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Did you know that being a quartermaster on a pirate ship requires actual labor? I should have researched that before I took the job.

Right now, we are celebrating being sock-demon-less by hanging our socks out to dry. For years, crew members have had to carefully wring out their toe cosies post-wash and quickly slip them back on to avoid Zane’s attempts at “liberating my brothers in legs.” I tried to explain what “in arms” meant. It didn’t end well.

As part of the dwarf’s efforts we have three industrial washing machines running off something that he claims is “technically” solar-powered. The power source is a box about two feet squared and covered in green runes. When one of the machines began bleeding a glowing slime, he said it was “fine” but warned me not to let the slime touch a food source. The solar component is a small panel about two inches squared. We are running them non-stop too, as the dwarf puts it, “to find the one with the most fighting spirit.”

So, the crew also have clean knickers for a change. Except Belle. Hers seem to have gone missing. Mysteriously. I’m afraid to check Cerran’s quarters – I’m still in therapy after the last encounter and will be for the foreseeable future. All I know is that I’m not hiring an arcane engineer from Crom’s List ever again. I’ve never seen so many empty squeeze cheese tubes in my life.

Incredibly complicating my life is also this large collection of vintage porn magazines. Two crew working close to the boxes have been caught trying to dive overboard to gather pearls. Both had to be sedated after muttering about the need to have pearls. Others have been found taking wood planks and absentmindedly creating little wooden implements with pointed ends and hooks. When asked about it they said they didn’t realize what their hands were doing.

So, I have a love triangle, or lust triangle, on my hands. A disturbing space of some kind is forming between Belle, Fanny and the dwarf. For clarification, Fanny fancies the dwarf who fancies himself a bit of a Belle-ringer for love. What Belle fancies is mainly the key to the rum stash, but I digress.

I have crew members complaining about the fake cheese smell. I have vintage porn magazines that might be driving the crew insane. There’s also the case of the temporarily absent sock demon and a power source of questionable origins that I could swear was humming Madame Butterfly earlier.

But at least for now, we have clean socks with no fear of them disappearing. What the hell, we’ll be having extra rum rations tonight and watching Monty Python on deck. Always look on the bright side.


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