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The D/V Speedy

A snippet from one of the several WIPs I’m working on in the Arc of the Wolf:

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[Corry] lost himself turning that over and over in his mind; it was only when he heard the D/V Speedy -- D/V meaning dead vessel, Speedy highlighting Scotty’s sometimes screwball sense of humor -- coming through the Gut from the other side of the harbor that he pulled himself back to the moment, grinning to himself and shaking his head.

The skiff's hull was painted in whatever spare marine paint had been stuck on people's shelves, so it looked like some kind of functional cubist art piece, sporting several different colors. The hull itself was old wood and had been outright sunk before Scotty got his hands on it, but was now sound enough for at least the harbor and river. There was a portable bed box from a utility work sled amidships, re-welded into a more boat-friendly shape, which also doubled as a lunch box or bench for passengers.

Then there was the engine. A simple outboard, battery powered, solar charged, Scotty had then modified it like some kind of deranged mad scientist, pretty much literally laughing maniacally to himself as he did, until it could -- in theory -- launch that little skiff full off the water and into the air.

Or, at least, until gravity reasserted itself and smashed the hull and pilot into pieces in the process.

So, not only was it actually theoretically Speedy, but it also had the potential to make itself into a dead vessel in a very real and possibly glorious manner.

Frankly, that boat scared the hell out of Corry, though in a fun way rather than the genuine way he was still trying to let go of. Or at least cope with.

He headed down the ramp to the floating dock to catch the bow line Scotty tossed to him, quickly securing the skiff. "I see the death machine has spared you for another day."

"Melodrama," Scotty answered cheerfully, waiting until the line was wrapped around the cleat to climb over various obstacles and then step over onto the dock. "It's only a death machine if ye don’t know how to use it."

"Uh huh," Cor said, flatly, playing up the doubtfulness in his tone. "If you insist. Did you bring anything interesting back this time, Captain Scott?"

Scotty gave him a half-shove towards the water, not enough to send him in, nose wrinkling at the title. "I do insist, and I did not. Just credits, enough to buy the week's mornin' coffee."

Talk about accepting a pittance for a professional's services, but it was Scotty’s business what to set his rates at. Be it credits or sunken boat hulls or woven bracelets or snobby soap.

("I thought we agreed we were gonna buy a boat together when we retired," Corry had jokingly lamented, after getting a first look at the wreck that would later become the D/V Speedy, "and here you went and bought one without me."

Scotty had snorted at him. "Well, ye're wrong. I didn’t buy it, I bartered for it, so ye're not gettin' outta that pact we made anytime soon." Then he had eyed the warped, holed hull sitting like a small, beached whale on the grass by the house, and winced jokingly. "Bit of a stretch callin' her a boat, though."

"Not even Barely Afloat," Corry had agreed, which had promptly sent them both off into giggles.)

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