Snakes. Everything was snakes. Snakes wrapping around wrists, snakes wrapping around ankles, snakes. They squeezed, too. Constricted. That’s what snakes do. They gripped and wrapped and held tight until there was nothing left to hold on to.
Quill’s eyes fluttered open. Jimmy was sitting in a brushed steel chair across from him.
“Sleepy story is over.” Jimmy spun his white baseball hat around backwards and hopped up to standing. “Boss says now you tell us a story.”
Quill looked down and saw both his wrists and ankles were bound tightly with thick, scratchy rope. “Want to hear one about crowns? I know lots of stories about crowns and gems.”
“Boss says you tell us a story ‘bout you.”
“Just a pirate who loves to dance.”
“Nah. Not so much.” Jimmy sat back down and slowly turned his hat back around. “What are you, for real?”
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