“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…


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