PyratePhil

I be posin' near Cleavage Island.....with all me wench an' Pirate Lady friends !

So long's as ye don't be bringin' that gypsy fella wi' the vest - he gives me the shivers!

Yarr It apears we have a well spoken Mate wit us. I aplod your grandure sir. Tis good here the sweat words of the sea.

Where?!? Where?!?

Point 'im out ta me - I'll be givin' that fella a proper taste o' me cat...

I live near the "Mighty Hudson" in an area full of history from the correct era...

Aye, I were born 'n' raised on th' banks...well, not exactly "on the banks", but ye know what I be meanin'...o' the mighty Hudson...

Ye could always be fishin' fer boots 'n' tires 'n' body parts 'n' such...

Aye, Lord Duncan

I were forgettin' ta remember that...although I didn't spend quite so much time on "swabbin' up" - maybe an hour or so...

Mayhaps I be lucky...or jes' used to swabbin' ...

This be th' one I be usin'...

Pirate Desktop Theme

...and with alot of luck that my immune system could withstand what I would be dealt.

Aye, but now they be havin' the penicillin fer that...

Sounds like ye paid yer dues there, Doc!

Enjoy the finer things in life, I be sayin'...

Just got word from the Pyrate King .... looks at though, unless things change somehow before next year ... I'll be joining ye at Endless Mountains... seems the pyrates 'ave a new wench... er talent.

Now... as for this balloon-fencing.. one never knows.

Huzzah!

We be trompin' and stompin' now...congrats, m'lady!

Aye - I much prefer ta be aimin' at flesh an' bone, but it only be a Faire... ...An' they doesn't even let me do me best moves...

So what happens next? 

I'm itching to continue your story for you, but that would be rude.....

-Lady GW

Ye'll jes' have ta wait 'til th' next installment...

No, it weren't be rude, m'lady...be my guest...jes' best be holdin' on real tight-like to yer head, 'cause I'll be after separatin' it from'n yer neck-bones...

"Would'st thou wrench mine labour of love from these loins,

In search of infamy, accolade, and coins?"

Fear not - I've developed a history on this lady, and all will be revealed...in time...

M'lady DW- the job be yores!

I'll be feedin' ye surely, and even have some Scorpion Yummies fer yer buddy...by th' way, his name be not Sting, be it?...

Ladies, I always be open ta more "cover art models" (wink, wink ) - gents, sorry - th' position be filled.

jes because ye don't want ta be famous when Oprah calls...that jibs wi' me...

Who?

There be a Queen who's name be Oprah Windfree, or sumthin' liken thet...I hear tell that treasure be yor's iffin' she takes a shine ta yer scribblin's...

Alas, so far, I be ought fer 5...

M'lad.... I have never been known to simply strike a *pose*.

I never take a *stance*... that cannot be delivered upon.

(Pose indeed!)

So, we be establishin' thet ye not be a poseur...

...and ye never stand but that ye can deliver...

THAT be soundin' like high cover art ta me!

But that be ok, m'lady - there be plenty o' fish in th' sea...jes because ye don't want ta be famous when Oprah calls...that jibs wi' me...

Tis highly interestin' says I.  Very nice background info. Ya really gets a sense o' the place.  Keep on wi' it

Thank ye, m'lady - I may yet be inflictin' more bad storytellin' on the lot o' ye...

...or, we could be endin' it right now in what Iron Bess called "bodice rippin'"...

"She ripped open her straining bodice, etc., etc..." (gotta be watchin' out fer them blamed censor types...)

IT'S YOUR CHOICE!!! CALL NOW!!! 1-800-BOD-RIPR - THAT'S 1-800-BOD- RIPR!!! (operators are standing by...)

($5.75/min US and territories, $9.75 Canada and all those other little places )

THE END

(exuent)

Heaving bodice..held together..not with laces..but scorpions....darin' any man ta assume liberties.....

A scorpion's sting be but a trifle compared to your charms, m'lady...

Hmmmmm...

We see's a *bodice ripper* in the make'n says I.

Will you be after do'n appropriate cover art for us?    :)

I thought pr'haps I'd be askin' YE to pose fer me brush...

'Course, I ain't no arteest, so's ye might be posin' fer a long time...

Kat-

Don't think I'll be makin' the Celtic Fling

...but I be plannin' on bein' there o' course fer Pyrate Weekend...

I be all in black - pantalones, boots, blouse, and 'do rag - wi' a parrot on me shoulder (he be not real, but don't be tellin' him thet - he be kind o' touchy on th' subject...) and two cabin-boys wot ta help me carry me plunder.

O' course, iffin' ye'd like to balloon-fence, I kin always send them's away ta get some soup-in-a-bread-bowl...

Awww...ye be makin' me all tearie-eye now, lass...<sniff>...

Iffin' I may be so's bold...here be

PART II

Morning broke with a cock’s crow and a blood-red sky.

The human detritus that still lay in the gutters from last night’s revelries groaned and rolled over as one. Their usual devout wish, to be back in the tavern with coin in their pockets, was oddly absent this morning, yet another portent of great events in the brewing. It was all they could manage to gain their feet and stumble off to wherever they called home.

Even the animals sensed something ominous this morning. The town cats, usually by this time mewling their milk song as they made the rounds of friendly townsfolk, were deathly still. They sat hunched up, looking not so much like lumps of furry clay, only their wide-open eyes betraying their fear.

It was a morning made for her.

Gathering the few threadbare bits of clothing she owned into a bundle, she checked her other gear. Cutlass, of course…dagger…whip…some odd bits of cloth to mend her attire…and that was it. That was the sum total of her twelve years in this God-forsaken place. Why had she stayed so long? What was the attraction? Granted, the young men of the town provided a diversion on occasion, and there were a few real gentlemen, like her Sword Master. But none of them ever equaled her true love.

Had it not been for her blessed mother coming down with the ague, she’d have shown her hindquarters to this miserable place years ago. But a daughter did what a daughter need do…she had stayed, taken care of Mother, and when the life force had drained from her mother’s still-youthful body, it became only too clear that it was time to move on.

But now there were no more events holding her here. She would never again have to pretend she hadn’t heard the whispered comments in church, felt the stares on the streets, and the children – they were the worst. How could a parent corrupt their offspring so totally, so maliciously, that they would parrot every phrase uttered within the safety of their homes?

“She be a witch, that’s what”, said one little tyke.

“Aye, step lively, o’ she be castin’ a hex upon ye”, claimed his companion.

“And she be a whore, be what my Daddy says” chimed in a third.

Hurtful words, damning stares, the insincerity of most of the menfolk – publicly shunning her, but seeking her favors in the dark hours. But not so the men that came from the sea – pyrates, as they were known – they made no false gestures, no two-faced comments, no outright lies…they were honest. Painfully, bluntly so on occasion, but better that than lies. They were honest in what they did and what they were – they had no illusions about their stations in life. They were crude men, rough in word and deed, but through that crudeness shone a basic truth – “I be what you see”.

One such pyrate in particular had captured her eye, and then her mind, and then…dare she admit it to herself…her heart. Their liaison had been all too brief, but burned with an intensity she had never before suspected possible. Even his touch, with hands lined and cracked from exposure to salt and sun, was like a soothing feather stroke. His whispered words of parting had ignited a flame within her, a flame that could be fed only by wanderlust and adventure on the sea.

“Lass”, he had said, “become a seafarin’ woman. There be precious few, aye, but ye be a perfect one fer it. Jes’ imagine what the two o’ us could be doin’ at sea…”

Her useless husband was a pathetic creature compared to this magnificent pyrate…

“Time’s a’wastin’” she scolded herself. Taking one long last look around her humble lodgings, she glided through the iron-banded door and into her new life.

Pore ol' Quake 'n' Quisp didn't stand a chance wit' thet notorious scoundrel LaFoote...

Aye, Longarm, I be thinkin' that be th' best way o' doin' things...

A wee bit o' mystery be quite fittin' fer such a lass...

Be it known, then - we be in th' audience o' Lady X

...and ye both be havin' more events ta plunder than pore ol' Pennsylvania...we be "The Landlubber Commonwealth"...

Capt' -

What a great lot o' words, and how clever-like they be put together!

Huzzah to you, sir! It be makin' me want ta be spendin' more time on th' dock, a-searchin' fer a mermaid all me own...

Hmmm...

"Her given name, Isabella, had been eternally corrupted by the tavern ruffians to Izzy"...

Grrr...brings up associations in me head wi' an Izzy I once't knew...

"Mara her name was...an unusual name to be sure, but one that resonated in the heads of many a suitor"...

Mara mara po para, bee bye bo bara - Mara...no....

Elena...Lady Elena....hmmm... brings up associations in me head wi'...no, thet were Eleanor...

How's about - Concepcion...Dorena!...with a tilde over the "n" - don't have the brain power to figure out how to do that right now...

"Dorena paused, the sweat glistening upon her alabaster skin, her heaving bodice..." LOL - Signet paperbacks, here I be!

Ahh, that be a jewel, Lady DW...

Will ye next be regalin' us wi' th' Adventures O' The 3 K-Marteers?

Or, The Scary Mystery of the Sam's Club Boys...

Anyone hereabout got's a name fer this ficshonal lass?

Expierence has taught me that 'tis only you that will be after know'n that lad.

Seach around yer soul a mite.... she'll speak up and then you'll know.

In agreement I be, Mistress Bess...but I figgered this'd be the Forum's gal, NOT mine...

...I got me ENOUGH female voices speakin' up in me soul...