Brash Blackadder and the Seasick Kid

[Acacius Blade]

As Acacius sat in the pilots seat, watching over the mostly automated procedures ongoing within the various panels and screens surrounding him, his mind wandered. And as it wandered, it somehow managed to conjure up a memory of a rather intriguing group of humanoids who referred to themselves as the Droogs. He wasn't even sure why they'd popped into his head, but they were in there nevertheless.

They were an odd, impatient sort. Always faffing over something. And as impatient at they were, they always managed to keep people waiting even longer. And the ironic thing was that they always took an age multiplied by an eon longer to address the very thing they'd complained about taking so long in the first place. They were a juxtaposition of contradictions. They spoke of sense yet possessed none; criticised taste, oblivious to their lack thereof - they hadn't even seen Tombstone for crying out loud! What an affront to the Heavens that was! But the quality inherent in every last one of them - the quality Acacius was most fond of - was the way a quip made in jest would catch them off-guard despite the wit and candor they claimed to possess, bringing about the onset of a remarkable, brief moment of silence, as the Droogs would contemplate an equally sharp response as the corner of their lip would twitch uncontrollably, like a pen ticking off ineffective counter-remarks.

But the interest was short-lived as one day Acacius decided once and for all how utterly boring and useless they all were.

And as if it never bore any relevance at all, Acacius was back in the cockpit, staring at the controls. He'd almost forgotten the course he'd just laid in - very nearly lost to the annals of Irrelevance, just like the Droog. But then it hit him - Nar Shaddaa.

After the events just a few days ago, Acacius was sure the Empire would be actively searching for them. And they were in a stolen shuttle. It would not take long to track them down. The first thing they had to do was get rid of the shuttle, possibly acquiring another means of transport in the process. But the stigma - not to mention the risk - imprinted on stolen Imperial goods was great. And this wasn't just a crate of weapons - this was an Imperial Shuttle. Given the magnitude of the situation, Acacius very nearly doubted they'd have any luck on Nar Shaddaa. But his optimism prevailed, and he was sure that they could make the trade. If they could make it anywhere, they'd make it there. Plus it was close by and he couldn't be bothered any more effort than the Smugglers Moon. He didn't like the cramped conditions in his VIP cabin. And the ship was so sterile, so static, so boring. Much like the Droog.

He knew there had to be a point of his ponder in there somewhere.

What they needed was a ship that really stuck out. A ship that screamed so loudly that the Empire would never suspect they were on board. Nar Shaddaa was exactly the kind of place to find such a ship, while palming off the shuttle in the process. But they couldn't go parading around in tunics, wearing robes and carrying lightsabers. Every mercenary and bounty hunter on the planet would be after them - the reward for someone of Acacius' skill and notoriety would fetch a handsome bounty. No, that wouldn't do. They'd need to blend in, unseen, inconspicuous.

"I've got it!"

He jumped out of the seat and bounded out into the junction and through to the crew cabin.

"We need disguises!" he exclaimed to the boy.

[Abarai Loki]

Loki sat at a bureau with a datapad in his hand, the desk was sparse and prosaic, and its only noteworthy feature was a tall flask full to the brim with steaming black coffee. He looked up.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, immediately wearisome from the sight of the eccentric looming in his doorway.

[Acacius Blade]

"If we're going to keep a low profile we can't just waltz around like we just got off the Jedi boat! We need disguises to hide our true identities. We'll have to use aliases as well, just in case the Empire has disclosed our identities to the scum that inhabit Nar Shaddaa in hopes of ensnaring us! But they'll never prevail - we'll outsmart them with guile - well I say guile, and it is the appropriate word, but I don't see why we cant implement the occasional flourish of gusto and finesse to embellish our performances appropriately. After all, an artificial character needs character, doesn't it!?"

His arms and eyes were wide and excited. And his smile was that of a child - beaming and rearing to go.

[Abarai Loki]

"I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself by pretending to be some outlandish character," he said, his eyes returned to the datapad.

"You, however, could very well benefit from an alias which is more in keeping with someone of your age."

[Acacius Blade]

"First of all - just because someone's behaviour doesn't conform with the accepted, widespread majority doesn't mean it isn't appropriate, acceptable or even correct. And secondly, you really don't understand how vital it is that you pretend to be The Seasick Kid!"

He took the flask and sipped the coffee conservatively.

"Ooh, quite tasty!"

[Abarai Loki]

The unwelcome interruption. The flamboyant flouncing. The coffee theft. Loki kept his eyes locked with the scrolling lines of text on the datapad, his reflection stared at him from the screen, the knitted brow and clenched jaw betrayed his above-it-all attitude. He closed his eyes and mumbled in turbulent undertones.

"Seasick... Kid..."

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and rested the datapad on the bureau. His fingers laced and his cold gaze fixed on the spartan wall in front of him.

"Tell me about Nar Shaddaa."

[Acacius Blade]

The Vertical City twinkled brighter than the stars that looked down upon it. Like it's big brother, Coruscant, it was a sight to see - tall buildings with countless windows and adjoining walkways, untold millions bustling to and from the clubs, cantinas and traders, both legal and not so legal. And the sheer drop amid steel and duracrete which plummeted out of sight into the darkness below. More so than Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa was just as alive at night as it was in the day. In fact, many would say that the majority of the business Nar Shaddaa attracts is conducted at night.

Despite Coruscant being the political and economic centre of the galaxy, the streets and airways were mainly frequented by small atmospheric craft and medium-sized transports. But no matter which way one looked on Nar Shaddaa - there was always at least one capital ship in sight; cruising into dock or stationary in one of the many open-air loading paddocks. And when all of the paddocks were full, many captains simply held position to the side of one of the airways close to the front entrance of a warehouse, allowing workers to transfer goods through an intersection of pedestians and street vendors.

The Imperial Shuttle soared majestically above the splendour of it all. The long stretch that led from the beacon tower to the Corellian district was aligned with loading docks, warehouses, engineering bays, scrap yards and workshops - and they tended to be built upon a lower level of docks, warehouses, bays, yards and shops, and so on and so forth. The sheer number of outlets that were dotted about in between and on top of and underneath and inside and outisd eof everything else was a sensory overload of crude excitement and activity. There was always something going on here. You could never be bored on Nar Shaddaa - and if you ever were then you obviously got lost at your last jump point.

As the Shuttle maintained it's somewhat slow approach, onlookers pointed and groaned in bewilderment at the tall man who posed proudly at the edge of the extended boarding ramp. He was wearing a long robe, brown and maroon, with a crimson sash around his waist and a golden shirt beneath it, with fine exotic details in green and purple. Atop his head he proudly wore a large black hat, billowing out and rounded at the sides, with a Friskian Peacocks feather attached to it.

"Argh!!!" he exclaimed as they neared a free landing platform. The sheer number of visitors to the Vertical City had caused many thousands of basic raised platforms to be constructed just about everywhere, rather than go to the expense of constructiong fully-fledged docking bays with all the amenities. Many of the pilots who came here did not plan on staying long anyway.

"Shiver...!" shouted the man, but the perplexed face of a street vendor at the base of the platform caused him to hold in the rest of the sentence.

"No, no - that's too far." he said under his breath. "Ha ha ha! Argh!" he exclaimed, somewhat more acceptable though just as ridiculous to hear. He stepped off the ramp just before the shuttle touched down on its landing legs, followed by a long hiss from its exhaust vents. One or two shady individuals observed their arrival while the majority went about their business. The tall man breathed in deeply, exhaling loudly in an exaggerated fashion. He surveyed the nearby buildings, taking in the colours and the sounds and the smells. It was an audiovisual orgy of stimuli and he was loving every second of it.

"Kid! Get yourself out here. Feast your eyes on where we are! Argh!!!"

He threw his hat up into the air before kicking a mugger who tried sneaking up the side of the platform with a vibroblade. As his leg stretched out to the side, the robe fell to one side, revealing a blaster pistol harnessed high upon his thigh. As the villain fell back to the street level two metres below, the man caught his hat once more and placed it back atop his beautifully bald head.

[Abarai Loki]

Somewhere within the shadowy interior of the shuttle there was a shuffling. Loki stood hidden from the pale glare of the spotlights outside while he adjusted, altered, and readjusted his clothing. A bitter wind pushed up the ramp and stirred the stale air inside the vessel; the boy couldn't tell whether it was this or the beckoning of his boisterous counterpart that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle with malevolence. He grimmaced and approached the boarding ramp with a slow, unsteady gait, each footfall pronounced by a heavy, jangling thud.

A pair of hefty red leather boots appeared, the pale light was reflected in steel buckles around the ankles and braces across the toes. The weighty boots teetered reluctantly at the edge of the decline then proceeded to march down the slope. For his disguise, Loki had chosen an old pair of brown denim trousers and a white shirt, he wore it with the collar open and its sleeves rolled above the elbow. Acacius chose the rest of his attire. He wore an open waistcoat made from black synthetic leather and a matching pair of chaps hugged his dusty old jeans. A DL-18 blaster pistol hung at his hip in a brown leather holster and a pair of bizarre mechanical goggles were strapped to his head, the elongated eyepieces protruded from his brow like stumpy brass horns. Neither of them knew what the goggles did but the elder considered them a prudent part of his appearance and thus he stood before him, Acacius Blade's vision: The Seasick Kid.

And indeed he felt sick; part of it was with revulsion, of course, but the irony was that space travel, and in particular the landing, had left the boy shaken and nauseous. The colour had been sucked from his youthful face and had been replaced by an unhealthy pallor and a deflated expression of festering pride. He glanced at Acacius and his opulent fashion wear, his eyes locked on the vibrant plume which billowed from his hat and rippled in the wind. His eyebrow arched.

"And who are you meant to be?"

[Acacius Blade]

"Argh!!! Ha ha ha!"

Acacius grasped at the boys collar and pulled him in close. He spoke in a hushed, almost reprimanding tone.

"I told you - I'm Brash Blackadder. Don't just stand there stupified in front of the entire dock and enquire as to the identity of your captain. You'll necromantically raise the ugly dead eye of superspicion! Yes, I said superspicion - it's even worse!"

He released the boys shirt, pushing him back ever so slightly.

"Argh! Ha ha ha! Lets go grab ourselves a drink somewheres. I fancies myself a woman!"

He began to trudge proudly away from the ship, it's ramp automatically raising towards its inevitable clang, signifying closure. Then suddenly, Acacius stopped dead in his tracks. And as if to emphasize this abrupt halting of forward momentum, the ramp groaned into a static position three metres from its sealed position. Acacius then spun around and leaned down to the boys face, his own visage somewhat apprehensive.

"When I say 'I fancies myself a woman' with an exclamation mark infered at the end of the sentence to denote gusto - I am of cours esuggesting that I am feeling libidinous - not that I actually perceive myself to be female in any way, shape or form."

The boy remained silent.

"Good, glad we cleared that up then."

He turned around once more, standing tall and proud just as before, and resumed his cocky march

"Argh! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

[Abarai Loki]

Loki straggled behind as though weighed down with reluctance in the wake of Acacius Blade's unsightly swagger. Beggers parted on either side of the walkway, snivelling in miserable tongues and cupping the air with their rotten hands. A pale fog had closed in and engulfed the jutting docks; the lights of ships floated in the haze like eerie beacons while ghostly shadows swam briefly into view before slipping back into the thick white shroud. When they reached the end of the creaking gangway, they found themselves flanked by armed gamorreans who grunted at the exuberant stranger and poked their weapons at a gaggle of scantily clad women hugging a street corner.

"Ah! Thank you, my good man... Gamorrean... Gamorreman... Argh! Ha ha ha!"

Acacius clapped the sour-faced alien on the shoulder and paraded off across the street. The boy skulked behind him as best he could, since skulking was not in his nature, and made no eye contact with any of the thugs or women. He saw a lot of legs as they passed by and tried to ignore the slew of lewd propositions aimed at the tall stranger in the expensive clothes. Acacius stopped so suddenly Loki almost crashed into him, the leather of his boot squeaked as he spun on his heel to address one of the street walkers.

"You! Yes, you will do!" he said, prodding a lecherous finger at a short robust thing with blue skin and scarlet hair, she wore a gold dress which put on display all six of her plump breasts. She giggled and her fleshy folds jiggled.

"Tell me, fine wench, where's your best watering hole?"

He draped an arm around her and they sashayed off with Loki in tow. They walked for some time, the boy scowled at the sing-song way in which the new friends talked, and when they laughed it rang in the plunging chasms and echoed from soaring city wall to soaring city wall. When they crossed any one of the myriad rickety walkways, they clung to the railings on either side, cautious not to be swept into the void by the moaning wind or sucked off their feet into oblivion by the speeders which raced through the shimmering streets.

To the boy's relief, the sound of the flirting strangers was finally drowned out and replaced by the thrashing, clanging, singing, banging heartbeat of downtown. The laughter of hoarse voices and the clamor of drunken merriment spilled into the street. The trio stopped dead in the sickly glow of a flickering sign outside the loudest cantina they had come across, the woman grinned and tugged at the captain's hand. Loki looked up, the sign read:


The Bridegroom Saloon


He took a deep breath then followed them inside.

[Acacius Blade]

Once inside, Acacius leaned back instantaneously. A glass bottle flew across his face, smacking the wench in the mouth. She fell to the side with a scream, landing in the lap of an equally wretched gentleman. He was an alien - a species Acacius was vaguely familiar with. The pink-skinned, balding man held up an exceptionally long finder with a strange-looking organ where the fingertip should be. An unusual glow emitted from it, bathing her mouth in a pale blue light. The cuts disappeared and her jaw was good as new. She immediately dived on the man. They toppled over and landed on the damp, alcohol-ridden floor. She then began to kiss him from head to toe.

'That was a touch of luck! Argh! Ah-hahahahahaha!!!!'

He walked through the crowd, who seemed to be in the middle of an impressive brawl that would have put a prison riot to shame. A naked woman in her teens swung from the chandelier - he knew it was obviously a stolen chandelier, recently installed. Acacius gestured to the chandelier, giving a disgusted look to Loki.

'There's no way the original proprieter would have allowed such a clash of decor - I certainly wouldn't!'

A drunken space pirate gave him a queer glance. To any observer, Acacius' look and his manner of speech just didn't work. Acacius was well aware of this, and quickly recovered his composure. He stepped towards the man and leaned forward, sticking his neck out until he was almost face-to-face with the barbarous oaf.

'Argh! Outta me way, ya scallywag! Or else I'll have yer guts fer garters and I'll even take yer index finger as a trophy and wear it like an earring!'

The mans eyes widened and he took a step to one side, allowing Acacius to caryr on towards the bard.

'Would you excuse us? Thank you so much, old boy!'

They ventured forth through the crowd, towards the bar at the back.

'Come along Kid! Only a fool waits for ale! But the ale waits for no one! Argh!!!'

If he admitted it to anyone, Acacius was winging it. They needed a replacement ship. They'd been lucky so far but sooner or later the Empire would track their ship to nar Shaddaa. And they needed to be long gone by then. So that meant bartering the shuttle for something more...

'Incognito, ya dumb Sweed! Incognito, not jalapeno!'

He threw the three-eyed, bearded lady back into her seat. Her five dopplegangers all began to argue at once over what he had said. One of them hurled a dirty plate at Acacius. He bent his knees, allowing the projectile to pass overhead, cracking some poor drunken buffoon on the back of his head. The tramp slumped to the floor with a smile on his face. He seemed to have lost consciousness, but still had the miraculous ability to keep swigging his pint. As they both carried on through the crowd, the tramp even managed to assume the fetal position and began sucking his thumb.

'We need to find him. If anybody can help us, it's him!'

Acacius' tall stature allowed him to survey across the carnage, his wide eyes seeking out someone in particular. He stopped for a moment, let out a brief but entirely necessary 'Argh!' then carried on.

[Abarai Loki]

It took long exaggerated steps and a measured gait to navigate what Loki could only percieve as an obstacle course of filth. The establishment reeked of every foul stench he could imagine and he was convinced that every type of bodily fluid and excrement was present and accounted for... he stepped in something... silently, he cursed the day he met Acacius Blade. All around him there were drugged and drunken patrons drinking, fighting, laughing, drinking, singing, dancing, drinking, groping, cussing, drinking, kissing, crying, and what astonished him most was that none of them seemed aware of the squallor in which they wallowed - except perhaps for the ones crying, and who can blame them? He would cry too if he cared.

"Captain Blackadder!" he called out, tugging at his companion's gaudy cape, "Do you honestly expect to find someone of any use here?"