Tempest Fitzgerald

The young Frenchman sat casually upon the heavy trunk of personal possesion. The debate of its content nagged at him when ever he allowed it to and over the course of days, Armand had come to the conclusion that perhaps he should give in to what was only right. Leaving the Ward and gaining the upper deck he observed the usual scurry of here and there by the other occupants of the Frigate before finding the one individual that he sought. Spying the Quartermaster towards the stern, Armand proceeded to where the officer stood and waited patiently to be aknowledged....

Bad hair day

The hectic pace of demand, duty and schedule reached some semblance of amiable stance, the figurative "eye of the storm" was readily taken advantage of by the two figures leaning on the stern rail sharing a bottle of cognac. Conversation flowed easily in the perfect presentation of temperature and offshore breeze; sometimes in Francais, other times English or a combination of both. But, regardless of the verbose guise, the ease of which the two relate topic, showed evident comfort in disclosure of opinion built by years of trust and respect. Observations of current situation, near and distant past are probed, rehashed and considered as the ever present call of local avians trip the light fantastic in the heavens above. The clamor taking place abaft of where they stood was completly disregarded, as if the very being of it did not exist. Twin crystal goblet's are filled and a silence takes the stage, though not one of ill want or discomforts. Friendships, such as the one shared betwixt the two, are not always in need of the constant utterances of verbal prompt to be put at ease. It is what some might consider a perfect moment of peace, punctuated here and there by a knowing sidelong glance or smile. A tranquility sometimes given to appear after the journey of a fridgid winter's night has come to end, marked by the warmth of roaring peat fine in hearth confine and relished in satisfaction from the deep sinking comfort of well loved chair.

Iron Maiden

Full aware the act of sneak that has happened, though acting a portrayal of ignorance. The Surgeon contemplates the Oath taken at Trinity,"Do no harm". "No harm" being a subjective term, she makes no indication to what she knows to be a full truth. She will allow the Monsignor and "cabin boy" their little ruse. A ruse that will teach lesson to the disregard of orders perscribed. Glancing to where the Monsignor plays a picture of innocence, she inwardly smiles. The fact of the matter being that in his general condition caused by the events not long in the past and the very light diet that he has sparingly consumed, the qualities of the heavy food that is stashed will do one thing. The guarentee of racking nausea will hit like a large hammer once the trespass of meal has been consumed. Standing to regard her guest, a small sly of smile fleets her expression before speaking. "I assume you may be left to your own accord for a space of time, sir. I am in need of the upper deck and shall return soon enough. you will excuse me." The Surgeon turns away for the door, pausing just once to show a flash of feral smile then continues on to the companion ladder and the brightness above. The word " touche' " echos her mind's eye....

Endo Cardio Evasive Procedure

Pausing mid-sip of the newly poured cup, The Surgeon placed it near on the flooring. A look of skeptisism crosses her expression briefly before answering. "My goodness, sir...We are chatty and full of question with the break of this day! I will answer in turn, only if you calm yourself. It is not wise to stir yourself so, mind...The incident in question ocured a fortnight ago. Yes, it is a certain debt of gratitude you owe to Ciaran for hasty dispatch of your inert form back to the ship. He never left your side out of deep concern. It was a species of Tree Viper indigenous to the area that laid its displeasure upon you and you are very fortunate that it was not another species that lent you its tender kiss." "I was informed that a local doctor was brought here with haste by Mad Jack in my absence. Captain Wake was to your imediate need before calling in the local. These actions more than likely saved your life, Monsignor for I did not arrive back to these deck's until yesterday and Armand was with me. We were unable to attend you until that time." "I shall attend your progress, if all is well...perhaps something of a more solid substance can be allowed for your evening meal. To ease your mind, I have been informed that the water procured was of sweetest quality. In regard to the where abouts of Ciaran...of that I cannot be sure. I should hope that he is resting, it has been a very long haul for him and when last seen, he was in the nearing state of exhaustion."

Handing a tankard to the Monsignor, the knowledgable eye gleened his current state of being. Her guest's palor was of a better nature and there was no evidence of the fevered sheen that had laid over his body in the earlier hours of the night past. Raising one brow to the Monsignor's query, "Non...rather, no. There has been no battle, simply a calling of hail and a conversation betwixt captains. Nothing that you should worry yourself with. Do you feel a desire to eat?" The Surgeon moved to the banded chest to retrieve the kit in order to change his bandages. Returning, she took her station upon the small ever present stool. "I encourage you not to remove yourself from this cot, as of yet. Perhaps later in this day, we shall take you above to rest in an elbow chair...I do believe that a breath of fresh air and company would do well for your constitution." The Surgeon pauses in the romoval of cloth from around his arm to glance over the rim of spectacle frame. "Mind you, sir...if taken above, you will stay put and relax. It would come of no good for you to be tempted to leave the chair's support in order to do a hornpipe jig..." Her expression shows a hint of amusement as the bandages give free from their hold. Careful inspection reveals the site's swelling in retreat and the angry coloration lessened in hue. The sound of light step from behind redirects her attention to the door. "Bonjour Armand! Comment allez-vous? Epuise'?" He smiles, "Oui. Cela m'est egal, mademoiselle." Placing the tray of coffee and soup on the desk, he looks to where the Monsignor lies and is pleased to see him of better manner then last seen. "Cafe', mademoiselle?"

Somewhere above the planked ceilling the ship's bell tolled to call the change of watch. Buried under a light cover and lulled to the gentle sway of hammock, the Surgeon mused groggily over recent event. The night had been a rotating scene of catnap and rousing to ensure the Monsignor's constitution through the hours of darkness. She reflected on the kindness and determination presented by Ciaran, for no manner of encouragement could sway him from Diegos' side, though it was obvious that exhaustion was taking it's toll. She would make recomendations to William in regard to allowing Ciaran's catching up of needed rest. Exhaustion could invite maladies that normally would not be able to gain purchase, a point that could very easily pertain to Armand and herself all considered. Her thoughts turned to her constant companion. Though he always offered a ready smile and encouraging word while they were in private surround, she knew that he had been pushed and the recent goings on had worn him thin, though Armand would never admit to such weakness. She was well aware that the requirements of Post in his past had entailed rigorous duties often the demands of riding day and night across country in defense of the French Crown. There are injustices that happen to the most innocent and unworthy of such, lies spread over petty jealousies that snuff brilliant standings hard earned. Masquerades created to protect and enigmas placed into play to cover the truths... The ship was rousing from its silent repose, the tread of footsteps could be heard here and there as the lifeblood and backbone of the Floating Nation rose to the new day's call.

Hearing the soft rasp of whisper, she turns to focus on Diego's face. Not having seen Armand since she left Le Nymphe, she stands and consider's what best to offer as sustinance to the weak gentleman laying near. Portable soup...that will do just fine, she thinks to herself. Portable soup for the Padre and sleep for me...she muses. Refocusing on the captain. "He is a bit ragged around the edges for the time being, but I do believe that he will be up and about as normal by weeks end. Moreau? Something wrong? Is Le Nymphe still here?"

Instinctual feeling tells the Surgeon that someone has just entered the room. Securing the last of the cloth bandaging she turns to see the Captain standing quietly near the door. "Hello William, so good to see you. All is well at hand here, the padre will live to spout scriptures another day. What may I do for you?"

The Ward gave comfort of familiarity to the Surgeon's jangled nerves, low light, the worn desk, the medicinal smells wafting from the large banded chest nearby. Retrieving her spectacles from the desk's drawer she crossed the room to check upon her guest that lay in a semi-fevered state. 'The stool...where did I leave it last?', she thought to herself scanning the area and coming upon the stool and the timid gent that sat upon it holding what looked to be a worn satchel upon his lap. The man visually jerked upon notice. "Well now, what do we have here?...Spirit?....Deamon, perhaps?" She chuckled. Taking in the manner of a nervous rabbit that the stranger exuded, she stepped in his direction with a raise of one delicate brow. "I do believe that you are familiar to me...hmmm...Ah yes, it comes to me now. You are from town, the local practitioner if my mind servers correct and I shall assume that you were brought here in my state of absence to attend to the gentleman over there." The Timid Man nodded, but vissually relaxed when realization hit of the other's station. "Than I thank you for the great service you have performed and praise your dilligence of skill. If you will be so kind as to inform me of what you have done and observed, it will greatly lessen the strain of my efforts." She listened with almost a casual air as the town doctor related his findings, occassionally asking a question to clarify proceedings. "Make yourself comfortable sir, unless it is that you would prefer being in attendance of my inspection at hand?" The timid man stood and came closer as the Surgeon unlocked the large banded chest and removed a small tightly wrapped piece of leather before returning. The stool had been brought to Diego's side and she rested her wieght upon it to remove the bandages that cover the site from view. The flesh revealed below was livid in discoloration and but she observed no sighn of infection present. Satisfied, she stood and returned to the chest, with a glance over rim to the other doctor. "It appears that our friend here had a mishap and crossing of paths with Trimeresurus Schlegelii, more commonly known as a Horned Palm Viper...A tree dwelling serpent that preys upon birds generally." With an expression of relief, she removes a brown vile from the trunk and new dressings. "Fortunate for our guest that he did not encounter that serpent's cousin, Bothrops Atrox, the Fer de lance...or Lancet Headed Viper, would have ensured this bit of rest was a perminant one. Our friend here will recover fully, I do believe. "

Sighting the Quartermaster, she smiles wearily* Mister Lasseter...Good to be back, though a bit worse for the ware. So good to see you, as well. I have left Armand with the Captain and can assure you that all will be fine. As to the condition of the Padre, I need to know when it happened and how it was attended to, if you please.

As Le Nymphe's launch nears the frigate, the coxswaine calls out to ship oars and the dwarfed boat comes along side. The coxswaine reaches to the Watchdog's girth to steady the smaller boat as one of the oarsman aid the Surgeon over to the steps leading up the gun'ale. "Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Lefebure." "Cela m'est egal, Mademoiselle" The launch pushes away with her safely gaining the deck above. With a wave to her in deaprture, Coxswaine Lefebure calls to the oarsman to unship oars and pull back to Le Neymphe.

" Cutter?...But, I do not recall...." She catches the brief narrow of Moreau's eyes in peripheral then centers on William questioningly. " Capitaine Monreau, would you be so kind to assist in this, sil vous plait?" "Avic plasir" A round of orders are given in rapid succession and La Nymphe's launch is removed from the foward deck and lowered to the calm water below. Carefully climbing a ladder down the gunwale, the Surgeon takes a seat as the oarman get into position for the pull across to the Watchdog. Capitaine Moreau looks to William with the Surgeon's departure. " I am sure that we have time to give you a tour of the ship...In fact, Monsieur D'esnambuc," A nod to Armand. "Could probably tell you more about her than even I, his aunt Madame Laurent is the owner of this vessel."

The shadows of weariness still mark the Surgeon's features as she takes her place next to Armand and Capitaine Moreau. Her brow furrows at William's announcement of conditions on board the Watch Dog. " Good day to you, sir! It has been very harrisome these days past and it appears that it is no better here. A serpent you say? Then I should look into it imediately. How long ago has this happened?" Glancing to Capitaine Moreau... "Pardon, Capitaine...I must beg your leave. This requires upmost attention. Perhaps you will stay for dinner? It is the least I can offer to the hospitality and aid you have shown." Center's on William... " I shall leave Armand with you to help you with your needs while here on Le Nymphe. I shall assume there is someone on board that knows the details in regard to the incident involving the bite?"

Moreau returns the smile warmly, though makes note of the other captain's survey of decks. Stepping forward the elder man removes his hat to tuck it under arm and receives the strong clasp of hand. "Enchante, Capitaine Holland. You do me honor in aquaintance. It is fortunate to you that my grasp of English is better than your French, non? May I offer you something to wet your thirst?" From behind, the soft scrape of boot sole on wood planking announces the arrival of another. Armand takes his place next to the large frame of Capitaine Moreau, his expression bright at William's presence. "Bonjour, Capitaine! It is very good to see you again."

Years of conditioning take over as Capitaine Moreau aproaches the portside rail to look upon his guests. The weathered features betray nothing of the knowledge he has glimpesed from the cutter's bow. At the hailing, a broad smile of welcome crosses the deeply tanned face and he calls to them. "Fair bon accueil et bonjour, Capitaine. Permission granted." He steps back, surveying that all crew stand to attention along the main deck in welcome the stranger.

The cutter reapears, a small compliment of men at her oars forcing the forward progress to where La Nymphe rides at anchor. The sun overhead gains power over the scant of cloud spray, just enough to throw a reflective shine from the gold gilt escutcheons marking the cutters bow. Moreau opens his 'glass to get a clearer view as the gap of distance closes....Chasse de Mer.

The intense pierce of grey eyes narrow a slight as Moreau's mind works over the sight of the cutter. He decides to bide time until able to view the longboat cleared. There is some matter of ship's buisness taking place on yon decks and he focuses to determine the goings on as two seaman are led below.

Nearing the mouth of the cove and assured of the frigate's knowledge of friendly intent, the achor is ordered to secure position. Capitain Moreau watches the decks of the other vessel, old instincts die hard. Noticing the re-emergence of the Frigate Captain's presence on deck adorned in finery, he retreats to private quarters to return the show of respect. Gaining his former station on the poop deck, Moreau gleens the form of a large launch coming around the Frigate's bow. There is a familiarity to the cutter's line that nags to be recognized and the Frenchman scrutinizes it a bit closer .

Nymphedanced the foam that caressed her fine line, heeling to starboard just once before continuing on her forward progress. Capitaine Moreau scanned the frigate's deck, looking for the man described as the master of the variable threat asleep in the cove ahead. A flash of reflection from afar drew his scrutiny to a lone figure standing calm amonst the semi-flurry of movement... "So, mon ami...I see you are curious and probably a bit shaken by our sudden appearance. For thirty years, I played my part by the ruse de guerre for the La Marine Nationale and have met such as you...I shall remove your fears, I think." Turning toward the main deck Moreau called a series of orders in the fashion he had learned in service of the French Crown. The fore and main sails were taken in, leaving her to the power of her smaller mizzen at the aft quarter. Surveying the cove again, he gave a nod to the hand standing near one of the polished culverins to which the waiting slowmatch was applied followed by the thunder of blank shot. Her pilot deftly heeled her to port showing her legnth once more to those in the cove. Signals broke out to announce the xebec's intentions. Moreau studied the Watch Dog with a wisened eye as he addressed the man steering behind and to his left. "Monsieur Chevalier...keep this bearing. I wish to be no closer until I know that they understand our intention. With luck, someone aboard that ship is a former La Marine Nationale de Angleterre. If there is no response, we shall run up the white semaphore."

Fatigue had finally taken its toll, the events in succesion from the hard ride over land, on to the favors asked and aquisition of the letter of recomendation from Monsieur Laurent, the hastened pace of sailing from the area in which the chateau resided to the bay and the meeting upon on the Chasse de Mer... Capitaine Fournier had insisted that they join him for a "light" meal which had covered the long table in the Great cabin. Conversation travelled easily betwixt the three and she had caught the fleeting scrutiny cast from Jean-Micheale's glance as they had relished the aray of delicacies proffered. Tempest calculated his age to be of nine and twenty years with the passing of six, since they had last been in each other's company on Corsican shores. Those six years had done nothing to dull his fine figure of wit nor cloud decisive intelligence, and it was of no suprise to her that he appeared to have gained the status he had longed for in that past life. Acting numb to their past, Fournier graciously and without hesitation, agreed to attend the important declarations into the possesion of requested personage at Fort-de- France. As they had left the Great cabin's confine to cross over to the waiting xebec, Jean-Micheale had caught her arm gently to pause her step as Moreau continued on. For a moment, nothing was said, they simply eyed each other in somewhat uncomfortable manner. " I see you are well..." Tempest said, eyes dropping to the planking below. She had been fast asleep in Capitaine Moreau's quarter's for three hours when a gentle prodding aroused her begrudginly to the waking world. Goggily she sat upright upon the Capitaine's cot and through the blear of sleepy eyes, looked upon the pleasant features of Armand. "We are a mile out from where the Watch Dog is at anchor. Capitaine Moreau is going to stand off and on as he gets closer to send signal to assure no aggressive action on our approach. The hands are readying the launch to take us across once we have anchored outside the cove." Retrieving a fresh cup of coffee from nearby, he offered it to her with a smile. "Capitain Moreau sends his regards and offers that this may be of aid to your current state." She accepted the cup and inhaled the liquid's pungent aroma with appreciation. "Merci, mon cher...Please tell Capitaine Moreau that I am thankful for his kind hospitality and that I shall be on the decks directly."

The easterly heavens were clothing themselves in the instense hues of salmon and stiking magentas as the xebec worn in closer to the nearing bay. La Nymphe moved with the grace a practiced dancer, her three lateen sails catching the palette of the skies in dulled reflection as she heeled to make the inlet. A piercing glint of high polished alloy winked as one of the six culverins was manuvered upon its swivel, charged and fired. The signal roared its announcement to the frigate, Chasse de Mer, riding gently at anchor further in. The xebec took in the triangular mass of canvas at her foremast to check speed, waiting patiently for the frigate's acknowledment to her presence. From the frigate's waist, her Capitaine caught the vissage of the nearing vessel in the scope of his glass. He was familiar to her lines, La Nymphe was a regular visitor to Martinique's shores and privately owned by the family Laurent. Focusing closely upon the xebec's long line of poop deck, he recognized the figure of her captain, a man that he had shared many a bottle of Muscadet with in the past. With the Assurence of the approaching sail's identity, Capitaine Jean Micheale Fouenier collapsed the spyglass, barking orders to have return of the fired salute. En route to private quarters, he paused to the proximity of Lieutenant de Vaisseau Durand. " I wish signals run up indicating invitation to where we lie. I have known Capitaine Moreau for many a year and wish him to be treated with respect upon his arrival. I am going below to make myself into a more respecable presentation. You will bring him to my quarters when he graces the deck." The echo of the answering salute rolled over the watery distance as a bright display of colors broke out at Chasse de Mer's stern. Capitaine Moreau smiled, turning his focus from the frigate to the near standing passengers. "Mademoiselle Bertrand, luck is with us today. I had heard that Capitaine Fournier was in these waters." A glimpse of mischievous knowing plays in the older Frenchman's eyes. " I have known Jean for a very long time and also know that he carries a certain preferance to this particular spot for the replenishing of stores before returning to the Chasse de Mer's home station in Martinique. I am very sure that he will oblige Monsieur Laurent's request of dispatch to Fort de France. I am also confident you will find his company a joy... always the most supurbe of Muscadets in private stores. Now, if you will please excuse me, I need to attend to some things before we secure anchorage." The elder man begins to leave, but stops midstep with the notice of Armand who stands nearby. "Mademoiselle Bertrand, I think it would be best if Monsieur D'esnambuc stay below and out of sight for this visitation. Capitaine Fournier is a good man...But, a man is bound to duty and being that our young friend is considered traitor, be it false though the accuisation may be, I would hate for any ill to come of his presence being known. It could prove poorly, you understand. I so not think Madame Laurent would look to favorably upon her nephew's seizure." The Surgeon and Capitaine lock eyes in brief, a reflection of understanding crosses between without further explanation. "Oui, Capitaine...I do believe that your advice is of sound foundation..." Tempest had done well in covering reaction to the mentioned officer's name. She was intimately familiar with the name and the man that bore it. Looking across the closing of distance, she pondered the oddities of life and how ghosts of the past could appear half a world away...

Ethel gasoline( tinted red )