Dorian Lasseter

He was able to make his way with some assistance to a room where he took time to slowly remove his belongings and hang them. He realized now how bad he must have looked as his head wound had bled all down his left shirtsleeve. He made a mental note to buy a fresh shirt in the morning. Once removed of his garments he realized not only would he need a shirt, but he had no idea where his hat was. He shook his head and sighed, causing a slight bit of pain. He laid himself on his bed and closed his eyes. Barely a breath passed before he was sound asleep.

“Aye M’Lady Doctor…. I shall happily be your escort back ta yer business… but first I must settle my debt to you…” He again opened his coin pouch, fished around for several coins. The glint of gold and silver shone through his fingers. He kept them in his hand, weighing them against what was left in the pouch. He then put the pouch away and held his closed hand out to the Irish woman. “My thanks for your excellent work, Ma’am… I will not hear of it being too much… I have troubled ye out of yer home at an ungodly hour… Now, accept this and we shall head off, leave this fine Monsieur and his son to their rest.” She held out her hand and was surprised at the weight of the coins. She knew that their was more than the amount she has asked, but how much more she would not know until later. She would not insult the man by counting it out in front of him. He stood waiting with his arm out. She gracefully took it and they bid a farewell to the Chandler and his son, making their way out into the night.

The Surgeon whom was brought was good at her trade. She closed the wound in short order and treated all else she could find wrong with Captain Lasseter. He did well as she ran needle and thread through his skin, and felt such relief when she added the poultice to the wound. When she was done, she asked if he had a place to stay. He thought a moment before answering. “Weeelll… I was on m’way ta th’ Tourville Grande, when I were attacked… Had a thought ta return ta m’ship… but no…. I believe if I c’n make my way to the inn, I’ll settle there…” He began to stand, stopped and took a breath before straightening. He wavered a bit then steadied, he held up his hand as the Surgeon made to take hold of his arm. She still remained near as he took a couple steps towards the counter where his weapons lay. He got to the counter without a mishap. He took up his cutlass, looked at the dried blood encrusted on the blade, he was lost a moment in it, then came back to the here and now. He shoved it into its scabbard, grabbed up the pistol and hooked it onto his belt. Looking up to the Chandler, then down to his son, he smiled. “Thankee…er… Merci beaucoup….. “ He then pulled his coin purse out of his pocket and drew out several gold coins… he gave two to the Chandler and one to his son. They tried to refuse but Dorian was insistent. He then turned to Ms. O’Treasaigh. “And you, goode doctor… what is your fee? I will gladly pay it handsomely…”

Market Street Chandlers Village of Fort Royal The cat purred and rubbed Dorian’s legs as he wiped the blood from his cheek and eye, yet every time The Chandler made an appearance, the animal would be gone. Every time this occurred, he would chuckle. Soon as the shopkeep would be away, the feline would return as if he had never left. Soon the bowl was full of blood tainted water, the cloth stained as well. He touched his head where the cudgel had left its mark and felt the raised edges of the gash, his fingertips coming away with fresh blood. Again his head swam. He sat back in the chair and took several deep breaths, hoping the room would stop spinning. When the feeling had subsided for the most part he closed his eyes but for a moment as the feeling intensified with his lids being drawn. Taking the cloth, he dowsed it in the water, gently rung it out and placed it across his forehead, hoping the coolness would bring him some ease.

Maeve!!! I almost missed it! Happiest o' Natal Days!!!! And many more to come!!!! Slainte!!!!

Market Street Chandlers Village of Fort Royal Once the Magistrate and company had left, the Chandler sent his son out to fetch a doctor that he knew of nearby. He wrote a note for the lad to carry, so the healer might bring the necessary supplies. Off the young man went into the night. As Captain Lasseter touched the angry wound on his temple, something brushed the side of his leg. He looked down to see a white and black cat staring up at him. It blinked then proceeded to rub against his leg once more. Dorian smiled and reached down, scratching the feline on the head causing a loud purring to emanate from his chest. At that moment the Chandler returned with a bowl of water and a cloth. “Ah… Merci Monsieur…” Dorian took the bowl and cloth from the man, who bowed with a smile. He began to clean the caked blood from his eye. He looked up at the Frenchman a moment. “Tis a fine cat ye ‘ave here…” He gestured to beside himself. The Chandler furrowed his brow. “Chat ? quel chat ?” Dorian gestured again and reached down to touch the feline, but there was none. He looked down and around the chair he sat in to find the cat was nowhere to be seen. Looking back at the Frenchman with a confused look, “There was a cat ‘ere…” “Non Capitaine…” The Chandler shrugged and walked into the back room. Not a moment later the cat was again rubbing the Captain’s leg and purring. Dorian heard a clinking of glass and a moment later the Frenchman was back holding a bottle and a glass, half full of an amber liquid. “Monsiuer, this cat…” He looked down and again, the cat had disappeared. “There was a cat here, on my honour…” The Frenchman gave a bemused smile. “Capitaine… the blow to your head… I fear you see what is not there… “ He handed the glass to Dorian. “This will help… “ Dorian took the glass, smiled a crooked smile and mumbled a ‘Merci’, then clinked the glass against the bottle held by the Chandler. He brought the glass to his mouth and the fine bouquet of whiskey filled his nose. He took a gil and rolled it around his palate, then slowly swallowed. The smokey liquid made its way down and began to warm him from the inside out. “Ahhhh… Tha’s goode….” “Bon….” The Chandler smiled at Dorian and walked to the counter, leaving the bottle there. Dorian slowly finished the glass and went to sit it on the floor. There was the cat at his feet again. He bent down some and narrowed his eyes at the wee beast, then shook his finger at it. The cat sat up on its hindquarters and batted at the captain’s hand with both front paws. “Why you little… yer a Pooka, ain’t ya? The cat answered with a half purr, half meow and continued to bat at his finger waggling in the cat’s face. He chuckled and sat back, returning to the job of cleaning his face up.

Dorian looked at the Chandler a moment, his mind at the moment swam, and he could not comprehend the French spoken to him. The shopkeeper’s brow creased, then a look of recognition crossed his face. “Capitaine Lasseter… please come… sit… take ease of yourself… come…” Dorian blinked twice, then bowed his head. “Ah… thankee, er… Merci… Merci Monsieur…” He took several steps into the shop and the Chandler scurried ahead and brought forth a chair. Dorian lowered himself into it with a long sigh. As he looked up, the two men who found him had not followed. He realized his weapons remained in their keep. “Messieurs, mes armes ?” They stayed in the doorway a moment, then the one man stepped inside. He was dressed as a soldier. He drew the pistol from under his waistcoat and gathered it with the Captain’s cutlass. He walked to the counter and laid them there. “Voici vos armes, ici elles resteront jusqu'à ce que je retourne avec mes supérieurs. Compris ?” Dorian looked at the soldier, saw the serious look on his face. He bowed his head again. “Oui…Compris…. Merci…” The soldier gave a shallow bow and retreated through the door. Dorian touched his throbbing head with his hand. “Gonna be a long night…. A long night…”

Dorian’s head throbbed where he had been hit with the cudgel. He had tried to wipe the caked blood from his eye to no avail. However long he had lain unconscious he did not know. Soon they arrived at the Chandlers form whence he had come earlier, just to find the door locked for the night. The man with the lantern banged loudly on the door several times as they waited for an answer. As he was banging for the fourth time, the door was jerked open and the proprietor stuck a pistol out the door and a scowl on his face. “Quelle est la signification de ceci ?” A moment later the man recognized the lantern bearer as a fellow merchant. “Monsieur Jacques… l'heure est tardive... “ He then noticed Dorian standing there, bloodied and bruised. “Capitaine Lasseter! Bon Dieu ! Que s'est produit ?” Monsieur Jacques told the tale of finding the three men laying in the alley. He explained he went to the nearest tavern and found the Soldier who accompanied him back to the scene. There they discovered Dorian to be of the living and so were now here to see if the Capitaine’s story held water. The Chandler nodded throughout the telling and when they arrived at the here and now, he lowered the pistol. “Je ne vois pas une raison de douter de l'histoire du capitaine... Nous nous sommes occupés des marchandises plus tôt et il a payé à l'avance...” When he said the last part, he pointedly looked at Monsieur Jacques as if to make a point. The merchant frowned, looked at the soldier, then back to the Chandler. He gave a snide look. “Très bien... alors nous le laisserons dans votre charge...” The Chandler narrowed his eyes, then held the door open. “Capitaine Lasseter, Prise veneze votre facilité...”

"Capitaine L'asseteur…. Vous avez tué ces hommes." The happenings that led up to this moment, the two Frenchmen and himself looking at the two corpses at their feet, replayed in his minds eye. At that moment a thought struck him… “Monsieurs…. Est-ce que je suis accusé du meurtre ?” His mind raced to find the right words. “Ces hommes... m'ont attaqué... Je me suis défendu d'eux...” The two men looked at Dorian, then at the bodies and spoke in hushed tones to each other. He caught barely a word, but it sounded as if they doubted his story. They watched as he slowly stood, feeling the aches and pains from the close combat. “J'étais juste parti des fournisseurs, sur la rue du marché... que le propriétaire se rappellera...” The Frenchmen studied the captain, torn and bloodied. He made no effort to escape or make other reparations for his actions. Again they whispered to one another. Finally the one with the lantern spoke directly to Dorian. “Vous viendrez avec nous... que nous verrons si vous parlez la vérité. Vous armes si vous svp... Capitaine…” Dorian looked at his sword and pistol. He slowly let them droop in his hands, raising them to the man. “Aye… er… Oui, naturellement...” The other man took up his bloodied weapons, tucking the pistol out of sight and putting the cutlass in hand. The man with the lantern swept his arm out and thusly Dorian bowed his head and began walking out into the thoroughfare…

Village of Fort Royal Merchant Street Chandlery Captain Lasseter had made his way through the small town to the location given him. Upon entering the Chandlery, he was greeted warily by a boy, then left to himself as the lad ran off to seek out the proprietor. There were no others in the place that Dorian knew of, so he stood amongst the piles of items, occasionally picking up something and examining it before replacing it. Soon the sound of voices was heard and a middle aged man scurried after the lad. Greetings were passed between the men, and as luck would have it, he spoke passable English. They wandered through his store, the man yelling out to the young lad at the counter what Dorian requested and in what quantity along with the agreed upon price. Two hours had passed and all that was to be had from the man was on the books. Dorian followed him back to the counter where the cost was added up, along with a small fee for delivery. He had overextended what he had brought with him from the coffers, so he made up what he lacked from his own purse. The deal sealed, Dorian bid the Monsieur and his young lad a good night, asked where a good room might be had before exiting the establishment. Again a name and directions were given, another round of thanks and goodbyes. Dorian stepped into the streets and began his trek to find the Tourville Grande. Others were in the streets as well, the hour not being too late. Feeling safe enough, he pulled his stub pipe out and began to pack it with tobacco. This was a mistake he would live to regret. As his concentration was on the pipe and not his surroundings, he did not notice the two men grow silent as they approached. The next thing he knew, he was shoved into an alleyway between two warehouses. The pipe discarded, he drew his pistol and thumbed the dog, turning towards his adversaries. They were on him in an instant; he felt the muzzle of the pistol make contact as he pulled the trigger. The blast was muffled to a dull thump as it was discharged into the shoulder of the man. He sprawled to the side but did not make a noise as he fell into a heap. The second attacker was quick. He hit Dorian across the cheek with a cudgel causing stars of pain to float across his vision. Captain Lasseter stumbled back against a wall, keeping the man in front of him as he drew his sword. The man batted at him, almost causing Dorian to drop the weapon but his grip was sure. His vision was blurred a bit and he realized partly because he had blood in his eye. The man cursed at him in French and took a couple swings at Dorian, who easily fended them off, landing a couple light hits, enough to cause more curses to spew fourth form his assailant. Dorian felt his head begin to spin, he knew the blow across his cheek had been hard. If he did not do something soon, he feared his life would be forfeit. The man lunged as he rolled this over in is mind. He cleared his head instantly, just in time to dodge the cudgel, and strike it out of the man’s hand. As Dorian reversed the course of the blade, his attacker lunged at him, smashing all his weight into the captain’s chest, driving him hard against the wall. The man’s hands grabbed for Dorian’s throat. He did the one thing left to him that his mind could think of. Dorian smashed the pommel of his sword into the back of the man’s skull. It felt like minutes passed before the man crumpled to the ground. In a fit of final rage, Dorian speared the man in his chest, insuring his death. At this moment his strength failed him. His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground falling onto his side as his vision darkened into the great void of nothingness…

^ yes... and love it every time... doesn't matter where in the crew I work, any position is fun... < Swoonin' wives.... heh lovely... V Passing on the Q for more folks...

Village of Fort Royal Main Street Life passed by Captain Lasseter as he smoked his pipe, soon the tobacco burned out, so he tapped it out on a window ledge and when it was cool enough put it in his pocket. He remained leaning against the wall for a time longer, as the sun got lower in the sky. He had a notion to continue on his way, to continue with the purchases for the ships under his responsibility, but he was on shore leave, yet had so much that needed done. As he finally made a decision to begin again, several of the crew off the Watch Dog noisily made their way out of the tavern. Some of them were well in their cups, while others were only tipsy. The jolly rabble made their way down the street, spreading minor chaos in their wake, and even a little coin. As he watched them go, Dorian removed his hat and wiped his brow, stopping on the scar on his forehead. He ran a finger up it, again reminding him of the blow that made it. He pushed his hat back on and pushed himself off the wall. He inquired in his poor French to one of the street vendors about where the nearest chandlery was. Thanking the man, he made his way in the direction given.

^ Nope... I just have to hold real still for certain pictures, or prop the camera on stuff... < I like ya John, I do... and you totally crack me up sometimes! I do believe all of our minds are twisted a couple degrees larboard... v Set in your way or don't mind a varying schedule? (working on a sunday right now, don't do it too often...)

Goode gods Master Foxe... I damn near spit m'drink on th' keyboard.... makes me laugh ya do...

Hmmm.... John edited... And RedCat answered before he did... So... ^Norse God; Loki-he just wants to have fun! But, Odin with his Wolves and Raven... Rocks! Nautical Monster/Legend; LocNess Monster... <Gumby.... what was his dog's name? v Dream of living on a boat (I mean a real boat/ship, Royaliste style), or prefer a nice house?

^ Anubis & Bast, aye, ya only wanted one... but... < Got a PS1 second gen... does a fine job collecting dust right now... haven't done any PC gaming in a while either... that time/money thing... V Favourite Native American god/spirit?

Village of Fort Royal Main street As Captain Lasseter stood leaning against the tavern front, he watched as the street hawkers and other vendors plied their wares. Some spoke in such rapid French he barely understood a word. The man at the fruit cart accosted each and every person who came within a fathom of him, actually taking several by the elbow and steering them over. There was a man walking up and down the street wearing three or four hats, piled atop each other on his head. He had a staff off of which some shoes hung, along with at least two worn frock coats. Round his waist were two belts holding a couple hangers slipped through. Dorian thought he looked slightly ridiculous, but he carried his wares everywhere he went. He had some competition from another vendor selling very much the same, however her stall had much more to choose from. At one point a scuffle occurred as a young man tried to compare an item from the hawker with a similar one in the woman’s stall. The result was a ripped shirt that the woman had, making her shriek at both the young man and the Hawker. All commerce in the area stopped and the crowd gawked at the sight. Dorian watched as the shrieking woman began to plead her case to the crowd, but his eyes caught some other movement in the crowd. Some urchins were winding their way through the throng, but not just to get by. Ah, there a coin purse and there a pair of fine gloves. Small stealthy hands were gaining wealth from the onlookers. Soon enough, a trio of soldiers came through, dispersing the crowd and making their way to the center of the commotion. As the soldiers were now there, the woman pleaded her case to them, accosting the young man and Hawker yet again. Dorian watched it play out, yet kept his wits about him, continuing to watch those in his close proximity. Some coin was exchanged for the torn shirt, the Hawker was sent on his way and the young man scurried off quickly.

Village of Fort Royal Full from the food and drink, Captain Lasseter slowly made his way from the tavern. It was just a bit too crowded for his tastes, moreso for his ears. He stepped out into the street, the light starting to wane a bit. He found a piece of ground to call his own at the front and pulled the smaller of his pipes from a pocket, along with a pouch of tobacco. His eyes wandered around the area as he packed the bowl with the fragrant herb, picking out possible threats. Most were too busy to notice him there, as he was not dressed in anything much better than most sailors in the area. After putting the tobacco away, he strolled over to the freshly lit lanterns near the entrance and opened the shutter on one, lit the pipe and returned it as it was. Walking back to the spot previously taken, he leaned against the building and again took in the sights of the late afternoon. A short respite to relax and turn to other thoughts

That last one very much reminds me of these.... PA Dutch painted chests....

Fort Royal, Martinique Village of Fort Royal The Captain of the Heron and the Watch Dog’s Tailor continued through the town marketplace, they stopped many times to look and buy items. Time passed. The sun started to make it’s way towards the horizon. The purchases that were made were left to be retrieved later, given the honour of the shopkeeper. Anything purchased from the small street shops were taken along, Dorian even purchased a large snapsack to carry said items. New buttons and buckles for uniforms, among other bits weighed it down quickly. Soon they began to make their way back to the wharf, seeing some of the crew waiting to be ferried back to their ships. Dorian sent Murin and the supplies back to the Watchdog, remaining on shore to make more deals, hoping his scant French would hold out. He pulled the half page of parchment and his pencil out of his waistcoat pocket and scratched off some of his list. He grabbed some of the waiting men to follow him, so they might carry the supplies already purchased back to the wharf and onto the ships. Once this was managed and the pouch of ships monies he brought was close to depleted, he turned to his own wants and needs… he walked alone, yet not since the streets and taverns were full of those from the Watch Dog and Heron. They all knew him and for the most part would watch out for each other. He passed many storefronts, ducked into many, and stopped for a drink and food with some of the men. The camaraderie was grande, as was the food. He was feeling very good soon enough, yet maintained his guard. He watched those around him, the locals, the foreigners, watched the crowd move about. Even saw a pickpocket at work. There eyes met and Dorian smiled, shook his head slightly and patted his one pistol butt. The padfoot froze for a moment, then without the prize in hand disappeared into the sea of humanity. The smile on the captain’s face widened slightly, then slowly waned.

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Fort Royal, Martinique Village of Fort Royal Captain Lasseter and Ships Taylor McDonough, along with the two crewmen on the jollywatt gathered the bundles of clothes and satchels from the small boat and deposited them on the wharf. Some little bit of haggling in broken French later, a man with a wheelbarrow was employed to haul said items along til they could be sold. He was given an extra piece of silver when he interjected during the sale of the clothing and old shoes, getting them a better price. Three stops were made before the bundles were gone and the satchels empty, and a heavy purse was gained. Silver in hand, the monsieur happily trundled away, bidding a good day to them. Dorian sent the men back to watch the Herons’ boat, but not before visiting a small tavern and letting them drink on his coin. He didn’t let them get into their cups, reminding them that they were still on duty, not yet released for shore leave. They would be soon, but not until the change of watch, less than an hours time. He instructed them that He would not be back til later, but to stay at the wharf until those coming off shore leave arrived, allowing them use of the Jollywatt to ferry themselves back to the ship, etc. They all headed back into the streets, the men to the boat, the Captain and Taylor to the shops to find supplies for the marines’ uniforms and items of necessity for the two ships they called home.

Captain Lasseter bid Captain Brand a good afternoon and stepped down to the waist and over to Miss McDonough. She had just put on both shoes and he helped her stand. “Right then… we’re off ta th’ market…” She smiled up at him and nodded. “Aye sur…” Over to the rail, he helped her start down into the waiting Jollywatt, once she was settled he climbed down and into the sternsheets, taking the tiller. “At yer leisure genn’lmen, shove off…” The bow curved away from the frigate and soon the sweeps were being pulled at a fine rate, powering the small boat across the bay and to the wharf under the guns of the citadel called Fort Royal. Dorian watched as the young Taylor took in all the sights of the bay around them as they traveled as he scanned the shoreline and looked to all the ships at anchor, taking note of one ship in particular. It was a frigate of French design, looking either freshly out of the slip or freshly repaired and painted. At this distance and with sails furled, she looked familiar but not. His curiosity got the best of him. “My apologies lads… first two rounds ‘r on me… gonna take a wee change o’ course….” The men bent at the sweeps first wore a look of displeasure, then brightened at the mention of drink using the captain’s coin. Dorian pushed the tiller over and they headed towards the ship that piqued his interest and were soon within two cables of it. The stern was slanted away from them so they made a wide arc around to see her name, all the while Dorian was searching his memory, trying to place the ship. As the jollywatt slide past the quarter and her name came into view, Dorian blurted it out. “Le Requiem! Capitaine Fournier…” He brought himself back to his surroundings, glanced at the men and Murin. He cleared his throat. “Ah hmmm… We’ve dined wi’ th’ cap’n an’ officers o’ this fine ship… she looks t’ve been in battle… Might hafta tell Cap’n Brand an’ especially Doctor Fitzgerald that she be in port…” Nods followed from those aboard, thought they had no connection to the proceedings. Dorian steered their course back to the original destination and in little time they were tied up to the wharf.

Captain Lasseter thought for a moment or two about what William had said about renaming the Heron. He rubbed his chin while he thought. “Actually William…. I had thought on that when the decision was made ta keep ‘er… Can’t jus’ go off n’ paint out ‘er name an’ paint in a new one… Oh no… Mayhaps… once she be put to rights, fix wot bit o’ damage remains… If there be time for a proper ceremony… then we’ll see about tha’…. “ William was quiet for a time, studying Dorian’s words and slowly began to nod. “Aye… agreed… if there’s time here we shall do just that… if not, then at our next port of call… Having thought about this, do you have a name already considered?” Again, Dorian rubbed his chin for a time before speaking. “She’s a fine ship… I was hopin’ ta wait til we see ‘er under fire… she sails better’n most… dunno how she handle with ‘er guns a’blazin’… Lucy… mebee…”

Dorian thanked William and turned to Murin. “A’right Miss McDonough… All’s aboard th’ boat, ‘cept you n’ me… an’ anything ya need fer headin’ ashore…” He waited as she thought about what she might need ashore. She nodded. “Aye Sur, I jus’ need te get some tings from b’low.” “Very well… I shall be amidships waiting to help ya inta th’ Heron’s boat.” “Aye-aye Cap’n…. an’ Cap’n” She knuckled her forelocks to both Dorian and William and departed their company for the lower decks. Dorian turned to William. “Well now… Dunno how long we’ll be… I do plan on comin’ back b’fore night falls, but…. One never knows…” He chuckled and had a wicked grin on his face. William, reading his thoughts began to chuckle himself, causing further mirth to be generated until both men were laughing heartily. Once they settled, Dorian caught his breath. “Per’aps I’ll stay ashore th’ night… it’ll take me that long ta get accustomed ta walkin’ on land… Ha’en’t been ashore in far too long… far too long indeed…”