Ol' Flint the Crow

Tipsy Sailor Man

The riverboat encampment was made up of a group of tents on the edge of the forest, not too far off from the riverbank. Bleak led Samuel through campsite as they passed by hordes of sunbathing sailors who were too comfortable to stand up as the pair of strangers walked over them. Samuel almost trampled on someone's face when the boatman rolled over on his side. Miss Bleak was not as friendly; anyone in her way was immediately stepped on with her heavy boots as she made her way to the boats lying on the shore.

Of the many worn out sea vessels sunk in the grass, a grey colored boat with its paint chipping off the hull was by far the filthiest of them all. A few newly grown weeds dug into the boats brittle wood. With one soft tug, you could probably splinter it apart.

The ship's captain was not much better to look at. Knee deep in a pile of empty beer bottles, the sailor lay slumped on the mast with one of the sails covering his face. He was dress in a tattered shirt that had once been white but now was a dirty brown color. No shoes were on his callused feet. The pungent odor of booze and puke coming off the boatman's body made Samuel hold his nose in disgust.

With all the water around couldn't he bother to take a bath? the minstrel thought to himself.

Unfazed by the sailor's stench, Bleak hollered at the sleeping man. He grunted at the noise but refused to wake up. The captain started snoring even louder than before making the bartender had no choice but to fill up the ship's bucket and pour river water on the man's chest.

"Help!" the delirious sailor screamed as he flung his arms in all directions. "I'm drowning! Save me!"

Once the boatman had teared the sailcloth away from his face, Samuel saw that Sailor Hobbs had a rather youthful look about him in spite of all the dirty patches caking his scruffy chin. His hair, although sticky from some unknown substance, was thick and soft to the touch. He almost looked handsome for a drunkard thrashing his hands against the alcohol bottles.

Spluttering on the wet floor, Hobbs the boatman noticed the sturdy woman towering before him. He ceased his frantic movements and squinted his dopey eyes at the barmaid's hefty form.

"You've gained weight, Bleak?" Hobbs said without a hint of fear on how the bartender would take it.

Clenching her palms tightly, Miss Bleak hissed, "I've gained muscle! Nice to see you again too, Hobbs."

"So, what's up?" the captain said as he closed his eyes to catch a few more minutes of rest.

Knowing that Flint may arrive at any moment, the barmaid yanked the weary boater by his grimy shirt and placed him upright on his feet. Hobbs wobbled a bit as he yawned and scratched his sagging beer belly.

"We need passage down the river to Sickle Wood," Miss Bleak said as she gestured the captain to begin fixing his disorganized ship. "We haven't got all day!"

"Steady there!" Hobbs said as he picked up an empty bottle of alcohol from the floor hoping to find one last sip. "No need to rush things. Who's we?"

"Me and Flint!" the bartender muttered impatiently.

Unsuccessful in his quest to fine more liquor, the sailor moved his bright, blue eyes lazily at the flute player. He rubbed his chin and gave Samuel a pitiful frown like he was disappointed at something.

Clicking his tongue a few times, Hobbs dolefully asked the barmaid, "Who's this fellow? Your boyfriend?"

Taken aback by the odd remark, Samuel blushed and nervously glanced at the hulking woman. Miss Bleak scowled at the hungover sailor and his idiotic words. Attempting to evade the awkward question, the bartender attempted securing the sails to the mast.