The Shanty That Stays In Your Head

Posted on Fri 3rd Jul, 2026 @ 3:33am by Magnus Temple

2,049 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] Learning to Fly
Location: S.S. Versailles
Timeline: After “The Broot Excursion”

Inspired by “A Shanty for a Brute”, created by CF and performed by Qaraq.

ON:

There weren’t many words being spoken as the trio of Magnus Temple, Genevieve Gillard, and Ashra quietly strolled onto the S.S. Versailles, the diplomatic team feeling a little tender after their night visiting on the Broot home-world. What had been intended to be a serious discussion about the future of Starbase 109, and the security of the Delavi Expanse, had soon turned into what their host gleefully described as a “song and a scrap”. Plus, drinking. Quite a lot of drinking, actually. So much so that their planned departure time of 0700 hours was politely pushed back multiple times until the group could face the prospect of space travel again.

The cabin of the shuttle was lit in a warm, soft lighting at their request; the door into the flight deck left closed as the pilots prepared for launch in private. As soon as they were onboard, Magnus opened the small cargo hold in the rear of the cabin and stowed away the small suitcases the team had brought with them. He also included the small bag of lemons that he had negotiated (he believed) in a good deal from Criswell.

Ashra made her way over to the table, placing down a platter of left over food upon the surface, humming something quietly to herself as she did. She disappeared into the flight deck to chat with the pilots. Genevieve meanwhile had placed a pair of large black sunglasses over her tired eyes, having barely spoken a word all morning. With the careful movement of an unsure feline, she lowered herself into one of the arm chairs and pulled up a PADD, pretending like she was going to read it.

Magnus finished stowing the luggage and sat opposite her. He hadn’t been in the chair for a minute before he began to drum rapidly on his leg. It was a fast tune, energetic, as he slapped his hand upon his thigh in a jaunty rhythm. Gen looked over at him and raised an eyebrow; immediately recognising the pattern to his tapping.

She knew it very well.

It was a song they had heard in its creation, performed boisterously and repeatedly over the course of the last twelve or so hours as they visited the Broot home world. Qaraq had started belting it out while standing atop a dishevelled table, a glass of ale in his hand and a defeated foe unconscious under his large foot. The song flowed seemingly spontaneously from out of him, as the lager had equally flow within; and the tune became an instant hit amongst the adoring crowd.

No sooner had he finished, they that demanded Qaraq sing it again. Which he did, perfectly, word for word, showing he had been serious about the Broot’s talents for fighting and singing. Whatever anger and rage had once taken over the crowd as they fought each other was quickly forgotten as Qaraq’s shanty over took the moment and their souls. Sworn enemies became immediate friends again as they joined in performing it together. Temple remembered leaning over to Gen at some point in the evening and loudly declaring how Federation could learn a lesson or two on negotiating tactics if it could only employ this method to all of their discussions. It was a guaranteed mood changer.

Others from around the dining room and then the rest of the restaurant, each in differing states of inebriation, injury, or enjoyment, caught onto the song and joined in. Their voices raised with every repeated performance, the sounds of their impassioned singing echoed from out of the restaurant and into the night. Boaters on a fishing barge some kilometres out to sea had apparently picked up on this tune they heard carried over the waters and were able to radio back to the mainland and join in, too. Well, that was a rumour that had gone around the next morning; no one had quite confirmed whether it was actually true but they chose to believe it nonetheless. Such was the legendary status of Qaraq’s performance.

The song continued to echo into the minds of those who heard it even the morning after, the shanty firmly stuck in the minds of those who had been privileged to hear it for themselves.

Ashra returned into the cabin as the flight crew initiated the shuttle’s launch. She noticed Magnus’ rhythmic tapping and she began to bop her head in keeping with his tune. After a moment, she began to hum along, delivering a melody to accompany Magnus’ percussion. At the right moment, Gen gave a murmured “hey hey” under her raspy breath.

The Versailles began to rise off the launch pad, as Ashra sat in her chair and buckled up for their take-off. But this didn’t stop the group from continuing their demurred performance, as if they were each enslaved by the music they were sharing in their minds. An a Cappella recital from the night before had begun.

Gen pulled the PADD up above her face, under the pretence of reading. But after a moment, she could be distinctly heard whispering, “I live among the shiny stars, I’ve given people lots of scars.” To herself, of course. She continued into the verse, “My face is horned and colourful, my singing voice is wonderful.”

Ashra was waving one hand in front of her, as if conducting the song, eyes closed imagining the chaotic room where they had heard this for the first time. She continued to hum the melody, keeping in tune with Magnus’ drumming and Gen’s husky whispering.

Magnus looked out the Port side window, as the shuttle was surrounded by pink clouds, the S.S. Versailles reaching the planet’s lower atmosphere with a rumbling thrust. He hit his hand harder onto his thigh, emphasising the rowdy nature of the tune. The shuttle’s gentle fight against gravity seemingly replicated the restaurant’s chaotic buzz from last night. The three of them braced themselves as the shuttle gave a jolting shake around them, thrusters kicking in to keep their upwards momentum going as physics tried to bring them back down. The pilots were clearly trying to compensate for the heavy pull of the Broot planet. In the cabin, the trio’s focus on the song deepened, moving from a passive coincident to something more entirely deliberate.

A means to distract themselves.

To compensate, Magnus moved his hands from off his thigh and began to drum on the arm of the chair instead; the metallic resonance from his makeshift instrument giving a stronger, heavier thumping sound and emphasis to the tune. Ashra can’t help but catch his eyes, a smile forming on her lips. The vibration from her throat shifts as she lets her humming bloom into an open, vocalisation of the melody. Gen, still pretending to read from her device with stubborn focus, likewise lets the next line she was up to come out a little louder, “And then we share a mighty song, and drink and sing until night is gooone”

Suddenly, all three were joining into the chorus, their voices raised above a low whisper but not quite at full volume just yet. “Drink my daughters, drink my sons. Drink my sisters and brothers. We’ll drink from when the nights begun, and toast our friends and lovers.” They sang.

Another shake of the shuttle was dutifully ignored as Gen crooned the second verse, speaking of how the destruction of the “splendid place” had made them sad, but it’s repaired and now they’re glad. Ashra nodded along with more enthusiasm, Magnus drummed heavily onto the arm with enthusiasm.

The second swell of the chorus found their singing raised once more, both Gen and Ashra now deepening their voices to sound as ferociously baritone as Qaraq had been the night before. Magnus couldn’t help but laugh at their attempts to emulate the Broot’s voice, as he continued along with them.

“Drink my daughters, drink my sons. Drink my sisters and brothers. We’ll drink from when the nights begun, and toast our friends and lovers.” They were up in decibels now, voices filling the small cabin with hearty abandon, lost in the momentum of the moment they were having together and ignoring the jolts from the shuttle’s ascent.

They soon reached the Bridge of the song, which involved a boisterous refrain of “Hey hey ho ho” and “Ho ho hey hey”, which they launched into with pretend-drunken passion, remembering how this part had especially shaken the rafters of the seaside restaurant they were in last night. An entire room of Broots and warriors shouting this at full volume over and over again, had tested the very foundations of the building; if they hadn’t already been shaken by the lovely (in Qaraq’s words) scrap that had happened not long before it. Magnus hadn’t found it so joyful at first, but after seeing how many of them seemingly enjoyed using their fists instead of their words, appreciated the simplicity of the activity. So long as he wasn’t involved, of course.

After the Bridge came the third verse and both Gen and Ashra looked to Magnus with a humoured glint in their eyes. It had truly been a special moment to hear his name brought up in song, something he hadn’t even considered a possibility. But Qaraq had been apparently moved by their meeting, and perhaps imbued by the drink and the fight, that he had decided to include a mention of Magnus into his tune. The Diplomat was suitably honoured, clutching at his chest as Qaraq sung about their meeting. He laughed loudly as Qaraq said he liked Magnus over his brother, something he was undoubtedly going to tell Nyx about as soon as possible.

Magnus took the honour of singing this verse now in the shuttle. It wasn’t often one had a part of a song written about them, he was going to treasure that for as long as he lived. Magnus beamed, “Magnus is my brand new friend, we sit and break Delavi bread. I knew his brother once before -“

Gen and Ashra cut in, loudly, “I think that I like Magnus more!”

Magnus laughed loudly as he continued, “I hope that we can make a deal, that satisfies the way we feel. I’ll stand by him though every fight and drink our lagers through the night!”

“HEY HEY HO HO” the group were now singing at the top of their lungs, enthusiasm reaching peak levels. The shuttle had reached the upper atmosphere and started to even out, allowing them to unbuckle their seat belts and stand as they reached the final set of choruses. Not only could they sing, but they could revel in the moment and dance like the drunken idiots they had been the night before.

And there they were, this diplomat, this legal counsel, this quiet assistant: standing in the cabin of their shuttle as it sailed off from a very serious diplomatic mission. And instead of report writing or quiet reflection, they were bouncing about the small space, belting out at the top of their lungs, without a care in the universe about it:

“DRINK MY DAUGHTERS, DRINK MY SONS. DRINK MY SISTERS AND BROTHERS. WE’LL DRINK FROM WHEN THE NIGHT’S BEGUN AND WE’LL TOAST OUR FRIENDS AND LOVERS!” They sung together.

If the flight crew could hear them, they dared not interrupt. Not the first time the trio sang the song and not the next three times they repeated it. Throughout the long journey back to the Thundedchild, Qaraq’s song was on constant replay. Perhaps in some way, the visit to the Broot planet and Qaraq’s uproarious song had actually brought something out in the team; something fun and visceral, a sense of spirit that had previously been under the surface but now was shouted loudly from their hearts.

That’s the thing about a good song, the shanty that stays in your head; sometimes it makes you a little better than it found you.

OFF

 

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