Dorian Lasseter

“Right as rain, my arse! You’ll do no such thing…” Dorian stepped around to face Preston and regained some energy through his temper being trifled with. “First thing yer gonna do is set yer arse back in yer quarters an’ have the surgeon examine you. Once I’m satisfied, you’ll be escorted ta th’ wardroom fer a meal and we can talk about wot it is you think we have ta do… Do I make myself clear, Master Whitingford?” He tried not to sound too cross, but some fear that Preston had lost his senses took a mild grip on the Captain. Some doubt crept into his head, call it a sailor’s superstition, that the Lucy was a cursed ship. That maybe Neptune or some of his minions were at work to make it so. He griped the head of his shillelagh and thumped the tip onto the deck, trying to shake the thought.

It was is if Murphy himself were at his coattails, making sure he could not get a moment of peace. Captain Lasseter tilted his head back and could do no more than breath out a ghostly laugh. Righting himself, Dorian turned and headed back to the Ship’s Master’s quarters. Seeing the unsure looks on Johan and Robert’s faces, he shook his head and stepped to the door, opening it to see Preston wiggling about, still bound in his hammock. “Good ta see you awake, lad… Calm yerself an’ I’ll have ye released…” The man did as his captain bid and settled himself, to which the captain had Mister Jameson come and untie the line, releasing the Ships Master. Preston slowly righted himself and seemed to do an internal inventory, making sure he was all in one piece. He was relatively quiet for the time being, so Dorian leaned on his shillelagh and waited to see what Preston might do, or say.

Aboard the Lucy “Temper yerself Mister Brocke… Was quite a battle on that deck, I found m’self on all points of the compass during the fight. If you mean ta say he might’ve been shot by our own men… purposely… That raises grave issues… I did not see him take th colours, and he would have had his back quite exposed at that time. Who’s to say he wasn’t shot by any number of the snow’s crew? I’ll have words wi’ th’ Surgeon when I can about this…” Brocke made to interject, but Dorian held up his hand. “You have made your point Nathaniel… I will take it into consideration. If… If we do find we have more trouble… It shall be dealt with swiftly… Keep an ear pen fer talk amongst th’ men… Once we get back ta some plain sailing, I’ll address th’ officers an’ see wot we can sort out. Carry on Master Brocke…”

They're here til the 15th of November, open 9-5 daily for tours... $7 for adults... didn't say how much for Pirates...

Found out today that the replicas of the Nina and Pinta are in my home port o' Pittsburgh, PA for the next week! I walked down from work and took a couple pictures...

Captain Lasseter narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate through his weariness. Brocke was rightly concerned, but what he reported did not seem so urgent or worth reporting in such a way. “Aye… he were quite shot up indeed… front, back, all about his person… Did a fine job and was quite in harm’s way…” Nathaniel stood with a confused look on his face, as if what he had told the captain was perfectly clear. Dorian sighed with exasperation. “A’right… Out with it man… Don’t mince words, I’m too tired fer vagueness…” He stood and looked at the man, dead in the eyes, waiting for him to speak.

As the captain of the Lucy found his way into the berth-space and hold that was serving as a sick bay. He walked around to all those wounded to see what might be done. Jeffrey Elijah was half laying against the bulkhead cradling his head, a bandage wrapped around his face where his right eye once was. Patrick Godfrey had taken several splinters to his right arm which was now bandaged, some blood soaked through. James Whiting and Loren Brant were laid up, leaving two less marines on duty. Next he came to those who were in worse shape, Master Flint lay on his back, breathing well but quite comatose, his body covered in bandages. Nicholas Trodd lay feverish, having taken splinters and shrapnel in his left side. Thomas Ried was also fevered, having lost his lower right leg to shot. As he approached Brenton Coles, Dorian knew… He’d seen death shipboard before and here it was fresh. The man had been stabbed in the throat and it had been his undoing. He lay, eyes glassy and mouth slack with a string of bloody spittle trailing out of the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt. Without a word, captain Lasseter headed topside and pulled Nigel aside to have some men quietly have Coles brought on deck to be prepared for burial with the others. Nigel nodded and headed to gather some men. With a weary sigh, Dorian headed aft, but not to his quarters. Instead he headed to the Masters cabin to find him asleep, still bound in his hammock. Turning to those he left to guard him, he spoke softly. “I must ask you to keep guard over him until I say otherwise… When he wakes, untie him… he’ll be free ta move about, but not outta yer sight, understand? And no arms, period…” Both men knuckled their brows resignedly. “Extra spirits when I release ye from this duty, aye?” They smiled some and Dorian nodded, clapping each on the shoulder before turning to leave. His knee ached now but he continued to work it with help from his walking stick until he arrived at the door to the wardroom where Mister Tucker caught up with him. “Cap’n, sah… Enough repairs have been made fer us ta be under weigh, sah. Wot’er yer orders, sah?” “Aye… You n’ Mister Brisbane get us under weigh, pass word to th’ Watch Dog, We’ll fall aft and let her take th’ lead if you please. I’ll be on deck in due course…” “Aye-aye, sah!” Once Tucker was gone, Lasseter leaned against the door and rubbed his face with one hand. He stood there for a good five minutes before pushing himself back on his feet and slowly heading back into the morning light.

How very interesting you wrote this... I was reading the thread(s) and commented to myself that I've taken myself off the line because of a headache and another time due to a headcold. No matter how much I enjoy crewing a gun, sparing, etc., I will not do so impaired. Not just for my own safety, but for the well-being of everyone else around me. I am responsible for my actions, and if they cause harm to others, that's on me. I wish this was a universal thought among the masses. Yes I have done some damned stupid things in my youth - once - (I'll tell tales on myself later, not here). I learned from these experiences, luckily with little to no harm done but to my pride. So I can say 'been there, done that, thank gods no one got hurt'.

Walking slowly yet deliberately, Dorian crossed to the rail and took more time than he would have liked to climb down to the deck of his ship. Once there he surveyed his wooden world and smiled. It was a tired smile, but an appreciative one. Much had been accomplished in the short time he was in closed chambers with William. Misters Brisbane and Tucker had returned to the Lucy beforehand and now reported to their captain that the hull was sound and her rigging repaired. The inner Sprit sail had been holed several times, so her spare was rigged and some of the crew were patching the holed sail. Two of the Larboard gun carriages were in need of attention, but Master Johnson believed they could wait for repair at a later time. Dorian nodded to all that was said and smiled again, nodded and said no more than ‘Carry on, lads.’ Before heading below to check on his wounded.

Water... but really hope to be drinking some Guinness or Murphys real soon...

Captain Lasseter shot a look at his senior, friend, and man he would call brother. After a moment he laughed harshly. “Lay this? At your feet? Nay… Lay this at ‘our’ feet… Twas I who crossed that deck and held that pompous bastard of an officer at th’ end o’ my pistol, and my man who did evil b’lowdecks… We, not you, are ta be called devils for wot has been done… Damn you ta think you shoulder this alone… Wot Preston did… Wot in God’s name in Heaven possessed him… “ He stood at a loss for words, his jaw working from a snarl to a grimace and many other forms of expression to count. Finally he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes and hissed out his breath. “We’ll see this through, William… Aye… We’ll see this through to th’ bitter… the bitter end…”

When the conversation turned serious again, Dorian became somber. He sat straighter than he had earlier, though you could see the strain of the nights’ events on his face. He looked atWilliam, and his eyes did not waver but held a sharpness and a seriousness in them. William tapped his fingers lightly on the table for a moment before Captain Lasseter stood slowly. He turned from the table and ever so slowly paced one circuit around the Wardroom with a limp. When he reached his chair again, Dorian placed both hands on the back of it and stood for a moment quietly before finally breaching the silence. With an even voice kept low he told the tale about Master Whittingford that he had been told by his marines. What they had seen and how they had found him. He then told William that by his orders Preston had been bound and placed under watch by those men so know one else might learn of what had happened. As Dorian finished his tale he moved to sit and did so heavily. He stared at William trying to gauge what his reaction would be and slowly shook his head.

Though the men were weary, the task of dividing the spoils needed to be done. Soon it was all on the books and hopes were it would bring a tidy profit. Dorian put the heel of his palm into his eye and rubbed it. “It would a been more had we been able ta get all th’ great guns off, but no matter… I believe my lads cleaned ‘er of all the swivels… could use ‘em fer anchors we got so many now…” Those in the cabin chuckled at his comment wearily. Sitting back, Captain Lasseter winced when his shoulder blade contacted the chair back. “When next we find battle, you get ta board, William… I’d like ta sit one out fer a time…”

Oh, come now... Have a proper breakfast... Heh, who am I kiddin'... Hot cuppa chocolate if ye please... wi' just a dram o' that elixir mayhaps... And.... Scones!!!!

Deck of the Lucy Master Johnson hadn’t gone far after assigning those men who had troubled Captain Lasseter with foolish talk. He knew of men like this from times past. Men who found it necessary to cause some sort of division amongst a crew. The word had already been put out about Mister Hudless and the Master Gunner had witnessed the man leave his post on a forward gun during the battle to further compound what he thought of the sailor. There he knelt in congress with McCormick, speaking low and probably furthering the dangerous spread of whatever rumors he could. “You there! Hudless, McCormick! Ye find something ye need ta talk about? Lets hear it!” The two shrunk back and remained silent. “No? That bein’ th’ case, ye best part ways an’ not let me hear ye mumblin’! McCormick, Shift yer arse ta starboard n’ you stay where ya be, Hudless!” The conspirators shot a glance at each other before following orders and McCormick picked up his bucket and headed across the waist, kneeling in the sand and blood covering the deck there. Johnson crossed his arms and kept watch over the deck, mostly shifting his hard stare at the two men he had separated. It was just a matter of time before the cat would see daylight, and God have mercy on the fool who would feel it’s bite.

All the best to you and yours... My thoughts and prayers in this unsettling time... Hope springs eternal, the Doctors do Not have the final say, that's up to a higher power...

Heh, Well, I just got Moses' Law on the 2nd... And you got Moses' Law plus two... Hmmm... I think ya got lucky as they was already tired from deliverin' mine... Best to ya lad!

Breithlá sona duit!!! Happy Natal Day, Lad!!!

Between his fatigue and the incredulous question Dorian’s head was spinning. The words that came out of the Spaniard’s mouth played over in his head several times and each time it made even less sense to the Captain. He looked at De la Cruz and tried to focus on his face to see if he was in earnest. The man looked to be serious, and Dorian gathered his strength, holding himself in check before he lost hold of himself as he had with his men earlier.

Happiest o' Natal Days to ye lass!!!

Does my heart good, all this... Thankee Kindly, each an' every one of ye for the fine Birthday Wishes! I'll see this date come an' go til it's sick o' seein' me!

Happy Birthday to ya Cap'n Pete! Hope tis a fine one fer ye...

Happy Birthday Lad!!! Not a finer day than this, eh? All th' best to ye on this day!!!

As luck would have it, Dorian had just taken a drink from his glass when William made his apology for the loss of the snow. At first all Dorian did was smile, which turned into a chuckle that slightly pained him. Coughing once put a stop to it, but a slight smile remained. “Aye…” He made to say more, but darker thoughts clouded his face and the smile waned. He cleared his throat and calmed himself yet again. “In a certain respect… the loss of th’ snow is fortunate, for I have something… troubling… to tell of Master Whittingford… Whatever the case, let us get to what business we have, see what profit might be had and what to do with our prisoners and, more so, our Spanish friends.” Reaching for his glass again, he paused and refrained from imbibing for the moment. The weariness returning to him threefold.

Dorian sat slowly and removed his hat, tossing it on the table and smoothing back his hair. He looked at William, and at Nigel and Christopher before shaking his head. “We’ve seen a miracle aboard the Lucy… I had thought Mister Flint dead, yet he lives. Can’t say I know how, but this has caused those troublemakers aboard ta stir things it seems. Sayin’ the man’s possessed by th’ devil… Good gods… It is odd, aye… but …” Dorian was unable to hold it back, and he yawned a great, open-mouthed yawn the wracked his entire body.