Pickup Line 1: Avaste me beauty! Prepare to be boarded!

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Sanky Panky Pirate

By KuroKoneko Kamen

Pickup Line 1:   Avast me beauty! Prepare to be boarded!

 [Golden Age of Piracy - Island in the Caribbean - Dominican Republic]

“Die Machete!”

A pale, lanky gentleman dressed in a well-tailored suit with a pair of round spectacles on his face and with his black hair slicked back in a very serious way, was not acting very gentlemanly as he swung his cutlass at me in a rather violent manner.

Hijo de puta! You son of a bitch!” He yelled as he continued to swing his sword at me in a series of deadly jabs and slashes.

Yep, these were the first words out of my brother’s mouth as soon as he recognized me. It had been ten years since we had last seen each other and this was a reunion of sorts. Not exactly the best greeting to receive from one’s brother after such a long time of separation but I can’t say I really blame him due to the current circumstances.

I ducked and my brother’s cutlass went whizzing over my head. He took a couple of strands of my long, wavy, black hair with the blow. I was thinking of getting a haircut anyways, honest. Long hair was way too much work for a guy to handle. I was lazy, a low maintenance kind of guy.

“What’s this hermano? Not only did you learn how to use a sword while you were away you also became a barber?” I teased. Yea, I had a problem with taking things seriously.

I had to admit that I was very surprised my wimpy and scholarly brother Santiago could actually wield a sword now. Back just a few years ago all Santiago did was read weird philosophy books with titles like: The Book of Lieh-Tzu, Love, Freedom, Aloneness: The Koan of Relationships, Meditation: The First and Last Freedom, Courage: The Joy of Living Dangerously, Intuition: Knowing Beyond Logic, Freedom from the Known, As One Is: To Free the Mind from All Conditioning.

I stroked my chin as I observed my brother taking a fighting stance. Obviously someone had taught him how to fight and knowing my brother he had probably also read up on the art of combat.

And therein lay the problem. My brother stuck ‘to the books’ too much. Meaning he always followed the rules. He wasn’t impulsive or imaginative enough to win a real fight. Real life was impossible to predict. I was the exact opposite: I never played nor fought by the rules. I had been taught swordsmanship but I didn’t follow the forms exactly. I always put my own twist on the way I fought.

Therefore, my brother’s motions were completely predictable therefore. Whereas the way I moved, ducked, evaded and attacked was completely unpredictable and chaotic. One minute I would be jabbing my machete forward only to end up spinning on my head and kicking out with my feet at my brother’s head in a kind of break dancing move…though break dancing didn’t exist in the seventeenth century…

The way I fought was hotheaded and reckless – the way my brother fought was coolheaded and calculating.

Why were we fighting, one may ask? What could possibly make two brothers fight each other like this? With one of them (aka Santiago) trying to kill the other (aka me) so mercilessly.

--A buxom beauty of course. (It’s always a woman, isn’t it?) 

Said blonde bombshell was lying on the only bed that was in the hotel room while giving us an amused look when my brother wasn’t looking. She was scantily clad (regretfully I had had a hand in this). She was wearing a white, lace-up corset and a pair of lacy, white panties. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and over her breasts in golden waves. She had large, silver-blue eyes that reminded me fondly of newly polished steel. Her lips were painted provocatively in red. She was extremely pale skinned – a rich, gringa merchant’s daughter. The prime prey of any Sanky Panky. And had I already mentioned that she had an extremely nice pair of full, luscious breasts.

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