Battle Quills... ready! Circulation: 139,341,920 Issue: 290 | 4th day of Hunting, Y9
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by c_h_e_e_z_e_s


Dedicated to the marvelous Fontaine Sisters, and the curious, writing pirate Bori who can be found in Fun Images.

A single pirate Bori sat at the back table of the Golden Dubloon. The usual night customers had left with the five minutes closing warning from Loretta, one of the twin Aisha waitresses who was known to handle a broom well. Rosetta, the other twin sister, was scrubbing a table with a rag. The pink Aisha knew all her chores around the Dubloon so well, she could do them blindfolded. But tonight she chose to clean the tables, all the while keeping an eye on the Bori.

      He had come in this morning with a roll of parchment and a quill, intent on writing whatever he had come here to write. Rosetta had paid him no mind then, thinking he was just another writer coming to write a review on the Golden Dubloon’s food. But then he had chosen a table away from all the hustle and bustle, where the reviewers usually liked to sit to take in the atmosphere. Then the Bori had leaned back in his seat, peacefully waiting for a waitress to come over and take his order.

      After that, Rosetta had been shocked so many times by his actions. The Bori had ordered a single mug of grog and a simple soup. This had been a sure sign he was not a food reviewer. Rosetta had cast a sharp eye on him then, to make sure he was not up to no good. But the pirate Bori had sat perfectly behaved, chewing at the end of his quill and occasional sipping his mug of grog.

      Around midday, the normal group of rowdy sailors came in with the lunch rush, and Rosetta found herself taking orders like crazy, juggling drinks and laughing as she and Loretta skipped around the crowded restaurant. The Aisha found herself forgetting to keep watch on the Bori in the crazy buzz of customers.

      But after the lunch crew trickled out and things settled down, Rosetta found the Bori in the same corner, but something had changed. Instead of staring absently at the ceiling or playing around with his quill, he was scratching away like mad at the parchment in front of him. His eyes darted over his sentences for a quick double check; his paws flew over the roll of parchment as words poured out of his imagination.

      Rosetta had found herself captivated by this. Sure, writers had found inspiration here before. But not on that scale, and surely never from just one lunch rush. But the waitress was proved wrong as the Bori continued on his little inspirational write, never once pausing to look up at the pink Aisha who was staring at him from across the room.

      Three hours later, Rosetta found herself wandering over to the Bori’s table. She did not want to stop his writing spree, which continued even now, but found that midnight was approaching, and closing time was closing time. Hesitantly stepping up next to him, she was greeted by a layout of a grand castle, and sketches of vague figures. Lifting up a paw to tap his shoulder, she was, needless to say, startled when the Bori spoke, his quill never wavering.

      “I know, I apologize for staying, but this is a spot of inspiration. I fear I shall never finish if I quit now,” he said, his eyes still glued to the parchment.

      Rosetta nodded, and brought her hand, which was extended to tap his shoulder, back to her side. Then she realized he could not see her nod. She flushed and said, “Of course. Would you mind terribly if I sat with you? I could lock up after you leave that way.”

      All she got for an answer was a quick nod of his head. Sighing, Rosetta got up to tell Loretta she would be coming home late. Or early, depending on what time of day it was when the Bori finished. The pink Aisha looked back at the Bori as she walked off, wondering what he was writing...

      * * *

      A loud, triumphant shout brought Rosetta awake. She jolted up, only to see she was still at the Golden Dubloon. That was strange, if Rosetta had fallen asleep on the job, Loretta would have woken her up. Then, last night rushed back into her head and the Pink Aisha cast a panicked glance around, flustered. What if the Bori was actually a thief?

      Relief flooded into her when she spied the pirate Bori still sitting in the same spot, his quill still writing, but slower than it had been when Rosetta had said goodbye to Loretta.

      Getting up from her chair, Rosetta stretched and looked out one of the windows. Dawn’s light was just creeping in, so it could not be more then one o’clock, give or take. She dusted off her skirt and turned to face the Bori. Rosetta was surprised when he met her gaze. His yellow eyes had deep bags under them from staying up the whole night, but he was quivering with excitement.

      “Thank you,” he said, getting up to work the kinks out of his sore muscles. “You don’t know how much this means to me! I’ve just completed what might be my life’s work...” His voice trailed off his he donned his cloak. “Well, thank you again. I should be off now. Things to do, people to see.”

      Rosetta nodded and smiled brightly at him. “I hope your story gets into the Neopian Times.”

      “Story? No, my dear girl, this is not a mere story, it is history!!” he exclaimed. Rosetta then noticed how his fur seemed to hang on his bones, and the white hairs on the tip of his tail. This Bori was old. His appearance said it, as did his flowing and flowery tones.

      She shook her head, grinning sheepishly. “Excuse, sir, I wouldn’t know, I’m not a writer.”

      The Bori looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “Why, anyone can be a writer; all you need is a pen and a word!” With that he shoved his hat on his head and strode out the doors, leaving her with a simple, “Good day!”

      Rosetta made herself a cup of tea in a stunned state. Just a pen...? She stunk into a chair in front of the windows and watched the sun rise, reflecting on her encounter with the strange, old Bori while sipping at the hot brew.

      He was so strange, but his words somehow stuck in her mind as the sun began to rise. Rosetta found herself most drawn to his parting words, about how anyone could be a writer. It was equally curious that the Aisha found herself believing him. All her life, she had wanted to be a waitress at the Golden Dubloon with Loretta. Rosetta had never thought past that. But, down inside her, Rosetta felt that writing held such mystery and excitement.

      The pink Aisha paused in sipping her tea, frozen. Her, Rosetta Fontaine, a writer? The idea was simply laughable. But yet... she could not help but wonder. None of the writers she had ever seen enter the Dubloon looked similar, except for the pen in their hands or paws, and the fire that sometimes entered their eyes when they got inspired. Rosetta found she was experiencing the same thing now.

      She drew the pen she used for taking orders out of her pocket, a smile lighting up her face as she began to write furiously in her yellow notebook, the words pouring out of her soul and onto the paper. It seemed that the inspiration was boundless, as the story continued on and on, starting with:

      A single pirate Bori sat at the back table of the Golden Dubloon. The usual night customers had left...

      Rosetta was swamped in imagination as she wrote out her strange encounter. She was dead to the world around her, living now in her world of magical adventure. The pink Aisha developed the simple pirate Bori into a dashing, young hero, bent on the adventure of a life time before settling down to take over the family business.

      Page after page was filled in that yellow notebook. Words became sentences, which then turned into paragraphs with chapters soon forming. All in all, towards the end, Rosetta had an amazing eleven part story, straight off inspiration.

      It was there Loretta found her, still writing in the now filled notebook, a content smile on her face. Her sister thought it funny that her sister was writing in the exact same place as the curious Bori had been the night before. Oh well, Loretta shrugged, not even attempting a deeper understanding. Inspiration was inspiration.

The End

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