“—You’ll show him how to light the stars and the sun but he won’t like you’re being a killer.”

“I don’t kill, Fur coat does.”

“You’re the one giving the order beforehand.”

“You’ve your responsibilities mixed up.  Besides, you’ve gone too far.  How dare you—“

“—I dare because I care.”

“O stop your gibberish, my authority and sense of responsibility are born with me.  Tis ingrained Captain.  Besides, what do you care for?  You’re a pirate are you not?”

“I care to entertain you.  The Little Prince says you’ll forget what authority is because you’ll end up damn lonely.”

“Never.  There are always uninvited guests making their way here, just like you did.  This planet is in the middle of a conglomerate of universal roads that cross each other like strings on a net.  I’m never alone and therefore, I’ll never be lonely.  And if you must know, I’m the ruler here.  I’m the king and when I’m alone, my own company is sufficient to satisfy my needs.  Mere common mortals and the Universe’s mundane ways exhaust me, drain me out of my energy and I’d rather be alone than in poor company.  You can’t see who I am.”

“I may be blind but your words tell me a lot about you, your Majesty.”

“How so?”

“As a king”, the Captain continues, “you ought to rule, you ought to be surrounded by your Court.  But here you are, all alone, with no one to rule but an unusual fur coat whose main task it is to make the very creatures whose company you ought to seek disappear.  You need to claim to be a king if you’re real at all.”

To be continued…



“No need to be concerned, Labaguette,” the King says, “I’m healthy, I never catch a cold.  Now, lead me to our ship.”

“My ship,” the Captain retorts.

“His ship,” Labaguette insists.

“OUR ship,” the King thunders.

This is one ‘our’ too many for the Captain who begins to strike out, as a blind does, his fists hitting the air at random knowing he’ll inevitably reach some sort of a goal and since there’s only a king and a bird walking and flying by him, the Captain soon hits the king’s large, flabby stomach.  The King slaps the Captain back on the side of the face where his blind eye has remained closed since it was invaded by a speck of universal dust.

Now his eye opens.

“I can see!” he exclaims.

“Enlighten me!” the King orders as Labaguette settles on the Captain’s shoulder again.

“I can see!” the Captain repeats.

“You just said that, Captain Traumatic-tic.  Your time’s ticking.” the King says.

“I see a young boy.  I see a Prince,” the Captain says, “he comes to tell you that you are a king.  He’s lost and needs your guidance.”

“I’ve never met a woman.  I’ve never fathered a child.  How can this be?  Are you inventing your story for you fear me that much?”

“The boy will come and you will show him what authority means but in the end, he’ll disobey your order.”

“No one would dare—“

To be continued…


“Fur coat’s deadly substance is highly addictive, those that make it to being regurgitated are sick for a while… withdrawal symptoms.  Death on my planet is nice, see?” the King says proudly.

“As Labaguette said,” the Captain continues, “I may be sick but especially, I’m traumatised.”

“How can that be if you felt good dying?”

“I’m traumatised for having been vomited out unceremoniously and for realising that I might have departed this Universe early, dying a dishonourable death thanks to your fur coat-on-a-mission.  I’m a humble pirate after all.”

“O, you poor damn soul… and I should feel sorry for you?  This is hardly why you’ve been named ‘Captain Traumatic’ all these years,” the King answers, unimpressed.

“It all adds up,” Captain Traumatic says, “my life is littered with such events as that of the fur coat from h… hm, like the one you just put me through.”

“You’ve only yourself to blame.”

“I’m a blind man.  Why take it on the weak, your Majesty?”

“Not my problem.  Take me to your ship and let your ship tell me your story.”

The King takes his fur coat off, letting it fall to the ground where it flattens itself and disappears into the earth, the planet now a giant white marble covered in Plexiglas with the pattern of a king etched everywhere, at regular intervals, underneath its surface.

Labaguette flies off onto the Captain’s shoulder.

“He’s naked,” he says.

“What?  How?” the Captain utters, in disbelief.

“The King is—“

“—WHAT ARE YOU TWO PLOTTING ABOUT?” the King thunders.

Some truths are best let out straight in the open while others are best hidden by layers of thick lies that speak for themselves, Labaguette thinks, but for now, there’s no time for convoluted fabrications.

“You’re naked, Your Majesté,” the parrot utters, nearly swallowing his own blue tongue.

To be continued…


“Have you noticed, your Majesté, how this Captain is contorting on the floor, at your very feet, in pain and ignored by your good will?” Labaguette says, having pre-empted the King’s next action.

And it is true that the Captain, after being spat out by the fur coat, stands on wobbly legs for a little a while only to fall back on to the ground, sweating profusely, his face a pale yellow, as if he’s just been drinking a little too much, but hasn’t, really.

“FUR COAT! —“ the King yells.

“—He’s traumatised,” Labaguette insists, “Captain Traumatic-tic is traumatised.”

Now the King is silent.  Now the Captain vomits.

“You see?” Labaguette continues.

“Ha!” the King admits, smiling at last, “when Fur coat swallows, it coats its victim in a sweet substance that renders its victim happy to die.  I’m not a bad King.  I don’t chop heads off the way it is done where you come from, Labaguette.”

“Not having a guillotine,” Labaguette, unable to contain himself, “makes you a soft King.”

“Consider this, you bird, people who die at the fangs of Fur coat die happy and go on living, in a way, by joining the multitude of particles Fur coat is made off.  They keep on living in that way and then it is their turn to swallow any other living creature on it upon my order.  It is much better than losing one’s head and going to hell or nowhere.”

“Labaguette,” the Captain musters, in pain, “stop arguing, for fuck’s sake!”

To be continued…


“Whose ship it is, is irrelevant,” Labaguette notes, now a generous bird, as the Captain’s waist is it at ground level with only his trunk protruding, the fur coat doing what it knows best, gobbling up unwanted foreign bodies upon its imperial owner’s order.

“It’ll be yours in a minute, Labaguette,” the Captain says, “farewell damned bird!”

“And it’ll be yours as soon as the Captain has disappeared in your mortal coat,” Labaguette ventures to the King, “but you’ll never know the Captain’s story, your fucki… your coat will never catch me and you’ll be stuck with a ship parked on the side of your planet without knowing its history or how to rid it.”

Now the King clicks his fingers and the carpet spits the captain out.

“Rubbish and dirt cannot be seen on or near my planet,” the King says.  “Fur coat is only able to digest organic matter.”

“Are we free?” Labaguette retorts.

“Not so, you’re just not dead yet,” the King answers.

“But you said that—“

“—Captain Traumatic, have you no control over the unwelcome chattering coming out of your bird?  Have you ever tried plucking at least a single one of his exaggeratedly pigmented feather from him?”

But Labaguette, although offended to his very chore, is proud of his gifts, that of the gab and that of his being born with flamboyant feathers.  He won’t let the Captain answer for him as he feels like a person in his own right.  Speech is his Ace card.

“Your Majesté, I may be all talk and flashy colours but I am a bird with grey matter.”

“Let your grey matter speak now or you’re mincemeat.”

To be continued…


Then Labaguette perches onto the Captain’s shoulder and whispers:

“Be careful, this King suffers from a split personality.”

“No whispering behind my back, Labaguette!” the King thunders.

“I’m just telling the Captain how we should act.”

“Can he not think for himself?”

“His name is part of our entertainment tricks,” Labaguette answers a shrewd bird as the Universe knows no other.

“Really?  Let us begin.  Entertain me now or else—“

“—else your fur coat.”

“You’re a rude bird.”

“Your Majesté, may I ask how the Captain and I should fear your fur coat?”

“Impertinent creature!  FUR COAT!  Eat them!”

This is when, much like a giant snake spread over an entire planet unfolds its coils, pleats and corners to slither and crawl.  Labaguette believes the King now.

“Your Majesty, part of my name’s story is found on my ship.”

“Too late.  I’ve ordered my fur coat to finish you off, the both of you.  You no longer interest me.”

“Captain Traumatic-tic’s name doesn’t interest you?  But your Majesté—” the parrot says staring at the fur coat underneath the Captain as it begins to twist and twirl and as he begins to lower into the ground, his feet and ankles tightly bound by the evil fur, pulling him in to bury him alive, the way some quick sand would.

“—If you’d care come with us, your Majesté, the answer to Captain’s Traumatic’s name can be found on our ship, just across from here,” Labaguette adds.

“Our ship?” the Captain asks.

“Our ship,” the King answers, “ours.”

To be continued…


“And I’m King Kristopher Krackskull, your ruler.  You must address me as ‘Your Majesty, is that clear?”

“Sorry, your Majesté, dust has no effect on me,” Labaguette retorts, desperately trying not to burst out laughing while the Captain puts his head between his knees to avoid the King’s stare.

“Are you sick, Captain?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“Stand straight, then!”

The King lowers his ginormous sword towards the Captain as if he intends to slice him up but the Captain doesn’t move.  Blind he must be the King now believes.

“Why such merriment at the corner of your mouth and eyes?” he then thunders.

Upon those words, Labaguette flies as far and as fast as he can to let it all out and avoid the King’s stare.  But it is too late as already, the Captain is laughing out loud.

“My name is it?  My name?” the King asks, “Well, you as Captain Traumatic don’t fare much better, do you?”

This King can’t have an army.  This King is alone and lonely.  He’d rather laugh than be alone Labaguette thinks and in no time, they are all laughing their heads off.

“I say,” the King continues, “what a name… did your Mother—” but the King, once again, can’t contain his mirth.

“Now tell me your story Captain, I realise your mother would have nothing to do with this so please, how, what, who gave you that ridiculous name?”

“I will if you tell me how you got your own, Your Majesty.”

“I’m the King and you’re my guests as long as you entertain me.  Do not ask for anything in return.  Now, what is your story Captain Traumatic-tic?”

To be continued…