Ship In A Bottle || South Park Pirate AU

Ten

In which a battle goes unfought, and another endured.

Kyle leant against the wall, waiting for Stan to finish rearranging the broom cupboard, so that there was room to squeeze their play swords back in. That was what he called them – 'play swords.' Not practice, not test, not blunted, but play swords. Kyle had thought this was ridiculous at first, but over the past ten days of training, he had come to realise that Stan really did see it as a sort of playtime. One which he was grossly competitive about, and one which he invariably beat Kyle at. It didn't seem much like a game to Kyle, not since they had moved on from little exercises to real, hardcore fighting styles. He had not felt like such an inadequate performer since he played piano for his father.

"Oh—Damn!" The was a great clattering from inside. Kyle poked his head round and saw empty shelves and a very messy floor, metallic objects that glinted in the afternoon sun.

"Jesus, are those all swords?" said Kyle. "Are you alright?"

"Not a scratch upon me," said Stan, brushing the dust from his clothes. "But I must say that this room seems to be averse to organisation."

"I think you're just inept at tidying," said Kyle. "Let me do it." He elbowed Stan out of the way and began sorting through them, arranging them by size and weight. "Can I have one of these?" he asked when he had put them all back on the shelves.

"Depends on what you plan to do with it."

"Chop your head off whilst you're not looking."

"Good luck with that," said Stan. "I've always got an eye on you." He knelt and scanned the selection. "Here, this one will suit you." He handed a cutlass to Kyle, who tried it out against an invisible enemy.

"Why did you pick this one?" he asked, slicing at the air.

"You're used to fighting with sabre. This one's thinner than rest, but still sturdy enough to hold up in battle," said Stan. "Plus, it's slightly less shiny than my cutlass."

"Are you particularly insecure about your sword?" Kyle grinned and Stan smacked him on the arm.

"You're dreadful!" He thrust the sheath at Kyle, who attached it to his belt.

Kyle gazed out across the water. "How close are we to Cape Cod now?"

"About two-thirds of the way there."

"Only that?" he complained. "I thought sailing was supposed to be faster than going by foot."

"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, Kyle, but I don't control the weather at sea. Would you like me to make a sacrifice to the gods, to persuade them to send the right winds in our direction?"

"Isn't it normally animals that are sacrificed to the gods?" asked Kyle. "Rams, sheep, that sort of thing? We don't have any of those."

"Rams are sheep, dimwit," said Stan. "And sometimes people were sacrificed instead." He squinted at Kyle, sizing him up. "You'd make a good sacrifice, I think."

"I've not got a lot of meat on me."

"You've got more since Tweek started cooking," said Stan.

Kyle had filled out a little, that was true. However, this was less to do with the improvement in food quality, and more to do with the simple fact that life on a pirate ship was draining work. Big bowls of soup was the only thing to hand that could keep up his energy, as sleep so often evaded him.

"Anyway, it's not always about the body," said Stan. "Emotional value comes into play."

"But that's subjective," said Kyle. "Who determines the emotional worth of a person?"