(Untitled)

[mop_jockey]

Three days a week (Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday), morning shifts, 6 am to noon

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[pirate_gibbs]

Someplace at the back of the room, there is a sleeping pirate. He has no idea there are wairers now. Not that he cares.

[mop_jockey]

Back where Lenny lives, Gibbs the Pirate might be mistaken for a homeless man.

The inhabitants of Pickax mean nothing by it, it's just not everyday you see a full-fledged pirate (at least, not an authentic 'Insert Color Here-Beard' brand of pirate).

Oh sure, Pickax, in it's hey-day, played host to many a way-ward pirate, but that was over a hundred years ago.

Lenny watches the room. Not too many up yet. 'Course, it is still technically the crack of dawn.

[pirate_gibbs]

Slwoly, mainly because it's too darned bright in this weird place, the pirate stirs. And grumbles. A booth is not as comfortable as a hammock.

[mop_jockey]

Lenny watches the man closely. "Mornin'. Coffee?" Lenny's got a fresh pot in hand- straight up, the hard stuff- none of that de-caf stuff the yuppies back home tried to get put on tap.

[pirate_gibbs]

"'m Not a bloody Frenchman," he mutters as he sits up and shaks out his back. "You have any tea?"

[mop_jockey]

Lenny bites back a chuckle. Got himself a live one here!

"Sure do- got any preferences? And, just so I don't have to keep you waiting, do you like anything in your tea, or do you just like it straight up?"

[pirate_gibbs]

"A bit of rum." What else? "You the help?"

[mop_jockey]

Can't think of anything better on this end!

"Yup- m'guessing the wait-rats deserve some time off, and this way, I can bring in a little bit of money to pay off my tab. Be right back with your tea, Sir."

After a minute, Lenny returns with the tea. "Anything else? And by the way, I'm Lenny, I work the morning shift Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays."

[pirate_gibbs]

Waitrats? That's got be some sort of, what's it called, a metaphor? Jack uses those sometimes.

"The Cap'n told me to enjoy meself, so d' you have any ham?

"And I'm Gibbs." He yawns, still getting the cobwebs out.

[mop_jockey]

"Good to meet you Gibbs." Lenny sits on a table across from Gibbs's booth, feet resting on the back edge of a chair. "We've got all kinds of ham- smoked ham, honey-baked, glazed, I'd suggest honey-baked, that's my favorite. 'Course, if you've already got a favorite, lemme hear it."

[pirate_gibbs]

"Just ham." He doesn't care for choices. "Plain British ham."

[mop_jockey]

"Probably should have figured that." Lenny chuckles at himself. "Be just a minute."

Lenny makes his way to Bar and comes back with a plate of distinctly British ham.

"Here you go. Order of British ham." And utensils! Wrapped, of course, in a cotton napkin- Lenny's not slouch with the napkins.

"Anything else? Maybe a hot pack for your back? Hot packs saved my back when I fell asleep in my mom's diner during late night cram sessions during college."

'Course, Lenny fell asleep on the floor, as opposed to in a booth, so Gibbs's sleeping experience could be a totally different animal altogether.

[pirate_gibbs]

A napkin? What is this, a gentlemen's club? At least Gibbs uses the utensils.

"Ah, you're a college boy. That explains it." He of course says this with a high degree of contempt. "I'm alright."

[mop_jockey]

It's customary. At least, that's what Lois Inchpot, Woman of the Year, would claim. As she whacks the esteemed Mr. Gibbs over the head with her whacking rolling pin. Yes, she has a special 'whacking pin'. Lenny named it 'Whacky' when he was ten.

Lenny's way too easy-going to let the contempt bother him too much. "Okay. See you around then Mr. Gibbs?"

[pirate_gibbs]

Gibbs settles into his meal. Really, he's not always this grumpy. But some days, he's just no good on the land.