Dorian Lasseter

Dorian Stood fast as the Captain and Master-at-Arms spoke of adding to the crew, knowing what William was all about. He turned to the Master Gunner and asked quietly where he had made his dealings for the cannons. After some interesting directions given Captain Lasseter had a fairly good idea where he would go to procure the ordinance he was hoping to find. He thanked Mister Youngblood and turned back to the others.

“Well then… I do believe I’ll be off… “

He nodded to the group then had an afterthought.

“Mister Youngblood… I almost fergot… Have the Swivels from th’ Heron polished as best they can be… Mister Johnson’s done a fine job wi’ th great guns, work wi’ him an’ give me an appraisal as to their worth, when I see you next.”

“Aye Sah!”

“Very goode… Genn’lmen… See you about town I expect… “

With nods and grins, he parted their company, his hands full of his wares. He first made his way to one of the better hotels, Le Chateau Anse. He checked into a room and found it quite to his liking, mayhaps a bit extravagant, but why not. He ordered a larger basin of hot water so he might freshen up before heading back out to the day’s business. It had been so humid and such that the dust clung to every part of him. While he waited he counted the specie that Petee had gotten for the Apollo’s guns. How he did it Dorian did not know, but the sum was larger than he would have expected, and he had gotten two brass six pounders as well! He chuckled softly and gave his blessings to the Master Gunner. Soon the hot water arrived and Dorian set about the task of undressing, careful to set aside a parchment piece he carried. Soon he was busily scrubbing the dust and grime from his body, thinking about what the rest of this day and following night might bring him.

Dorian hefted the bag of coins.

“Aye Cap’n… Swivels n’ Sixes… Master Youngblood… find me by tomorrow eve… I’ll ‘ave more work fer ye… Aye… fine work indeed… “

Petee gave a flourished salute to Dorian and smiled his quirky smile. Dorian turned his attention to the young lad named Pierre.

“Sooo… Pierre is it? A boucanier are ye?”

The lad replied with a confident ‘Oui’ to both questions, a harsh grin on his face, and a waggle to his head. Dorian nodded slowly.

“Well… if yer ta be on th’ Heron… gonna need sommat better ta wear… “

Dorian’s mood was such that he was feeling mighty generous. He pulled four unbroken pieces of eight out of his personal monies and held them in his hand, jingling them lightly. Looking at the assembled group he wondered aloud.

“This should be plenty ta rig th’ lad out in two sets o’ fine sailors trappin’s… “

The boy understood enough to know the coins were meant for him in some way and was almost vibrating in anticipation. He could not stand to be silent any longer and began speaking in such rapid French that not one of them understood a word. Dorian looked to William, PEW and the others, each wore the same expression. He began to laugh and put a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Slow down, lad! In due time… in due time….”

Huzzah!

My congratulations to you my goode man!!!

Dorian walked up the Wharf and spied William and Mister PEW among others of the crew. Among them was a ragged boy, wearing an oversized sailors jacket. He smiled and called out to those standing there.

"A new crewman aye?"

All eyes turned to him as he walked up, even that of the whelp.

“Who drummed up this lad?”

Dorian stood on the deck of the frigate and watched the ships boats come and go, delivering crew to and from shore. He spied the Heron’s Jollywatt headed shoreward, so instead he found his way into one of the boats of the Watchdog and had the men at the sweeps make a detour, dropping him at his ship. Once aboard he set to work, making his way to the wardroom and putting the ledgers back in their proper niches. He found that Miss Moore must have been in and removed his plate from earlier, for it was nowhere to be found. He nodded in approval, hoping it was a marked improvement that would flourish. Settling into his chair he gazed out the open stern windows, and just felt the hint of a breeze flutter by. He let his mind wander a bit, thinking on what had been discussed with William. New brass six pounders for the cutter… some new swivels would be good too… My, things were looking up for the craft now at his command, but the addition of the cutter had put a strain on the chain of command. He needed a quartermaster for the Heron, and William needed a quartermaster for the Watch Dog, since he was now captain of the Heron, not to mention other officers down the line that would be needed. He thought about who he would like as his officers, and who would serve best as new officers aboard the ‘Dog as well… decisions to be made together, he and Captain Brand. With a shrug he stood and headed on deck. Nigel stood on the quarter, looking refreshed, yet he had a somber quality to him, probably due to the fact he had recently returned from shoreleave.

“Mister Brisbane… I take it yer time ashore was… fruitful?”

“Aye Cap’n, it were… All’s well aboard th’ Heron… how is it with you, sah?”

“I’m well enough, Nigel… I’ll be headed ashore yet again… most likely will spent the night there, I’m hopin’ ta find somethin’ grand fer this fine ship… can ye keep somthin’ under yer hat, lad?”

Nigel cocked an eyebrow at captain Lasseter, as if he didn’t believe the man had needed to ask such a thing. Dorian took off his hat and shielded the side of his face with it, as if doing so would allow even more privacy to their conversation.

“We have enough coin ta spread about ta outfit this ‘ere ship wi’ bigger great guns… And that I shall do if they are ta be had…”

Nigel’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. Dorian held up a finger to his own lips and the Coxswain clamped a hand over his own. Dorian smiled and lowered his finger, then took up his hat and placed it on his head. A small chop in the breeze fluttered his shirt front and kerchief, disturbing a piece of parchment tucked inside. He slapped a hand on his chest and smiled at Nigel.

“Keep it under yer hat, lad… have th’ jollywatt come about an’ be ready ta take me ashore… “

“Aye, Cap’n!”

Dorian headed back into the wardroom and gathered some things, his waistcoat and new coat, a fresh shirt, stockings and slops which he put into his bag, along with other sundry items. His pistol was inspected and hung on his belt as was his cutlass. All appeared in order. He headed above and gave Nigel final orders, some final repairs needed, some clean up work, and to make the guns and swivels ready for inspection upon his return. A grin and a snappy salute was given in return. He proceeded to the side and there was the jollywatt. Crewed and waiting. In short order he was on his way to shore.

As William stood quickly and proclaimed his intent. Dorian stood as well, but not so quickly.

“Aye… I’d vouch fer ‘r carpenter an’ mates that if it ain’t finished now, It will be by days end… An’ it’ll be fine work… better’n wot that dutchie deserves… “

He had a humorous twinkle in his eyes as he said this that was not lost on Captain Brand. They both chuckled as William took up his hat and made his way out of the Wardroom. Dorian bid him luck and went back to the table, gathered up the ledgers and placed them in their proper niches… He to would be heading off the Watch Dog, back to the Heron to which he was charged with. He pondered several things about the nimble craft, how that nimbleness might be improved, if it could be, to simpler things such as changing her name. She was not adorned with a figurehead, not even some nicely done paint on the bow. He had a mind to change that, both the name and the lack of a figurehead. His mind was working through all these things as he gathered up all he had come aboard with until a harsh bark was heard and a streak shot past him. Turning he saw Pandora up on the locker-seats at the stern of the wardroom, puffy-tailed with a look of anger on her face. More laughter from on deck was heard, along with a scolding from none other than Miss Tribiani. Argus would soon learn the ways of this ship if he planned on staying. Dorian made to soothe Pandora, but she was too agitated to accept his soft words and petting. She hopped down and turned tail to him, finding a way foreward and below around the new canine onboard. Dorian watched her go, then took up his own hat and headed above, hoping the Jollywatt from the Heron had returned from shifting the watches.

The two captains had talked of the wealth acquired, and the wealth soon to be acquired. They spoke of what might be done with that wealth, both on a personal and practical level. What improvements might be done to the ships, both for strength of form and ornamentation. Both made reference as to what could be done to improve the Watch Dog and William asked what Dorian might want for the Heron.

“I had a notion ta re-arm ‘er… mayhaps wi’ 6 pounders, brass… She won’t ‘andle larger gins for fear o’ what damage they’d cause bein’ fired. On’y so much strengthenin’ can be done ta th’ craft…”

William agreed after a pause to think, understanding that the nimble cutter was not as robustly built as the frigate.

“Agreed… would be nice to have better weight of a broadside, but no matter, going from iron fours to brass sixes will be plenty…. If they can be acquired…”

“Aye, Cap’n… indeed…”

They heard more barking on deck, and a couple laughs from crewmembers. Dorian rolled his eyes and grinned a half grin. He yawned and put a hand to cover his mouth. When finished he gestured into the air.

“Almost fergot… Seems I’ve acquired a ships cat on the Heron as well…there weren’t one when we got ‘er… He’s a… well…a Pooka… If ‘e shows ‘imself on deck you’ll see ‘im plainly… big puss… white n’ black…”

Dorian grinned at William as he made a face.

“We are becoming much like the ship in Noah’s charge I fear…”

“Aye William… it does look that way at times…”

Dorian pondered Captain Brands' words for a time, mirrored him in sipping his wine.

"It has possibilities... Tho.. wi' my small crew... I wouldn't care ta have more'n six 'r so... add a goodly number on the 'Dog here, an' I'll take a couple more trusted men on th' Heron... I c'n manage well with wot I 'ave presently... Just would be nice f'er a bit more ta 'andle th' lines..."

He went back to drinking his wine, and wished he had brought his pipe and tobacco with him. A pipe after a good meal would be perfect right now.

"Now...how are you set for men aboard the Heron?"

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

Dorian steepled his hands on the table in front of him and closed his eyes. He went through the list of those chosen to be aboard the English built Cutter. They numbered not many above a score of men.

“Weeelll… If I get all of ‘em back from th’ Maastricht an’ all… not too bad… but not as goode as could be…”

He opened his eyes and looked at William, sitting back in his chair.

Dorian knew William had seen his falter on the ladder. Since nothing was said, he revealed nothing. Given the directive to head to the Wardroom, he went straight away and saw the fine repairs to the ships’ interior. He smiled and looked approvingly at the seamless joining of old and new. He also acknowledged those crew at work there.

“Miss McDonough, Mister Bly… excellent work…”

He placed the bag on the table and pulled the contents out, arranging them neatly. Soon William had followed and stood with his back to the door. He motioned for Dorian to sit and began to pace across the room. Dorian made to speak, but William held up his hand, halting him. Soon a platter of food was brought in and the meal was laid out. William sat once all was prepared and they enjoyed the noon time meal in relative silence. As luck would have it a light breeze had sprung up, easing some of the heat and humidity.

Dorian was hailed by William as the small boat approached and he smiled as he replied.

“As well as can be Cap’n, And you?”

“Likewise Cap’n…!”

He bowed his head once and made a course adjustment.

“Vast pullin’ lads…”

The Jollywatt slide up against the hull of the Frigate and Brocke made fast to the main chains. Captain Lasseter stepped lightly off the sternsheets and onto the side ladder with the canvas bag in hand. Half way up a spell of dizziness hit him, causing him to cling un expectedly to the hull. He closed his eyes for a moment and froze in place til the spell had passed. Opening his eyes again, he looked about and continued up onto the deck as if nothing had happened.

“William… goode to see you back aboard... I brought o’er th’ ledger an’ all else… and, must repay ye now fer earlier…”

He pulled the one pouch that Captain Brand had given him on shore earlier as full as it was when exchanged.

Captain Lasseter had finished inspecting the bay around his ship, and the two other ships he was in the know about. All was well as far as could be told. He had set the glass aside and walked the deck, greeting the handful of crew aboard, even lent a hand shifting some lines and inspecting the work done as of late. He was happy with the great guns, small they may be. He mused about outfitting the Cutter with larger guns, but even with their good luck with coin as of late it might be too costly. These guns would do well enough. Whiting had been given the task of lookout presently and sung out that Captain Brand was coming from shore. Dorian acknowledged that, and set about some other tasks below deck. He found himself in the ward room going through the logbook and other papers. He shuffled through a small pile several times not finding one thing he knew had been there earlier. His brow creased heavily and caused some pain to his wounded head, but not enough to bring a hand close to the wound. His concentration on finding the errant page did not allow him to feel it. He shuffled through everything on the table still not finding it. His fists balled up and relaxed several times. No breeze scattered the papers as there was no breeze. Then it hit him.

“Ohh… ho ho… ya pooka… where’d ye hide it?”

He calmed himself and began a thorough search of the room. He went as far as opening cabinets, looking under cushions, and even turning out his hammock, which he had forgotten to stow earlier. He finally found it stuck under the crate of candles, how it got there he first could not guess, then reminded himself.

“Ye tricky spirit… “

He smiled at that and added the errant page to the pile, gathered them into the front of the logbook and took one last glance at some numbers before closing them in. He went to his sea chest and unlocked it. Withdrew the smaller chest from inside and unlocked it as well. He counted out a large pile of specie and added it to the coin pouch lent to him by William, plus a portion into another small bag, to go back into the ships funds. Locking everything back up, he found his waistcoat and pulled it on, then had a second thought and shrugged it off, hanging it back up. He retrieved a small canvas bag, put all the pouches in it and even managed to fit the logbook in it as well. Heading back on deck he had Brocke and Press ready the jollywatt as he was heading to the Watch Dog to have a meeting with his superior.

As the dawn had risen and the day wore on, much had been accomplished aboard the Heron. Captain Lasseter had spoken to Boatswain Tucker about the goods brought aboard and they had retreated to the hold to inspect them. Loren Brant and Johan Stadtmeyer had assisted with opening some of the crates and barrels to reveal arms from the Watch Dog, nails, water barrel staves, spare canvas and lines, even food-stuff like flower and bacon.

The storm had passed leaving the air thick with moisture and now the sun was on the rise adding heat to the mix. The morning breeze has dropped to but a whisper and soon all those crew who were on duty had stripped off as much clothing as modesty would allow. If they were at sea the men would have stripped to their waist, but in port an amount of decorum was called for. Even the Captain had sent young Kalfkin to the wardroom with his waistcoat as it became too weighty and warm for him. Miss Moore had happily plied the crew with fresh water from the stores brought aboard last evening. Every man had drunk to bursting as the heat and humidity caused them to sweat every drop back out. Dorian had returned to the Wardroom to enter all the particulars into the logbook. He opened all the windows hoping to catch any slip of relief from the scant breeze. He even took his neckerchief and dowsed it in his basin and slightly wrung it out before placing it back round his neck to cool him. He came out on deck after a time and chuckled as he saw Harold Press wipe his brow, then draw his knife and stick it into the mast.* He smiled and considered doing that himself. Heading to the quarterdeck he nodded to the salute given by Mister Tucker and took up the ships glass. He swept it slowly around the port, pausing at each ship around them. He watched some ships boats glide across the bay, the men at the sweeps looked miserable. He continued his sweep of the bay when Mister Tucker let loose with a curse. Dorian gave him a look that asked what that was about and saw Tucker looking towards the deck. There at his feet was the big white and black feline. The Boatswain looked at the animal as if he’d never seen a cat before.

“Problem Mister Tucker?”

The Boatswain looked at the Captain sharply, then his visage took on a sheepish look.

“Serry, Cap’n… er… did ye bring this ‘ere ca’ aboard last eve?”

A smile crept across Dorian’s face before he answered.

“No… I did not… Tha’s a Pooka… an’ either he came aboard wi’ some o’ th’ goods… or he made ‘is own way aboard…”

The Boatswain mouthed the word ‘Pooka’ and appeared to not know the word. So Dorian continued.

“Don’ know what a pooka is, do ya?”

The Boatswain half shrugged and barely shook his head while eyeing the cat looking up at him from the deck, a mischievous look upon his face.

“A Pooka is a spirit o’ nature old n’ wise they be…. Keep ‘em happy an’ all is well.. cross ‘em ‘r anger ‘em… I pity you…”

Tucker shot a look at the Captain who’s facial expression told his he was serious. Cautiously he reached down and patted the feline on the head.

“Good kitty, er, Pooka…”

The animal began to purr and threw itself on the deck, rolling onto his back.

“Best scratch ‘is belly if ya know wot’s goode fer ya…”

Dorian was smiling now, but “Lucky Tuck” decided to follow the advice and knelt down to scratch the belly offered to him. Dorian went back to peering through the glass as he heard the purring grow louder and the Boatswain voice continuing to appease the spirit.

* sticking your knife into the main mast of a ship was said to bring up the wind in a becalmed sea...

Well.....

I used to do ECW (1640s), and for the bandoleer of wooden powder charges, there was also a shot pouch and priming flash that had a valve, but it usually didn't hold up to abuse, so was replaced with a stopper....

So, a stopper would be seen as well as a valve of sorts... I'll see if I can dig up an image of what I mean...

More to come...

This is off Sykes Suttler's site, notice the stopper...

This is a very fancy flask, and a small image, but there you can see the valve...

He awoke several hours later when the ships’ cat had jumped onto the table to scrounge what was left on his plate. Reflexively he had drawn his pistol and was half way to cocking it when he realized where he was.

“Awww… ya wee devil… still ‘ungry eh? I nod off a moment an’ yer after me vittles… Well… best keep th’ Pooka happy lest his wrath be brought down upon me…”

He stood slowly and rubbed his neck as it was sore, the beginnings of a crick in it. Hanging his pistol back on his belt before reaching out to the white and black cat, scratching him between the ears and was rewarded with a trilling purr. He let the feline go back to finishing the meat left on his plate and walked around the small wardroom, the sound of the rain much fainter than it had been when he had nodded off. He creased his brow, wondering now how long he had nodded off for. Of course the movement of his brow cause some pain in his recently wounded temple. He hissed through his teeth and put a hand to his head, bowing slightly from the pain.

“I gotta stop doin’ tha’…”

The angry wound released it’s grip on him and he straightened up, took a breath and forced it out while straightening the front of his waistcoat. He cleared his throat and reached out for his hat, giving the Pooka a sidelong look as he did so. Taking his hat he carefully placed it on his crown. Walking to the door he opened it and headed out on deck into the dying storm to see what was to be seen in the cul-de-sac Royale.

The Corvidae family.... Very intelligent....

and Accipiters...

My family coat of arms features a Falcon... of course I like 'em!

Just for reference...

This was on the beach with about three dozen of it's kin in West Palm Beach this past December....

Dorian petted the cat, who took every bit of his attention whole heartedly and purred on and on. He chuckled at the antics the wee beastie would go through when he stopped, from rolling onto his back to standing on his hind legs and pawing at the air. After a time the rain has lessened and the captain ventured out and forward to the meager galley and found it empty. He poked through what was left out and fixed a small plate of cheese, cold ham and a lone piece of fish with a hardtack biscuit and took it back to the Wardroom. There he held out the fish to the cat he decided to call ‘The Pooka’, or ‘Pooka Prince’ when he sat regally as he sniffed the offered morsel and gave Dorian a look that said “It will do”. The fish was placed on the deck and soon after was devoured quickly. Once every little bit had been consumed, Pooka bathed himself and strolled around the cabin like he owned the ship. As He did so, Dorian watched him as he ate from his plate and drank more of the fine wine. The hour was late yet he did not find himself set for sleep. The quiet of the evening and pleasant solitude, aside from the company of the cat, was refreshing. It was as if the rains had washed away some layer of dust the coated something. The air was cooler and the rains furthered that. It was not cold, but pleasantly chilly. Enough that he had left his waistcoat on while he sat and dined on his midnight victuals. After a time he heard the muffled sound of a voice, one lifted in song across the waters. He wasn’t sure if it was from another ship or from the port. He could catch the melody but not the words. No matter, it was not a song he was familiar with. It still brought a smile to his face, knowing that a good time was being had by others. He closed his eyes briefly and was rewarded by nodding off in his chair.

Hmmmmm......

Oddly... I like meat very rare... but fish must be cooked...

Not much on sushi rolls...

As the rain grew heavier, Dorian almost felt sorry for those on deck. He had stood his share of watches in rains of the like and worse. Several times under a bastard captain who wouldn’t even let the men get their rain gear so they would be soaked to the bone. With this thought, he stood and donned his oilskins and headed out on deck. Walking slowly he made sure to greet every man, making sure they had the protection from the weather they needed. Everyone had what they need, albeit some of the men needed better than what they had. He made a mental note that when he was next on shore, he would head back to the Chandlers and see if some extra oilskins could be had. Satisfied all was well, he looked out across the water to the Watch Dog and Maastricht respectively, noting from his vantage that all seemed quiet. If the rain stopped at a decent hour, he would send word to William if he was aboard the ‘Dog, with a full list of what had been purchased, and the repayment of borrowed coin. Heading back to the Heron’s Wardroom he shook out his oilskins and hung them to dry, took up his glass of merlot and looked out the stern windows. The winds that brought the rains had swung them on their hook so now the stern faced inland. Through the storm he stared at the Citadel known as Fort Royal and the lights of the villages around it. He thought back to the days events and that of the night before causing him to raise a hand and touch his wounded head. The gash was raised and warm to the touch. Mayhaps in the morning he would also seek out the Surgeon to have a look at it, to be sure it was healing properly. Turning his thoughts elsewhere, he returned to the small table that served as a desk in the wardroom and sat. He refreshed his glass and sipped some of the dark liquid before finding his pen and ink, procured a fresh piece of parchment and began to write out the inventory purchased for the two vessels under his care. Even though he was given the Captaincy of the Heron, he still remained the QuarterMaster of the Watch Dog, and the Heron as well. Stopping a moment with this thought, he decided that another thing he needed to discuss with William was the appointment of officers to replace or supplement the compliment of what officers they had. As he mused who might be fit for such, he was startled as something butted against his calf. He started as he looked down and near jumped out of his chair.

“Bloody spiorad!”

There, rubbing against his leg was the White and Black cat that was at the Chandlers the night before.

“How’d ye get aboard? What? Ohhhh you are a Pooka….. “

He reached down and scratched the cat’s head, causing him to purr loudly.

"Alright ya Pooka… you c’n stay…"

The rear of the shop was cooler than the front room as Captain Lasseter walked with Monsieur Renee, the Frenchman pointing out the different lengths and widths of candles he had in stock. Dorian stopped and handled several types before settling on what he considered a well rounded size. Monsieur Renee nodded as he took up the card on the stockbin and asked how many the captain wished to purchase.

“How many do you have in stock, Monsieur?”

“Of this type… let me see… I believe five hundred pair…”

Dorian’s brows knitted a moment, he had not expected so many. Yes, the shop and its owner did not look to be struggling, but the excess stock seemed great. Renee picked up on this.

“Capitaine… My stock is great for some of these types of candles. Had you chosen these I would have had to turn you away. This is all I have.”

The crate held ten pair of candles. Dorian nodded with a smile.

“Would relieve you of two hundred pair of these then… To be delivered to the Watch Dog and Heron One hundred twenty five and seventy five respectively…”

“Merci Capitaine…”

They headed back to the front of the store to make the final arrangements. An assistant whom Renee had spoken to as they walked followed later with the crates full of candles. As they spoke of things, Dorian decided to ask about some of the very fine tapers they had looked at, and again they headed to the back area. Dorian selected ten pair, five each for Captain Brand and himself. They were said to provide the best illumination for night entertainment or work. As they headed back to the storefront, the front door was just closing. Dorian did not see whom exited, just a flutter of a skirt or cloak. Turning back to the business at hand, he added the candles wrapped in parchment to each crate, paid for all, plus for delivery and happily bid Monsieur Renee a pleasant day. He exited the shop and again headed down the main street, stopping in many a shop, but coming out empty handed. After a time he felt he was due to return to the Heron. Making his way to the wharf he found some of the Ships boats still tied up. Harold Press and Robert Jameson were idling on the wharf where the Heron’s boat was tied. Harold took a double take at the Captain and elbowed Jameson in the ribs. They both stood and saluted crisply, and Dorian bowed his head to them.

“Evenin’ lads… might ye take me back to the Heron?”

“Aye Captain!”

Both nearly yelled in unison before readying the small boat. He climbed in, depositing his small packages in the sternsheets before sitting. The journey across the water was a pleasant one. Maurice Roche stood on the deck and welcomed the Captain aboard, asked after his health and gave a full report of the activities while he had been ashore. All packages had arrived in his absence, the last being a crate of candles.

“Excellent Mister Roche…. I shall be in my cabin until further notice… If nothing if import, I shall sleep the night.”

“Aye Capitaine.”

With a salute and a nod they parted, captain to his quarters, Officer of the deck to his duties. Dorian headed aft, just as some fat drops of rain splattered on the deck. Looking up he saw the clouds rolling in quickly. Maurice had already begun to have the ship battened down as the rain grew heavier. Dorian headed below and began to shut the hatches in the wardroom. He left the aft windows open just enough to let in some air. Removing his hat and new coat he hung them on a wall hook, smiling at the new clothing. He lit the lantern and hung it on the overhead, noticing several crates in a corner. They were the candles and the stock of spirits. Removing a bottle of merlot, he walked to the table and found the implement to open it, let it breathe a moment before pouring it into a glass. The rain fell harder as he took the first taste. It was superb… He smiled and decided to take the small bundle of the better candles out of the crate and put them in the cabinet.

Three Bells of the Second Dog Watch,

29 July, 1704

If I were the one you gave the bottle to, I make damn sure their was some left for you, weather it was when ya got off work then, or a later time...

If it were a BIG bottle... many toasts in you honour would be made, we'd even drink to your boots!!! And yer Hat, and yer... you get the idea...

Captain Lasseter sat and enjoyed his meal quietly among the patrons of the tavern. He occasionally let his eyes wander around the room, seeing only one recognizable person from the WatchDog or Heron. He barely recognized her as she was dressed in quite feminine attire. Miss Tribiani sat at a table with a young man half way across the room. He actually looked past her twice before it dawned on him why she looked familiar. She looked to be enjoying herself, so he felt no reason to join their company. Plus, he did not wish to make her nervous, as the appearance of an officer had wont to do to some crewmates. So, he finished his plate, drank his pint dry and left a small coin on the table before standing carefully and making his way out into the declining day. Again he walked the main thoroughfare stopping in many shops, making an occasional purchase. His biggest purchase was one he planned this morning, had he not been accosted the night before, and his mind had not yet fully gotten straightened out. He found a shop that the Chandler on Market had recommended. The shops one thing it had for sale he had wanted to make sure he got the best. It seemed almost trivial, but was one of grave necessity. The sign over the door read very plainly, “ Renee’s Bougies” with a single lit taper beside the words. He nodded slowly as he had at other store fronts before entering. Inside the smell of beeswax was fragrant mixed with some perfumes. He breathed it all in and was just breathing out slowly when a small frail looking man filled the doorway. He looked at Dorian and said not a word. His eyes were piercing as he took in the captain from head to toe. When he spoke, his voice was strong.

“Capitaine Lasseter, Bienvenue... Je m'étais demandé quand vous honoreriez mon magasin... J'ai entendu tous au sujet de votre attaque, et fais des excuses pour les brutes de ce port.”

Dorian stood a moment before he could respond, he wondered if the tale might have spread as such was wont.

“Merci Monsieur Renee... J'apprécie votre franchise...”

He hesitated again, then removed his hat.

“Mes excuses... Parlez-vous anglais ?”

“But of course Capitaine…”

Dorian smiled and bowed his head.

“Thank you Monsieur… tis most appreciated.”

“Think nothing of it, Capitaine… I was informed you were given my name in order to purchase, ah, candles, for your ship?”

Dorian’s eyebrows went up a moment.

“Aye… That is my intent… For two ships as a point of fact… Plain candles for ships’ lanterns… I may buy out all you ‘ave in stock.”

The only reaction from Monsieur Renee was that he blinked twice.

“Very well Capitaine… Allow me to show you my stock of such.”

He turned and held open the door to the back of his shop. Dorian bowed his head once and slowly walked through the door into the rear of the building.

Captain Lasseter was not the only customer in the shop as he perused the front room stock. The owner was helping another when he came in and after a long and what appeared to be painful conversation with a rather large, rich woman. Once he bid her good day for the fifth time, he patted his brow with a handkerchief, and approached the Captain.

“Bonjour, Monsieur… Comment est-ce que je peux être utile ?”

“Montrez-moi vos actions de merlot svp... Et puis spiritueux...”

He replied. The shopkeep looked him up and down with a gentle smile, then swept his arm to the side.

“De cette façon si vous svp, Monsieur…”

Dorian bowed to the man and headed in the direction indicated. Over the next hour and a half and some minor interpretation issues Dorian had purchased a fine selection of Spirits, enough to fill his cabinet and more. He even selected three bottles to send to William, just because. After the purchase was finalized and paid for, he stepped out into the street and shaded his eyes from the bright rays. Once his eyes had adjusted and the pain in his head subsided he walked slowly down the street smiling to himself. He made several stops in other shops, seeing many of the men from the Larboard Watches here and there along his way. Finally, the need to fill his stomache overcame his desire to continue to make purchases, so he made his way into one of the various taverns. Removing his hat as he entered due to the low ceiling was not quite enough, he still needed to stoop some to keep from hitting his already fragile head on the low beams. Finding a good spot, he sat and called over a maid, and placed an order.

After an hour in the Tailor’s shop, and a fair amount of coin spent, Captain Lasseter walked out of the shop wearing a French Blue Captain’s Coat with gold embroidery, and would collect a full tailored suit later in the week. The Tailor would also have hats available upon his return that would match the suit as well as new shoes. He had even suggested a court sword to go with the ensemble, but Dorian had declined, if anything he might wear his rapier with it if he wanted a lighter sword. He had a new red plume added to his hat as well, the old one being so bedraggled most times it hadn’t been noticed. Now he was dressed more like a captain, and had removed the bandage and poultice from his head and had cleaned the wound so it just looked angry now. As he made his way down the street, he was greeted by others around him, whereas yesterday he had been mostly ignored. It felt good. In short time he had arrived at the store suggested by the Tailor to purchase his selection of Wine and Spirits. Stopping in the street he looked the storefront over before stepping inside out of the heat of the day.