Dorian Lasseter

Thankee fer th' vote o' confidence...

But William... You must try... it's the only way you'll be able to get past it...

Aye! Happiest o' Natal days ya fekkin' bastid!!!! Slainte Lad!!!

Captain Brand! Captain Brand! It's that time of year for you to regale us with a story... A very special story... The story of; Old Fashioned Marshmellow Please Captain Brand, please tell all the little pirates, piratesses, wenches and powdermonkeys the story!

Happy Natal Day to you, Friend, Co-conspirator, Brother... May the day bring you all that you wish for! Slainte!!!

Dorian Lasseter ( ) -- From the Sea!!! Well, alright... Pittsburgh, PA... for now...

Happy Natal Day to ye Master Foxe! Tap a keg an' make merry! Slainte!!!

Happiest o Natal Days Lad!!! May your day be plentiful in Swag n' Booty! Slainte!!!

Aye! Happiest o' Natal Days, Stynky!!! How many bottles o Meade will appear an' disappear from yer hand this day? Slainte!!!

Or... not... A surprising number of sailors don't know how to swim in period... So, if ya wanna be accurate... Go fer them lessons!!!

Currently drinking air (it IS a fluid... ) Hope to maybe be drinkin' a gin & tonic after work, or whatever I can get my hands on while watching Hockey...

He shut his eyes and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the Surgeon, moved to the side so she might pass. Dorian let his full weight sag on the bulkhead as he waited, not caring that his marines present saw him in such a state. While in the service of the English, he had seen captains and officers try as they might to show themselves to be untouched by human emotions. Hard and bitter to the last in order to maintain discipline among their crew. He now saw what a farce it was. Mayhaps he was not the best captain, but he would not treat his men as if they were animals, would not be seen as a heartless bastard as he had once called an officer before slamming his drunken fist into the man’s face several times until he was pulled off. While in this state of being, his thoughts were disturbed by footfalls coming aft. They were of an even gait and solidly stomped onto the deck with each step. When the Captain felt them close, he opened his eyes to see Charlie Marsh come to a stop. “Cap’n sah… Seein’ as we’re under weight, permission ta light to fire proper an start on th’ midday meal?” Dorian’s mouth curled up on one side. He liked Charlie, though had only known him a short time. He was gruff but somehow quite likeable. “Aye, Mister Marsh… And be so kind as to make… something to be brought to the wardroom for breakfast, if you please…” Charlie bobbed his head in a rolling nod and barely put a hand to his forelock before turning back to the galley. He spoke to the air before him as he went. “Aye Cap’n sah… I’ll see wot chickens survived an either fix some eggs er fix thems them chickens that didn’t fer a tray. Poached , boiled, roasted… Got a hog from the ship we sunk fer midday… should be bled out soon an ready ta butcher…” Dorian could do no more than chuckle at the man under his breath.

At sea, 7 August 1704 It was the last straw, the innocent smile given to Captain Lasseter by his Ship’s Master. His jaw clenched so hard that the marines heard Dorian’s teeth creek and grind under the pressure. The Captain slammed his shillelagh into the bulkhead, and had it not been made of such stern wood, it would have shattered. Dorian took a quick step to Preston and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into his quarters muttering curses in gaelic through his clenched teeth. There he pushed the man onto his seachest and held him there. He worked his jaw once before finding his voice. When he spoke it was cold and even. “I dun’t know wot yer on about… Wot’s in yer head… But until th’ Surgeon tells me yer fit enough, and only then, shall we have a meal in th’ wardroom fer ta discuss business… I cannot make it any clearer than that… Wot you did… He stopped a moment and looked Preston square in the eyes. “Jameson, Stadtmeyer… You know my orders… He is to remain here until I say… I will go and gather the Surgeon presently…” Dorian let Preston go and stood at his full height, stepped out of his quarters and now looked at the two marines. “Are we clear, gentlemen?” He did not wait for an answer, for they had only one to give if they knew what was best for them. Turning away and into the darkness of belowdecks, the Captain moved quickly and with determination to find Miss O’Treasaigh, his injuries all but forgotten in his fury. He found her back at work, tending to his injured crew. Stopping an arms length from her as she tended to Jeffrey Elijah. Dorian took several long, even breaths before addressing her. “Miss O’Treasaigh… Would you do me the honour of following me to Master Whittingferds’ quarters so that you might assess his… might see if he is fit for duty… And afterwards, join me for a bit of breakfast in the Wardroom… so we might discuss…” Maeve gave him a curious look, due to his halting speech and stiff manner. Something was amiss. There was more to what the Captain was saying, or asking. She nodded gently. “Yes Captain, as soon as I finish with this bandage we’ll have a look. Won’t be but a moment, sir.” Dorian bowed his head. “Aye, mum…” He waited, eyes half closed, using his ears more than eyes to tell what was happening until her footfalls stopped before him. She stood before him as he opened his eyes and he motioned for her to follow. The short time standing had allowed his temper to cool and his wounds made their pain known again, causing him to rely on the walking stick for the short trip to the quarters of Master Whittingford. Just as they came to his door, Dorian turned and bent close to the Surgeon. “I am in need of more than just a look at his wounds… I need ta know if he’s stable in his mind… something happened aboard th’ ship, he did… what no sane man I know might… I just… I need… If you can tell me…” Words utterly failed him at the moment and all he could do was look at Maeve, hoping she understood what he was in need of knowing.

Here-here! Raise a glass one and all! Give thanks for all your fortunes, whatever they may be... Go n-éirí an bóthar leat Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl Go lonraí an ghrian go te ar d'aghaidh Go dtite an bháisteach go mín ar do pháirceanna Agus go mbuailimid le chéile arís, Go gcoinní Dia i mbos A láimhe thú. Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends that are family here... Slainte!

Mais oui!

Comment, Capitaine Sterling? Y a-t-il un problème ?

Interesting topic... I was conversing with a fellow in France and he sent me an image out of a book - I wish I knew what book - of a sailor, circa 1700, wearing a short jacket over a long wesket... And check out the moustache!!! Edit; Here's the site it's from; http://historic-marine-france.com/uniforme/uniformeimagerie.htm

Happiest o' Natal Days to ye Lad! (a day late, but eh, wot's a day?) Have a grand ol' time celebratin' at PIP!!!

Aye Ripp... She's in need of a bit of work indeed... I've also spoken to the gentleman who built her and it's a pity the board of directors who were put in place when she was built for R.I. had no sense of history. Her lines were altered and she was made of fiberglass because they had 'better ideas'... The bow was changed, giving her a wicked weather helm and to compensate a Dolphin Striker was added to the bow-sprit which is several years out of period for her. I could go on, but I don't wish to soil the lass too badly All issues aside, she's a lovely ship...

If I ever find more of them, and can't buy them myself I'll let you know...

Mission, The 'candle in the sphere' is something I purchased some years ago at Pennsic... And I have two of them. Excellent ships candle holders, fondly referred to as 'the Hamster-balls of Death'

Aye William... I should send you a copy of all the image I have... Let you 'fix' all of them in such a grand way...

Just a couple images to whet the appetite...