Dorian Lasseter

Dorian stood over him Master-at-Arms waiting for the Miss O’Treasaigh to appear and assess what was to be done to keep the man alive when he heard Captain Brand hail the Cutter. Turning towards the Frigate, Dorian stepped to the shattered rail and looked for William. There he stood amidships amid a throng of sailors facing the Lucy and searching her for her Captain, so Dorian assumed.

“Ahoy Cap’n Brand! What news, sah?”

The Lucy had rolled to Starboard when the rigging was freed from that of the snow, then as the snow settled further and made contact again, the cutter rolled to Larboard. Wood was heard to crack and snap, as well as lines groan and crack like whips when they parted. All those aboard who were on deck and able, moved Starboard to keep away from harm. It was as if the snow was a drowning man trying to save himself by grabbing onto anything he could to keep from going beneath the waves. Or, maybe liken to a man succumbing to death and trying to take who or what he can with him. Whatever the case, it was not working as the deck of the snow began to flood. Her stern quickly dropped beneath the water and she tossed about violently. Her masts whipped over to the Watch Dog and gave her a sound rap before swinging back towards the Lucy once more. As a final act, her mainmast came down on her longboat that had been taken by the Lucy’s sailors and pulled it under. As her mastheads slipped under it was eerily quite for a moment. Someone coughed, and shifted about, and young Mister Rowan appeared on deck and seeing the Captain announced that the Doctor was on her way. This caused the rest of those on deck to spring to life and continue working to square away the Lucy.

All the idiots are gone... Thank the heavens...

I believe the last to leave last night was the Japanese representative, after he threw the first ball out at the baseball game... Tham Japanese, they love their baseball! Hehehehehe...

Got this in an email today;

Irish Design Center

We say no to anarchy!

We are open today from 10:00 'til 5:30

Dear Customers,

As some of you will have read or heard, last night about 10:30 one of our front display windows was smashed. We cleaned and boarded up into the early hours. The glass wil be replaced by lunchtime and we are now open for business.

Thank you for your support.

Paul

This is a nice little shop in Oakland, near Pittsburgh...

So last night, after the protesters were disbursed, they headed down the street and broke 10 windows; One in Paul's shop, two banks and every window in a Quisno's sandwich shop...

Boy, they really showed the G-20 Conference goers something, now didn't they!

Idiots...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/time/20090924/us_time/08599192561100

http://news.google.com/news/more?um=1&ned=us&cf=all&ncl=diX0roIOGFb40ZMQnzRfIbHcdVkkM

As Captain Lasseter watched his men in the shrouds fight to cut away the yard tangled in the Lucy’s rigging and watch the snow settle further in the water, a noise like no other he nor any other aboard had heard came from the Lucy’s deck. It so startled Harold Press that he nearly jumped out of the shrouds and became a windmill of arms until Jerrod Styles was able to grab him and haul him to safety. Seeing this, Dorian turned angrily to where it had come and roared at his men.

“Wot th’ bloody hell was that an’ who made that noise! This ain’t no bloody time fer such tom-foolery!”

As he marched woodenly across the deck he saw Cyrus in a heap and Patrick O’Hara looked as if he’d seen a banshee. All the rest of the crew looked as bewildered as Dorian and had no notion what had made or where the sound had come as they were either stowing the goods brought aboard or watching the snow die. The Captain stepped over to Patrick and shook him by the shoulder, causing the man to jump. A moment later he was staring at Bill Flint lying on the gratings. He pointed a shaky hand.

“Twas h-him that made that wail, sah! Sat up from th’ dead and-and, Devil’s possessed ‘is body, sah!”

He began to back away and fell over a bail of some sort and went sprawling. Dorian shook his head and leaned close to the form of Master Flint and noticed some fresh blood on his mouth.

“Wot in hell?”

He put his hand to Bill’s cheek and he was warm to the touch.

“Damn me! Get th’ Surgeon! Damnit! Now! Here! I dunno how but he has life in him yet! Damnation! Fight for it Lad! Hold Fast, damn you!”

At that moment the yard let go and freed the dying ship from the Lucy. As the yard came free, it spun about crazily while the masts of the snow dragged down the Lucy’s larboard side.

Yep, the 'festivities' also known as 'idiocy' has started....

http://www.flickr.com/photos/greenpeaceusa09/

More to come, well until I get disgusted with it all...

Aye GoF,

I did the same... and, same deal...

I sent off my trade item, he received it and gave such praises and promises...

Same result, I never received my box.

$60 from you Midnight, forget the box...

it was cast by hern its 32" long with a 1 7/8" bore

Interesting. It looks sort of like their carronade, but yours doesn't have the cascabel ring, does it? Special order?

Hawkyns

its a 3/4 carronade which has no cascabel ring when me and kenneth recieved them we were woundering what the f..k was going on so we called and asked.

And whot was their answer? If I might ask...

All the best to ye...

Dusting off his hat after retrieving it and smashing it onto his head, Dorian was in agreement with William.

“Aye! Abandon ship indeed!”

Captain Lasseter made to pull his cutlass from its scabbard but the coating of gore held it in place. Taking hold of the throat with his left hand he forced the blade free with a sickly sucking noise, as if it was being withdrawn from a body.

“Everyone off! Off this ship I say! Go now all o’ ye!”

Dorian acted as the herder to his flock of sheep, calling out and waving his arms as if driving them. The snow lurched again in the process and the sound of more lines parting filled the air. The snow had shifted to starboard, as if trying to dump Captain Lasseter onto the deck of the Lucy. In doing so the standing rigging of the mainmast began to give way. Where a roundshot had weakened the mast, the crackling of wood could be heard. Dorian ran across the deck shouting as loud as he could.

“Cut th’ lines! Cut ‘em away now! Cut th’ lines away!”

Axes were at the ready and soon the lines were being chopped away. Dorian made the rail as a large crack of wood was heard and a yard fell from its hamper. Had it not been for the ratlines of the Lucy, the yard would have caused great injury to those on deck. Instead it tangled there, connecting the two ships together as the one died. All the lines were chopped away from both ships and the wind allowed some separation of the crafts as the snow began to settle deeper in the water. Press, Styles and Brisbane had made their way into the lines and were trying to free the yard from the snow. William and his crew were busy fishing those man who went over from the water and could do no more than watch. The snow rolled harder to starboard and threatened to tangle herself even worse into the Lucy.

As it was, nothing more could be done for the man and all haste was needed to save what could be had off the snow. Dorian had crossed himself and now wore a pinched look on his face as the thought of how the Monsieur Lefevre had been crushed. Back to the binnacle and gathered up what he could carry and made his way to the Lucy, all the way into the Ward Room to lay the brass and wooden pieces. As he lay them on the table, Dorian noticed his coat that he had deposited on a great gun of the snow was now hanging on his chair.

“How in blazes did that get here? Miss Ashcombe? But no… ah!”

The Captain threw his hands up in the air, no time to worry about how it came to be there. Back out on deck and across to the snow to again retrieve all that could be had. His back was beginning to ache from both the exertion of the battle, his wounds, and the aftermath that now consumed all hands. As he came over the rail of the snow, two great guns were lifted off their carriages, one by the Watch Dog, the other by the Lucy. Just as the one cleared the rail of the Frigate, the snow lurched and some lines parted violently. One line had parted near where the men of the Lucy were hauling the tackle and whipped two of them. They all dove away and let the gun crash to the deck of the snow. Curses were shouted at man and equipment. Dorian boldly walked over and cut the gun loose.

“Leave it! We’ve not the space in th’ hold nor on deck!”

Men reluctantly followed the order even as Master Johnson cursed some more and looked to the gun as if he was loosing a child before stomping across the deck grabbing all the gun tools he could carry, yelling for others to pick up what he could not.

Men clamored all over the dying snow as ants over a dead beetle, tearing it apart and taking the pieces back to the mound. Dorian directed this ‘dance of death’ from anywhere and everywhere on deck. Everyone was moving to and fro, carrying what was salvageable. He had directed those marines of the Watch Dog and Lucy who were holding those prisoners left from the battle to move them to the forecastle of the Frigate, lest they go down with her. At one point the Master’s Mate of the dying ship protested to Captain Lasseter about what was taking place. Dorian didn’t even look at the man, but to the nearest marine.

“You there, if this man gives ye or anyone else any guff, Ya have my permission ta shoot him, now get him off this ship!”

Not waiting for a reply he turned away and headed across the deck to help remove a swivel that two of the powder monkeys were trying to pull from the rail. He stopped short when the snow groaned and the hull settled some three inches, grinding against the ‘Dog and Lucy. He spotted a group of sailors headed back aboard and grabbed them.

“Get some stout line and lash th’ Lucy an’ Watch Dog to th’ snow! Pull th’ grapples off so we don’t loose ‘em! Quiclky now!”

The group scattered to do his bidding and as he paused to catch his breath and wipe his damp brow with an even damper sleeve, he noticed Miss Ashcombe holding his coat. Lasseter walked over to her with a determined step.

“Miss Ashcombe, what ever are you doing?”

She hesitated a moment but held her head up before speaking.

“I came to find you, to see what you would have me do to help.”

Dorian thought a moment and nodded.

“Aye…”

He turned about, scanning the decks of all three ships, finally spotting who he was searching for.

“Miss Smith! Come here!”

Turning back to Jenny, he pointed aft.

“You and Miss Smith will remove any and everything of value from th’ Ward Room and Officers quarters, whatever might be left o’ them. If ye need help, ye two have my permission ta haul a crewman off th’ deck ta help… If it ain’t nailed down, it goes, and if we got time if it is nailed down we’ll pry it loose an take it. Understood?”

Miss Smith arrived just then and Dorian addressed her quickly.

“You an’ Miss Ashcombe are on a mission, go now an she’ll explain.”

“Aye, sah”

Dorian gave a flash of a smile and headed off to see what else might be salvaged as the ship groaned yet again.

On September 11, 2009, Disney announced that in the summer of 2011, the fourth installment in its wildly popular Pirates of the Caribbean movie series will be subtitled On Stranger Tides. It is fueling speculation that the movie will follow the plot of Tim Powers' novel by the same name, with Jack Sparrow replacing Jack Shandy as the main character.

Found on Wiki... take it as you will...

Your Etsy link doesn't work...

The call went out for all hands not occupied to begin transferring all stores from the snow onto their ships. This brought Dorian out of his weariness as he found the order odd and somewhat alarming. Crossing hastily to the snow, he ran into Mister Franklin and asked why the quick offload was needed.

We drove in her stern heavily, Sah. The carpenters are workin best they can but I cant say they can stem th tide.

Dorian thanked him and without thinking headed below. He could easily follow the sound of the carpenters working and soon arrived at the head of the ladder to the after hold. Here other men were employed with buckets, ferrying them as quickly as they could and dumping them overboard. They paused in their work and the Captain made his way down the ladder into the water up to his knees. Sloshing further aft he found the carpenters and those chosen as mates hard at work, forcing planking back together, reinforcing all they could to hold the water back to no avail. Captain Lasseter stepped close just as a repair burst again, soaking him. He put his hands to it and helped force the lumber back into place. Additional hands pushed as well, a new plank held over and nails driven into already weakened wood.

You men! Head topside! Shes lost to us! Time ta cut the losses! Help offload all ye can wi th others! Go now!

The men with the buckets abandoned them and headed above as the carpenters and company collected their tools. Dorian made sure all were out before heading up himself. The dousing had awakened Dorian further and he was all action again. As he came topside he saw Captain Brand and Jim Warren standing with the officer of the snow who surrendered to him at the muzzle of his pistol. William seemed quite casual as he read through a ledger. Dorian slowed his pace, adjusted his coat and sword before approaching.

Capn Brand, Master Warren…

He looked the officer of the snow up and down indifferently and turned back to William.

Shes quite stove in below, Ive sent all hands at work there to help wi transferring her goods to our ships. Shell hold, but not for much longer I fear.

Darkness fell across Captain Lasseter’s face. He stood and thought to pace, but the confined quarters did not allow it. He turned back to Preston and spoke in a detached voice.

“There is much to do… aye… you’ve done your share, mayhaps more than… and for that reason you shall remain here until I’ve spoken wi’ Cap’n Brand. I cannot let you be seen topside until…

Dorian broke off and wiped the grime on his face, doing no more than smearing it about.

“I’ll have th’ Doctor come an look at yer injuries when she’s able. There’s a guard at yer door if you need somethin’…”

At that he abruptly opened the door and stepped out, leaving the Master to his thoughts. Murmuring low, the Captain instructed the marines at his door to allow no one but the Doctor and himself entry until further orders. They took the order to heart and stood tall as Dorian made his way topside, his steps falling wearily across his wooden world.

As the whiskey settled in Dorian’s gut, he did no more than look at Preston. In the dim light the Captain searched the Master’s face, trying to see if there was any thought or knowledge as to why he might be confined in such a way. After a time all Dorian said was one quiet word.

“No…”

Captain Lasseter had let the whiskey burn in his gut while he did no more than stare out the stern windows of the Lucy’s Ward Room. At one point he caught his reflection in one and realized he looked quite demonic, covered with sweat and grime. At some point he had sheathed his cutlass, but he didn’t remember when he had done it and was almost afraid to draw it out to see what gore might be covering the blade. With a deep sigh, he set the bottle on the table and was about to find the pitcher of fresh water and a cloth to wipe away some of the filth when he heard a voice scream his name. Dorian paused in his movement until the voice again called out his name.

“I see Preston is awake… God save him from what might be…”

He turned away from his search and grabbed the bottle to take with him, something in his gut told him it would be needed. Through the one door and into the lower decks he went as arrived at the door to the quarters of the Ships Master where the two marines left to guard him stood. Both men knuckled their brows as Stadtmeyer began to talk.

“Cap’n, Sah, we were about ta come find ye, but weren’t sure if we aught ta look in on im first. You heard im call, sah?”

“Aye, so did half th’ ship. Stay here, I’ll be with master Whittin’ferd fer I know not how long. Someone needs ta see me, knock first.”

“Aye-aye sah!”

Dorian went into Preston’s quarters and saw him bound like the Christmas goose in his hammock. He said not a word, but sat where he had before, on the chest there and placed the bottle of whiskey next to him.

Mister Tucker had gone from bow to stern on the Lucy and the Snow enquiring of those men who were found to be injured or killed during the battle. Many of the crew suffered what would be normal in a ships duel, the minor cuts and bruises from flying debris and jostling about. Others suffered worse, such as the first man on his list, the Coxswain’s mate, shot through the leg, or the Gunner’s mate who received a gash across his face on one side. These men never left the deck of the Lucy, while others who boarded suffered wounds in hand to hand fighting. The ships Master was cut deeply across his right forearm, several of the marines took damage such as Andrew Smyth with a dislocated shoulder and Cyrus O’Madden with a crushed hand. Then there were those who manned the great guns of the Lucy who paid an ultimate price. Samuel Milling and Roger Reeves killed while loading ‘Morrigan’, and Roundtree and Sandefur killed serving ‘Leucetios’. Tuck knew the Captain was well aware of the Death of the Master-at-Arms, so did not write a description of his injures, just the simple statement ‘Killed in Action’ next to his name. He went over the list before reporting to Captain Lasseter, totaling eight dead of the crew of the Lucy, with an additional five from the Spanish guests aboard. He knew others would die as well as some of the wounds were quite severe and even with help from the Watch Dog’s Surgeon the possibility of survival was bleak. The Boatswain finished looking over the list and went to find Nigel, the Coxswain to see what his list would reflect before all was reported to the Captain.

Well, not that this helps... As we don't know how well the general public can or will make the distinction...

He is identified as a 'Civil War Buff' and not a reenactor...

Hmmm... that's in my neighborhood!

Well, not 'in'... Pittsburgh in general...

Christopher Tucker had left the Captain and headed aft to find Nigel Brisbane to inform him of the orders given. He found the Coxswain tending to his mate, Logan Christie, who had been shot through his left thigh at some point in the battle. As Nigel finished tightening and quickly tying a rough bandage around the man’s leg, Tucker stood back and waited until he was finished before speaking.

“Nigel, Logan… Are ye needin’ help ta get ta th’ waist? Have Charlie take a look?”

Logan grimaced at Tucker.

“I think not! Not goin’ ta th’ butcher ta be slaughtered…”

Both men chuckled at the Scotsman's thoughts on being treated by the ships cook. After the laugh, Tucker got back to why he was there.

“Nigel, Cap’n wants ye ta find out from Master Johnson wot were used er got destroyed aboard, I’ll be off ta get the injury count, startin’ wi Mister Christie here.”

All three men chuckled again, although Logan grimaced through more pain as he was helped to his feet.

Captain Lasseter led the two marines below, first to the ‘hospital’ to inquire about Preston. There they found Mister Marsh and Cuylemburch doing their best to help the wounded. Helping alongside was his Steward, Miss Ashcombe, shirtsleeves rolled up as best as could be, doing her best. Charlie told of what had been done with the Ships Master and Dorian nodded several times. He looked about at the waiting wounded.

“Miss Ashcombe… Head to the Watch Dog and inquire of the Doctor, You all have done a fine job, but a true Surgeon is needed to help…”

With that he headed to the quarters of the Master, where he found young Liam sitting on Preston’s sea chest, so weary he was nodding. When the three men bustled in he stood wide eyed.

“Captain, Sah! I was watchin’ Mister Pew! He ain’t moved but ta cough once!”

Dorian held up a hand.

“Off with you then, thank you Liam…”

The boy made himself scarce, giving more room for the Captain and marines in the cramped quarters. Dorian studied Preston and began asking some questions of Jameson and Stadtmeyer. Their answers came haltingly at first, until finally Robert blurted out what they saw below and how he’d been found. The Captain slowly sat on the sea chest. At first he could not take his eyes off Preston, then he shifted his gaze to the marines.

“Get some line… bind him where he lay… watch over him… come find me when he wakes… tell no one what you’ve told me until I say… Is that perfectly clear?”

Even if they had not understood, the Captain’s tone caused both to snap off salutes. Jameson acted quicker and was off to get a stout line, leaving Stadtmeyer to guard the Master. Dorian stood, looked at Preston once more before heading out and into the wardroom. There he stood for a time doing nothing but breathing. With a great intake of breath that was held a moment too long before being exhaled, he moved. Over to the sideboard and found the half full bottle of whiskey. He did not bother with a glass or cup, but unceremoniously uncorked the bottle and drank from it, not once, but twice before slamming the cork home again.