Chase Hatter's Origin of Pangaea

Chapter Fourteen

Peace usually followed Captain Broke out at sea, but in his lifetime he found that peace and Pangaeans couldn't exist in the same space and his superstition proved to be true. In the middle of this quiet morning as the sun barely lifted over the horizon, an unfamiliar voice snuck into his dreams and brought him back to consciousness. The words he heard sounded so cultish.

"The power to manipulate the minds of people can quite literally be at your fingertips simply by playing the right note." A man with a Southern accent claimed. "Sometimes I have moods, nice ones that I'd like to have again. But I've found that the only way to replicate those moods is through music. And not only can you replicate the mood in yourself, but in other people as well. Music that sets a mood is timeless."

The Captain rolled out of bed and marched onto the deck where he found Andrew fishing.

"Why is that so loud?" Captain Broke asked. "It'll scare the fish away."

"It was silent." Andrew explained. Captain Broke cocked a brow.

"... So what?"

"Silence," Andrew began, "is often the realtor of depression. Elijah Grant. I can't focus if I'm not happy, Captain."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Captain Broke asked. "Is that some rhetoric that you people share with each other?" Andrew shrugged his shoulders.

"It's important Pangaean history." Andrew explained. "My guardians held the history in very high regard." Andrew explained. "And I learned to do the same. It starts in the home, you know."

"... Guardians?"

"Parents." Andrew clarified. "Although, I try to address them as my superiors to show the utmost respect for the position of power they've bestowed upon me." The Captain twisted his face.

"Well," Captain Broke began, "could you turn your show down?"

"Per your instructions, Captain." Andrew turned off his Radio Cube. Captain Broke huffed.

"What are you listening to, anyway?"

"A recorded deductive proof." Andrew told him. "Pamela Watson, a journalist in Pangaea, came up with the idea to interview some of Pangaea's most important figures at the same time. However, her first question was enough to demand the writing of a formal proof. The discussion to lead to the proof itself lasted one hundred and fifty six hours. I am on hour thirty two." Captain Broke seemed puzzled.

"Pangaea has important figures?"

"Theo Sage," Andrew began, "Ethan Grant, Elijah Grant, and Axel DeWitt are the participants."

"DeWitt?" The Captain asked. "He's still kicking?"

"He is."

"Someone should assassinate that son of a bitch."

"Is that so?" Andrew asked. "Captain, I believe I just shared with you that my guardians hold Pangaea's history in very high regard. You should start to ask yourself why that may be. We'll get along better."

Captain Broke ignored the Pangaean and went back to sleep. Once the Captain had dozed off, Andrew retrieved his radio cube and turned it back on, keeping the volume low to avoid another confrontation with the Captain.

"A month after the war ended, the last issue of Jiggle Jazz Magazine was printed." Theo Sage recalled. "It was thick, like a phone book. It started with page after page of album titles and concert dates. Everything that had happened over the past five years. I must have been through less than a quarter of the pages before the obituaries started showing up. And there he was. Cave Cohen, age forty three, found dead in his bathroom. Decomposed. I know music better than anyone in Pangaea and I've always known it better than Cave Cohen. I wondered what would happen to him when my genius was recognized. He paled in comparison to what I knew was possible. I was happy for him. He died before I had to dethrone him. I would suppose it's always best to die on top. And he died eight floors up. I'm very happy for him."

After about four days of fishing, Captain Broke decided that they had enough to start selling at the market. Andrew insisted that he help. At the market, Andrew smiled brightly at potential customers and even drew a few in with his light and whimsical banter. Captain Broke operated a separate booth, however, and he managed to scare many of his customers away with an unintentional glare.

Both Andrew and Captain Broke were very excited when their week together came to an end. Andrew walked his bike out of the dock gate while Broke followed.

"Where are you going, now?" Captain Broke asked.

"Do you actually care?" Andrew asked. The Captain remained silent. "I will see you in another lifetime, Captain."

"Hopefully not." The Captain mumbled.

Andrew hopped on his bike and pedaled away from the docks. He tapped open his Radio Cube and set it in his basket, listening as he headed towards his next destination.

"There's no room in Pangaea for Cave Cohen." Theo continued. "Only unique talents exist in Pangaea. Just like the colors on the color wheel, or your boring points on your boring circle, no two are exactly alike. And whoever that one person is must be the greatest version of themselves who is the most talented at what it is they do. Now, what is talent? In my case, is it measured by the number of albums sold, awards won, or the amount of money accumulated over time? For an entertainer like myself, those things can often cloud our self-judgement into believing we are the best. But the characteristics of each talent is different. Am I in it for the money and the accolades, or am I in it to produce wonderful music that everyone can enjoy? Take another example, a doctor, let's say. I'm sure that many people would prefer to have a doctor whose success rate is perfect when it comes to saving lives, but how often are you in need of life saving surgery versus your need for a kind, listening ear to diagnose a simple pain or a bruise? In that case, Pangaea's Greatest Physician, whoever they may be, is not in their business to save every life, but to work as though every life is worth saving."