Washed Up

by ambion

Bilge Rat

Below decks and in the gloom, Patches was no less cheerful than she had been above. If anything, her innocent enthusiasm was condensed by the narrow spaces. With her very own underling in tow—despite his towering over her—nothing, not the entire ocean itself could dampen Patches’ spirits. Or, as she would have said, ‘thpiritth’. A few baby teeth could make a world of difference where words were concerned.

And as those went, Flotsam used little. He found himself easily listening to the rambling little foal with half an ear, nodding along to this and that. Things were fairly straightforward; the galley, the hold, the bilges.

Ah, the bilges. That was their first true stop. Stink permeated the cloistered air, making each breath slimy in Flotsam’s mouth. He coughed as he made a light with his horn, glad to discover the ease with which the magic came to him.

Two mares worked the main pump. For their efforts, there was merely a pervading dampness down here, and they turned to watch the new comer. They smiled, like fish with pointy teeth might do.

"ello love," said the nearest, a steely dark mare.

"Hi Hard Tack! Hi Thcuttle!”

The mares hesitated, their steady pumping made uneasy for one precarious moment. They looked down to Patches. "Oh, hey you."

‘

The filly ahead, a lot of pride compacted down tight into the little body. "Thith is Flottham!’’ she announced with a sweeping gesture.

Flotsam bowed. "The pleasure is mine," he said, out of a habit he only now realized he had. He was as surprised as they were.

"Well lookie thar," said the one called what he presumed had to be “Thcuttle.” She dropped to her hooves from the pump and rolled her shoulders. "A right proparr courtier, on arr little ship to boot." She said the word like “court-ear.” Hard Tack whispered something in Scuttle’s ear. The pair laughed.

"He’th going to work the bilgeth. Do hith thare of work!”

"You take good care of him now, Patches. See you later, Flotsam." The mare’s voice cut through the dank air like a triangular fin. The pair’s whispers and giggles lingered in the woodwork.

Flotsam had no mind to consider certain things, nor did the “thwabbie” give him time to do so.

"Thith ith the bilge!" she declared in her high, squeaking voice. "It keepth the water out!"

It was a simple matter, designed to have a pony at each end to work the lever back and forth. In the dancing lights of his horn the stallion could see the rust and slime of it. Flotsam took a side and waited dutifully on Patches lead. The irony escaped him.

At her full height, the ship’s filly could still stand quite comfortably under her half of the lever mechanism. "I’m too thmall to do it. But you’re not. Yay littleneth!" she cheered with unabashed delight. "Thee you later Flottham!"

The filly bounced away, hiding nothing of her joy at leaving the stinky bilge area. Flotsam circled the device, his hooves slapping wetly against the floorboards. He put his weight on the one end and pulled it down, causing the other half to lift back up. The machine gurgled and groaned. He circled around to the other side and pushed it down, again the gurgle and groan combo met his ears. It was tedious instantly, but the unicorn took to it with resolve.

In the stink and gloom, an idea struck. Flotsam focused his magic on the half opposite himself, grinning when he proved it was well within his power to manipulate it magically. Glowing in blue magic, the lever sank once more. Hefting his torso, he worked the nearer half. The sounds of pumping were irate and challenging.

It took a few starts, but soon he had the rhythm going between magic and muscle. He settled into a pace he felt he could keep for a good while and, it being a fairly mindless task, let his wander elsewhere.

There wasn’t very far for it to go. The summation of his life experience was, for the moment, today. When worrying about it broke his stride, Flotsam decided to stop worrying. He couldn’t explain his overall calmness with the whole ordeal. He felt certain, even though he was not sure what of. Sooner or later he’d remember something, and deal with that then. In the meantime, the bilges weren’t going to work themselves, and it was the least he could do for being plucked out of the water.

Soon enough the groans of machinery were a backdrop to his thoughts. Maybe an hour had passed, or a little less, and Flotsam was again surprised with himself. Not only was he taking mundane work so well, but keeping a good sense of time as he did so. It seemed to stand at odds with the earlier “court-ear” remark, but another clue was another clue, even if he could make nothing of them yet. For now, his he was his own biggest mystery.

It never got any drier, but at least it never got any wetter either. The ripeness of the air hardly registered with him now, and his hunger reasserted itself. A glass of water wouldn’t be out of order either...

"You," came the sudden voice, making the stallion’s ears flick upwards, and his stance shift instantly to attention. The voice had the deep chested, booming quality that didn’t need to be loud at all to be imposing. It was as much a rumble as it a word, and only after the fact did Flotsam realize that this rough voice was, in fact, a mare’s.

She walked in all muscle mass and thick, wind roughened, wine coloured coat, thickest and tufty at her prominent chest. She held her head upright and alert, with wings fitted neatly to her sides. She gave a cursory glance over Flotsam and his work, saying nothing further.

He cautiously took the silence as approval, or at the very least, tolerance. Her expression was of stern neutrality, one that seemed to be measuring him. Her statuesque stillness prompted him to buck the trend, and he reached out a hoof.

"They’ve taken to calling me—"

"Flotsam."

His hoof hung there. She made no move to take it. ‘Ah, right.’ Something niggled his thoughts. "Hey, did I see you before?"

"I pulled you out," The pegasus stated.

He could remember that much, if only vaguely. The formless swirl of the waves, then strength—not his—pulling him back. Holding him up. "Well, thank you," he said. "You saved my life."

She gave a nigh imperceptible nod, saying nothing, and left a moment later. Flotsam had the strangest feeling he’d passed some sort of test. He pondered it a minute and, with no answers forthcoming wiped his brow and set himself back to work on the bilge.

Comments

[CoastalSarv]

Followed. This intrigues me, and Patches is too cute to ignore.

[Brony Tom]

This is nice. Not presumptuous at all, just a simple and fun little story. It deserves more views, for sure.

[Orange Pudding]

The mundane tasks of a pirate's life! Exciting!

[SHMANDER]

Jesus CHRIST! USE QUOTATION MARKS DAMMIT!

[Marowak47]

This is weirdly interesting...

[Muggonny]

I think it's alright if you go back to single quotation....

[Leonzilla]

Two mares worked the main pump. For their efforts, there was merely a pervading dampness down here, and they turned to watch the new comer. They smiled, like fish with pointy teeth might do.

Like predators I take.

So far for named characters we got six, Flotsam, Patches, the captain the crimson pegasus and this two seemingly unremarkable ponies that just might not be mentioned again.

"Hi Hard Tack! Hi Thcuttle!”

~Leonzilla

[Nova_Blast]

OK. it's been months since I read this chapter but a new song from a band I listen to reminded me of this chapter

[CrystalWaters]

It's nice that everypony has a name.