Almost Done With Dialogue: In the Mood

“Kill him!” The muffled words from the kitchen.

Damn. You know it’s going to be a rough day when your head is pounding, you’re dry with a hangover and you’re wanted for dead. I guess that’s the price you pay when you sleep with someone’s woman. I stood naked from the bed and reached for my rum as they knocked down the door to my bedroom.

“Don’t!” I yelled, “or I’ll do it!”

“Do what?” One said pointing his knife at me.

“Not a step closer, fuckers. I’m warning you.” I swilled the rum and threw the bottle at their feet, but they took a step closer. Something stirred and moaned from beneath the bed sheets. "Be still, wench! Alright, bastards, you asked for it,” I said and picked up my watch, adjusting the time.

Poof!

“Coward! Arrr! Fleeing coward,” said the one with the knife. “Wench, fix me some eggs and fix baby Jesus some formula.”

“Aye,” said the wench as she left the room.

“’Tis time for rum, mateys.”

Poof!

“I’m back!” I said.

“Kill that scurvy seadog!” Knifey yelled.

“I wouldn’t do that! You wouldn’t kill your own father, would you?”

“Aye, whose father be ye?”

“I’m all your fathers! That’s right, you goddamned time pirates, I went back in time and made wenches of all yer—err, your—mothers!”

“Arr, Jesus Christ!”

“Baby Jesus be sleepin’!” Yelled the wench from another room.

I put on my knickers and got back into bed. “Now let's carry on with the plan and kidnap Shakespeare. I’m in the mood for sonnets.”