William Brand

Almost the entire Watch Dog crew raised their glasses enthusiastically, though William doubted they undestood a lick of it. Still, the "Aye!" was a strong one and many glasses clinked together. Fournier seemed amused by this, but in a quiet way that did not hint at his reasoning.

It isn't my intention to start it again... Just answering the question with a popular example. You have to admit, there are many. Jack Sparrow is the Flying Elvis of the pirate community. Loved, certainly, but by the bushel.

"I can speak of your Anglish." the young officer returned, but William was already smiling and couldn't resist a remark of his own. "But can you speak his Irish? For none of us aboard the Watch Dog can speak Mister Lasseter's English." This brought it's share of snorts and smiles from the Watch Dog crew, but only a few smiles from those French officers that could follow the conversation. Moments later, the young Frenchman achieved an Irish brogue that William would have wagered impossible for one raised on pure French. This brought its share of continued chuckles, but the officer himself admitted that even he didn't know what he had just said. The mood continued this way for awhile, though some on both sides of the table seemed unreachable. There was no love lost between those of the France and the British Isles, and it was obvious that old hurts and insults persisted, but for the most part, the meal was refreshing and cordial.

I prefer originality. Hollywood is fine, but history is better. Just as long as the individual makes their own mark and is their own person. We have barrels of Jack Sparrows.

Lovely may be understating her by a fair mile or two. Astonishing, lad. Simply astonishing.

When all were introduced, Fournier invited them to the ward room of the Chasse de Mer. For an informal meal, the table was well spread, and with an elegance William had not known for years. Silver and finery lined both sides of the large table and it bespoke much about the power the Chasse de Mer wielded in this part of the sea. Fournier invited each to sit in a place denoting their position, which would have been laughable aboard the Watch Dog. William never would have placed them in any order at his own table, but none of them seemed to mind their respective status, nor did they complain when the wine was served. Fournier made a point to draw out Tempest's chair, as did William. If she was flustered, she hid it well. When all the glasses were filled, Fournier raised his glass. "To the watchful eye of the Watch Dog. à votre santé." Those who understood the last, repeated it in turn. Mister Lasseter spoke something quite different, but most probably gaelic, which sounded equally complimentary. Mister St. Anthony only raised his glass. Almost at once they were served and conversation was limited to small admirations on the food and table for a time.

William greeted each officer in turn, as did the others, but William was still surprised that Fournier should take such notcie of Mister St. Anthony while, he, William Brand, should have been sufficient distraction. "Is it possible that I'm...jealous?" William thought amused. "It is absurd that I should care, seeing as how I have tried so hard to remain hidden for so long. Maybe I was too careful." William puzzled over his own peculiar feelings as introductions continued. He was smiling now at his own unexpected emotions.

My son gurgling and shaking a toy.

William noted Fournier noting Mister St. Anthony, and while he didn't know what history might or might not lie between them, Fournier seemed interested enough to be distracted away from Tempest, and that was saying something. William plowed on through the introductions. "This is Mister Badger, bosun to the Watch Dog, and Mister Warren, whom you have met before." William tried not to smile, thinking back to the first ill-acquired cutter. "He serves as our most able Coxswain. This is Mister Youngblood, Master Gunner, and as able an aim as I have known." Then without hesitation, he introduced Mister St. Anthony, too curious to attempt any lie or deception. Besides, there was so much in the open now, that deception seemed futile. "And this is Mister St. Anthony, my Master at Arms."

"Yes..." William replied, though he had been about to introduce her as Tempest Fitzgerald. He suddenly felt all but forgotten and wondered if his praise of her on the Watch Dog was less flattery and more truth. The other officers seemed temporarily forgotten as well. Some looked surprised, others amused. Mister St. Anthony was the only one who seemed completely free of expression, though the hand nearest his pistol seemed agitated.

William Took Fournier's hand at once and greeted him smartly, looking about at the ceremony with which they were all greeted, smiling a little at his own mismatched, but well dressed rabble. Then he introduced his people in turn. "Captain, may I introduce Mister Dorian Lasseter, Quartermaster of the Watch Dog. And this is our good doctor, Miss..."

Fantastic Pictures, Rummy. Great shots of Diego in robes of office.

The water was clear, and any remaining debris from the Danzig was long since swept away by the waves and storm. Mister Warren manned the tiller with his usual precision and the sleek craft cut across the distance with ease. Eyes that had been blurry upon waking, cleared. Voices conversed. The Chasse de Mer loomed. It was there in the middle that William felt most vulnerable. He did not expect the Fournier to fire upon him, though in certain circumstances, killing all the senior officers at once might be advantageous. He put these thoughts aside, wondering what each member of his crew was thinking at this very moment.

David Bowie... ...I'm Afraid of Americans.

William was glad for the company of them all as he prepared to return to the Chasse de Mer. He was as removed from care as he had been since coming aboard. The loss of Mister Sons had been a blow of no small significance, but he was glad for all other matters, and felt confident that Sons himself might have ended Van Buren in the night. He liked to think so. As Mister Warren sent the rowers into the cutter, he couldn't help but notice the effect the doctor was having on the men. The day before, not one would have over-noticed her, but now they were stepping aside to let her enter the boat ahead of them. He tried not to smile, but found that smiling was coming easy of late. In a few days from now they would be in new waters and selling wares that would line their pockets in Spanish silver. William went down into the boat, and Mister Johnson and Mister Pew kept the deck.

"Mister Youngblood, please fire a salute while Mister Warren prepares the cutter."

"She measures me against my office and..." William smiled. "I do believe she does, Mister St. Anthony." William watched Mister Youngblood approach and once the Bosun arrived he ordered Mister warren to have the cutter prepared for their short journey to the waiting frigate.

"Aye, Mister St. Anthony. To your brush and polish, good man. You too are to join us on the Chasse de Mer." William nods approvingly to Mister Lasseter. "We shall overpower them with our presentation yet."

"I'm sure." William said, though he wasn't sure why. He suspected they had a history, but given his crew it could be anything. How many wanted men and women were aboard. Half of them might be, or all. Even as he was thinking on this, his Master at Arms came onto the gun deck. "Speak of the devil." He thought. "Good morning, Mister St. Anthony. I see that you too are indebted to the Carpenter." he said as he tapped the cane on the weatherdeck and smiled.

"Charmé." He said as he bowed low. The blush of a woman, no matter the woman, always awoke the best and worst of him at once. He did not hide the smile he saved for such occasions, though he might have normally kept it reserved in the presence of the good Doctor. "The French will beg leave of Fournier to join us."

When the Doctor stepped out onto the gun deck William removed his hat with more sincere regard than he had shown any captain or officer before. He was doing it before he even knew he was, his hand drawing it from his head in one slow and distracted arc. "Miss Fitzgerald." was all he managed, one eyebrow rising, one corner of his mouth smiling. "Words fail..."

Damn. Well, it might be one of those. Does it just not let you sign in at all? Does the window not come up? We should move this to the thread in invitations where chat is being discussed. It might help others who are having problems.

It might be your browser. the chat is a javascript based program and may just not work properly on certain browsers. I use Mozilla.

Chatting in pyracy. Well...typing a post in this thread.

William walked about the quarterdeck for nearly an hour, enjoying his cane to the fullest. The quality of the two crafts that had come into play was well represented in the casting and carving of the Master Carpenter and Blacksmith. The height was perfect and the construction so solid that William thought he might use it as a weapon, if occasion permitted, especially the dog skull cast into the top. Rummy and Mister Hawks had married the two works into a fine piece, and even now that he was nearly beyond the need of it, he still found that he enjoyed it as an affectation. He laughed at the possibility that he could ever look the part of a "gentleman", though he had appreciated the respect of such a title and in a place where it had meant more so long ago. He walked the decks most of the night and into the morning as men and women drank, sang and danced on the gun deck. He was sure the sounds were carrying to the Danzig Trader and the Chasse de Mer with mixed and confusing results, but he didn't care. The crew deserved a chance to stretch weary legs in song and wash off the cares of loss. When they reached the Isles near St. Vincent or Margarita, they would surely make a good profit from those rare and precious goods gleaned from the Danzig. All was as well as could be expected. Rummy played. Christine sang. Women danced. Men tried to. The night slipped away into morning.