Shenanigans at the Poet & Peasant Pub

There is a pub located on the downtown docks known far and wide, it is rather cheekily named the Poet & Peasant Pub.

It is owned and operated by a gentleman( Loose term) known as Brute Burton.

Brute is a rather impressive male specimen, standing well over 2 meters tall, weighing over 15 stone, and strong enough to have lifted 272 Kilograms of an ox to win a wager.

Needled to add, not the type of man, if one is sane, to plays tricks upon!

Now Brute Burton is a retired sailor himself, who had worked the riggings of many a brig that travelled Her Majesties’ seven seas.

He purchased the Poet & Peasant Pub, tried to rename it The Wailing Sireen, but had faced such a row from the locals who had come to know the name well… In fact, several generations had called the pub their home away from home

So, with reluctance, Brute, resembling neither a poet or a peasant, acknowledged this was one fight he would not win, probably the only fight the pugilist had ever lost!

He retired the same day they permanently docked his last birth, a fine 3 masted schooner, christened the HMS Cybelemoon, a ship he had been mated on for the last 12 years.

As the schooner was being overhauled, he bought several of the hand-engraved exported mahogany planks from the captain’s quarters, and taking them to the pub he had purchased with his life savings, fashioned them into a rather notably fine bar that ran the whole length of the Poet & Peasant Pub’s west wall.

Most of the many other pubs located along that old, salt weathered waterfront has a somewhat nasty reputation for being quite rowdy establishments, full of drinking sailors, wild women, and other miscreants who instigate the many fights breaking out on the minute, not to mention the other forms of debauchery and nefarious activities that have the Constables sighing with disdain.

But the Poet & Peasant Pub is somewhat of an anomaly for a pub around these parts!

For Brute Burton will have none of that rowdiness in his establishment.

Although not perfect, the pub’s patrons have become accustomed to obeying the taverns unspoken rules for behaving. For, by breaking any of ’em, would mean a quick grab and throw out the backdoors by Brute, whose best effort once threw a rather drunk sailor across the road and through the doors of the bar on the other side.

A massive heave of over 8 stone and 12 meters distance, with guaranteed broken bones greeting on upon landing!!

So Needles to say, it was a bit of a surprise to find a local sailor, on this dark, dreary evening, who intentionally attempts to give a shirk yank to pull Brute Burton’s short fuse!

Next Up

Chapter 2

Shirking the Fuse!