Dorian Lasseter

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.

As the sailors from the Watch Dog and Heron left the shore to change watches, Dorian had humbly thanked William for the loaner of coin. He made a mental note to be sure to keep track of what he spent, and would replace every bit, regardless of what William said about having plenty more. As the crew finished arriving and filling the ship’s boats, he noticed Miss McDonough talking with another woman. As the Ships’ Tailor got into the boat the young woman she was with stayed on the wharf, watching as those at the sweeps pulled away from the dock. He’d seen that look before, but usually on those left behind when a ship was leaving port. He furrowed his brow, then shut his eyes as the action had caused a twinge of pain across his temple. Touching his head just below the wound, he reminded himself how new the injury was. Opening his eyes, he looked back and the woman was gone in the crowd. He continued to look but she was nowhere to be seen. He clicked his tongue and shrugged slightly, turning to other things at hand. He still needed to stock his private stores on the Heron, he had never had such rich things, or been able to do so, yet he knew from ships he served on what the captains had for their own pleasure. He needed to get some wine, Merlot for certain. Some other spirits as well, Cognac, Scotch and Irish Whiskey if it could be had, maybe some Brandy as well. Several different cheeses would be purchased along with seasons for the galley. He slowly began to head back into the town, looking for the finer shops to make his purchases. He stopped in front of a tailor’s shop and looked at the fine suit of clothes in the window and wondered if he should commission such for himself. He saw his reflection in the glass and realized a truth had been said, not long ago. He did not look like a captain, he did not dress like a captain. Slowly a determined smile crossed his face. He would remedy that presently. He raised his chin and slowly walked into the shop, prepared to pay for a fine suit of clothes.

The group of men from the consort ships, WatchDog and Heron, made their way into the Inn where the aroma of hearty food emanated. Although Dorian had had a hearty meal just hours ago, the wonderful smell prompted his stomache to grumble slightly. As they entered the establishment he looked about. It was a fine place, the floors were clean and the paint appeared fresh. Either the Inn was newly opened or newly remodeled. Either way, it was a welcome place in which to gather. The common room was relatively empty until they filled the space. Drinks were ordered all around, Dorian having a small beer for the time, while others ordered heavier spirits. Once their drinks were served and meal orders were taken to the kitchen, a toast was proclaimed by the Master-at-Arms. Dorian did not hear it in it’s entirety, but he knew it had something to do with his injury and a comical bend as most everyone laughed before bellowing a hearty ‘Aye!’ and downing a good portion of their drinks. Those newly acquainted to the sailors merely smiled and sipped their drinks out of respect. Captain Lasseter sat back and enjoyed the small take and banter that made its way around the group, but it was toned down some as the men had an unknown lady in their midst, a Surgeon to be exact. His eyes wandered about the room and its inhabitants, finally he settled on watching the door, seeing who might enter or exit the place, keeping his wits keen and trying to ignore the dull ache in his temple.

Captain Lasseter’s brow lifted at Mister PEW’s comment about the two men being ‘fit for duty aboard our flotilla’, but decided not to comment on it just yet. “Aye, very well… very kind o’ ye ta help in ‘r search fer Tawny…” He winced slightly as he spat the name out, remembering the mischief the devil had caused. “Well then…. Where were you lads off to? I had planned on gathering more supplies… however, I feel the need ta check on what all I a’ready purchased, make sure it got delivered to th’ ships… “ Nods were returned to the question and statements made. “Right then… we’re off…” The Captain turned and headed down the street towards where the water met the land under the protective gaze of the Royal Fortress. Along the way they still made their way into several small shops in the market district, slowing their progress to the wharf.

Dorian took little time to dress himself properly, now that he had room to do so. He gathered up all he needed and gingerly put his hat on, wondering if he should go and visit the doctor. It then occurred to him he had no idea where her place of business was. Maybe the desk clerk might know. Out and down the stairs he went, stopping at the front to pay his bill and inquire about Doctor O’Treasaigh. The clerk took payment and gave rough directions to the Office of the Woman Surgeon with a smile on his face. Thanking the man Dorian bid him a good day and stepped out into the sunlight of the late morning, much to the pain of his eyes. Blinking several times, his vision adjusted and he saw Mister PEW with a similar look on his face. Doubting that a head wound had been dealt him, he could only guess it was from an interesting night before. “Mister Pew…. I have an excuse ta look so poorly… what’s yers, eh?” Claude stifled a laugh, turned cough and Bill smiled slightly, whereas Miss Smith grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

His room now full of crewmates and the Master-at-Arms as well, Dorian felt his guard lower. “Shot, eh?” Questioned Mister PEW with a snicker. Dorian’s brow wrinkled. “Shot? Me? Nay Lad… twas I who did th’ shootin’… Who done told ye I were shot? Ah, no matter… I’s recovered enough from m’ wounds ta continue on…” He stood easily now, set the arms on the table top and looked past the crowd in the room to where his waistcoat and hat lay on the bed. “Someone mind handin’ o’er me weskit n’ hat… I feel underdressed at th’ moment…”

Tourville Grande Inn Village of Fort Royal Dorian had closed his eyes a moment to clear head, relax just that much longer when he heard a loud rapping from down stairs. He sat up with a start and cocked his ear to the commotion. It sounded as if the front door was opened and he heard a muffled voice, Dorian Lasseter! Jumping up, he grabbed up his new shirt and threw it on, rapidly tucking it into his slops. He was reaching for his pistol and cutlass when he heard other voices calling out Captain Lasseter! The voices were vaguely familiar, yet he still remained on guard. Cocking his pistol, he stood defiantly. “Here away! Who calls my name so in this place!?” He heard feet pounding up the steps and doors being yanked open. He raised his pistol and aimed it at the door, waiting for what may come through it.

William's feeling Better!!! Drinks all around! And, a helping of Brisket n' Pie!!! Goode on you, William!!!!

Aye....... William.... Goode, strong name...

Left over Irish Soda Bread from the Holiday. Two off the cats wrestling... looney kitties they are... Well I did talk to them... told them they were looney... Hmmm...

Goode Gods!!! Do not call him Bill!!! My apologies on the outburst... But no.... not Bill... heavens no....

Captain Lasseter remained in his doorway until the man with the serving tray came near. He stepped out of the way allowing him entry so he might lay out the food requested. Dorian thanked the server when he was finished, both verbally and with coin. He pulled the door shut behind him and breathed in the aroma of the meal on the table. He began to set the parcel on the bed, but instead decided to open it. A fine shirt was contained in the wrappings. The clerk had done well as it was a rugged sailors shirt, made of heavy linen with either white bronze or silver buttons at the cuff and collar, he could not tell in the poor light, but wasn’t about to open a shutter to let more light in. He laid it on the bed and took off his waistcoat and was about to don the shirt when his stomache growled rather loudly. “Heh…. ‘spose that c’n wait… aye…” Placing the shirt back on the bed, he proceeded to the table and chair, sat and poured a cup of beer, tasted it and found it to his liking. Without much ado, he dove into the plate of food, now realizing he was famished. He did not stop until there was naught left for even a mouse to dine upon. He sat back and sighed, letting the meal digest a moment before dressing so he could make his way into the town and get to his ship to continue what business was needed to be completed.

Dorian awoke in the room of the Inn, it was hot and stuffy, the shutters blotting out most of the light trying to enter. When he opened his eyes they shot through with pain. A sliver of sunlight crossed his eyes just so, blinding him in pain. He growled as he jerked away from the light, causing himself a touch of dizziness as he did so. “Goode Lard… my achin’ head…” He put his hands to his face and touched the bandage across his brow. After some deep breaths he pushed the covers off and sat up slowly. He remained sitting with his head in his hands for a time. Finally he felt well enough to stand, which he did so with little difficulty. Walking slowly, he made his way to the basin and mirror and poured out some water from the pitcher. He dipped his hands then splashed his face. He rubbed water into his eyes, then wiped down his neck. Taking up the towel he wiped the water away and looked into the mirror. The wound on his temple had seeped slightly, the poultice did a fine job of staunching any more blood. He made to remove the bandage but stopped himself from doing so. Resigned that he would leave things be, he proceeded to pour more water into the basin and used another cloth to clean any remnants of the evening’s attack from his body. He dressed slowly, at first he looked at his shirt, bloodied and soiled from the fight, he thought he might rinse it out, but it would then be wet against him. He pulled on his slops and hose, then shoes. He draped his waistcoat across his shoulders and buttoned it up. He headed to the door and opened it a crack. No one was in the hall. He headed out and down to the front counter where the desk clerk sat, who jumped when he took notice of the Captain. Dorian calmly explained he was up in the third room on the right, was brought here by a doctor very very late. Recognition passed over the mans features and he visibly calmed. Dorian then asked if a tailor could be found or someone sent to a shop to purchase a good shirt for him, as his was damaged. A small silver coin was given along with a larger one that would be enough to cover the cost. The man agreed that he could do so within the hour. Dorian decided to order a meal and have it sent to his room. Agreements made, he headed back up and back into his darkened space. Once there, he turned to more practical things. There was a small table and chair in a corner near the window. Picking up his pistol and cutlass, he set them on the flat surface ad retrieved the basin and rags. He set to cleaning what he could off his cutlass and also did a reasonable job of cleaning his pistol. Searching the pockets of his waistcoat, he found two rolled cartridges and ball. Satisfied that the pistol was dry enough and still very serviceable, he loaded it, not about to be caught without it at time of need. He had been inspecting his sword when a knock came at the door. He answered it to find a young lad there with a parcel, and of all things his hat that he had lost. “Why… thankee lad, where did ye find m’hat?” The boy didn’t understand his English, so he tried his French. “Où avez-vous trouvé mon chapeau ?” The boy smiled and explained it had been brought to the front desk after he had arrived by the Chandlers son. Dorian smiled and again thanked the lad, who after handing him the parcel fished in his pocket for the captain’s change. Dorian waved him off, bidding him a good day. Off the lad went and almost collided with the fellow on the stairs bringing the requested meal to the captain’s room.

^Aye... ears pierced several times, Tattoos... and have done temporary stuff as well... < Ah, the theatre... Ancient and not so much... Can't say I've read so many of the works of any playwright... but most I have enjoyed... Hmmm... need to see or read something soon... V pass it along... lets see other answers to this...