Rhea's Buccaneer Dropoff


Written by Septia.


Dawn had yet to grace the sea. Yet, the inklings of light teetered on the horizons in tentacles of illumination. The Grey Dove cressed through the waters at a snail's pace, her sails lashed for the night. A few shadows stirred on the fore deck, lit by a lone lantern carried by first mate Rynera; she had taken the opportunity to relieve the night shift of their duties in order ot show the ship's latest recruits the rope.
	“Mrs. Rynera,” a human asked, “was fraid to ask, but, be we pirates, or privateers?” 
	The first mate crustacean cracked a smile. “All depends on who be posing the question. Iffen yer uncertain, just stick ta privateer.” she informed. Rynera's whiskers suddenly twitched, she glanced back towards the back of the ship. 
	“Mrs? What is-.” 
	“Shhhsh.” Rynera mouthed and pinched the lantern shut. “Up in the forecastle with ye, iffen ye value yer spine, savvy?” she instructed and soon followed to the raised bow of the ship.
	In between the beams of the railing the crew glanced to the aft of the ship. -Grlrlogugub- A low growl rumbled from in the distance, and the door to the back creaked open. 
	“Thar she blows,” Rynera nodded. 
	Through the door waddled an alabaster nightgown and the grey fur that the front of the gown could hardly contain. Despite the ships captains diminutive stature she sported a gut which was nearly as wide as she was tall, bounding with a turgid bob at her steps. The upper gown of the rat captain's sleeping suit covered a quarter of the gut's peak, leaving the rest to jostle free in the brine soaked morning air -Bbwnngh- -Bgglspgah-. 
	“That's the captain?” the human asked. 
	“Ay,” Rynera whispered, “was worried she'd be peckish.” 
	The captain yawned, her tail dragging behind her like a ball and chain as she moseyed over the Carrack's decks, coming to a rest against the railing on the port side. 
	“Huuuah…” she heaved and scratched her chin. -Bhgrllpgugsh- her stomach growled at a faint jostle. “Ay ay… Thought ye'd fancy wakin' me up atta crack a dawn?” Rhea mused to her stomach, smacking her lip and coughing to kick-start the moisture in her maw. “Haa, reckon that's fer the better, gotten meself a surplus a fuel from ye lot. If fen I dont start burning ye off early,” she mused and stretched her arms far above her head, “Haawyn, then I'd start packing on ballast faster than a queen's galleon.” Rhea heaved herself up on the trailing, steadying her body with the main mast rope. “Iffen ye gonna keep complaining, I'd motion you just mosey on out, an leave the captain to deal with more… compelling issues.” She addressed to her gut, giving it a clap with her palm, as it gurgled -Gllphghs-. 
	“Mmm? 'suppose I'll help ya scuttle on through then,” she mused and leaned over, her stomach, resting her torso against her gut, pinching her bloated abdomen between her chest and thighs, gyrating her hips to jut out over the ship's port side, the grinds of her hips tugging down the the pants to expose her moons. 
	The cheeks rustled with a whistle of smog -Ppfrrvvrwpth-. Letting the pucker budge out between her cheeks, then wink out and in as a chug of gruel worbled within -Ghhgbglh- -Chhgrllrpgshh-. “Mnnfs, and right on out ye come,” she hummed. 
	Rhea's rear splayed as her pucker throbbed outwards, plump into a bulb of meat between her soft buttocks, pucker clenched firm with its furrowed puckered shut. In a few huffs and grunts, the brim parted more and as it withdrew, in its place unveiling a beam. The pillar of umber crowded her rear with a girth matching her paw, a cobbled pillar forged of clumps of gutter slag wedging its way through her brim with a squeal of brushing a steak in butter -Chhfflrpgh- -Shhgrrllrpths-. The mound chugged along leisurely, clotting stuck every few moments with some sort of obstruction Grinding the pace to a halt as it wedged past her pucker. Despite the darkness one could discern between the deep mocca muck and bowel bleached bundles of bone buried in the banks of bottom bog bilge. Clutters of ribs and clavicles shouldering their way out of the rodent's rear. 
	“Ye bastards mighta been able a scratch in our lil' tussle last eve, but mfnngs,” she huffed as her hind unleashed a stretch of bowel lubricated batter -Chhrlpts-, “but yer puttin' up more than a fight 'ere than back then. However, I'd tell me gut's paid ya back in spades, and then some,” she mused as she wiggled her hind to ease the percolation of the bone riddled mass through her rectum -Chfprlrfhts-. Collections of calcium wasn't all that clotted the captain – after all, her past dinner did not have the courtesy to strip before crowding her core. 
	There were clothing in a range of decomposition, from a tussle of molten leather straps sprouting through the bale's cracks like a bouquet, to a blemished ascot strung between its immersion in the muck and the the horn of a skull that had belonged to some form of bovine. The patchwork of cloth and linen dressed the muck in a tapestry retelling what she'd indulged in. There were the more ornate coat, with a selection of brass buttons embedded in the bulwark of batter, to tatters bearing such sorry states that they could barely be ruined further by a trip through the captain's colon. Once white shards plastered against the side of the mound, clamped right enough to the point it folded in along the fissures of the corpulent column, the labyrinthine pattern of clotted bile superimposed on the garment. 
	-Gbbrlgpgsh- In the putrefied air laid an acidity of the marriage of cheap grog and fancy whiskey, giving the meaty stench a sharp edge of a tavern brawl. Rhea's stomach gradually contracted as the muck decanted through her hind, the stern deflating with a rumble of displaced mud -Chghrblgpgsh- Tugged inwards in time with the mass siphoned through her fudge funnel and barrelling down the side of her ship. 
	The tail-end of the muck caressed into the surface of the waves below. A contortion of clay reverberating as her gut gradually strummed back to a reasonable girth for the captain's height -Chhgllptgh- -Shhrglglththts-.
	“Haa, there ya are, just returning some oo' the old salt to the sea, what more of a burial could yea hearty meal ask for?” -Glrlpghs- Rhea patted her slimming stomach, seeing it settle in folds of blubber once the dredge had been sluiced out. “Though me hearties be quite the hearty meal, sure beats hardtack,” she mused and sighed, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes caught onto something that glimmered. Through patchwork and bone clad bale she saw a metal chain. A talon hooked onto it and reeled in a pocketwatch from the bale -Clslpththsh-. Matted in murk, though still solid. She fished out a strap of cloth from the bale behind her and polished up the watch as he polished her ass polished off her catch, twisting and turning the trinket.
	“Good condition, despite the trip, heh, bita loot with a story,” she said and pocketed the watch. Leaning over and grunting as ejected the last of the mire through her hind -Chthtlgpsh- The bale fell off the port, just as the morning dawned, heralded by the hearty -Ppbbgglptsuh- splatter of the bale barrelling into the sea…
	Rhea wiped her hind with the cloth and discarded it with the waste, hopping off the railing with her much more compact – though certainly somewhat plump – physique. “If fen ye scallywags got anymore tales to tell, then let the whatever lurks at the bottom be ye audience,” she chuckled and stretched. “Mmma haa, great ta be rid of some ballast, high time oi got dressed,” she mumbled and strutted off back to her quarters. 


Rynera and the initiates rejoined on the deck. 
	“Why're we afraid of the captain?:” A peacock wondered. 
	“Ain't' the captain, persay, just her appetite,” Rynera clarified. “Don't want none o' ye to end up like Stinky Sally, just yet.” 
	The human looked confused. “Who? What happened to Stinky Sally?”
	Rynera gestured off port side. “Collateral.”
	The human held onto the railing, gazing down at the waves. Much of the mound had sunken to a dark shadow in the depths, though the chunks interspersed with most of the bones still hovered just below the surface, several craniums staring upwards, femurs and humerus jutting out of the weighted bile, giving it a perverted guise of the jolly roger, glaring back from the depths at the inexperienced landlubber. The stench still lingered, though washed away each moment by the briny of the sea. Smell and sight would soon detach from the ship, and soon it would belong to not but the sea. And the seas were vast… it had room for more.