Perdita’s eyes gaped and mouth hung open, mesmerized.

“What happened?” she immediately demanded, literally sitting on the edge of her seat as the old man paused.

“Had Ben known that would be the last night that he was going to hold his daught in his arms, he never would have let her go,” he repeated simply.

“What? That’s it?!” she snapped, backing away abruptly.

“Well, there is more…” He looked down at his pocket watch hanging out of his ancient waterproof parka. “But your boat’s due to arrive within the next couple minutes, you’d better hurry if you want to catch it, go on.”

“But…” She looked toward the dock, and sure enough, a boat had sailed in and settled into port as she had been lost in the gentleman's terribly interesting world. “But, can’t you just quickly tell me what happens? Like just leaving out some things, and just giving me the short version of the ending? Like what happened to Pearl?” Perdita looked upset for a moment. “She didn’t die, did she?” The man looked away, not saying anything. “Oh my God!” Perdita exclaimed, horrified. “If she dies, that’d be a terrible story!”

The fisherman put up his hands. “Everyone has to die sometime, lassie…”

Perdita made a face as if in the presence of something unholy. “So she DOES die!" She crossed her arms and backed away, disgusted. "Oh, that’s horrible, why even tell me the story if it ends like that? Ugh…I can’t believe I wasted my time…” With that, the girl got up and grabbed her bag, heading toward the ship.

“However,” the man continued leisurely. “Now was not Pearl’s time.” Perdita stopped. The fisherman smiled, leaning back once more, amused. “And in the morning, she went to the sheriff’s office to receive her community service.”

Slowly, the girl turned, waiting patiently.

“So there’s more?”

The fisherman chuckled. “Much more…” He arched his neck toward the ship that gave a loud blast of its horn, signifying its departure. Perdita turned to him, torn. “That is…if you’re willing to listen.”

Perdita quickly became upset. “B-but I need to get on my ship.”

“Why…is it going somewhere important…” he replied softly. “More important that what I’m telling you here now?”

Something inside Perdita took over at that moment. She had never heard a story that captured her mind so completely before, of a girl that almost mirrored her life. She couldn’t pass that up, not now, and with fixed eyes, she stared at the man and slowly sat down in front of him. “No, no, I can get another ticket…” she said decidedly. “Please continue…”

The man smiled affectionately, clearing his throat. “Well, as I was saying...in the morning, she went to the sheriff’s office to receive her community service…but before then….Peterson still took refuge in the town bar, and had just begun his search for some…” He chose the words carefully, his smile turning crooked. “Qualified associates…”

* * * * *

“Another round for my friend over here!” Peterson called with a high-pitched chuckle, just drunk enough to be content. “Another round!”

Noah, himself, just placidly continued to take a swig of his third mug of mead.

Looking over at his uneasy and out of place friend, he attempted sobriety. "So...what do you do for a living, Noah?"

Noah cleared his throat. "I'm an alligator wrestler."

At that, Peterson lost it. "A what?" he demanded, the quick burst of laughter making it hard for him to get out the words. "An...an alligator wrestler? So, what do you do? Just travel the country trying to find alligators to battle? Like in the mud?" He kept laughing, causing Noah to pat his lips and take another sip of his beer.

"Something like that, Pete."

Pete sighed, chugging another mug down. "So, I bet you wrestled your first two on your ship, right? Is that how you got started?"

Once again, Noah became befuddled by his friend's candor. "Say again?"

"You know, Noah...the ark. The boat that's gonna take us away from here." Pete's sides split at his own joke while Noah nervously chuckled beside him.

"I'll keep that joke in my record book. It's been awhile since I've heard one of those."

Pete laughed, catching his breath. "You know," he began in a high pitch, taking another swig of the frothing beer in front of him. He cleared his throat, deepening his voice to sound more professional. "If you come aboard my ship, there'll be no room for two of every animal. We can only take one." Pete drank some more, leaning against the bar for support. "So only pick a couple."

Noah rolled his eyes. "Crickey..." Pete put a hand up, his voice slurring. "Now...you're sure it's gonna rain for thirty days and thirty nights?"

Noah sighed, grinning slightly as he gave up, picking up a mug as well. He was going to need it. "No, Peterson...it's forty days."

"Forty days," Pete echoed. He let out a low whistle. "It's good we have a boat."

"That it is, Peterson." He sighed. "That it is."

Just then, ingeniuity hit Peterson like a firecracker from off the wall. "But I can't make you my mate just yet!" He got up from his seat with purpose. "I must present the challenge!"

Noah arched an eyebrow, now both confused and scared. Peterson was alive with reason - drunken reason, which was not reason at all. And in Noah's experience that was never a good thing. "The challenge?" he echoed skeptically.

"Yes," Peterson reaffirmed. Without warning, the large man stepped up onto the bar counter with huge, clanking boots, instantly gaining everyone's attention. "Excuse me!" he called, causing each sailor to turn from his table to the bar. "Excuse me, I would like to present..." He gave a dramatic pause, eyeing each silent participant. "The challenge..."

To Noah's surprise, there was no laughter or even a comment about the pirate's drunken state. The announcement gained immediate, loud approval and clapping and comments of "jolly good" and "about time" - as if everyone in the room knew exactly what he was talking about.

"My friend, Noah, over here," he began as his friend strongly shook his head back and forth in an obvious 'no.' "Has agreed to fight any man in this bar for the position of first mate aboard my ship, bound for adventure and treasure at day break!"

There were excited murmurings and interested whispers as Peterson continued.

"Who will battle the lean...the mean...alligator wrestling machine?" he shouted, invigorating them.

Noah, speechless, clung to the hope that no one would challenge a man his size.

"I'll battle him!" Ronan called out, the film over his eyes barely the only clue to his drunken state. "I'll battle him to the death!"

The bar cheered its encouragment, hooting and hollering as the boy, who couldn't have been a day over twenty-five sauntered toward the center of the bar, set up as a make-shift fighting ring.

Noah shook his head, putting it in his dark hand as the youth strolled up, readying his fists in confrontation. "Not again..." he sighed.

"Hey! Put up your dukes, gov'!" Ronan immediately ordered, basking in the audulation of the crowd behind him. He began to dance around, moving his fists back and forth and pausing now and then to run his thumb by his nose. Noah stopped, looking back at Peterson.

"Do I have to?" he asked calmly.

Pete seemed appalled. "Do you have to?" He laughed. "Did you have to go onto your boat when the flood came?"

Noah caught the connection and shook his head once more. "You are a confused man, Peterson."

Pete just laughed, too intoxicated to tell the difference between a joke and overwise.

Ronan, all the more ready, was quickly growing impatient. "C'mon, you lousy excuse for a sailor, fight me!" he urged, bouncing around.

But Noah had had his fill of fighting drunken fishermen for the night. "Now, look," he replied in negotiation. "You can fight me and make an ass out of yourself in front of all your friends and your girlfriend." He replied pointing to the crowds of people in back of a pretty female all in pink. "Or, you can step down and let me buy you a drink."

"Did you hear that?" Ronan shouted to the masses. They went silent. "He just insulted my dame!"

The bar roared with a mixture of excited yelps and laughter, the loudest amoung them Pete's.

"Ooooh, you've done it now, Noah!" Peterson yelled.

Noah put up his fists reluctantly - then stopped, confused. "But I didn't say anything to offend your lady over there."

This only seemed to envigor the boy further. "Did you hear that Chloe?" The girl nodded her head enthusiastically. Ronan turned back. "I must avenge you!"

The bar became even louder as he ran back to the front, inches from Noah as he prepared to fight.

Noah sighed. "Look, I don't think this is a good idea. Can't we just talk this out like civilized people-"

Ronan's fist cut through the air and landed across Noah's left cheek, hard enough to knock the six foot two black man to the ground.

Surprised yet adjusting to the change in events, Noah shook his head as he quickly returned to his feet. "Now, why did you have to go and do a silly thing like that?" he asked the boy, conversationally.

Before Ronan had a chance to answer, Noah had sent a barrage of punches, one right after the other, all of them hitting their marks. As the pain due as a result set into his body, reality kicked in for the drunken youth, and he soon began to spastically fight back. But Noah had caught Ronan off guard, sending him into a panic, and it was clear who had already won the brawl. Noah's attack button had been punched now, and there was no turning back for Ronan or anyone else.

Growing desperate, Ronan backed away with a small cry, blood dripping from his broken lip as he ran in zigzags between the tables. However, his attempts to escape were to no avail. Noah kept on him, knocking over tables and chairs until he once again took hold of the youth by the collar, swinging him back into combat, all the while the sound of Pete's laughter echoing in the background.

"Look at him run!" Pete hooted along with the similiar cries of the rest of the bar. "You're gonna get it now, kid!"

But suddenly, somehow the youth got the upper hand, twisting his leg around Noah's and tripping him. Not expecting the attack, Noah fell to his knees, and Ronan, wasting no time, kicked back, landing his foot into Noah's jaw.

His mates cheered as Noah hit the ground, but Ronan's victory was shortlived. Immediately, Noah sprung to his feet, a calm yet crazed look to his eye. He took Ronan by the shoulders, lifted him off of his feet and headbutted him in the temple in one fluid motion.

The bar roared with delight as the youth went down and did not get back up.

Holding his face and taking a deep breath, Noah rose, brushing off his weathered trenchcoat. He effortlessly lifted the unconscious boy and placed him in a chair. Sitting across from him, Noah lit a cigarette.

"I told you it was a bad idea," he repeated, shaking off his injuries.

Impressed by his nonchalance, the onlookers erupted, and Peterson lifted up Noah's right arm in initiation.

"Noah Rixey, I officially deem you first mate of the ship with no name!"

And with Pete's familiar laughter, his victory, new position, and a standing ovation from his strange yet entertained audience, Noah, the silent, straight-faced alligator wrestler, cracked a smile.