Ottorino Respighi – Pines of Rome
The Pines of Rome was a ship with history though the crew in possession of her had no way of knowing that; the only reason they even had a name at all – none of them could read the words painted on the side – were the now lost to the breeze whimpers of the men that’d been tossed overboard. According to them, The Pines of Rome was the purest love of their lives, to conquer the waves on so magnificent a construction had surely been worth dying for – why else would they have sang its praises on their way to the ocean floor? Their final words were breathed into bubbles that gurgled to the surface, popped into the air but went unheard by the new crew, as they were busy sawing off the gladiator figurehead and claiming their share of booty.
To an outsider’s eye, the civilized conduct of men who dressed like, acted, and called themselves pirates would seem out of place, but when fortune smiles upon people they smile upon each other, regardless of occupation. Also helping their relations was the fact that the new crew were, as a splinter group recently defected from a notorious outlaw fleet, not yet sick of each other’s company. They still shared the fondness and mutual respect always born out of a battle with a common enemy.
Though their escape had been a long time coming, they’d had to settle for a subpar ship to flee on, and as such, the vessel had been seriously wounded in the escape. They were lucky the former crew of the Pines had been naive enough to approach a strange ship in deep waters, but, most of them conceded, they’d have been lucky if drowning with their independence was as far as they’d gotten. The leader they’d chosen was more of a listener than anything else but a majority to alter what’d worked could not be reached.
The captain they’d chosen was more of a listener than anything else; their success so far had been because of the crew’s unified response to orders, rather than the quality of the orders themselves. Each man heard the few simple words, interpreted what that meant in relation to his position at the time, and took what he deemed to be the appropriate action; their system was symphonic, an operation that didn’t need a conductor but had one all the same.
So they brought out the cage holding the parrot of their previous captain and, just like before, asked it what to do next. The parrot repeated their question back to them and the crew thought on it.
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