Chapter 63
The docks of the Orange Pirates, which is what Trish's crew called themselves, had undergone a nightmarish transformation. What had once seemed like a relatively normal part of Port Black now seemed like nothing short of a madhouse. Music roared from fiddles, tambourines, and one very loud accordion being played with both hands and one foot by a drunken pirate in a feathered hat. Pirates were dancing on tables, barrels, and even on top of each other's backs. Some swung from the rigging of their ship like drunken monkeys, while others fired pistols straight up into the night sky, laughing maniacally every time a bullet hit a stray bird.
One man had somehow tied two parrots to his shoulders and was attempting to fly, with predictably poor results. Another was trying to cook soup over an open fire while three others were betting on whether he'd pass out before it boiled. The soup appeared to have at least one boot in it. Possibly two.
