At our launch on the 4th, we asked the audience to write a person, place, or thing on a scrap of paper and throw it into a jar. We then picked two prompts each out of the jar and had to cobble them into stories in the time it took for the wonderful Georgia Peach Trio to play their set.
Here is what I ended up with:
"Wig Specialist" and "Steampunk Adventurer Sir Dorito 'Chunkles' Neckwisp Corset Zybourne of the HMS Unfuckwithable" (thanks to new HBM author Jeanine Chau for that gem)
And now to transcribe the story from my hastily scratched handwriting:
"Why does he have such a terribly long name?" asked Corrim as he stitched the final e into the inside of the red captain's coat.
"What," said Delilah, the HMS Unfuckwithable's wig specialist, "you mean Sir Dorito Neckwisp Corset Zybourne? It's not that bad. At least we can all call him 'Chunkles'.
"Don't get me started on that name. It makes even less sense than his real one."
"Well," countered Delilah as she adjusted the curly coifed white hair of Sir Zybourne's second-favourite wig, "I suppose you can call yourself whatever you want when you've commanded an airship to victory in two different wars."
"Yes, and never without his hair just so," said Corrim.
The tailor and wig specialist finished preparing the captain's clothes for the next day. It was bound to be important, as they were patrolling their newly won skies.
Sir Zybourne looked at himself in the mirror the next day. The adjustments helped to keep his "victory" gut in check. Still, he'd have to work harder if he was going to represent Her Majesty's Airborne Navy on the patrol.
Sir Zybourne walked out onto the windswept deck. The men were all ready for inspection, the steam-cannons polished until every guage and dial reflected the smart uniforms of the HMS Unfuckwithable's crew.
"Today", began Zybourne, "we show our new territory the we are the undisputed rulers of it. We are a beacon of the security that we have brought to this land."
As he was about to launch into the rest of his speech, the rigging was shaken by the passage of several cannonballs.
"To your stations!" cried the the always-watchful first mate.
The deck became a flurry of activity, but one man stood still in the midst of the sailors running to and fro.
The tailor, Corrim, held up his fist. "Down with Chunkles!" came his rebellious cry.
With that, there was a groan from below decks as sabotaged pistons and boilers failed.
"How dare you? Do you not realize the ship that you are on?" shouted Zybourne above the din.
"Read the inside of your hat you pompous tyrant." With that, the first mate pulled out his pistol and shot Corrim, who fell unnoticed amongst the rush of the ship's men.
Sir Zybourne removed his hat and, with a hurt little silence, read Fucked With where he would normally find his regal name.
The ship began to go down.