William Brand

Aye...if you aren't partial to grace.

The Ward Room is a similar chat that we use to discuss our lives on and off the Watch Dog. We are there more often than the Scuttlebutt, and when I say there, I mean all of the time.

Not so greedy. I might share the extras.

Do you do the ironwork as well?

In the jungles of Martinique It took Adebanke one full hour to free herself from the bonds which held her to the tree. Tawny did not stir even once during that time, but she still slipped the last of the cords as carefully as she dared. Her confidence was quickly deteriorating, for she was certain now that her own heartbeat was loud enough to wake the damned, Tawny included. As for Tawny, he was caught up in a dream about a girl he had once wanted desperately to hurt. The dream was one he had often and he never liked waking from it. He relished it from scene to scene as it played out in his mind, unaware that Adebanke was standing over him with a stone large enough to do him soundly in. She stood there over him trembling from fear and the weight of the heavy stone. She had found that courage that she thought she wouldn't. Courage to lift the rock over him. Courage to crush him, but now it eroded. There was some unexplainable fear in her that crept up in her spine. It choked her resolve. It melted her physical strength. It was a fear that if she didn't do him in all at once, he would come back to life more terrible than ever. He would simply stand up, gory and terrible and do something worse than her small imagination could conjure. It was an irrational fear of course. One good blow with the jagged, volcanic rock and she and the rest of the world would be rid of him absolutely, but the world wasn't here. It was only her and the monster. Adebanke set the rock down as carefully as she had picked it up. Her legs were starting to wobble. She turned on them with what strength she had left and began to creep away. She did not run. She did not sprint to safety. She walked as slowly as she could possible manage. The mouse before the slumbering cat. Her heart was thundering so hard now that she thought she might start screaming soon. Her body was pumped full of adrenaline that she was forced to suppress. She could only hear it because it thundered in her ears. And still she crept, repeating the same mantra over and over in her mind. "Don't run. Don't run. Don't run." Then Tawny rolled over. Just that. He didn't wake. He didn't open his eyes. He just rolled over in his sleep. By the time Tawny had settled again into dreams, Adebanke had sprinted off blindly into the night some crossing more distance in a few heartbeats than she had ever managed in all her young years. She did not stop running for almost half an hour.

July 31, 1704 "You have done for her what can be done. Let her do your work for the time being. Let her whole day be made of work. She will be the better for it and you will have the day." William was quiet, but only a moment. "You and Meg have seen enough to decide for yourselves if you want to remain here aboard the 'Dog. This is not a dismissal. Your work here has been remarkable, given your all too recent rescue and your injuries, but I won't lie to you. It is a hard life. You have money enough to go ashore and do well ashore. I don't need an answer from you now, Miss McDonough, but you should think on the matter." There was something in his tone that said that they were finished. Perhaps it was an order that she shouldn't answer now, but it seemed more a favor and perhaps fatigue on his part. Either way she curtsied and he bowed, deep and graceful. The respect he put into the gesture, even in his weariness, spoke volumes. So did the calm and genuine expression upon his face. No further words but 'Cap'n' and 'Miss McDonough' were exchanged as she let herself out of the Ward Room. William went to his hammock at once and was still undressing as he climbed into it. The rest it promised was too inviting to ignore a moment more. 5 bells of First Watch

William closed the door to the Ward Room and was pleasantly surprised to find that Tudor had placed a lantern and a basin of water out for his use. Once again he tossed his coat and hat away with little concern for either of them, and it was apparent that the day had been a long one for him. He placed the heel of his left hand under his chin and popped his neck once before turning to face Murin. "How is it with you, Miss McDonough?" he asked, but before she could answer he shook his head. "The hand is healing well enough, but I want you to take the morrow to rest it. The uniforms can wait. With Mister Pew ashore and the placement of the marines aboard the Heron and 'Dog in question, it seems to me that a little patience is in order. With this in mind, I should like you to cease your labors at this moment and I would like you to go ashore by the first boat available, whether it be noon or not." He paused here, and whether he wanted her to answer the first question or the orders, he gave no indication. He just stood there regarding her.

The wound was angry from use, but not so much as it had been before, and whether William was bothered by it or not, he said nothing. He simply unwrapped her hand with as a passive and removed an expression as any surgeon might have worn. He peeled the last of the bandage away carefully and set it aside. Then he filled a basin with clean water and washed the wound, ignoring any social propriety that might make Murin uncomfortable. He was mindful of any pain this might cause her at first, but when she demonstrated that pain was something she could bare, he was more thorough. Part way through this procedure he looked over at Meg and said, "Come here, lass. You should see how to do this if you are to help our Miss McDonough in her labors." At first, Meg did not move, but remained where she was. Murin was not surprised by this, given Meg's reaction to Owen, but William was not so patient. "Did you not hear me, Miss Wardell?" Meg jumped up at once, coming over quickly, but Murin did not have time to wonder if William was unaware of Meg's feelings of late, for he exchanged a knowing look with the tailor that said much. To his credit, William kept Meg distracted from herself by interchange and explanations, showing her how to clean and dress the wound. Any time that she faltered or appeared to shrink, he would raise his voice just enough to be commanding. By the time he had dressed the wound entirely, Meg looked more her old self than ever, though her old self had been a half starved castaway like Murin when she had come aboard. "Can you dress that wound as I've shown you, Miss Wardell?" he asked, his face serious. "I believe so, sah." she said, and William did not seem satisfied with this. "You believe so?" "I'm certain I could, sah." she said with more conviction. "Good, good. That will be all then. Rest your hands and eyes, Miss Wardell. Miss McDonough, I'll speak with you in the Ward Room."

"Indeed. My many thanks to you both." William smiled warmly enough, but he eyed Murin's hand. Setting his hat on the table he stripped off his coat and tossed it carelessly over a chair. "Let's see that hand, Miss McDonough." he said as he began rolling up his sleeves.

It is amusing that the 9 and the 0 are too close together on the keyboard. Everyone is calling the 1720 camp the 1729 camp lately.

July 31, 1704 4 bells of First Watch William stood there a moment in the passageway speaking with Tudor. Their voices were pitched low, but not so much that the words Navarra, coin, danger and several other intriguing nouns and adjectives passed into the room. When they were done, William stepped inside the sick ward, hat in hand. "Good evening, ladies." "Good evening, Captain." They both returned, each in a very different tone and accent. He nodded, and walked into the room a few feet. "Am I disturbing you...?"

Aye. A very good site indeed. It crops up from time to time in discussions on the Pub at fairly regular intervals. What I would rather is that people would buy me boats just like those at regular intervals.

Most kind. We're rife with toasts of late. Let's empty a cask and call for a fiddler.

A gracious bow may be in order, but you are either over-flattering or under-traveled. The Kate boasts a great many foods, but surely you've had at least one finer food elsewhere.

July 31, 1704 between 3 and 4 bells of First Watch William was inclined to speak on the matter further, but the day was gone and he was in need of rest. He was determined to find himself in the prison on the morrow, an idea which made him chuckle overloudly to himself and this drew a look from Dorian and Tudor. "It's nothing." William said, though it was probably the wine. Soon the boat bumped softly against the Heron and Dorian departed to the decks of the cutter. He waved them a farewell with his raised hat and with a few words exchanged, they returned to the frigate. "Would they pay handsomely for such a service, Captain?" Tudor asked as they reached the Watch Dog. "Almost certainly, given the opulence of our surroundings at dinner." William said, offering her a hand up. She took it and looked thoughtful, smiling that quiet smile of hers that spoke secret volumes. "I am enjoying the trade." "So am I, Miss Smith. So am I."

Ahhhh...a discerning wit. Give the lass a round on the house, and fetch her fare from the galley.

William stands up and mops himself up a bit before approaching the new customer. "Good day, lass. Welcome to the Kate. My apologies for my appearance...just a bit of humor about the place. Now...pray tell, what is a men-you?"

July 31, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal 3 bells of First Watch Dorian's toast, William's solemnity, Tudor's questions or some unknown cue of their hosts suddenly signaled the end of the dinner and conversation. In the end it proved to be as mysterious as the initial invitation, though Dorian and William both had drawn similar conclusions about the evening. One moment they were discussing the Navarra and Le Vedette, and the next they were exchanging farewells and climbing down into the waiting boat. Once they were away from the Navarra and rowing again to the Heron and 'Dog, Dorian began to voice his thoughts aloud. "She's still heavy laden." William was looking at the Navarra and he nodded. "Yeees. Still." Tudor looked between them hoping to understand why this was important to the two Captains, and for a moment she had the devious thought that they were planning to take her a prize, but she shook off this thought. "Do they mean to take the cargo somewhere else?" She asked. "I believe so, Miss Smith." William returned, squinting at the Navarra now. "They've come a courtin'." Dorian explained. "Courting..." Tudor said slowly with an awakening understanding as she too looked back at the Navarra. "That would be my guess." William agreed. "They have cargo important enough to have had a frégate. Now they have none." "Then they shall need a...companion again." Tudor said quietly and to no one in particular. "Aye." Dorian nodded, smiling. William turned to look at the 'Dog. "Our pedigree is being perused." Elsewhere in the jungles of Martinique... Tawny slept his first true sleep since slipping the 'Dog's clutches. He had exhausted himself with the self surgery that had proved to be as much mutilation as medicine. Strangely enough, the man had demonstrated that he was a far better surgeon than a human being, for he had carved out the rot of his face and the worst part of his arm and used fire and ash to both sterilize and tattoo himself simultaneously. Now he was asleep, maybe even snoring. Adebanke was wide awake. The night of the Martinique jungle was as warm and loud as any night that had come before. There was little comfort in this din raised by unknown birds, insects and perhaps even night mammals. Adebanke knew very little of the deeper recesses of the island, and had not wanted to. The place had seemed uninviting to a young girl. She had imagined all sorts of monsters within it ever since arriving at the plantation, but now that she had met Tawny she knew that nothing worse could possibly dwell in this place. Even more than this realization was the idea that she was far more mortal now than she believed any other girl of her age might be. Seldom do children come to a full understanding of their fragile lives at such an early age, but Adebanke understood it perfectly. Slumped there against the tree she understood all of this all too well and in that moment she understood something else all at once. The noise of the night was almost absolute. Tawny lay stretched out on the ground and his snoring, loud as it was, was all but drowned in the noise of the night. She stared at his muted respiration. She had feared that escape was impossible, but hearing that she could hear so little now, she realized two things. One, she could risk escape if escape could be had, and two...if she could find enough courage to escape, she might find enough to kill Tawny. ~Starboard Watches on Duty~

^Is blessed with a childlike enthusiasm for the period and will go far as a pirate.

My buttons arrived the other day and I like them very much. They are very sturdy and of a good quality. Uniform in size and shape and I even like the patina. I believe that they will look most striking on my new coat. If I had but one complaint, it would be that they are almost too uniform. Call me a perfectionist, but in reenacting, sometimes imperfection is perfection. I'll just be forced to scratch them up a bit by attending some 5,000 events or more. Woe is me, eh? Wonderful stuff. I highly recommend the buttons and I'm now wondering if 130 is enough.

Aye...more of what the French refer to as a certain I don't know what. That special something that sets a person apart, not because it actually elevates or removes them. They just have a certain something. They just ARE. I've also known the opposite. I've met those few people who have the finest costuming I've ever seen, but who have no more presence than a turnip.

Has anyone mentioned elegance? It isn't a word we often use today, I know, but I have seen a few re-enactors in my time that had the 'poise' of the period.

No thank you, I think I've had enough Trypto...Trypto...Tryptophaaannnn...for... THUD.

We had slated Tate as a cook, but money and vacation time conspired against him and he and Nacny cannot make it this year. They were very sad. We don't have an offical 'cook'. but Callenish and several others have offered to help with the cooking. You are welcome to join all of us in the preparation of a few meals whenever you would like. We may have several late night meals of roasted meats over the fire and the like. We'll discuss the matter of food when we are a bit closer to the event, but Callenish is bring much of the cooking equipment, along with a few other volunteers.

"Capitaine Voulet was..." Avendano began, then he turned to the Lieutenant. "¿cómo usted dice pertinacité?" "Voulet showed pertinacity..." The Lieutenant explained, then amended. "...no...he was tenacious. He remained on deck despite his injuries." With the door open to this new line of questions, Tudor pressed forward. "I believe that Captain Lasseter is curious about the tactics of the battle...not the valor." If the Lieutenant was bothered by her tone or explanation, he did not show it. He simply shrugged, as if the battle was of no consequence to him. The fact that it was won and won alone seemed enough to him and Avendano, but he saw that their guests waited for a response, so he continued. "Voulet fired upon the Navarra." There were a few subtle changes in everyone's appearance. Dorian nodded and William thought he understood at once, but as a matter of course he said, "I beg your pardon...?" The Lieutenant simply shrugged a little again and sipped his wine before repeating himself. "Voulet caused the English to think that he was English also. He fired upon the Navarra and the three ships closed upon us with no threat to Le Vedette. When we began to engage these two faster sloops, he fired upon them. He wounded both sloops sufficiently enough as to allow our escape." The Lieutenant left his narrative here, as if this short explanation was enough to answer the matter in full. The story from end to end was as empty a retelling as any of them had ever heard, but the Lieutenant simply refilled his glass and showed no sign of continuing.