Sparkle Pirate
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Sparkle Pirate
Max and the Multiverse Shorts, Volume 3
Zachry Wheeler
Published by Mayhematic Press, 2019.
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT
FREE EBOOK
BONUS READ
SPARKLE PIRATE
MAX AND THE MULTIVERSE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADDITIONAL WORKS
BEFORE YOU GO
FREE EBOOK
COPYRIGHT
© 2019 by Zachry Wheeler
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-9991027-6-0
Print: 978-1-9991027-5-3
Edited by Jennifer Amon
Published by Mayhematic Press
FREE EBOOK
Claim your FREE limited edition copy of The Item of Monumental Importance: a Max and the Multiverse short! Max awakes to a mystic realm and must brave a barrage of fantasy tropes.
zachrywheeler.com/freebook
BONUS READ
Haven’t read the books? No problem! Max and the Multiverse shorts are stand-alone tales that serve as entry points into the series. And if you’re hungry for more, this short also includes the first chapter of book one as a springboard into the saga.
SPARKLE PIRATE
a Max and the Multiverse short
Max awoke in a lush meadow full of chirping birds and colorful flowers. He lay in a bed of soft grass that perfectly adhered to his contour. A pleasant aroma of honey and lavender tickled his nostrils, prompting a deep inhale. His cheeks puckered as a wide smile stretched across his face. This was, by far and away, the most peaceful and refreshing rouse that he had experienced for quite some time.
Max was an Earth teen who suffered from a peculiar affliction. He shifted between parallel universes whenever he fell asleep, which provided daily doses of irritation. One time he awoke to the piercing shrieks of harpy dragons. Another time he awoke to the sudden panic of drowning before realizing that he owned a set of functioning gills. It was a perpetual pain in the crack that undermined his fragile sanity. Thus, arising to a tranquil environment became the mental health equivalent of winning the lottery.
His crewmates, on the other hand, could still ruin the whole thing. Ross, his pet cat and constant goader, often reveled in the opportunity to inflame trivial situations. Zoey and Perra were fearless couriers and often served as critical insights into the new reality. Their gallantry and fortitude made any reaction one to heed. When in doubt, get behind Zoey. When in further doubt, ask Perra why they ducked behind Zoey.
In addition, when Max awoke somewhere other than the spaceship, it usually meant that something had gone terribly wrong (or was about to). But dammit, the blissful comfort of a balmy meadow was a welcome shift, so he was going to enjoy it.
A few indulgent minutes passed before he began to stir. His eyes blinked open, revealing a blue sky peeking through the leaves of a large oak tree. Curious critters with brilliant plumage hopped from branch to branch. Tall stalks of blooming foliage lined the peripherals, framing the scene with a rainbow of hues. Max absorbed the vista through sleepy eyes and a contented grin. He yawned, then stretched his arms overhead and lowered them to his chest.
And thus concluded the relaxing interlude.
Max shot up to a seated position with a frightened gaze. “Where are my nipples?!” he said while rapidly patting his bare chest. Or rather, while patting a bulging mound of man flesh. The missing nipples took an immediate backseat to the unveiling of massive pecs. And giant biceps. And washboard abs. Max, it would seem, was a total beefcake.
“They point downward,” Ross said from afar.
Max turned to a curled pile of white fur resting nearby. The voice was familiar, but the horse shape threw him for a loop. “Uuuuh ...”
Ross raised his snout and turned an irked gaze to Max. “Downward, you idiot. Your nipples point downward.”
Max walked his fingers down beneath the pecs, where two firm nipples resided. “Oh, there they are. Sorry, never had muscles before.”
“You nev—what?”
Max studied his new beach-ready body, uncovering all sorts of hairless delights. Broad shoulders, ripped flanks, trunk-like legs, and calves that looked like cantaloupes trapped in skin prison. He was also tan to an unnerving degree, like a roasted turkey leg on the cusp of jerky. All the same, he continued to marvel at his newfound sexiness.
The meadow, however, still needed some clarification.
Rising to his feet, Max began to search for clues to the current predicament. A slow pan around the area uncovered more of the same lushness. He stepped forward, but a shift inside his underpants caused him to lose his balance. He flailed and stumbled before planting his heels in the soft dirt. Confused and a little concerned, he gripped the front of his waistband and pulled it open. The visual shock forced him back a few steps. “Sweet mercy, look at that thing! I should give it a name and start a college fund.”
“Ahem,” Ross said.
Max met eyes with the horse, who nodded to his own backside. He followed the visual cue to a rather emasculating comparison. Max groaned and slumped his shoulders.
Ross smirked. “That’s right, think before you speak.”
Max released the waistband, which snapped back to his V-shaped groin. After another slow pan with minimal insight, he sighed and returned his gaze to Ross. “So why are you a horse?”
Ross cocked his brow.
“And why are you white?”
Ross dropped his brow. “That’s racist.”
“No, I mean, you’re an orange cat. So why are you a white horse?”
“You say that as if I’m supposed to give you a sane response.”
“Fine, I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“Figure what out?”
Max ignored the steed and started wandering around the meadow, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Even so, there was a peculiar imbalance that he couldn’t put his finger on. The serene landscape felt a bit too serene, like a creepy morning show for kids. Max ruffled his brow, but then a twig snap caught his attention. He whipped his head to the source, which cued a twinkling sound and a wash of sparkles around his face. His head whipped back, unleashing more twinkle sparkles. Bewildered, he jerked his head from side to side, releasing a cascade of twinkle sparkles.
Max froze with fright. “What is this witchery?!”
“What, do you mean your hair?”
Max eyed Ross without moving his head. “My hair?”
“Yes, your hair. Your obsessively groomed, painstakingly highlighted, angel soft, long and flowing come-hither mane. It twinkles whenever you whip it to the side.”
“Wa—why?”
“Why is water wet? Those are the rules. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Max dismissed the scorn and resumed a gingerly pace around the meadow, careful not to disturb the hair. “I, um ... let’s just say that I’m not feeling like myself today.”
“That much is obvious.”
“Bite me, Shadowfax.”
“That’s ...” Ross stammered into an unexpected pause. “That’s a compliment. Sorry, threw me for a loop. Anyhoo, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“For what?”
Ross opened his mouth to chastise him again, but huffed instead. “For the big dat
e? You are meeting your one true love today, remember?”
“I do not,” Max said with a matter-of-fact tone.
“How can you not? It’s the entire reason we’re here. It’s your fate, your destiny, your ... fadestiny.”
“You mean my date?”
Ross cringed. “That’s a stupid mishmash.”
Deciding to embrace the ride, Max clapped his hands and waved at the horse like a frat boy initiating beer pong. “Okay then, give me the rundown. Classic amnesia, let’s go.”
Ross glanced away at nothing in particular, weighing the choice between selfish amusement and selfless assistance. He exhaled a heavy sigh and returned his gaze to the sexy mancake. “Her name is Tammy. She has been your weekly pen pal for the last two years. You fell deeply in love with her while working as a shirtless firefighter on the beach planet of Pectoria, which left you disabled and raising an adopted son as a single dad on a paltry salary as a nude art model. The mother was your best friend and platonic dance partner. She was killed in a tragic accident while saving a puppy, which left you deathly afraid of dancing, puppies, and dancing puppies. Tammy claims to be a high-powered executive who struggles to maintain a work-life balance, but finds solace in writing provocative poetry under a solitary pen name. You have no idea what she looks like. You have never spoken to her. But, you are captivated by her prose and have gifted her your unconditional adoration. You believe her to be your soul mate. Oh, and there’s something about a notebook. The end.”
Max thought for a moment, then nodded. “She sounds hot.”
Ross rolled his eyes. “Anyway, today is when you finally meet. And you’d better get a move on, she’ll be at the lobby bar in half an hour.”
Max whipped a baffled gaze around the meadow, releasing more twinkle sparkles. “The meadow has a lobby?”
Ross narrowed his gaze. “Where do you think you are right now?”
“In a meadow.”
“This is a pleasure cruiser, nimrod. You’re on a love boat in space.”
“In a meadow?”
Ross neighed and bowed his head with frustration. “Suite 137, default setting.”
The meadow pinged and fizzled out of existence, leaving them to the sleek confines of a spacious executive suite. The lavish interior was overflowing with the ornate decor of a royal palace. Plush furniture, gold-plated everything, and a giant bed layered with pelt-like blankets. Max glanced around the swanky pad with mouth agape.
“Holy schmeckles,” he said. “This place must’ve cost a fortune.”
“It did,” Ross said. “You depleted your life savings to reserve this cabin for the week. Hope the nookie is worth it because you’re broke as hell now.”
Max deflated a bit. “Romance is a powerful drug, eh?”
“A cure-all for logic, that’s for sure. But not to worry, chances are that you’re a secret prince who will inherit immense wealth after fulfilling some arbitrary milestone.”
“What kind of milestone?”
Ross shrugged. “True love’s first diddle? Fuck if I know.”
Max sneered in reply. “Thanks, Garfield.”
Ross cocked an ear. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Wait, why are you still a horse?”
“Huh?”
“The room reset. Why are you still a horse?”
“Because I’m a goddamn horse.”
“And they let horses onto pleasure cruisers?”
Ross tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t they?”
Max thought of a hundred reasons, which he clearly conveyed with a blank stare.
“I’m a noble steed, bound to your hotness. You ride me into situations that require bouncing pecs or slow motion.”
“Oh.”
“And on that note, why aren’t you getting ready?”
“Ah, yes, okay.”
Max spun around the cabin on the hunt for a dresser, suitcase, anything with the promise of clothing. Each twirl released a fresh cloud of twinkle sparkles, which had started to grate on his nerves. He ventured into a bathroom that was larger and more luxurious than most bedrooms he had ever seen. “Whoa,” he said in a pitch-perfect surfer voice.
And then he caught his reflection in the mirror.
As if drawn by pure enchantment, he floated towards the glass to bask in his unbearable studliness. Chiseled jaw, high cheeks, plump kissable lips, and a set of immaculate eyebrows plucked to perfection. A glorious mane of silky brown hair with blonde highlights flowed down to a pair of stout shoulders. His upper body was flawless to an absurd degree, as if carved out of marble by the gods of fornication. He reached for the glass with a cautious hand, like a monkey with a funhouse mirror.
“Is it possible to be too sexy? I mean, c’mon, have you seen these abs? It looks like I’m smuggling cereal bowls. I bet I could—”
“Get ready goddamnit!” Ross said as he shot his head into the bathroom.
Max flinched out some half-sparkles. “Yes! On it.”
He rummaged through a satchel that housed a plethora of hyper-specific grooming utensils. After a short and vexing search, he abandoned them all in favor of the suite-provided comb. A nearby suitcase contained several sets of thin white shirts and black leather pants. He grabbed a few and examined the material. “What am I, a pirate? Who wears this stuff?”
“You do, wanker,” Ross said from the doorway. “Standard issue hunk attire, now put it on so we can get outta here.”
Max grimaced as he slipped into a set of skintight pants that left little to the imagination. A wispy white shirt and black leather boots completed the outfit, a dreamboat portrait that begged for baby oil and a wind machine.
Ross nodded with approval. “Good, now let’s go.” The horse backed out of the bathroom, then spun and trotted towards the entry. “Suite 137, open front door.”
The door pinged and slid open, revealing a bustling atrium and an orange alien female with a furious glare. Her choppy black hair, bold makeup, and sleek jumpsuit gave her a miscreant vibe, like a hacker babe yanked from a steampunk metropolis. She leaned on the doorframe with both hands and buried a malicious gaze into the steed.
“Where is he?” she said with a graveled voice.
Ross, now with widened eyes and puckered lips, stepped aside with no intent of interfering. His hooves tapped the tile floor with the soft silence of a ballerina. The lady sauntered inside just as Max emerged from the bathroom. They met gazes, which stopped Max in his tracks and drew a toothy smile across his face.
“Zoey!” he said with open arms.
“You have a lot of nerve coming here,” she said on approach. Zoey stomped up to the beefy human and got right into his face, forcing him to backtrack a bit. “Tammy is mine, you asshole.” She jammed her finger into his chest, prodding each syllable.
Max shifted his eyes with hands in the air. “Uuuuh ...”
“Have you no shame? Do you not know what we went through?”
“Um ... what did you—”
“No!” Ross said in his best dramatic movie voice.
“—go through?”
Ross hoof-palmed himself.
Zoey withdrew her finger and strutted around the space for theatrical effect. “Tammy and I met as teenagers at Camp Adolescence where we served as counselors for troubled kids. It was love at first sight, her sumptuous breasts spilling from her taut uniform. My hungry eyes plunged into her misty cleavage like a cliff diver. She caught my gaze, but did not recoil, for she knew that we would dance at dusk. Our first rendezvous was a violent eruption of pleasure under a moonlit sky. She made me a woman that night, and expanded that sensuous reality every night thereafter. For three full months, my tongue endured a more exhaustive workout than any other muscle in my ravenous body. I returned home in a state of euphoria, for I had climbed to the top of the mountain and screamed at the summit. We nursed a long-distance relationship for a time, but the gap was too painful to bear. With sorrow as my co-pilot, I ended our accord with a curt yet shameful text. It was
the single most devastating mistake of my life, one that has plagued my very existence ever since. And now, I intend to remedy that mistake.” Zoey clenched her fist and struck a resolute pose in the middle of the room.
“Cool,” Max said with zero emotional weight.
“Okay then,” Ross said. “So if we’re done with the obligatory love triangle, can we shake hands and mosey to the bar?”
“Love triangle?” said a mystery voice. All three turned to the front door as Perra sauntered into the room. Her creamy orange skin, taut pigtails, and skintight dominatrix garb fit right into the weirdness of the predicament. “I think you mean, love quadrangle.”
“Oh hey,” Max said, adding a polite wave.
“Tammy was my college roommate,” Perra said with a breathy voice. “She liberated my carnal desires from beneath the flompball bleachers. My piercing wails of passionate passion caused the boofbarker to drop the—”
“Nay!” Ross stomped his hoof, startling the group. “No more convoluted tales with sexual overkill. We got somewhere to be and here ain’t it.”
Perra crossed her arms and glared at the horse. “You think I’m gonna let you steal Tammy away from me that easily?”
“Wait,” Max said as he pointed between the two ladies. “Aren’t you two together?”
“Yeah,” Zoey said. “What of it?”
Max grunted as his brain sputtered for an answer. “So this is a, um ... love duo quadrangle? Which I guess would technically make it a triangle, but with a separate partnership acting as one of the corners. But if you’re both competing, I suppose it would be a threesome in a foursome of potential twosomes. Or something.”
Zoey and Perra shrugged in unison.
“Sweet Tim almighty,” Ross said, then poked his head out the front door. “Anyone else out here in love with Tammy?”
“I am!” said a voice from afar.