Tempest Fitzgerald

It was with heavy heart that Tempest mulled over the words having just transpired. She had taken a genuine liking to the Master at Arm's company and truely felt guilt to the turning away of his request. Never the less, with things in the current state of strange brewings, she could not with clear conscience, allow the man his roam about in current winged state. If the Master at Arms fell prey as the two others had, it would be a hard pill for her to swallow indeed. When faced with the weight of decision such as this one, she oft times wondered why she had not followed her mother's wishes and given in to the constant pursuites of past suitors and simply settled down... inwardly she laughed at such a thought, for Colleen Bertrand was her Father's daughter....and would never be pleased with the confine of cage, no matter how gilded it may present itself to be. Glancing to Jack St. Anthony, her mind mused at simularities held betwixt the Englishman and her mother's father. The thought would have more than likely make the auld feller spin in his grave, for the concept that any English should be given in comparisson to that Irish blood would be a sacrelidge in the very least. Tempest glanced to where Jack was now in conversation with Armand and was unable to supress the certained smug knowledge that had raised itself to view..

The ussual battery of tests were gone through withmeticulous stride in regard to the Gunner newly arrived. It was a nasty raise of swelling that crowned Mister P.E.W.'s scalp, but, that would go down in time. The laceration was sutured to close and instruction given that the gentleman in question would be relieved of duty until knowledge was secured of no further damage not evident to the naked eye. He was assigned one of the vacant cot's and encouraged to rest for the time being. Assured of the Gunner's comfort, Tempest went to a small basin of water to rinse her hands from the stain of recent procedures. It was of no suprise that the thoughts whirrling in cranial confine tallied the numbers of injury since joining this post...and injuries to pates seemed to be the front runners to date. Drying the fine boned wrought of delicate fingers, she turned from her contemplations and catching Armand's eye, nodded to the heavy door to indicate the thickened plank's need of replace for security. The barrier back in place, she crossed the room's smallish expanse to gain the Master at Arms' company. Pulling up the support of small wandering stool, the Surgeon sat heavily to its circular surface as if the world's weight balanced her shoulders. With expulsion of heavy sigh, Tempest looked to Jack's face and a minute passed quietly before she spoke with a tinge of regret. " I know well how much you wish to leave this room and on some levels I wish that I could do the same for a space of time. I do very much miss the air above and greeting Le Soleil in the quiet morning hours from the stern rail, when the world is peaceful in its' mannerisms..." Her voice drifted to silence, eyes drifting away mommentarily, but then cutting back to Jack's attention. " I do not know the intentions or methode that plagues our current situation...And as much as I wish to give you the freedom you and I both crave, it is my fear that in doing so, I should be weighed heavily with regret of the decision..." The hue of emerald orbs locked upon Jack's own and for a fleeting turn, there danced a sadness and regret. "I cannot, with clear conscience, allow you in your mending state, to wander the decks of this ship with the chance of negative encounter being so high in stakes. It grieves me to say so by very heavy means , dear gent. But, you know as well as I, that in such an encounter you would be at great disadvantage in current state and that is not something that I wish to chance. " She looked away guiltily as she stood erect. "Mayhaps on the morrow things will calm...Mayhaps with the morn, Armand and myself will be able to help you to the decks above for a moment of fresh air..." Tempest made effort to offer a smile of encouragement as she turned away in retreat to the desk's reassuring familiarity.

Chasse de Mer 16* 10' 44" N / 61* 6' 6" W Early evening made its way without hurry or concern to the wants and needs of the mortal realm. Westward, Old Sol had begun the end of daily duty with the grand display of Caribee hue; splashing the heavens above with colors of no earthly name and a vastness of tincture uncaptured to a master artist's brush. Delicate zephyrs taunted and tugged at massed canvas bundles above wooden surface of planked spacing; the eager touch of fluid salt caressed the length of bouyant French architecture and occassionally pulled to capture the frigate's whim against the refusal of anchorage held soundly by ring and hook. From the support of port gun'nel, Capitaine Fournier leaned leisurly in survey to the return of ship's company. Authoritive calls of coxswaine command rolled water's surface, drifting back to the frigate and her comander's hearing; one need not the aid of 'glass to gage the dishearted expression over most of the approaching faces. Jean-Micheale suppressed the amusement he felt inwardly at the sour manner on display, for it was a truth shared well betwixt commander and crew that these "little liberties" ashore with dusky skinned beauties were given with frequency; a common place thing that, regardless of grumblings, was very highly prized by those who had served under other not so generous captains. Fournier was no fool, little things of reward, such as this, kept moral in decent state, and in return, all that was ever asked in boon was unwavering devotion. And that particular tithe was paid readily by every rank that made Chasse de Mer home, for the perks were a wonderful thing, but to serve under a capitaine of well touted career history made for grand bragging rights in port. Bragging rights of proportion always made for entertaining promise on land and guarantee of extra coin to be had at sea. Turning from the rail, Fournier made way to his sheltered domain of grand cabin to gander the charts spread upon sprawl of eloquated table. Running an index finger over parchament offering, he traced from current local to the North...and destination of near future. Pouring a goblet of spirits from ever attending decater, the intense tint of amber sight centered on the all too familiar rendering that would allow for hopeful unburden of dispatch; one currently under locked security. Deep within the mental corridors of clever nature, a thought played hide and seek, temptation called to inner hearing, to the possibilities that lay ahead with official buisness put to rest. The world was an oyster and all it took was the proper state of mind to obtain the pearls held within. Focusing upon the rendered land mass floating on pristine inked waters, Capitaine Jean-Micheale Fournier smiled...A smile that could be labled disconcerting to one who might go so far as to ponder the thoughts causing its' appearance...

With the new menagerie of splint secured into place, Armand and the Surgeon stood duty to either side of the Master at Arm's in support to christening in movement across the Ward. It was a slow process, one that required a certain amount of patience balanced with encouragement. Onward they progressed with steady and unsteady gait to reach the familliar desk, where Jack was allowed a moment or two of rest and a cup of freshly brewed Venitian reward. Tempest was pleased with Jack's efforts which could not be concealed with the smile of approval that lay over her normally stoic features. The mood betwixt the trio carried no reflection to events of the night past and a lightening of spirit seemed to give renewed life to the room's surround. Setting the delicate cup down to the worn wooden surface, she gazed placidly to the Englishman and after a moment's thought, spoke with verbal caress... "Monseigneur, I am in await of news from above in regard to our current situation. If all proves well, Armand shall help you to your private quarters...I am sure that you tire of our company, by now." The corners of full lips tugged upward in impish smile... "I shall procure crutches to support your weight, this will allow you more mobility, though I do not encourage an overdoing of such. As always, you are free to send for my audience at anytime if you have concerns...or need for a sympathetic ear in light of recent revelations." She let the semi-silence hang the air and sipped from delicate rim before continuing. "I shall ensure that someone is assigned in order to aid your needs while you recover fully. I caution you that the splinting about your damage limb serves rightful purpose, but, do not think for a moment that you should put your complete trust in its' nature...You will be rid of its' burden soon enough." The emerald pools of sight hazed in slight to inward contemplations then regained clarity and center on Jack. "It has been a great pleasure, Monseigneur St. Anthony...And mayhaps another time shall present itself where I may be at liberty to cast light upon your wonderings of last eve...Mayhaps." A muffled scrape of boot heel sounded from the outside world, followed in kind by rapping of hail to the bolted oaken door. Armand inquired to nature of disturbance, the Dragoon's pistol charged and at ready within left handed grasp. Satisfied for the moment to the unseen visitor's want, the heavy plank barrier was removed, the muzzel leveled to target by out stretched arm and the door creaked protest as it was swung to on iron supports. Awaiting entrance stood the Captain's Steward, eyes wide and unwavering from the large muzzle of murderous desire. The whiter shade of pale that adorned feature was in direct harmonic reaction to small squeek unwantingly emitted and drop of paperment to the planks below. The Gascon lowered the hand cannon, and with sheepish smile, bowed to her with grand flourish, retrieving the dropped object in course of travel. Tucking pistol away, Armand ushered her in and resecured the door. "Pardon moi, mademoiselle..." The smile widening as the folded parchament was handed back to her possesion. The Surgeon stood to receive the new guest in welcome. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Smith... and to what honour do we owe your visit?" The Steward handed the note over, still a slight shaken by the previous greeting. Tempest offered a cup of refreshment and a seat as she scanned the note's content and shook her head to its' tellings. "Merde..." The Surgeon whispered underbreath in disgust to the new day's findings as she regained seating. The mental cogs shifted and whirled in brief before the acknowledgment of present being came forward again. A fleeting quid pro quo danced betwixt herself and the Steward in update to the world beyond the Ward. When satisfied, Tempest stood once again and with precise instruction given, the 70 caliber pistol was procured and tucked away to hidden repose. The coup d'oeil played the trio, lighting one by one upon each before settling lastly on Armand as he lifted the barrier away and pulled the oaken door inward, once again. A silent exchange of concern harkened caution from one to the other, before she handed the parchament into his keeping and made way down illumination diffused path to the brightness above...

It was always in the wee hours of the night that it seemed her mind thrived in its greatest clarity; a certain soothing and balance within her soul that occured when the rest of the world lay unawares in their journeys of slumber. with the muffled chime of ship's bell announcing the pass of hour, Tempest moved from her place of repose to wander the confine of small medical realm. Her footsteps, silent as a mouse in padding across to where her charge lay in deepened slumber. Standing there in the shroud of shadows, Tempest wondered if the Master at Arms had been as careful in revelations shared as she herself had been. Watching the smooth intake and exhale of breathing a strange thought came to the fore front. It was obvious that there was a withheld further curiosity that Jack had left unvoiced. Inwardly the Surgeon smiled, for natural deduction would state that there had to be something more than platonic relationship in existance betwixt herself and the Gascon to the outer world...but, it could not be farther from the truth. The simple fact of the matter was, Armand Gabriel D'esnumbuc was nothing more or less than her half brother...a truth unknown even to the elder D'esnumbuc; just another skeleton hanging in the Bertrand family closet, one that was kept quietly and protectively hidden. "Oh the tangled web we weave..." Tempest whispered to the night as she turned from Jack, regaining the desk's post to retrive a text. Settling into the make shift bedding, glancing once to where Armand slumbered near bolted door, she then focused upon the wisdoms held and given within bound borders...

Retrieving the proffered flask from Jack, she partook of the aged elixir and listened to the deductions given by the former Post Captain. The expression she wore was one of nuetrality, a well practiced and honed skill developed over many years, in many locals. From behind she noted the soft whisper of cloth against wood, followed by the pad of footstep which ceased at the elbow chair's high back. As with any other situation that bore weight, her mental faculties digested with care not only what was said, but anything that could be gleened by vocal nuance or physical manner. Those subtle things that most overlooked, that were left unnoticed when they were the true defining elements of truth and possible consequence. And what was gleened from Jack St. Anthony's wordings gave finale seal to what she knew deep on an instintual level...This was a man of honorable being, of strong conviction and stronger spirit, a believer of the virtues of loyalty...but a force of reckoning if crossed. Tempest once again offered the silver flask then resettling into the deep recess of leather and ornate wood, steepled her fingers under chin and contemplated a moment more before speaking. " We all have our crosses to bear and deamons to place into check...Your prowess of deduction is very impressive, very impressive indeed..." She considered a moment more than continued. " We shall surfice to say, that Armand and myself have known each other since he was a very young boy. He has given a fine example, within his four and twenty years, to the manner of man that there should be more of in the world we know. As for his constant attentiveness to myself...He was that way from the time he was able to motivate under the power of own two feet, a time when I was a young girl and not as aged to my thirties as you see now. We have a certain bond and that is a telling in itself, you might say...His skills in the art of steel and ball are partially due to my own father's attentive training, but there are reasons beyond that..." The delicate brow creased momentarily in pause. "As to myself..." she smiled, " an "enigma" and a "keeper of secrets" you say, such titles of grand being. Very interesting indeed, Mister St. Anthony..." She chuckled softly, "I must say that I feel a certain flattery in the fact that I should capture your fascination, as I apperantly have, and will go so far as to say this much in response... Under my true surname, there are certain aspects of my bloodline that could be said to have impact in higher circles of prestigious manner...But, why dwell in the past. My father was a very skilled swordsman, an art he passed to me to aid in my safety within the unpredictable happenings one my encounter...My father did not believe that a woman should be forced to anothers mercy due to traditional philosophies. With regard to other observations...Sometimes, it is best that sleeping dogs lie..." "And now, we come to you...It is a cruel hand of Fate that has played your past and not one uncommon in all facets to what I have heard of before. For your sufferings, you do have my sympathies...for no one should have to face such adversity without justice served. This Carlisle rings familliar to me, though at the moment, its' origin plays elusive to my mind..." She paused in thought... "You owe me no debt of thanks though I do appreciate your thoughts and noble intentions. Far more than that, I appreciate your discretion and there is no need for the swearing of boons for I believe you to be a man of your word and will be satisfied with such." Tempest eased out of the large chair and gaining her feet, retrieving a dampened cloth, she attended the smallish nick that lay upon Jack's throat. Satisfied, she reached for the smallish knob controlling the nearby lamp's illumination and turning it low, motioned for the flask's return. In the half cast shadow the Surgeon spoke softly... "The hour grows late and I do believe you need your rest. It has been an interesting eve, Monseigneur. Please do not hesitate in request of need, but do try to obtain some sleep." She turned from him then and walked quietly to temporary bed near the desk. As she sat upon its surface, the deep green sight glanced to where her charge lay and wondered on the odd twists that came to bare on Life's journey. Armand moved to the desk and propping booted feet to surface support, twisted to look around chair's back to her with a raise of brow in silent query...

The Surgeon savored the words proffered much in the same way she did the tot of liquid fire. There was a tincture of desperation that underlied what was given as the Master of Arms stated his case. Tempest had given her word, not something that she handed about freely by any means, and the secret would remain safe in her care. She knew also, that Armand would act deaf and dumb to the revealings of past, regardless of his current raise of hackles. Jack's mention of suspicions proved did little to calm the Gascon, but being well attuned to the nature of human kind and with the next proffer of common ground in mother tongue, some of the steeliness faded from his vissage. Armand would give Jack a certain wide berth of respect in light of recent subject, but he would not become at total ease due to the Master at Arms' statements, which in eluded manner, pierced the enigma. Tempest approached Jack St. Anthony once again, flask in hand, and offering it to him stated softly, "As I said, my word as my bond...And I assure you, that it can be counted upon far more than the false statements that fly from the mouths on forked tongue belonging to courtiers. Your apologies are accepted and we shall put this behind us without drawing this incident to the surface outside of your possible need to vent." She glanced sidelong to Armand who now perched upon desk surface plane, "You may set your conscience at ease in regard to Monsieur D'esnumbuc, though I must encourage you to take heed in what I emphisize...Niether of us will allow harm to come to the other, as you have seen. I am usure of these suspicions that you have had confirmed, but would ask you what it is that you think is reality. There is no need for faleshoods to exist and take wing amonst common foremast jacks. So, shall we bring these things to the forefront and clarify what may be truths or untruths...in light of the bond of trust that lies betwixt us." She reached slowly for the flask's return...

Through the half lidded facade of unawares, the Gascon caught the rapid grasp and rough pull forward of his companion's offbalanced movement. It would be of amazement to those having become comfortable with the Gascon's general quiet nature and unthreatening familiar mannerism to see the swift and stealth movement that came to bare with the action presented by the Master at Arms. No sound to give warning of approach, no evidence but that of brief glint of dim light upon polished steel as the legnth and edge of main gauche was slid to rest and give pressure against Jack's juglar. The hiss of announcement gave echo to the murderous intent that played the darkened grey orbs floating above angled line of cheek. " Monsieur...It is to your best interest to release your purchase upon Mademoiselle...Do not force my hand...Release her now." The razor edge showed its intent as more pressure was applied to emphisize statement. Tempest kept a cool manner, never letting to surface in expression what the cadance of her heart was giving in reaction. The delicate sculpt of ear listened to the words from both parties, and ever so slowly, she looked away from Jack's expression to that of Armand's then back. The clutch upon linen tension eased but did not retreat compleatly and she noted the small crimson droplet that appeared at sharpened edge and flesh border. The tone of her voice was low, but carried all the stregnth and force of a brigadier general... " Non, Armand..." Her eyes locked upon Jack's own. " Arret et abondonner un proces, s'il vous plait." Against what the Gascon thought to be better judgement, he withdrew the blade though the intent in his expression still played strongly as he moved from the bedding's head to its side, glareing at the prone man before him. "Anglais chien..." "Armand! Ca suffit, c'est assez!" She commanded. Slowly, she took Jack's large hand in her own two small ones and gently plied his grip away. Regaining her balance she stepped back a pace to consider briefly what the Master at Arm's had offered into her confidence, her eyes never straying from the hold of his own. " Commander un navire...La Marine nationale Britannique...mon dieu..." There was a silence that hung the air heavily in segue to the Surgeon's next verbal relay. "Monsiegneur.... St. Anthony...Capitaine St. Anthony, you flatter me with your act of trust and I will uphold that confidence, though by all rights I should do otherwise in light of your actions. My word is my bond and I shall assume that you will do nothing in which to make me regret my doing so..." Tempest stepped back two more paces, waving Armand away and paused... " I must tell you...You are in dire need of learning the subtle arts in which to gain a lady's attention." A fleet of feral smile showed as she turned to regain the desk's company and a draught from the brandy flask that sat upon its' worn surface. Armand followed her wake, hesitaing once to fix the Master at Arms with a look of warning, before proceeding to the Surgeon's proximity.

The Surgeon paused in the application of suture, head cocked ever so slightly in inclination to the decks above...nothing since the finale thunder of powder roar...silence broken intermittantly by the sound of footstep over smoothed planking comprising border between worlds. A quick glance to the heavy door to the right gave sight to the large legnth of heavy oak plane supported by thick iron hooks to either side, a measure taked to disuade entrance unwanted to medical sanctum. Periphreal gave note of the Armand's lithe form suspened between elbow chair and sea chest ottoman. What an air of noncholance adorned the Gascon, such a fine farce to show this theater in the round...Tempest knew better, it was a fine portrayal in mimic of predatory cat; the poise of ignorance to surround, that was very aware. That faceand outward manner of angelic innocence had proven looks can be all to deceiving to those who wish to prod...and even as these thoughts travelled the corridors of her mind, she noticed that he had turned his aquiline line of facial feature to watch her...watching him and a smallish play of impish smile tugged hid corner of mouth. Returning focus to the man prone before her, Tempest gave quick survey to how the Master at Arms was bearing up. Jack seemed to be handling the procedure well, although there lay upon his brow a beading of sweat that betrayed something of his thoughts. The threatening of gag had been put into process, not for the original situation, but rather to guard against unwanted skreek as the needle and filliment worked pattern and drew void together...all and all, the same precaution to the ends and means going on in the other world. She was unawares of the "other" goings on and had no care to bring any ill fate down upon their heads. It was not as though she was squeamish at the thought of dismissing another's life, but, she saw no need for the un-neccesary calling to it either. The Surgeon was no innocent to situation where two meet and one walks away, no more innocent of such that the Gascon in near distance was. But...there was no pleasure taken in doing so and by her own hand, was only done by dire need. The finale play of filliment knotted into place, she reached to the near standing table, past the 70 caliber pistol and on to the delicate shears. Placing their familliar weight and feel into the wrap of slender digit, she finished the ceremonies at hand with a swift snip and returned them to there former place of rest. Looking over the rounded rim of spectacle, she smiled warmly and gently removed the rounded wooden bit from Jack's toothed grip. " At long last, oui?" She chuckled. Not waiting for reply, Tempest applied a thick, brownish salve to the affected area before wrapping with fresh bandaging. She glanced to the crafted splint laying in the pistol's company in brief, before saying... "We shall let you relax for a space of time before applying that splint...If all goes well, I shall release you to your own quarters soon. It is best that you remain here until all of this...buisness above is taken care of." She aknowledged Jack's smile of appreciation then cocked her hearing once again to the ceiling above...

The Surgeon listened with keen intensity to every nuance and condentation represented within the diembodied voicing that drifted from dark proximity. There was truth in the words, but there was a struggle of conscience that waged war within her soul. The silence hung the air with the echoed density of darkness. Quietly...ever so much with care and barely above whisper, she found herself proffering words that had not left her keeping since Ireland... " Oui...And if what I tell unto you leaves this room, there will be no reckoning of Hell that will equal the turn of Destiny that will be summoned...." She paused with deep inhalation then its reverse before continuing. "He was a Lieutenant des Chasseaurs a' Cheval de la Regiment de Dauphin...A Dragoon...."

There was a panic that rose within her being at the Captain's mention of her companion's shadowed past. The darkness that laid as heavy adornment to her seating covered the sudden start of her small frame and the mental cogs of her mind churned rapidly to what should be said. "Non..." Tempest bit her lower lip in nervous habit. "He is a natural at things....He learns quickly...." Her voice faded into the silence, and for all the years that the enigma had sustained itself without fault or hitch, she found her words carried a certain unconvincing air, even to her own ears.

In the darkend surround, she closed her eyes to the declaration; a sigh of resignation fleeting the silence. "I shall do as is expected of my warrent..." The mental cogs turned within cranial borders to the fates that could be tempted to such acts.

The soft rap on wooden surface drew the Surgeon from current scribing and with reassurance to the Master at Arm's of soon return, she left the familiar surround for the landscape of Great cabin. Gaining entrance, she stood with respect to the Captain and waited for the reasoning of formal request.

Approximately 15 N 35 16 W 28 French Frigate Chasse de Mer Soft glow of yellowed illumination flickered shadow play upon the deep burnished wooden walls of the Great cabin; from behind the long legnth of mahogany polished surface, the cumbersome weight of azure velvet stirred to the waft of room's inhale from the stern facade of glass left to slight gape. The thrum of liquid wake sang its presence to the two men gracing quater's confine, almost desperate in its apeale of notice and going so far as to offer a natural light show amonst its churn by way of tiny phospherous creatures rolicking amidst. Two sets of boots echoed each other's sentiment upon eloquated mahogany footrest that had burdened the wieght of dish and delicately prepared fare under normal usage. First Lieutenant Dominique-Gaston Lamaire leaned forward from chair's support to obtain the decanter of Calvados sitting exacting distance betwixt himself and his Capitaine; finding it an impossible task with present repose, he removed his boots to the floor below. Refilling his glass then topping of Fournier's own, he resumed the former placement of foot adornment and leaned a little deeper to the high backed chair's support and sipping from the elixir, watched his quiet companion in question. As if feeling the intense scrutiny from across the reflective divide, Jean-Micheale rousted from mind's wanderings and returned the scrutiny. "Que?" Dominique gave a vissage of innocence and returned the query, "Que? I could as the very same, cousin. Such a sour manner you present, it is as if we were returning to Fort-de-France rather than leaving. What doldrums of mood you have this eve and with us so close to Dominque that we could throw stones to taunt les Anglais while they wallow about in the night." The Lieutenant chuckled at the thought before downing the goblet's content. Realizing the mirth was not to be shared, he recomposed his expression. Fournier considered his wording carefully before voicing opinion... " I am of serious contemplation towards the act of resienging my commision..." Dominique let loose a bray of laughter which rang the wooden walls brazenly until the second realization that the mirth, once again, was not shared. " You are surely lighting jest...." His features became a picture of confussion. "You cannot be serious...Capitaine Jean-Micheale Fournier, second son to the notorious Amiral Fournier...What are you thinking, mon cousin? To throw away such brilliance in career...Mon Dieu, you were made into rank by twenty-four for your capabilities alone..." The Lieutenant digested what had been announced in brief then centered his attention back to the other man and atated as if in challenge, "Jean...You could not go on without the thrill of the hunt. It is part of your being as much as that of your brother's and your father's...It is foolishness that you speak." Fournier removed his heels from table surface and leaning nearer to close the gap between himself and the other, the fire of amber hued sight trapping his cousin's paler blue reflection. "But...There are more ways than one in which to answer the call to the Hunt...and that too, runs in our family..." Lamaire blinked at the hinted subject and a name of one kindered to their shared bloodline passed from mind to quiet voicing... "Monbars..." The smile that played Fournier's expression seemed to chill the near surround with its feral quality in reply to his cousin's announcement...

//He looks about the Sickbay, and sees the Surgeon at her writing desk. Although still weak from his recent fever and infection, he carefully swallows, then inhales deeply before attempting to speak :: Dr. Fitzgerald? We are under way, aren't we? When might I return to my post? // The Surgeon looked up from her entries and over the rim of spectacle to center on the query with a raise of brow. Tempest considered what was poised then left the desk's company to gain the Master at Arm's side. Pursing lip for a brief, the deep green of visual pool studied his face for a passing of silent minute before making thoughts known. "Are we not the eager gent, sir. I could very well turn you loose unto the world but, doubt you would do well without the suturing of gape that graces your lower appendage..." She paused in verbose, mind ticking away in some other reality, then returned to the current. " To answer your questions as presented...Yes, it is apparent that we are moving, though as to the where or why...I have no answer. Your injuries are healing nicely, and it is in my highest intent to apply the needed sutures afore the next turn of four and twenty hours. You will then be placed in a splint and turned loose of the Ward if that should so be your desire. I do not wish to begin this mentioned procedure until I am sure of the intent regarding our movement from mooring." Tempest studied the man before her with a certain reptilian lack of mind's pattern in reference to outer expression. "Upon your release, you will be unable to go about as though nothing has occured for a period of days and at that, you will have to rely upon some manner of support to your body wieght to become mobile. No heavy exertion shall be made, though I am sure that you will soon realize that exertion enough will be had just getting to and fro..." Reaching forward, she unbound three of the straps holding him prone, leaving the one across his waist in place... "Four and twenty hours, sir..." She started to turn away then paused to glance over shoulder. " I advise that you take no undue advantage in the romoval of binding. It would be of ill outcome to stray from where you are currently perched." With a nod to puctuate statement, Tempest moved away to the Cook's proximity. Releasing the straps that imobilized her freedom, she spoke... " You are free to go..." Returning to the desk, the Surgeon watched in peripheral as Christine removed herself stiffly from former position. There was a play of uncertainty that crossed the Cook's expression with the lack of instruction offered. Hesitantly at first, Christine's feet touched the planking below and after a moment of puzzlement, she quietly left the Ward's hospitality for the slings and arrows of the outer world.

Resting comfortably with the desk's attendance, the Surgeon sipped from the china cup of dark brew intermittant to scribeing the medical log laid before her. There had been no other upsets during the course of the night and tranquility hung the air with morning's arrival. The quill hovered over the ink pot's oriface while giving contemplation to recent observation and occurance. Delving into the distant past and the hallowed halls of Trinity, she racked her cephlalic matter for the workings of trauma and the effects of delusional behavior. The inner bearings of unconscience mind and its delicate balances were not subjects greatly covered. Even time spent in Paris gave no outstanding hint to what she was bridled with currently. Gazing into the dark liquid contained in delicate render, the Surgeon longed for something of more amber hue and sighed heavily. Tempest was irritated with the present quandries, she could remove a brain, disect it with finnesse, give lables to the regions and known functions; but the enigma that it contained by ways of psychological functions, were not on the higher lists of forte'. Upon returning to the surgical surround earlier, she had made note of the Cook's silent repose and moved on to the Master at Arm's. Removing the bandaging that gave slight barrier to outer air, she had been pleased to see that no sign of Bio-necrosis had come to bear. There were no more signs of diseased weep, swelling had made retreat and the angry redness was paleing. Signs of healling were apparent in the puckering of skin...Soon she would suture the gape, before the window of flesh pliability closed. Stepping back a pace, the Surgeon rubbed her jawline unconsciencously as she considered the straps holding Jack to bed surface. There was a fleet of sympathy that played the emerald orbs in regard to the bindings. In truth, if not for the delicate nature of the wound, coupled with the lessening, but still present fevered manner, she would be more than pleased to remove them and replace with splint to imobilize just the affected apendage...Glancing to the Master at Arm's sleeping face she whispered, " Ahhh...Fair les quatre cents coups, eh mon ami? Soon...Soon you shall be able to dance a horn pipe jig on capstan surface and make the others jealouse of your prowess in doing so..." The quill dipped the black liquid and paused its resurface, as sudden epiphany rose...What she was in need of was a Surgeon's Mate. It ate at her continuously that Armand was performing in such capacity. He never peeped a word of complaint, but it gave her feelings of certain guilt...and guilt never was something that she savored well. In the near future, she would approach the Captain with said request. It was nothing of immediate demand and she would wait until things were some what calm aboard, before doing so. Glancing in brief to the Cook's flacid prostation in near proximity with puzzelment, she announed to no one in particular, "There is more in heaven and on earth..." Then returned to the scribeing at hand.

Armand had returned to the Surgeon's Kingdom with a hint of smile playing his expression in reflection to the time spent with the Captain. The Gascon could not help but be entertained by the sly wit that the ship's commander rolled of with ease, for the fine turn of verbal prowess had always been a quaility that the Frenchman admired. Upon his re-entrance, Tempest excused herself for a brief in order to obtain a fresh set of garmets and a half goblet of cognac. Her mind traversed through the most recent events that had rolled through the deepened night, and gave consideration to the new set of challenges in due order of appearance. William had been allowed leave to the Great cabin, as was his desire...though certain restrictions had been instructed. 'A charming devil, that one', she thought while taking a sip from the amber liquid; a expression of satisfaction crossed her features with the psuedo heat warming her throat and her mind turned to the Master at Arms. A small chuckle emitted from her person while recollecting his statement of "wooing". Quietly she verbalized to the air, " If I were not one to know better, it would be my sumation that a good portion of the officers on this ship where d'Irelande in origin....Whether there be a truth or not. Such gentleman of silvered tongue I am surrounded by, of rougish delight." Tempest chuckled softly again at the observation with a shake of head. Her considerations turned back to the situations at hand and her newest charge. The Cook was an odd mixture of quandries, a riddle within a riddle that the Surgeon had mentally knawed at since the slip of a girl's appearence. The blow suffered to her cranium gave no serious indication of excessive trauma, the laceration was not near as ugly in context after the blood had been cleared away... Granted, there was an obvious raise of swelling at the impact point, but beyond that nothing of great concern. What details Tempest had been able to gather from observation and given report, gave hinting evidence to some mental trauma more than one of physical influence; fetal curl and mania strewn ravings brought foward the existance to things hidden deep in the mind's core. Was Christine a danger to herself?...Even of more import, was she a danger to those in proximity? Tempest took another draught from the goblet's depth, swirling the fluid fire about her mouth in contemplation. One word rose to the forefront...Sedation. There would be no gambit of risk involving guesswork until more was gathered to make secure a proper prognosis... That was when the unsettling howl broke the late night tranquility, a sudden disruption causing the sacrifice of fine hewn goblet to the wooden planking below with shattering protest. Regaining the surgery with rapid pace she found Armand trying to calm the Master at Arms and the Cook sitting bolt upright in a vissage of horror. Thinking quickly, Tempest removed a flask of brandy from its hidden nook and procured t the small brown bottle of laudanam accompanying a tin cup upon the sturdy desk. With practiced ease, the stopper was removed and nine drops delivered to the cup's want; the balance of void filled with the flask's content. The inclination of head gave silent direction to the Gascon; he moved away from Jack, gaining the Cook's side. With words of soothing tone, the cup was delivered to Christine and instruction delivered to the consumption of content. The Cook seemed not to understand what was being instructed, but with patience and encouragement, the frail charge gave in and was soon enough put to deep ease. Seeing the opiate taking hold, Tempest moved around to Armand's close proximity and with hushed wording, ordered the application of restraints. All was handled with cool calculation and rapidity and seeing all in order, she hastened to the Master at Arm's side. Once again she mopped Jack's glistened brow and gazed with deep concern into the widened eyes that snapped to her own. "Now, now...All is well, my dear." She paused to clear the stray wanderings of loose hair from his cheek. "There is nothing within these walls to offer you distress...You are safe as a babe in mother's arms, of that I stake my word of honour." There was a wildness that danced Jack's eyes, an instictual panic that had taken command of his senses with the manic ravings of his Ward Mate. Tempest contiuned with words of gentle ease and slowly, Jack calmed to his former state. She asked if he desired anything to give him comfort and encouraged that he try to rest. With a note of reluctance to take faith in her words at initial speaking, Jack hesitantly relaxed. The Surgeon took seating within the elbow chair's confine near the head of Jack's bedding and considered intently the thought of moving him to her own chambers in order to insulate him from futher distress. It was a sacrifice of comfort she would gladly pursue to ensure his recovery. Glancing to where Chistine slept with Orient guidance, Tempest noted that the bindings requested were well in place and that Armand had taken seating at the desk. The Gascon's expression gave no effort to disguise his puzzelment, one that was echoed in turn, by the Surgeon's own.

The fine display of teak craftmanship was stowed safely away until its need was called for. The Surgeon's wooden kingdom had regained its quiet existance after word had been given that none should trespass without medical need until the sun regained its place in the heavens. The Captain had drifted to sleep while studying the aray of charts he had requested, these had been removed from his person and placed securely in one of the large sea chests along the wall. As Tempest locked the charts away, she could not help thinking of their master. William was recovering from his injury in an above average foward progression. The last inspection of wounds gave no indication of swelling or discoloration; there was no evidence of ill seepage and his fevers seemed to have given loose their hold. She thought back to the conversation they had shared recently and how at ease they seemed to be with each other. It was very similar to the kinderedship she felt with the Quartermaster; though it could be said that there existed unique facets differing in both cases. If William continued in pace of recovery, she would give serious thought to allowing his request of return to the Great cabin in the near future. From behind, a sound of distress broke the silence and she spun on heel, centering on the source. The Master at Arms was in another unseen battle with the deamons that plagued his unconscience mind. Fleet of foot, Tempest regained his side and watched the troubled expression cross his features in reaction to the latest melee. Gently she mopped his sweat soaked brow to half ledgible verbal protest against his harriers. It weighed upon her heart heavily, these sufferings that persisted to taunt and torment her charge with relentless greed. The catalog that existed within her mental library raced to formulate a relief to Jack's angst. Modern Medicine would not due in this case, the parameters were too vast...But, she thought, modern technique was not always what provided the order of the day. There were other means...older means, and though some might look down on the methodes of certain aboriginal mixtures as false practice, she knew otherwise. The last inspection of Jack's physical ailment had shown some improvement, but it was the malady that tore at his mind that was beginning to concern her more. Mind and body were one in the same and in his tender state of being, Tempest worried that the mental may cause harm to the physical. It was during these musings that the call of urgency crossed the thresh hold from the outer world. "Doctor Fitzgerald! Armand! Ouvert, s'il vous plait!" Armand made quick work of the inner door fastenings and swung it wide to reveal the newest edition of the Ward's hospitality.

Frigate "Chasse de Mer" Anchored of the coast at Fort-de-France ~Martinique Capitaine Jean Micheale Fournier stood near the con, enjoying subtle pitch of deck below his feet and the quiet of early morning display of Caribbean dawn. As was normal to manner, he always felt a constant ease when on rolling deck versus the so called "stability"offered by land surface. It was always when on dirt terrain that problems seemed to crop up and taunt his physical- mental well being. He focused sight on architecture that comprised the growth of Fort-de-France and spit in mild disgust. Life was so much more simplistic when running blockade in the Med and he caught his thoughts wandering to memories of that far away place.The toll of ship's bell brought his attention back to the present time...and present aggrivations. Somewhere, amidst the slow to wake Martiniquais, there existed his largest irritation and a seemingly constant one at that. Monseigneur Louis Claude Garavaque, the name sounded almost as pompous and indugent as the man that bore it. The title of Gouverneur gave further proof to the fact that money and bloodline would enable incompitance rise to lofty position. It seemed that Garavaque bore no real love for Capitaine Fournier, either; for there existed a constant "push me-pull you" bout with every return to Martinique and that was of no secret. Garavaque gave great effort to making things more than just a bit unbearable with little games of self import, re-enforcing just "who exactly was in charge". The Gouverneur's latest attempt had been to keep the "Chasse" capitaine waiting outside chambers for the legnth of two and a half hours past the appointed time for report. Jean Micheale oft pondered whether these little shows of sadistic manner where just due to twisted nature...or that mayhaps Garavaque suspected the intimate rapport involving his Mistress and that this was a form of punishment. Gut instinct dictated that Madame Dourmerc was entertaining the uncivilized fiend at this moment, and the thought gave unconscience sudder to his stance. Moving to the taff rail, Fournier studied where the penninsula lay across the bay. Thankfully, it would be only another day's passing before he could issue orders to regain the open sea and leave all of this behind for a space of time. Unless, of course, the Aristo Bratling deemed to dictate otherwise....

Somewhat muffled by wooden insulation, the ship's bell tolled the hour from above. 'Fresh air above', Tempest thought and longed momentarily for the wide expanse concealed from view, but, leisurely pursuits had and would be placed into check. There would be time enough in the future and she knew in her heart of hearts, that the only things that were of import were those of the here and now. Loyalties ran deep when lives were laid on the line and she would fight against her ivisible foe until her own last draw of breath expired and ensure that the scales stayed tipped in her favor. Glancing to where Armand fought to keep from nodding off while seated against the wall, there grew a deep sympathy that filled her inner being, knowing that the Gascon had stood tried and true in the assurance that none would disturb this small world below deck. He had gone above and beyond, never giving regard or complaint to his own needs, such lay the bond betwixt the two. Calling to him, she relayed that he should get some rest, but was met by protest at the idea. Weariness may have plagued his form, but the cool grey of eye focused on her was sharp and clear. Normally very easy going, Armand could conjure moments of complete stuborness...and this was one of those moments. His refusal lay on the grounds of the odd occurances of late and that he had no desire to be far from her proximity for any great amount of time. There was validity in his point and she did appreciate it, for that matter... but negated it none the less. The Gascon tried to reason from another angle and she could not supress amusement in his effort to draw the Quartermaster's name into it...A stratagy that met with the same success as the last. Realizing that this battle would not sway to his favor, the Frenchman reluctantly gave in to her reasoning, but...only under the condition that the Dragoon pistol would be kept close to her person. Tempest agreed, the deal was struck and with a concerned look over shoulder, Armand left the room. At his departure, she proceeded in making round of inspection concerning the two other occupants to the Ward's hospitality. Standing over the Captain, she made note to the easy rythem of breath, announcing his secure journey abroad to the relms in rule by Morpheus. The pale of color was once again retreating his features to be replaced by the hint of ruddy hue. The scene that had played out in these very walls had given her great concern in regard to William's steady recovery. Such exhibits of stress would not aid his constitution, but rather drive them in reverse. A time in the future would present itself and she would call a meeting betwixt herself and he in private chambers...At that time she would remind William that said actions of bold injuncture could have done him to the Dealer. With a slight shake of head, she turned to gain the silent company of her other charge. Procuring a dampened cloth, Tempest gently brushed aside stray hair and dabbed the palid, sweat beaded brow of the Master at Arms and brief furrow creased her daint features in consideration to the seriousness of Jack's condition. The wound had been allowed to sour, a fact that moved its cure from a simple act of surgery to a situation of complexity. Infection had locked its greedy jaws into the damaged tissues, as well as those in the surrounding proximity. Even with the knowledge and the practiced skill that had been administered, the odds remained unchecked and the ante could raise at anytime. If time played her fair, the limb would be salvaged, but the scarring that would occure would never be kind to his eyes. Gaining seat within the ever present elbow chair, the Sugeon considered the timing of dressing change and treatment to the affliction. She had not dared to close the wound by suture with the first procedure, that finalization would not take place until she was sure that the threat of Necrosis had passed. Thankfully, she mused, whatever deamons that had ravished his unconscience state were now on hiatus. Jack seemed to be resting well outside of the evidence of above normal body temp. Leaning forward from the high backed support to rest elbow to knee and cheek to palm, she sighed with center of attention to Jack's sleeping vissage... "You are aware, Mister Samson...We really must not keep meeting in this manner..." She considered for a brief. "Folk will start talking and my, what scandlous whisperings will float the air...." The Surgeon chuckled, in spite of herself, and returning to former posture, took advantage of circumstance to rest her eyes.

Martinique ~ Chateau de la Argente' Lune Early Evening Madame Doumerc watched with appraising eye as Capitaine Jean Fournier buckled the hanger back around his waist. Reaching for the boots that had been cast aside hours before, he glanced over his shoulder to survey the seductive sprawl she presented amongst the scatter of documents and drape of silkened bedcover. In Fournier's mind, it was a very tempting thought to put off expected report of duty to Fort de France. Knowing better and being very bound to the wants of his position, Jean pushed the thought aside...there would be time later for such delights of passioned measure. Rolling to her side, Maguerite pouted in response to Fournier's replacement of shirt and coat. "Off to play good little soldier?" She purred in playful taunt. Fournier paused in the straightening of frock to raise a brow, " Such a wicked thing to say, petite chatte...You know that I have no control over what the Gouverneur demands. I have to give full report regarding Chasse de Mer'slast outing...and this is nothing new to you." She raised herself to lean against the vast quantity of pillows, silken cover sliding down enough to reveal the fullness of upper extremities and sighed heavily. "Very well...If you must and feel, in your opinion, that the Gouverneaur is a more tantilizing view and better company to be had...than myself." Her smile gave hint of challenge. The Capitaine pursed his lips to her jibe before answering... "Non...But, I oft times wonder that it is not a truth for you." He kept his expression neutral as the barb hit home and the flicker of displeasure traced her features, than dissolved as quickly as it had shown itself. Covering herself from view, Marguerite made busy with the documents laying about the mattress and acted to ignore the other's presence. Fournier, long accustomed to her moods when one upped, stood patiently as the minutes ticked past; a space of fifteen marched by before she looked up and spoke again... "You say that you spoke with Francois at Desirade and that this was given to you from Monsieur Laurent for my viewing?" "Oui...The details of the dispatch were not privy to me, but, I agree to bring it to you post haste upon my arrival back in port." Marguerite mused in brief before speaking again. "When will you again be leaving to the North, cher?" Fournier considered... "In two days time, I should think." She tapped the envelope she held against her chin... "Two days...Two days is very little time to handle the proposals contained herein...These requests are not of meager means..." Her voice drifted to quiet as her gaze returned in appraisal of the Capitaine's form. "I am sure that I will see you before you leave, oui?" Fournier's reply was a smile of carnal acquiesce.

Charge of emotional whirlwind hung with a unseen density about the Ward. The act of verbal chess that had transpired left the Surgeon feeling drained, not unlike the weariness that came upon one after a steel bout where life and death called the ante up. "Tired...so tired", where the words that wandered the corridors of mind as she looked upon the two men placed in her charge. These were the times that tried the soul, but it was not the first of such incidents in her years...Nor she doubted, would it be the last. Attention wandered to the smallish brown bottle of Laudanum resting upon near desk surface, six drops would set nerves to rest... but, she concluded, this was not the time for such notion. Forcing attention away, she caught Armand's expression of silent concern from the doorframe. "All will be well...." Tempest said, more to convince herself than her compainion, and moved to the Master at Arms' side. Knowledged observation told her more than she wanted to give reality. A scent mixture of fevered sweat and infection clung to Mister Samson with greedy desire. Unconscience rant rang the solem bearing of the room as she looked upon the contort of demons letting themselves be known by word and facial expression. Rousing from their resting place, the Surgeon laid to view the instruments of destruction and salvation upon the table which had given support to their weight in the near past. After a quick mental inventory was placed, she turned to catch the Gascon's attention. " I require boiled water from the Galley, a pouch of salt...and the bottle of Dominican Rum from my stores, s'il vous plait...And please inform Mister Lasseter that none shall have free access to the Ward, aside from himself, without given permission. I cannot have the disruption of gawkers occuring while these men are under my care." Deep green of visual content surveyed the ravaged flesh of the Master at Arms' leg...If the Fates were feeling generous twice in such a small increment of time, the leg would be saved. The weep of wound was of a color not promising, she knew of limbs lost to lesser tincture. With practiced movement, the straps were placed and tightened in former post around the large frame of sea honed muscle...a forced slip by sudden movement would not fair well. The Surgeon stepped back a pace, a deep intake and release of breath, the calm of mind returned and the outside world feel away, as many times before. The requested items appeared and Armand slipped back to former placement in silence. A wry hint of smile played over fullness of lip, as sight roved the menagerie of steel and settled on what she sought, her whisper called summons and query to dull glint of German origin... "No rest for the wicked, mes amies...Shall we dance?"

Dr. Jekyl

There was a heaviness to the air and with the exception of ship bell chime and haunting creak of wooden hull, all lay still. The Gascon sat against the interior side of the door on a makeshift palet, armements well within reach. Two lanterns turned low, gave an effort of yellowed light to the dim surround and Surgeon fought for wakefullness, heavy text balanced percariously on knee and showing want to slide onto the plank flooring below. A rasp of voicing stirred the air, a rasp that brought the spectacled eyes to wide sudden start and aided in the text's wanting destination with loud thump of triumph. A thump stirring the Frenchman to acute awareness and sudden crouch. Standing with rapidity, Tempest looked into the Captain's half lidded eyes and nodded her acknowledgement to his request. With a half glance over shoulder, she relayed to Armand dispatch. Recentering to the man before her, she quietly spoke. "Much Joy to you, my dear...So good to have you back with us..."

Martinique The Chateau de la Argente' Lune sat poised in echoed conjecture to her sister on Desirade. A crowning jewel reflecting the wealth gained from wise business moves within the realm of merchant shipping ventures and management of cane plantations. The Mistress of the house lived in great decadence, which was afforded to her by the profit shared from her departed husband's partnership with the family Laurent to the North. Peruvian marble floors, furnishing of rich mohagany, crystal from distant shores and the certain attention of Martinique's governor guarenteed her indulgences beyond limit....and idulgences were something that she had a very healthy appetite for. From the depth of soft feather mattress, she let her mind wander and could not suppress the mischievous smile in knowing that the Governor had certain weaknesses that allowed her to play him as a fiddle to her whims and desire...Much to the oblivious knowledge of said Governor's wife. A distant knock sounded from the main doors below, breaking her current amusement of mental state. listening closely, she heard the expected sound of footstep sounding to the second floor landing followed by the cautious rap upon chamber door. She sat up against the pile of pillow... "Oui?" "Madame Doumerc? Pardon, s'il vous plait...." The voice said with hesitation. "Oui?" "Madame...Capitaine Fournier is waiting your audience in the drawing room. Shall I inform him that you wish to visit with him or that he should return at another time?" The vixenish smile played her features as a new set of thoughts appeared in her mind. "Marie...Please tell the Capitaine that I shall be down very shortly...do offer him refreshment...I am sure that he is weary from his travels..." "Oui, Madame." The footsteps retreated and Marguerite Doumerc left the deep feathered comfort to adorn herself in something guaranteed to obtain proper reaction or ....salute, as it were.