William Brand

Touchy.

Meeeaaaaat.

The Don welcomed Fournier with a practiced formality. Then he turned his genteel smile upon William and his crew. "May I present some of the fine officers of the Watch Dog." William asked, and with a nod from the Don he introduced each of them, beginning with Mister Lasseter. The Don graciously excepted the introduction of each as they were named. His expression changed little beyond the painted smiles and courtly exchanges. When all were introduced a servant passed before each of them with a laden tray filled with tapered, wine filled glass. Each was offered a drink in turn and then all were offered a seat. William took a seat near the Don, as did Fournier. William gave Fournier a rueful smile. The Don sipped his glass. The Earth rolled forward in the silence before they began.

MEAT!

I could use a night swim followed by a barbeque.

I do not own a cannon, but I have enjoyed the practice of firing a cannon.

Once they were all assembled, William turned to Captain Fournier and they went in their small procession to the waiting Don. William relinquished Tempest's hand to Mister Lasseter as they went, thanking her for the privilege of a dance. There was some preening as they went and the small band's passage did not escape the notice of the room.

I need to get exact measurements for my odd feet.

The crew of the Watch Dog stood about waiting for some order to come from Mister Youngblood. Since gaining the weatherdeck he had done nothing more than remove his pipe from an inside pocket and tuck it between his teeth. He did not pack or light the clay pipe, but stood over the Monsignor's remains in a profound silence, his brow furrowing and unfurrowing. "Please see the unfortunate lad to 'is room, Mister Pew." He removed the pipe and stared out to the lights of the port. "See that 'e is cleaned up and properly prepared for a service..." He didn't finish what he had meant to say, though he had thought to himself '...a service more worthy of you than a night burial in some unmarked tract of dirt'. Mister Pew called for volunteers and so many hands came forward that he was forced to pick and choose from among them. Mister Youngblood went to the rail and filled his pipe from a modest supply of tobacco. He stood a long while puffing and pondering what he should do next. He considered sending word to the Captain ashore, but it would make no great difference to the Monsignor. Instead, he brooded over the many targets ashore.

Would you consider an italian potato dumpling stew? It's divine.

Thank you, Bad Batt. Drinks are on the house.

Ohhh, I can accomodate. I love a little Spanish rice.

I don't play at all. I recommend another musician entirely.

And parsnips.

Aye. Have the lamb.

Because I shouldn't be allowed to play on the harpsichord.

Certainly...unless you want me to play a number at the harpsichord.

aye, lass.

"No, my dear Tempest. It is you that flatters me...nay...the very gathering. The display of wealth and finery scattered about us was a pale and unworthy promontory of stony changelings before you flattered it with that all, too true light of your countenance. Come, my friend. Let us make an artistic effort and recover this dying, gasping audience of pretenders through the very surgery of your grace." He liked the way she smiled at his over abundance of words. He took her hand in his and lead her away, pausing to turn and speak again, but this time to Mister Lasseter. "Of course, Mister Lasseter, when she quite overpowers me with her too much talent, you will please rescue me from my clumsy efforts." William said with all seriousness, but reiterated, "You will cut in. Don't let her dance better than me. I shall never live it down." He turned again with Tempest hand in hand and they went out before the onlookers.

I just started the first book. I was pretty sure I'd be a fan from the start.

"None, Mister Pew, save this only...that we found some men of a jail house carryin' the body from that place, and not knowin' what should be done, we has had him brought here." McGinty said in a rush. "There was gunshots heard by all, Mister Pew." Whiting added. "Not a few minutes before." McGinty nodded. "Tis as he says. Twas sev'ral shots." They were in the act of swinging the dingy alongside the Watch Dog. The many lanterns played over the grizzly scene. Mister Whiting, having tossed up the line, stood over the poorly wrapped body of the bloodied clergyman. He gestured with both hands at the Monsignor's remains as if to emphasize the body. The throat and neck of the man were covered in a smear of congealed blood.

"Tis McGinty and Whiting, Mister Pew! We've returned to port this night to find the Monsignor just too late..." McGinty returned. "...and are come to deliver the self same dead!"