Unattributed Conversation Extract from TD+22, 6 | loci.theduereturn.com
  








  









  
    

Unattributed Conversation Extract from TD+22, 6

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Crimean Peninsula, Svestapol
September 8, 1855
Early evening

Transcriber’s note: the following conversation is less conversation than it is a drunken riot. It is exceedingly difficult to identify distinct voices in the tumult and the background noise. As such, I was unable to offer the clear tagging of distinct voices that featured so helpfully in earlier conversation extracts. I heartily apologize for the confusion and/or inconvenience.

- Whoooooooo!
- Easy there.
- . . . and call me a nanny. I’ll scramble me brain in . . .
- Captain, tell them to watch out.
- Nice being up on th’ ship again, innit?
- Pass that Rot, please.
- What?
- . . . I’m taking a trip mates. And drink another . . .
- S’why they still hauling anyhow?
- Pour out a little Rot for ol’ Anteas.
- I said watch out!
- You OK, chaplain?
- And again, whoooooo!
- . . . taste be the sort that’ll give you fits . . .
- Don’t waste it you fuck. He’s fucken dead, right?
- Damnit Elena.
- For what?
- Yes, I am fine. A little queasy, perhaps. I find the passage over cobblestones to be far more injurious to my constitution than that over waves.
- Was my friend, he was. ‘Sides we gots plenty o’ Rot, we do.
- . . . and tickles your brainbox. And smooths your skin . . .
- For that horse.
- S’just that you look a wee pale, you do.
- Whooooo! Try and stop me you motherfuckers! Whoooo!
- No excuse for wastin’ it. And thought you thought we wan’t dead?
- What horse?
- . . . Oh swive me silly and call me a . . .
- I thank you for your concern. Perhaps it is that war does not agree with me, especially at close remove.
- Privet-stviya!
- Never mind. We squashed it.
- Why’s everyone yelling?
- . . . tell all me ship mates I’m taking a trip . . .
- He’s gone, ain’t he? That’s enough for me.
- For the love of gods, stop screeching girl.
- Fuck he sayin’?
- Good thing we’re leaving then, neh?
- Squashed what - never mind.
- . . . the ship it splits and becomes a fleet . . .
- Anyone know Russian better’n me?
- Ain’t screeching. M’hollering.
- Not for me. You wanna pour out booze, pour out that vodka shite.
- Mogu li ya podnyat’sya bort?
- Noise is gonna kill us all, Canute.
- . . . stuck in the midst of a sober . . .
- Anyone knows it better’n you.
- Who needs assistance?
- Just stop it. Stop it.
- You want to tell them to shut it?
- Pour what I want to pour out. Didn’t deserve to be blown up he didn’t.
- Ya Dmitri Mendeleev Ivanovich.
- . . . drink another pint of that Norwegian Rot.
- Holler if I want to. Ooooo - that’s pretty, it is.
- Can’t understand a word this guy’s sayin’ but he’s all worked up and shit.
- Hells no. But we got to finish this all up and soon. How much further?
- Mogu li ya pozhaluista, prihidte na bortu?
- Got to remember people. Got to keep them hear. With us.
- Pretty? What’s pretty? No, damnit Elena!
- What’s she doing?
- Oh shit.
- He says that his name is Dmitri Ivanovich Mendeleev, and that he would respectfully like to come aboard.
- Elena, come back!
- . . . it’s the swoop of gulls in the magnet . . .
- Why’s she all on that guy with her fists?
- Almost there, you got to tell the recruits they can take off soon as we’re in the water.
- Why he want to come aboard?
- Go you crazy lush, go!
- She is fucking him up.
- I scarcely think that’s a difficult question to answer - look around you. Is this not a situation you would wish to escape.
- Pozhaluista, ya vas proshu.
- Was that a tooth? That was a tooth right?
- . . . the drink of popes. It’s Norwegian . . .
- Shit, she is crazy.
- Think they’ll care?
- Don’t know if the cap’ll take to someone new comin’ on right about now. He’s getttin’ rid of all the recruits.
- Hahahah. See. It’s pretty and now it’s mine.
- Oh swive me silly and call me a nanny!
- Don’t got room and anyway, here we are.
- I do not think the captain has time to consider such things at this point. Prihodite na bort, moi drug.
- That’s it? A fucken epawhatawhat? For that?
- Brace yourselves everybody!

- I’ll scramble me brains in this very spot.
- Spasibo, spasibo.
- It’s pretty and I wanted it and I got it.
- Should probably introduce’m.
- You got any idea what’re you gonna do? Looks like those’re guns behind us.
- If I may interrupt you for a brief moment Canute, may I introduce you to Dmitri Ivanovich Mendeleev.
- Fucken lunatic s’what you are babe.
- Nice to meet you and you need a different name. Can’t be expected to pronounce that in times of stress. Like this specific one, for instance. Hold this for a second.
- Chto eto za serebo veshch’?
- Tell all me ship mates, I’m taking a trip mate.
- Got to do something soon brother of mine.
- Why’d he give that silver ball to that crazy beard dude? Guy looks like he spent months in the wilderness or something.
- Sorry. No time. No time. It’s a pleasure, Dmitri or whatever. Pardon me while I guzzle this.
- Never seen’m put away the Rot that fast.
- The capn’s wasted! Whoooooo!
- That can’t be your big idea.
- Girl. Shut. The fuck. Up.
- It’ll work. Best idea could come up with. If you don’t mind, I’ll take that back.
- And drink another pint of that Norwegian Rot!
- What’s happening? I can’t see.

- Well I’ll be double-fucked.
- All right everyone. Let’s get this mother turned towards the vortex. Hurry it up!
- Whoooo!
- One more time! Everybody! Oh swive me silly and call me a nanny . . .