Connor and the Pyrate Spoike, a dirty take on Wynken, Blinken, and Nod, y'arrr.
You Had a Charming Air, All Cheap And Debonair, a Pirates of the Carribean gen tale that now be AU, but a story I'd set me heart on for love o' a good fish tale, if I may say so.
Um... If you didn't know already, it's Talk Like A Pirate Day, ye scurvy dogs! I completely forgot until this morn', so this here fic fer the day's celebratin' might be a bit rusty, and I've only written The Office one o'r time, but hopefully ye'll laugh and make a braw sound. :) (Also, this is for southernbangel as she's had a hell of a week. Rated PG for Gen. Unbeta'd)
Title: Darryl Won't Let Us Call The Warehouse 'The Poopdeck'
Fandom: The Office (US version)
Warnin' Set durin' the third season, arrr. Towards the end, mates. 'Tis Gen Fic, so no throwing skirts up and over, y'arr.
What This Here Tale Be About: Ye'll have to get me to walk the plank to confess it, says I.
Pam looked up from her game of minesweeper as Dwight walked in. He was wearing an eye patch and a silken blouse. She clapped her hands to her mouth to hide her laugh as he passed in front of her on his way to his desk; he was also wearing leather breeches and knee high boots. Jim walked in shortly after. Pam made frantic hand gestures to get him to stop at her desk.
"Jim," she leaned up in her seat to whisper,"You know how great it feels to get the best, most perfect present in the world? Especially when you didn't expect it, and it's something you always wanted in the back of your mind?"
Jim gave a quiet little laugh and replied, "No, actually."
"Dwight is dressed like Captain Jack today."
Jim blinked, not quite understanding. "Captain..." He quickly looked over his shoulder and whipped his head back, laughing, "Oh. Oh my god."
Pam was grinning from ear to ear. "He even has a sword!"
"Cutlass, Beesley. It's called a cutlass, and you should really educate yourself on these matters," Jim's face cracked wide with a smile, "because I certainly will."
He popped the last jelly bean in his mouth and pushed off the counter to his desk sending a smile towards Karen who had been watching their exchange. He draped his jacket and messenger bag over his chair and dropped into his seat. "Ahoy, Dread Pirate Dwight. No, that's not going to strike fear into the heart of anyone."
"Jim," Dwight snapped, "today, in honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, it's Captain Blackheart, which is the character I play in my MMORPG, as Dwight was not a common usage name during the high time of the pirates."
"And it doesn't bother you that it is no longer the time of the pirates, and yet..." Jim shook his head when he noticed the exposed bit of fish-belly white chest peeking from Dwight's ruffled blouse. "Dwight --" he corrected himself, "Captain Blackheart, you are wearing a woman's blouse."
"This is not a woman's blouse. I'd like to see the woman that could pull this off."
[Cut to a shot of Angela tearing apart misprinted quarterly reports with her bare hands.]
Dwight leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed behind his head, a smug grin on his face. Jim looked just over Dwight's shoulder to avoid the thin, reedy patch of chest hair that the silk shirt's deep neckline exposed. "Pirates are alive and well today, Jim."
Jim smiled, tapped a pencil to his chin, shifted in his chair to give a look to the camera, then swiveled back to retort, "Is that right?"
"FACT: Pirates are the cause of more international deaths than --"
"Jim, that is ridiculous. There are more bears on the six main continents than there --"
"Fact: pirates beat bears. Except that's impossible," he thoughtfully rubbed his chin, "because one is a baseball team, and the other is a football team."
Dwight sighed heavily and adjusted his eye patch. Jim smiled to himself and logged onto the "Talk Like A Pirate Day" website for inspiration.
"Good morning, Michael."
"I do not like green eggs and Pam!"
"Oh. Okay, then."
Michael continued on, his smile getting bigger with every verse. "I would not eat you in a box, I would not eat you with a fox..."
"You know, if you let your hair down, maybe let your chest breathe a bit," he gave what he most likely felt was a fatherly smile, "you could be that fox I'd eat."
Pam looked at the camera then back down at her desk to hide her shocked face.
Michael tried to engage Jim in a complex handshake, but Jim just shook his head and slipped his hands into his pockets, leaning back in his chair.
"That's the handshake all the 'brothers' do at the basketball court we hang out at. I like to shoot me some hoops with the bruthahs!" He performed a small jump, cocking his hands in a dunking motion. "Swish! Nu'in' but net."
"And they have a special handshake with you?"
"No... maybe one day," He glanced up at the camera, still grinning, "I've always wanted to have a special handshake with someone."
"Good morning, Michael."
"Hey, Dwi- " He hung his head and sighed. "Huuuuuh. Yuck." Dwight tried to follow Michael to his office, but his cutlass was stuck on his office drawer and he fumbled in his chair as Michael slammed the door shut. Dwight composed his face and consulted his To Do List for the morning.
"Dwight, question: who is the better pirate, Jack Bauer or Lieutenant Starbuck?"
Dwight opened his mouth to answer and did a double take. "Trick question. Neither of them are pirates, and one of them is a girl which automatically makes her a wench."
"Okay, but if they were, who would be the best? Oh, or John Locke?"
Dwight blinked, thinking fast. "I--"
"Wrong, the answer is Hiro."
"But he wasn't on your list of choices!"
"Dwight, it's Pirate Day. You think they live by rules?"
Dwight stupidly shook his head back and forth with Jim.
"No, they do not. Come on, Dwight. You want people to think you're a landlubber? Don't be such an addlepate."
Dwight looked on with surprise and Jim snuck a quick grin to the camera.
"Stamford was closed down, and Scranton stayed open. I'm still... not sure how that happened. Even with Josh quitting." Karen looked bewildered.
"I mean... he's the top salesman here, and he's wearing a feathered three point hat." She paused a beat. "To work."
Angela sat at the table in front of the vending machines scowling at her co-workers. Dwight approached the drinks machine and quietly rumbled, "Arrr, ye're a fine looking lass. What say that later this fine e'en ye come back to me ship and... shiver me timbers?"
Angela slowly smiled over the rim of her tea cup. "Maybe you could show me your yardarm."
Dwight grinned. Ryan walked past the open doorway with Kelly hot on his heels, "...and this is like, her second or third time in rehab, and you should have seen her mugshot, Ryan, it was awful, her eyes were all blurry and her skin, oh my god, you can shoot me if I ever let my skin go like that, and..."
Angela hissed "Shh!" over her shoulder. "Not now!"
She marched smartly to her cubicle trying to contain her smug grin while Dwight, legs spread apart and fingering the handle to his cutlass, watched her walk away with a satisfied smile. Without looking at the machine, he instinctively hit the button for Sprite. Back at his desk, Dwight took out a cloth and wiped the condensation off the sides. With a Sharpie he crossed out "Sprite" and wrote in "Grog."
Michael stood in his doorway concentrating on some paperwork in his hands. "Dwight, could you come here for a second?"
"What is it, Michael?" Dwight zoomed to his mentor's side. Jim set his pencil down, pushed his chair back from his desk with purpose, with hands in pockets crossed to Dwight's desk, took Dwight's soda can and quickly wrote something on it, then sat back down at his desk. Pam looked up from her computer screen.
"...I just thought that Corporate would like to know how much we could save if we fired--"
Michaels slammed the door for the second time that day. Dwight sat down, grabbed his soda can, and paused.
"Dammit, Jim!" He scribbled over "Nerd Juice" with a red marker.
"...maybe later I can plunder your booty."
Toby pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hey, that's not... People are trying to... work and--"
Kelly's giggles were drowned out by the sound of wet slurping. Toby looked up at the camera and blinked a few times, then swung his legs back under his desk and straightened his files.
"Arrr, matey. Here be those TPS Reports, wench."
Angela's nostrils flared as she looked daggers at Kevin. "That is inappropriate work language, Kevin."
"But it be Pirate Talk Day... matey," he struggled to get out.
"When you can master Talk Like An Adult That Can Add Two Numbers And Get It Correct Each And Every Time Day, then you can try other holidays."
Kevin looked at her for a few minutes, mouth working to find the right words. "That would be a terrible holiday. The name would not fit on a T-Shirt. Hey, Oscar. I bet you're looking to plunder some booty later." Kevin dissolved into giggles. Oscar didn't bother looking up. Angela rubbed her temples.
"Karen wants me to focus more on work and spend less time tormenting Dwight, as she puts it."
[camera focuses between the window blinds to reveal Dwight demonstrating the proper technique for slicing off a head using Kevin as the subject, then focuses back on Jim.]
Jim grinned. "Yeah. It just needs to be done."
Pam walked back to her desk from the supply closet and deposited a box of pencils on the corner of Jim's desk. Karen looked up from her keyboard and bit her lip, then got back to her task.
"Dwight, catch." Jim lobbed a pencil towards Dwight's face. Dwight reached out for it and missed it by several inches to the left.
"Here, try again." Jim repeated the action, and again, Dwight missed the pencil by several inches. The pencil bounced off his eye patch covering his right eye and glasses.
"Cut it ou--"
Jim tossed another one with the same results.
"It is true, unfortunately, that wearing an eye patch has limited my depth perception. If I create a new character in AdventureQuest, I think it will have a wooden leg instead of an eye patch."
Dwight rubbed at lead marks on his cheekbone, the eye patch pushed up into his hair and glasses back in place.
Jim, Karen, and Darryl from the warehouse were sitting in the break room when a loud and anguished yell pierced the air. Dwight stomped in, stamping his feet extra hard as his soft-soled boots didn't make much of an impact on the Berber carpeting.
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?" Jim innocently sipped his drink.
"Where is my computer?"
"Do pirates use computers? I don't --"
"That is company property that you have absconded with--"
"I think the term you're looking for, Captain Blackheart, is 'plundered.' "
Dwight paused for a moment. "Fine. You have plundered my computer, and I demand to know where it is."
"I... don't think it works that way."
Karen rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back. "Alright. I'm going back to work."
"Jim, if you've done anything to my computer, so help me --"
Pam walked in just then. "Hey, Dwight, I think this is for you." She handed him a piece of heavy paper, Neenah Classic Linen in 104gsm weight, to be exact.
Dwight looked at the paper, then looked up at Pam.
"I think they mean it." Smiling, she sat down across from Jim and opened her tupperware container of cubed fruit.
"Pam had the brilliant idea--"
"Thank you, Jim."
"-- of hiding Dwight's computer during his 'Tai Chi' break and making a treasure map for him to find it." Jim held up a duplicate copy of the note Pam had delivered. The entire office complex was sketched with foot prints leading towards an X. The location of the X in relation to the office wasn't clear.
"On the back," Jim continued, "are instructions for how many paces he needs to take, based on the sun's given coordinates."
Pam smiled up at Jim, then quickly turned to the camera to reassure, "We just put it behind my desk. But there is a treasure chest filled with gold coins - the chocolate kind - waiting for him."
They both smiled into the camera.
Karen was perched on the edge of Jim's desk, blocking him from Pam's view. "I just don't think this is the way to go about your work day. Have you gotten anything done?"
Jim looked faux-shocked, "Gotten anything done? You mean aside from creating a treasure hunt, which includes a walking of the plank."
[camera cut to the warehouse where Dwight is counting off paces on the loading ramp, then jumping to a red "brake" line on the floor, then continuing his search, the map in hand.]
Karen continued to look sternly at him.
Jim sighed, rubbed his face with both hands, and acquiesced, "Fine. I won't swap out his drink with straight Rum, then."
Meredith prairie-dogged over the corn plant blocking her desk from Jim's.
Karen smiled. "Thank you. You want to go to that new bistro down on Fourth?"
"Ahh, do they have tuna salad?" He chuckled as Karen slapped at his arm playfully.
Dwight strode back into the office, a paper box decorated to look like a wooden chest tucked tightly under one arm, and an unwrapped chocolate coin in the other hand. He popped the chocolate into his mouth, wadded the gold foil in his fist and threw it on the ground behind Pam.
"Very funny. Give me my computer or I will write you up and you will have to sit before the Disciplinary Council, of which I am the Manager--"
"Assistant to the Manager."
Dwight closed his eyes for strength, "...assistant to the manager, and you will have to answer for your actions today."
Pam's eyes were wide. "The whole council?"
Dwight looked smug. "Yes. The whole entire council."
"That's just you on that council, right?"
"Sometimes... Michael sits in."
"Oh, well. In that case, your computer is behind the printer here."
As Dwight stepped towards his computer, the office workers began filing out for the close of the day, blocking him from moving forward.
"Good night, Pam."
"See you, Phyllis."
Phyllis stifled a laugh as she fumbled with her coat, further blocking Dwight.
"Dwight! You don't speak to a woman like that! Not unless she's dressed like a naughty milk maid, or something sexy like that. Pam, you should dress like that this Halloween. You know, something low cut, maybe a push up bra, let people see what you've got under there, and a short full skirt..."
Dwight had finally made his way through the throng and was collecting his keyboard and PC when Michael stopped and noticed what Dwight was doing. He shook his head disgustedly and walked through the door, calling out, "Save that elevator, Stanley my manly!"
Stanley turned to look at the numbers, his coat over one arm and his crosswords in the other. "No." The doors shut just as Michael made it to the elevator.
"I finished all of my sales calls by 10 this morning, actually increasing my sales by 20%. After lunch I found a program that I thought Dwight might appreciate, so I installed that on his computer. I mean, why stop at one day?" He smiled, grabbed his messenger bag, and stood to leave.
Dwight had the final cord plugged in, the keyboard arranged at the precise location for optimum wrist comfort, and turned the machine on. It loaded, played the familiar Windows Office chime, then spoke, "Ye be gettin' ready to work, ye scurvy dog!"
"Avast! Ye have a virus on this demon contraption. I be puttin' the Black Mark on it."
Dwight watched in horror as a huge black circle obliterated his desktop, then filled in with a skull and crossbones. A maniacal laugh exploded from his speakers. "It's to Davy Jones' Locker with ye!"
He slapped at the side of the monitor and tapped furiously on his mouse. The computer paused in its laughing to spit out, "Courtesy of Handsome Jim, ya lily livered scallywag!" Dwight banged his fists on his keyboard. "JIM!!"