Ship In A Bottle || South Park Pirate AU

Nineteen

In which Nobody's tale is retold.

Kyle was not at all happy to find himself back in another little room as another little captive, shoved inside without even being allowed the luxury of washing the blood from his hands. He hadn't been offered a change of clothes either, and so stains and splatters dried from red to brown on his sleeves, chest, everywhere. But as a small consolation, this place did have a bed, and a small porthole, with which he could stare longingly out of.

Kyle had never suffered from seasickness before, but the unsteady rocking of the ship combined with the lingering odour of blood made his already emptied stomach twist painfully in on itself. He hoped he would not be sick again, for there was no basket or bucket to use.

Kyle curled up on the stale sheets and stared out the tiny window, up at the sky. The sun had risen, and the world was blue. Inappropriately blue, Kyle thought. It ought to be grey, or white, or black as a raven's back. The world should be stained with the colours of mourning, for what was gone, and what might yet be lost.

His body was numb, leaden with exhaustion. But his mind was on fire, the echoes of Stan's screams bouncing around inside his skull. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of a saw slicing through muscle and bone, as if it were engraved onto the back of his eyelids. Perhaps this was why when he slipped into sleep, he dreamt about it too. Over and over again.

The saw. The muscle. The bone.

The saw. The muscle. The bone.

The saw. The muscle. The—

Kyle awoke with a start. Footsteps traipsed down the corridor. In his half-awake state, he rolled off of the bed and slammed his fists on the locked door. "Stan!" he cried. "Let me out! I need to see Stan!" The footsteps grew quieter, but Kyle kept shouting, screaming for freedom.

Eventually, the door was wrenched open by a sour-faced Randy. "Will you cease your incessant whining?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Not until you let me see Stan," said Kyle, breathless.

"Not an option," said Randy flatly. "Goodbye." He made to shut the door, but Kyle shoved his foot in the way.

"Someone else then! Like Butters, or Craig—"

"Who?"

"First mate. Um, tall, dark hair, Peruvian."

"Oh!" Randy's eyes lit up with recognition. "The mutinous boy?"

Kyle almost corrected him on impulse but stopped himself. He wanted to give Randy as little information about the crew as possible, because Kyle didn't know what kind of sick tormentation he had planned. "That's him."

"I didn't get the impression he liked you very much," said Randy. "He was giving you a dreadful death stare up on deck earlier."

"That's just how he looks at everyone," said Kyle, though he knew Craig had always saved up her extra dirty looks just for him.

Randy paused, eyes darting back and forth as he thought. "Perhaps you're right," he said. An unsettling smile began to stretch across his face. "I'm sure Craig's a big fan of you, seeing as you're responsible for sinking his ship and dismembering his captain."

Kyle said nothing, deeply regretting ever bringing the name up at all. "If I could see Stan—" he began, but Randy cut him off.

"Sure, I reckon I'll send Craig up here. You two can have a real heart to heart." He made to pat Kyle sardonically but thought better of it when he saw how blood soaked his clothes were, pulling his hand back with a sneer. "I'll send for him at once." He kicked Kyle's foot out of the doorway and slammed the door in his face.