MercenaryWench

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About MercenaryWench

  • Rank
    Dread Pyrate
  • Birthday 01/19/1987

Contact Methods

  • AIM
    FeyCelticLass
  • MSN
    irish_gypsy_lass
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    bloodymearakelly

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    Lancaster, PA
  • Interests
    Training my attack kitten, perfecting my turn out, and dreaming of the day when I can afford to have me custom made rapier.
  1. The Watch Dog

    Fear was not an emotion Tudor was well versed in. Concern, discouragement,and the feeling of being against all odds were common enough to her, but a moment of sheer terror where one is frozen and doesn't know if one should flee or fight and cannot see life past the fleeting events right before them - those such feelings had only ever visited Tudor three times in her life. The first time she killed a man, fear shook her. A storm weathered on a small boat in the English Channel paralyzed her in terror. The third moment of horror still haunted her dreams - a field full of fallen commrades. The sight of the Navarre, plowing through waves with unerring course made her greet fear for a fourth time. It didn't take much knowledge or logic to discern that the other ships speed was great, too great, and that the seemingly unavoidable results would be catastrophic. But she refused to be shaken, frozen or give way to the fear. Gritting her teeth, she scanned the deck, looking for the Captain. As she started to move, she wondered to herself if there was anything she would be able to do to help, or even if she would find the Captain before disaster struck.
  2. The Watch Dog

    Where crates needed lifting, Tudor lifted, though many weighed more then half of herself. Where her knack for fitting cargo into odd and tight spaces was needed, she organized. Orders and directions came and she followed them. In the brief lulls, where she could be of no use, she went from crew member to crew member, making sure all had an occasional swig of water. Despite the fact that most had hardly had time to dry out from the rain, most were parched from their labors. As she looked around the deck and observed the flurry of activity and couldn't help but make her smile, despite all circumstances. What would look like chaos to an outsider, looked to her like a work of art - a mad dance, all intricate choreography and hasty footwork. She took note of each 'dancer' and what work they did, impressed by how every member of crew was pulling their weight - not even the Captain himself held still for long. Her moment of musings ended as a new load of cargo was being pulled up onto the deck.
  3. Shoes! & Boots!

    Mistress Diamond, are shoes still available for purchase? I find myself in need of footwear for PIP.
  4. What Are You Cooking Tonight?

    I am about to go perform a miracle with a box of kraft mac'n'cheese, ground beef, taco seasoning, diced tomatoes and bread crumbs . . . I'll let you know how it turns out.
  5. Your ships name.

    Ditto. I want the Watch Dog. But the ship that I have created in my mind is called Virtue, cause what is more ironic then hearing the words "The Pirate Ship Virtue . . ." Seems rather incongruous. Think of her as the tricked out caddy of pirate ships.
  6. The Watch Dog

    Once Treasure had declared herself finished, Tudor's hands flew up to her head and gingerly felt around the competed work. "You are a miracle worker. The last soul that tried to braid my hair, declared it impossible. Said that t'was like trying to tie three weasels in a knot." She paused for a moment, truly enjoying how her hair felt below her fingers. "Hmm . . .I hadn't noticed that my hair had grown to this length again." She mused to herself. "Thank you Treasure. I think I can safely say that I now look presentable." She stood, still yet to stop patting her hair in amazement.
  7. The Watch Dog

    When the Captain's intentions to host the officers were made known to Tudor, made haste to finish her daily round of chores. Once all her duties were seen to, she made her way below to dress. Again, she found herself hurrying, for while she had been invited to sit with the officers, it by no measure meant that the table would see to itself. The green wool mantua that she had worn to her meal with the Spaniard lay closest to the top of her chest, and being torn between not wanting to waste time and not wanting to wear slops to dinner, she quickly changed into the garment and attempted to tie her hair back with a ribbon, leaving as quickly as she came. She went by way of the galley to collect what items the table would need only to have Mr. Gage smile and inform her that all was seen to and that the table should be finished by now. She thanked him but didn't pause to ask him whom he had wrangled into performing the chore. She instead hurried towards the Ward Room, convinced she would have to correct all the settings. She had never let the Captain eat at a mis-set table, and she was not going to begin now. What she saw when she entered astounded her. The table was perfect, elegantly placed, all items in correct and exacting position. The candlesticks, as common as they seemed in the tedium of everyday now looked sophisticated, being displayed on a fine bolt of embroidered silk, twined artfully between them. Taking a moment to take her gaze from the centerpiece of the room, she finally took notice of it's creator. Treasure was putting the final touches on her work, inching a goblet this way, shifting a plate that, too intent on her work to note Tudor's pleased stare. "Miss Tribbiani, if I had known t'was you who was going to see to the table in my stead, I might have spent more time dressing, for I would have known that capable hands were doing my work for me." She paused and smiles. "It looks lovely! Better then I could have done myself, I fear."
  8. The Watch Dog

    Cursing herself for having not learnt Spanish so many years ago when she had the chance, Tudor mulled over Treasure's rough translation in her head. Her vocabulary consisted of curses and a plea to use the privies, and while that always held her in good stead the few times she found herself in Spanish ports of call, as few as they, it left her helpless to eavesdrop now. She contented herself, instead with scrutinizing the flock of men, memorizing every detail about their appearances, their statures - even to how they carried themselves - and mulling over what she saw. No detail went unnoticed, and all was done with the careful art of looking, without the subjects ever realise that they were being watched. The furthest thing that she could wish for was for one of them to think she was gazing upon them in favor. Their antics made her smile silently as she talked to Mr. Gage, only half involved in the conversation. It never ceased to amaze her, how once a man has been starved of sight of the opposite sex, it will turn even an almost plain girl, clad in men's attire into a Venus that they all must clamor to gain the attention of. Only one man's gaze held her true attention. His posture nor his eyes read flirtation. They read scheming. She knew the look well.
  9. The Watch Dog

    Smiling as she made her way to rid herself of the the Captain's unwanted rum, she thought to herself how she had rather enjoyed the small amount of work she had contributed to the ledgers. Mathematics had never been a strong point for her, but there had been so much coming and going in the last few weeks that she was pleased that she could make herself useful, even if just in the small ways. As she continued, she thought to earlier in the conversation. She wished she had some perspective to offer the Captain at his request, but to her, the Spanish were just another client, had paid their fees. Some had whispered of treachery or illicit deals. Neither prospect made her overly concerned. The Spanish had paid the Watch Dog to be it's escort, not to meddle in it's affairs. As for any dangers of attack, Tudor thought that at worst, such a skirmish would prove a distraction and not anything more. The Watch Dog out numbered and outgunned their companions. Finally, her first answer to the misheard question encroached on her pondering. It was not so much what she had said, but rather that it was said at all. Such comments should be kept to herself. Her distraction and her thoughts of one of the Spaniards in particular rather then as a whole were things that in times past would never have passed her lips. She was weakening - feeling entirely to comfortable in her place and with the people in this place. This unsettled her. Looking down at the cup she bore, she quickly downed the amber liquid, to calm her nerves. She would pull from her most times untouched rations of Rum to make sure that the Captain's wishes for his portion should not go unfullfilled. Perhaps she would go to the galley. Surely to cook w would be overwhelmed with all the extra mouths to feed. Her culinary skills may have been limited to Squirrel stew and hardtack in the past, but keeping busy was key to keeping sane.
  10. The Watch Dog

    Purposefully, Tudor made her way below to the medical quaters, repeating the Captains orders in her mind, using such repetition to drown out they myriad of other thoughts that were echoing, vying for attention, in her mind. Thoughts of Tawny, the trouble he had caused and recent demise . . . "You will return to the Watch Dog and fetch the surgeon, Miss Smith She focused on these words and soon the macabre yet satisfying vision of the scoundrel's corpse faded from view. As she neared the surgery's door, the reason for her quest distracted her thoughts. She pondered on Wellings, wondering how it was with him, hoping the need for a doctor was not great. While she knew him as well as any other of her crewmates - which was not well at all - she could not help but dread the loss of another of the odd family that had been made of the ships occupants. Too many had been lost already. Many far closer had been lost in what seemed like lifetimes previous. "Have her brought to some place here, near the wharf that will serve as surgery and shelter when we return with Mister Wellings" Standing at a strict attention and rapping on the door, Tudor fought hardest to focus. Being in this particular area of the ship still made her feel ill at ease, for the seldom mentioned memories they held. How she always, in times not so long past, would carefully observe this door, for who might be exiting through it. "No," She snarled to herself, commanded herself to focus her attention. This time she spoke quietly to herself the orders she bore, as she waited for someone to answer the door. " 'Return to the Watch Dog and fetch the surgeon. Have her brought to some place here, near the wharf that will serve as surgery and shelter when we return with Mister Wellings' "
  11. The Watch Dog

    Tudor stood at the Captains shoulder, her face stern and unmoving. At his decree of what should be done with Tawny's foul corpse, her expression soured ever so slightly, unnoticably even. Even such a burial is better then he deserves. Best to throw the piece of filth onto a garbarge fire where he belongs She thought to herself, not in spite or in anger, but just in a simple determination of what she felt to be justice. He deserved nothing and ashes could not reanimate, the way this man, having been presumed dead, seemed to do. Looking to the direction the sound of bells tolled from, she sighed simply. This was not the good result they had hoped for, coming to shore, but any news was news; all information was pertinant. No development should ever be left unfulfilled. And as she looked down at the battered and scarred souless, now lifeless, body, the only feeling - the only words that rang true to her was that "It is resolved." She whispered to no one but herself. As ther bells finished their knell, she pulled herself from her introspection, and stood alert, awaiting the Captain's lead.
  12. The Watch Dog

    Secluded on the opposite side of the berth area, Tudor smiled to herself to hear the captain make the men at their ease with his presence. She hunkered down further into the hammock she had found on, unnoticed by any. Her arrival a while previous had been greeted with much the same hush, only she found herself unable to dispel it. Most of the men tried not to stare at her as she passed, some whispering as she went, none brave enough to actually speak to her. Adjusting her coat that was being used as a blanket, she took a moment to enjoy the solitude that enveloped her, the only thought plaguing her being that she hated damp wool.
  13. The Watch Dog

    Tudor had spoken to no one in the time since she realized from where her discomfort came. Her instincts told her to be wary but she saw no point in alarming anyone but herself, for if nothing were to come from her suspicions then she would have slighted an honest man. And if something were to happen . . . well, she'd just be sure to remain armed, even if only discreetly. Again, no need to arouse the concern of the crew by being armed to the teeth constantly. Thinking she heard someone approach from behind, she shot a severe look behind her only to see the crew at their tasks. "I hate having to look look over my shoulder all the time." She growled to her self.
  14. The Whine Cellar

    hmm . . lets see here . .. I could deal with a good whine . .. In revese order; 1. I am working crazy amounts of overtime, of which I am not getting paid alot of 2. My living situation (with my sister) is starting to get slightly loathsome and repugnant 3. I am massivly in debt and have NOTHING to show for it 4. I broke up with my first boyfriend 2 months ago. 5. I am 21 and have no ambition, no dreams, and nothing to work towards and . . . 6. I am seriosuly crushing on my boss, making the crazy amounts of overtime both thrilling and depressing
  15. The Watch Dog

    While the name 'Whitingford' did not register familar with her, Tudor assumed it to be Mr. Pew and made no comment on it. She simply shook her head, with a silent laugh. "And if she does say yes and sails with us this evening, we'll be creating a habit for women of medicine aboard the Dog."