet came this afternnon and gave him a shot of pink liquid. Within minutes his tongue lost all colour and his eyelids started descending. Then he drew two shaky breaths and was gone. Snap. Just like that. This is euthanasia. Mercy killing.

My mum sounded a bit choked up. Then I sounded a bit choked up. Then we all sounded a bit choked up. I mean, seconds ago he was there, and then he went. Oh well, we were offered two choices: either treat him or kill him. We decided there was no point in treating because the poor dog was too old and probably couldn't take the treatment. He was also suffering from arthritis and couldn't walk properly before. So we let him go.

Rest in peace, Max. You lovable fat dog.