William Brand

hmmm...........................Do I smell a revival of the demon barber of PIP Street. William, I would gladly make a donation to any charity of your choosing if you did it at FTPF/PIP. My head is buzzed. It's only a quarter inch long now.

Thanks for sharing the process. I need to come out there and document a sword start to finish.

I'm considering a shave after years and years of wearing a beard. Shaving off the beard and getting a wig. Before this hobby I never could have said that with a straight face.

It's a matter that's easily corrected.

I want this for my steampunk kit... ...an amphibious Peugeot.

Ahhh, that article. Yes. Very poorly written and not very informative of pirates in general, let alone the hobby and history. Still, it features one of my photos. I hope it does more good than harm.

August 6, 1704 - The Navarra Lieutenant De la Cruz turned his gaze upon the assembled officers. "I will not be intimidated." "Intimidated?" Capitán Avendano looked up from his meal. It was just one meal of many that he had during the afternoon. The man was forever eating. He filled his mouth again with food and glanced to his right, his way of passing his tongue to his constant mouthpiece. "The unfortunate events of the day have nothing to do with you nor your place here, Lieutenant." Doctor Tarín assured him as he sipped his tea in his usual insipid fashion. "These matters have the support of the Church and Kin..." "The chuuuurch." The Lieutenant snarled, insulted by this for many reasons. "You give purpose to this injury by naming King and Church." "Remember your place, Lieutenant." Tarin growled, which won him the long, unflinching regard of De la Cruz. Doctor Tarin was not prepared for the young officer to fix him with such a threatening look, and his tea cup paused somewhere between saucer and lip. De la Cruz did not blink once, but stared with all the control and coldness of a man who has been reminded once too often of his place. Tarin, try as he might, could not hold the stare that raised the temperature at his collar. The Doctor found that a muscle flinched involuntarily at his temple and he would have turned away from the Lieutenant's reproving look, but he was rescued then by his benefactor Avendano. "Lieutenant..." Avendano said in a long and purposeful purr. De la Cruz blinked ever so slowly and turned back to the Captain. Iker Ruiz Calderón and López de Arriortúa, the ship's master and bosun, watched this interchange with mixed expressions. Avendano set his fork aside and the practiced smile of the devote liar spread over his face. "The purpose of this journey is greater than us all. We must, for the good of our country and our God, see this cargo brought to Trinidad at any cost." "At any cost." The Lieutenant repeated. Avendano nodded, smiling ever. "Yes." He sipped his wine, thinking his need to speak was over and done, but he could see something in the young man's eyes he did not take for obedience or retreat. "The matter is closed." "Aye, Capitán." The Lieutenant agreed, but his tone did not endorse his words. "Closed." Avendano dismissed him then and Lieutenant De la Cruz went, but with the air of one who only goes by choice and not command. The nature of the departure was not lost on anyone, including Avendano. When the door was closed fast, the captain said to everyone and no one in particular, "That one needs watching. Fool and a cast off son." He muttered, and he did not make any attempt to keep these words from passing beyond the portal. Still, De la Cruz was already beyond hearing. The sunlight hit De la Cruz full in the face like revelation when he reached the weatherdeck. He paused, half in sunlight and half in shadow, and had the chance to laugh at the allegory in the moment. He closed his eyes and shivered once. He felt very alone then, but Gasset was at his elbow at once. "What news?" Gasset asked in hushed, conspiratorial tone. "We must not be seen together after today." The Lieutenant returned. "Never be seen with me." "A hard thing to accomplish in a shared grave." "Don't be clever, Gasset." De la Cruz opened his eyes. "It's better not to know me. I've a flaxen cord or two tied to millstones." "Is he...dead?" "It might have been you, Gasset." De la Cruz fixed his friend with a look that was both affectionate and terrible. Gasset had never seen so much tender warning, fear and murder at once in a face. It smote him somewhere deep in his heart and he found that he had no words. "I'm a dead man, Gasset. They'll come for me before this business is complete. Be not near me." "They would not...dare..." Gasset whispered, but he said this with no confidence. "The men..." "No one will dare the field against Avendano. He holds excommunication and execution in his hands." De la Cruz looked about the deck and swallowed hard. He was suddenly aware of three small drops of blood on his sleeve and he quit Gasset's side before he could speak again, too worried to keep his friend's company now that he had crossed a conclave of fallen angels.

WANT. Seriously, what would you charge for beckets?

The article was so bad that it was removed...?

Bring back gravity and physics. If I see another sword fight out on a yard arm during a storm while circling a maelstrom, I'm going to puke. Dumbest scene ever.

The seventh bell of the watch came and went as the Watch Dog was brought to bear upon the Navarra. William had given Jack permission to fly before the wind unchecked and they soon paralleled her in their course. William called out from the holy ground and was answered by the Ship's Master of the Navarra, Iker Calderón. "All is well, Captain!" Calderón called, before any inquiry could be made. Then Calderón was gone from the rail, even as William was about to call again. He and Jim exchanged a look. "Strange business." Jim muttered. Minutes past, but as they could see or learn nothing, they returned to the business of the day. "Mister Roberts." "Sah." "Fall off to the East and return the 'Dog to the rear guard." "Aye, sah."

Great stuff, all. It's great to see a few different approaches.

No harm done and no need of harm. I'll never turn away a good musician. As for the oud, my intentions to buy one have always been interrupted by other requirements, so I haven't purchased one yet. More's the pity. I really do want one. Perhaps I'll finish my flute before PIP.

Miss Ashcombe. A hostess of high station.

August 6, 1704 - The Watch Dog William retired once to the officer's head that afternoon, for reasons of discomfort, but also to rest awhile from his station aboard ship. Afterwards he lingered in the Ward Room to rest himself from any movement, for the day before had come to roost in the waking of sore muscles and more then a few road born bruises. Tudor, ever aware of his hunger, thirst, weariness and wants, brought him a broth of no substance but salt and heat. It revived him like nothing could. The afternoon continued like this, with many a man aboard woken to his mortality by good, honest work. Those men from the prison and the wounded Spanish were especially reminded of joints unused or much abused. William went forward to see all of those in his charge. He passed a good word where it would do the most good, but in the midst of one compliment he paused, as did everyone awake. "Was that musket report...?" Jim said, suddenly at his elbow. William did not answer but was passed his glass as he went to the rail. He pressed it to one eye and it took him a moment to find the Navarra through it. She lay ahead of them off their Starboard bow. There was no activity aboard ship that demonstrated urgency or alarm, but he watched just the same. "What see you, Mister McGinty?" Jim shouted up the main mast. John was scanning the decks from main top. He shook his head slowly and returned no discernible explanation for the report. Even as he said this there came a second one, and with all quiet aboard the 'Dog, the sound carried easily. "What the devil...?" William said under his breath, for he could see no activity that would explain the first or second shot. The Navarra looked unchanged. "Mister Otkupschikov!" "Sah!" William said nothing, and he didn't have to. The marines of the watch, though spread about the deck, were aware of their requirement if the need should arise. For the moment, everyone watched the Navarra for a third report which never came. William wondered if the sound had carried on the wind all the way to Lasseter. Between six and seven bells of the Afternoon Watch

For shame...? You asked if a harpsichord would be 'too crazy' for PIP. Clearly it isn't crazy. PIP itself can be crazy, but music is always welcome.

http://www.cantstoptheserenity.com/ There are 43 cities doing a screening this year, so chances are there is one near you. It's a lot of fun. I helped run the event last year and did all of the promotional artwork for the screening in Salt Lake City.

Anyone here attending a CSTS (Can't Stop the Serenity) screening this year? I'm hosting one in Logan which promises to be a huge bash. There's a real possiblity that we might get Sonny Roades to perform at the event. He's the blues singer that sings "The Ballad of Serenity" at the beginning of every episode.

Clearly you haven't been to PIP. We hang people. Maddogge dresses up in a dress. We fire off cannon until the National Gaurd shows up with a helicopter gunship. What's a piano player amidst the chaos?

August 6, 1704 - The Watch Dog Andrew Light and Kevin Norman were amidships with Simon Buttery and Thomas Wheateham. They were employed their in the maintenance of the swivels which had all been brought there for cleaning. It was good, busy work on a fair day and Andrew was in the midst of regaling them with stories of the war. Some equal to theirs, but some more adventurous. He proved a good story teller, and even William and Jim listened as they stood hard by. "They fixed us with an acrimonious look which we..." "Acrid-moanus...?" Kevin cut in. "Acrimonious." Andrew corrected. "What's tha' then?" Kevin asked. "Indignant." Andrew offered. "What's tha'?" "It means angry." Thomas explained, shaking his head. "Ahh." Kevin returned, accepting this without truly internalizing it. "Aye. They fixed us with an angry look, being close enough to us for us to see their repugnance." "What's repug'ance?" "Good God, Kevin." Thomas cursed. "Have you no words a'tall?" "Contempt, Mister Norman." Andrew explained, then added several more words less burdensome. "Disregard. Scorn." "Ahhh." Kevin said again. "You trip a good tale." Buttery muttered. Kevin was nonplused by this. He seemed content to be a less educated man without aspirations for learning, though he was possessed of a natural curiosity that should have made him the avid student. Mismatched attributes in a man of mismatched gifts. "How did you come away?" Thomas asked, trying to refresh the tale. "Impatience. Pride perhaps." Andrew began, shrugging. "Though our superior in the fray, they sought to...well. I believe it was their intent to demonstrate superiority in all things, and having fired upon us more times in a minute than us upon them, they taxed their guns. Or perhaps they missed some necessary assurance regarding their guns, or even powder. Whatever the case, there was suddenly explosion which tore her apart at the bow. So violent was it, that one of their own rained down upon our Starboard rail and our cook was killed by some shattered bit of that ship." They all paused and nodded knowingly, but for Kevin. Then they went again to their work.

I think the December Club should have a song from the Decemberists as our theme song.

So many wet dogs around a solitary fire. Even the fiddler is water-logged.

A spot of tea, fresh baked scones with butter and a good shepherds pie. Aye, that would drive away the rain and cold we've known of late.

That's the spirit. I was beginning to think this one would fade away altogether. I'm having a little get-together of my own.

You've been invited to join the Mercury.