Story originally written as a response at r/WritingPrompts (u/PrimitivePrism)
Prompt:
After years of building a reputation as the greatest pirate alive, your second in command figures out what you really are.
Response:
I launch myself from starboard and slide toward port. It’s a bit of a rough journey for my underside, and I remind myself to remind the crew that thoroughly greasing the boards must be at the very least a bi-weekly operation. Rendered pig lard has always been the default, but I remember the pleasure when we docked in Greece and took aboard barrels of olive oil, thereby oiling the boards rather than greasing. It was like sliding on a fragrant cloud until that liquid of the gods ran out. In Siam we acquired a limited quantity of coconut oil, however, and that was even better.
The crew continues to slip on their clumsy dual legs and oilskin boots, but alas, I’ve been captain of this ship since they were babes in arms, and they are grateful to even be permitted to join these journeys of plunder and adventure.
“Rogue wave!” shouts young Billy from the crow’s nest. “Brace yourselves!”
I wrap an arm around the nearest rigging I can reach as I slide up against the port-side wall, another around the mounted canon next to me, and another around the fine varnished rail that I couldn’t even yet reach when I was hauled up on board and made a seaman by my benevolent and open-minded predecessor. Our ship rises with the great wave, the old girl handling it as smoothly as she has all the others. The Lilith-Green has survived a thousand storms, a kraken, and an attack from several of my colossal yet dumb and unwieldy distant cousins.
As we tilt downward on the opposite side of the wave, I let go of what I’m holding and give myself a gentle push away from port on a diagonal, sliding toward the open doorway of my quarters. There’s been no rain for days and I’m feeling a bit dry. Around me are some of the crew who have lost grip on their handholds, sliding clumsily down the deck now, but they are used to it and have learned to cope. A small price to pay for the gold and riches they gain under my employ.
Inside my quarters I slip out of my clothes and into my seawater bath–my tub the bottom half a large sawed-off barrel that even now is spilling its precious water as the ship bucks in the ocean’s tumult.
After a moment of enjoyable submersion, I sense a presence in the doorway, and feel my chromatophores instantly tighten into an oaken brown, blending with the surrounding wood of my bucket. How embarrassing…
I peek my head above the rim and see my chief mate standing just inside my small apartment, hat in his hand. I’ve sailed four of the seven seas with Lucas Thimblesnatch; our partnership runs deeper than the Bartlett Trough.
“Captain Armsworth…”
“Please, you know you can call me Ceph.”
“Right, sir–er, Ceph.”
“What is it Luke? It’s my rehydration period, you know.”
“Your…?”
“My bath time.”
“Yes, yes. Sorry, sir. Well the thing is, the crew isn’t so pleased with the greasy deck these days. Very grateful they are to you, sir, for everything, but they’ve got some wonderings in their heads about it all.”
“Such as…?”
“Well, how we grease the deck because you seem to find it easier to slide along it then walk, per se. And to add to that, your…your form.”
“My morphology, Luke?”
“Your…yes, your…”
I knew Lucas was basically illiterate, of course, and hadn’t had the benefit of proper schooling. All that he’d learned, he’d learned by ear and eye in his little coastal village, and out here with me on the high seas.
“Just say it, Luke,” I implore him gently through the specialized vibration of my gullet and manipulations of the flesh around my beak. “What do you want to ask me?”
“Sir…Ceph…are you…”
Even in the dim light I could see him blushing.
“Just say it,” I whisper, my three hearts pounding.
“Are you…a cuttlefish?”
He can’t be serious. He can’t be! I want to laugh, but my sudden indignation prevents me. What idiocy is this?
“You fool,” I say, squinting at him as I flop out of the tub with a wet thump. “You must be joking!”
“I…I–“
“Open your eyes, Lucas. I’m a goddamn octopus.”
