The morning after the Bristol show arrived far too early for most of the pack. The city’s sleepy hotel corridor echoed with the slow shuffle of boots and paws, muffled yawns, and the metallic clink of coffee thermoses jostling in backpacks. Gabriel had slept with his hoodie half-on and an empty espresso shot bottle cradled in one arm. Mark, as usual, was up before sunrise, his duffel already packed and his grizzled face unreadable.
Everyone assumed they were headed to the next mid-sized city. Thane had even reviewed the routing schedule the night before. But when they boarded the red tour bus and settled in, the vibe felt… off. The local driver was grinning too much. Mark was suspiciously quiet — even for Mark — and refused to answer when Gabriel kept poking him with questions like “You’re not gonna murder us in the woods or something, right?”
The bus didn’t head inland.
Instead, it wound through the heart of Bristol, gradually steering toward the historic waterfront district where the buildings looked like they’d leapt out of a storybook. Thane was the first to squint suspiciously at the growing masts rising above the harbor skyline.
“Why are we headed toward the docks?” he asked out loud, mostly to himself.
Gabriel, now wide awake, practically glued himself to the window. “No way. No WAY. Look at that ship! That’s a full-on pirate ship!”
And it was. A towering, turn-of-the-century replica of a galleon — weathered wood, billowing black sails with a crimson wolf’s head flag flying (thanks to Mark’s secret request), and a crew of fully costumed pirates bustling across the deck like they’d stepped out of Pirates of the Caribbean.
The bus came to a full stop.
Everyone looked at Mark.
Mark sipped his coffee. “I figured we could use a break.”
Thane just blinked. “You did this?”
“I know a guy who knows a guy,” Mark said dryly. “And I wired them enough money to let us pretend we’re feral pirates for a day. They’ll play along. Full immersion. Rations. Sail the coast. Costumes included.”
Cassie nearly screamed. Jonah did scream. Maya bolted for the exit yelling “CALL ME CAPTAIN CHAOS!”
The pack poured out of the bus in disbelief and awe, staring up at the towering gangplank. A sharply dressed captain in full historical garb strode down to meet them, tipping his hat as he stopped in front of Gabriel.
“Mr. Gabriel, I presume?” he said with a thick, theatrical accent. “Your wardrobes are ready.”
Gabriel’s brain short-circuited. “I—WE—AAAAAHHHHHH!”
The next half hour was full of the most absurd dressing-room chaos in history. Pirate shirts, breeches, belts with ornate buckles, leather vests, tricorn hats, and boots—oh gods, the boots. Gabriel’s clawed feet poked out of his pair and he refused to wear anything else, so he tucked pirate pants into his own fur and called it good. Thane dressed as the brooding first mate, all black leathers and silver buckles. Mark looked like he’d been born in a pirate coat—stoic, weathered, and done with everyone. Cassie went full glam pirate queen with a sash and a feathered hat, Maya dual-wielded foam cutlasses, Jonah tied his bandana around his drumsticks, and Rico just leaned into being the smoldering rogue.
Emily looked like the shy deckhand who knew way too much and was hiding seventeen secrets.
By mid-morning, they were off. The ship set sail with fanfare — literal fanfare, as Jonah found the captain’s ceremonial trumpet and blasted something vaguely heroic from the crow’s nest. The coastline stretched wide and beautiful beneath a blue sky. Seagulls wheeled overhead. A real cook below deck prepared rustic pirate-style rations: baked fish, spiced beans, flatbread, and buttered carrots with honey. The band ate on the main deck as the wind caught the sails, laughing harder than they had in weeks.
Mark stood near the bow, leaning against the rail, looking out over the water as the ship cut across gentle waves. Thane walked up beside him, arms crossed.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Mark nodded. “Just remembering that it’s okay to have fun. Even when the job’s heavy.”
Gabriel ran by mid-sentence, yelling “I’M THE CAPTAIN NOW” with a wooden sword in one paw and a trail of children from the crew chasing after him in a full-scale mutiny simulation.
“You sure about that?” Thane deadpanned.
Mark gave him the tiniest of smiles. “Pretty sure.”
They spent six glorious hours playing pirates. Feral Eclipse took over the ship’s makeshift stage at one point and played sea shanties on acoustic instruments while Gabriel rewrote the lyrics to ‘Hoist the Colors’ as a werewolf anthem. The crew joined in. Some of the crew were actually fans and knew the words to Eclipse songs. One of them had Gabriel sign his cutlass.
As the sun dipped toward late afternoon and the ship returned to port, the whole band stood at the railing — wind in their fur and hair, salt spray on their faces, hearts full.
“We should buy a ship,” Jonah said.
“We shouldn’t,” Thane and Mark said in perfect unison.
Gabriel sighed wistfully. “But what if we did…”
They left the dock grinning, hoarse, and smelling like the sea. Gabriel took one last selfie in full pirate garb with the ship behind him and posted it with the caption:
“Wolves of the High Seas. Best. Detour. Ever. 🐺⚓️☠️ #FeralPirates #YesWeHowled”
It trended for hours.
And for the first time since the tour started, there were no protests. No hate signs. Just joy.
Pure, ridiculous joy.