William Brand

Wait...I want this one and the other one.

I want that last one...

He smiled appreciatively, and the boy offered to fill their glasses a second time. Alain shook his head and the boy collected them again. There followed a brief pause, for Alain did not know where to take this chance meeting. He was bent for the docks, and to the work he had secured there the day before, so when the silence had lingered a moment, he tipped his hat again. "Merci de la boisson, manque. Bonjour." he said with a smile and a polite nod. Then he left her to what other chance encounters might come her way as the sun continued to climb higher over a flawless day. Between seven and eight bells of the Forenoon Watch

Alain looked at the coin with a spreading look of amusement he could not contain completely. He tried to smooth the smile into something more gracious, but it didn't work. Instead, he looked around, trying to find a vendor of no particular goods. His eyes alighted on a boy not much different than the pick pocket. The young lad was pulling a small cart fixed with a tapped keg of some questionable looking vintage. Still, it was probably rum and the day was hot so he snapped his fingers and called for the boy's attention. The boy came with haste, noting the coin in mid-exchange. Alain took the offered coin from Murin with another polite touch to the edge of his hat and placed it in the boy's grateful hands. Then Alain asked for two glasses. The boy went to fill them, but Alain took them both, holding them up to the light. When he was somewhat satisfied by their cleanliness, he passed them back again and the boy filled them two thirds full. Alain passed the cleaner of the two glasses to Murin and proposed a toast made up of nothing but a nod and a smile. He drained it dry in one go and studied the glass with a slight narrowing of his right eye, for the stuff was heady and very recently brewed. "Horrible." he said, followed by a brief cough. "Je suis remboursé."

He smiled but wondered that she should have look irritated before. Then he understood and smiled a little more, but wryly. "Ahhh... que le garçon a payé entièrement." he said, gesturing to the teeth on the cobbles. Murin looked at them and did not at first understand Alain's meaning, and sensing that she might have no grasp of his language, he tapped his two front teeth. "Dents pour une bourse."

The young sneak thief had gained full sprint and was well on his way to escaping the encumbered tailor. He dodged two immediate strangers who attempted to halt his retreat and managed to make his way into the thickening crowds. Then he chanced to glance over his shoulder with the grin of the catbird, but his joy proved premature. Alain Roux was coming out of a bakery off the plaza just as the young pick pocket bore down upon him. Perhaps it was instinct, quickness of thought or just a reminder of his own misspent youth, but Alain saw something in the lad that made him stick out his foot as casually as a man stretching his legs from a nap and the boy went sprawling. What followed was the most profound din of cursing and caterwauling that Alain had heard in years, for the boy dashed out his two two teeth on the cobbles and did no small amount of damage to one elbow. He rolled over clutching his face and howling between spats of pain and profanity. Alain's pleasure at stopping the thief was immediately replaced by the regret at having done the boy so much damage for such a little parcel. He had stolen his share of things in his time, and nothing was worth a good set of teeth. He tongued the place on the right side of his mouth where he was missing two of his own as he picked the boy up from the street, careful to relieve him of the package. "Désolé, garçon." Then the boy took a swing at Alain which he easily dodged as he took a coin from his own pocket. The boy delivered a particularly long dissertation in shouts about Alain's mother and father that was delightfully unkind. It was so profoundly awful that Alain actually laughed. The boy had a gift for true foulness. Murin came running up then and Alain sent the boy away with a round coin and a swift kick.

Does it matter? You'll only steal them back again.

Thank you, Captain. I didn't think anyone would jump at the task so quickly. And remember to steal the spare oars for the Bernie B.

Yes, someone befriend those boat people and then steal the boat.

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........ And now I'm hungry for carrion birds.

Crow is excellent served with bacon.

I will ask Harry to do detailed measurements when he can. He was only sure about the length at 12 feet. As for the motor well, can we perhaps cap the bottom and then put a hinged lid for storage of instruments? I kind of makeshift binnacle if you will. And yes...way out of period, but anything to get us on the water short of aluminum or rubber.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not down...but it still cheered me up. More so than I already was.

July 31, 1704 - Ward Room of the Watch Dog "Then...to what small pleasures we may." he said smiling, and he raised his glass in a toast and drank it dry. "Now, Miss Smith, you will forgive me the brief respite from the heat, and your pleasant company, but I must return to the Navarra. The tasks given me this day are pressing." He stood then, and bowed as before, and so formal was his departure that he might have kissed her hand had she offered it, but she was still gaurded. It was not that he was not charming, courtly as he might be, but it was something else entirely. And then she understood. When he rose from his bow there was something about the way his eyes lingered upon the floor. 'He's just made note of the gunnery compartment beneath us...' she thought, marveling at the revelation. Then she realized his assessments of the room had gone on since his arrival. His eyes had lingered a half moment too long on the damaged windows of the stern. His gaze had drifted more than once to the new seams and paint of the quarter galley. He had marked down in his mind where the narrow windows met the quarterdeck and the placement of the aft companionway. His eyes had even fallen upon those personal articles belonging to Captain Brand. Lieutenant Roldán Zubizarreta Rey Guerrero De la Cruz had been cataloging the 'Dog since coming aboard. "Thank you for sharing the Captain's gift, Miss Smith. It was most refreshing."

"My business is that of my master, and he, and only he, can speak of it. To say more would betray his confidences." The Lieutenant returned, and he said this with no hesitation or care. It was just a matter of course, for he was his Captain's man as much as Tudor was Brand's Steward. "Perhaps, if I may, I will speak of my own expectations beyond the Navarra...?" "It was not my intention to learn the Navarra's business." Tudor returned, smiling. "Then I shall tell you of my own designs. I am born to some grandeur which is mine by birth alone, and not of my own making. It is a goodly sum, but much of this falls to my brothers before me, and as I am but an understudy in their shadows, left to what inheritances remain for me once they have fallen from the greater table, I am compelled to seek out the corners of Earth that I might find my own place in the world. When I have completed all of my immediate duties to crown, country and Captain, I mean to make a great place for myself in the wilderness. Art, Music, literature and cultivation shall be the watchwords of my small world within worlds. I shall bring all that is good and noble of the Old World to the New World." There could be no mistaking the enthusiasm of his expectations. His eyes, dark as they were, shone with the animated light of the adventurer whose gaze rests upon legacies to come. "I..." he paused and he laughed. "I am impassioned by my purposes. Your pardon, please." He sipped his drink, and for a moment the fire was partially extinguished by the present duties and conversation.

If rum were laughter (and it technically is) that would be worth a keg or two at least. Such bravado. It cheered me up considerably.

Mostly.

Bay kracken is also a delicacy. Or so it is rumored.

I try to frequent it as often as possible for the sake of being available to newcomers and old alike. Since I work on the computer all day, this is very convenient for me. Still, I imagine most people meet by way of yahoo or MSN, but it doesn't hurt to have a private, pirate corner on the net.

Crow is a delicacy.

I'm sure Harry would appreciate some added help locally. I too would like to see the use of red and other warm colors. It did have a motor at one time, which we would replace with a tiller. I'm not certain about all of the alterations. Jim might have some ideas.

Harry has secured a small boat from local boat builder T.J. McDermot. It is a six person skiff, originally named the Bernie B. It has seen some use, but it is still seaworthy. It just needs a coat of paint and two pair of oars. As far as the name goes, Harry says that we can rename it for our purposes. I had considered naming it after one of the Mercury's small boats, but with so many camps utilizing the boat for other activities, I wasn't sure how this would be received, so a general name might serve better. We should also discuss whether or not we should give it a different paint job, or just keep the colors as they are. The boat may also be rigged with a tilled and a sail, if anyone would like to make donations in that kind. You may now discuss, drool & celebrate.

Welcome aboard, Laughing Crowe. You'll find that the Pub is run by the mob, and anyone you buy a drink for will be your friend, so empty thy purse and be the socialite of the moment.

"Well, seeing as how I started out before the mast, I don't see why I ca...HEY! Stop that!" Two ruffians drag Captain Brand from the thread kicking and screaming and deposit him in the street.

A good, solid pronouncement in a sea of quiet introductions. Welcome aboard.