CaptainCiaran

::Again coin was given over to the Captain... the QuarterMaster next sellected one of the pistols... he checked it to see if it was loaded, it wasn't then he sighted down the barrel, worked the lock ensuring it was in perfect working order, then held it high for all to see...::

Here be a fine pistol... as ye see, she be in perfect fightin' trim... nary a touch o' rust, oiled n' clean... I fine piece ta 'ave tucked in yer belt says I...

Wot's our bid, aye?

(Ciaran nudges John with his elbow)

Tis a fine pistol there, but not the one of Diego's that I be waitin' fer.

It's the little Spanish snaphance that I'll bid on.

French kissing

making out

broken glass

fall to China

And if you mean rummy3, she took her Graphic down so I can't link it in.... 

Not sure that I understand, as I see her new graphic signature---WHICH IS SO FREAKIN' COOL---when I read her postings.

My nomination is fer Rummy3.

Rummy, post yer new signature graphic. Show everybody what ye got, I mean, show folks yer new design, luv!

echo

(As the Quartermaster lightened the mood with his auctioneerin' talk, Ciaran leaned over to John and says...)

Aye, tis a fine knife indeed, but I have me heart set on one of the pistols. I remember well the Monsignor using that pistol to the right of the blunderbuss when we were together up on the ropes fighting an enemy ship. Aye, he was a good shot, and so am I. The pistol is the item I want, no matter its cost.)

(The young Mister McGuinty nodded and smiled)

Arrr, I hope ye wins it, Ciaran.

Arrgh, I tell ye lad, I'm goin' to miss Diego as much as any man or woman on this vessel. He was a good man, opinionated at times mind ye, but fair in his dealings, hardworking when he needed to be, and a fine man o'the cloth, too, and he had a sharp-eye as a lookout.

He was me best bucko, he was.

(Ciaran's voice quavers fer jes a moment, before he regains composure.)

I tell ye, John, I don't know who we can get to replace him in the nest. I've been pullin' double watches whilst he was away, but I can't keep goin' on at this pace. I tell ye, I nearly fell asleep up there jes yesterday and that ain't never happened to me before!

I'd like to do it!

(McGuinty shouts so loud -- that fer a second Mister Lasseter thinks that he's made a bid on the knife. John quickly shakes his head 'No' to the Quartermaster, then continues quietly speakin' to Ciaran...)

I've been watchin' ye up in the nest and on the ropes since I first came aboard the Watch Dog. I love the way ye swing around up there like a monkey. And when yer sittin' up there watchin' the horizon with yer eyepiece...well, I can't stop...I jes... I bet the view is spectacular up there (John gazes upwards). I'd give jes about anythin to be a lookout like ye, Ciaran.

Well, lad, if'n yer serious, I'll have a chat with the Quartermaster or Captain William. We need someone to help out straightaway.

(surveying the lanky lad, Ciaran says,)

Well, John, ye look strong and wirey enough to swing from the ropes. How's yer deadlights? Can ye see okay?

They're good, Ciaran! I can see fine, even at night. I have eyes like a cat, mate. I see things that other often miss. Please talk to Mister Lassiter 'bout it, Ciaran! Please, mate! And if ye says aye, will ye teach me, brother? Will ye show me how to be a good lookout like ye are, like the Monsignour was?

Arr, indeed, I will, me lad. I'll teach it all to ye. How old ye be, John?

16, Sir. I turned sixteen a month ago.

Ciaran smiled, but before he could speak, the Quartermaster yelled out, Sold!

The lookout and John turned to see one of the crew walkin' up to take possession of the knife.

Thanks, Mercenary (says Ciaran with whipped cream in his goatee)

(Dazed, as if lost in a dream, Ciaran watched the two bodies slide into the sea. On cue, the lookout made the sign of the cross and whispered 'God rest their souls'. As his hand brushed against his sun-tanned shoulder, the sound of the volleys brought him abruptly back into the present. 'Funny', he thought to himself, 'I have not shown any open signs of Catholicism since fleeing Saint-Malo'.

Gazing out to sea, while the Captain continued speaking, Ciaran's mind again drifted, this time back to that center of worship and learning in France. He was but a lad when he had arrived from his Welsh homeland. Welsh and Catholic, nearly an unheard of combination, yet one that his family was so proud of. It had been his father who had sent him to Saint-Malo, that French city founded by the Welsh monk of the same name. Young Ciaran was sent there to study, to learn, to become a man of God, there in Saint Malo by the sea. Ciaran remembered how he cried as he left his beloved Wales, cried until he could cry no more. But upon sailing into the French seaport, he felt excited and almost happy. He thought back, also, to that moment when he first saw it.

Mont Saint-Michel. Even as a child, the sight of that place left him speechless, awestruck by its rugged beauty. It was a magnificent fortified mountain, named for an Archangel, rising up from the sea.

Young Ciaran was a good student and learned quickly. He was devout and attended mass regularly, was gregarious and well-groomed. The years passed quickly and as they did, Ciaran thought less and less about his family and his homeland. There were more important things to occupy a 16 year old's time. It was in Saint-Malo that his sexuality was awakened. Father Jacques had seen to that.)

Ciaran, Ciaran! Are you alright? (The lookout blinked and spun around smartly. No longer was he in France or Wales, but he was aboard the Watch Dog in the Caribbean. The voice calling him was the young lad standing beside him, John McGuinty.

Aye...aye, lad. I'm here. I'm, I'm right here. (Ciaran drew in a deep breath, raked his calloused hand through his long red-blonde hair, and smiled.)

It smells wonderful, though - like smoked sausages!

Now there's a scent ye don't smell everytime ye nuzzle up close to someone. LOL

I have images of Schemp from the Three Stooges in my head now!

Let's go that way!

Your quote is from "Willow", a really great movie.

Hmmm, how about this one:

"Gimme a vhiskey, ginger-ale on the side, and don' be stingzy, baby." (germanic accent)

Somewhat right, Duchess. I am absolutely no expert, but did grow up here in North Carolina, where the manufacturing of tar for naval vessels has its roots in America. It is my understanding that the pine sap/resin from the trees was boiled down and made into tar. Not sure if other ingredients were added. The final product was certainly waterproof.

I have seen pine tar soaps/shampoos in health food and 'country' stores, too. I believe it's advertised as a remedy for dandruff.

squirrel

no happy endings

Give 'em hell, mate! They deserve it.

in black

Snow? I be a bit jealous, Merc. Central NC had been forecast to get a little snow from that system, but 'nary a flake fell. This mornin' is clear and cold here, so if'n there's any extra hot chocolate, I'd love a mug...with whipped cream.

Gramercy. Stay warm, luv.

the Authorities

burning

idols

No tar on me tail, but some say we North Carolinians have tar on our heels, but alas, that's another legend.

So i start to walk up to give him a hug and he takes out a tiny box with a beautiful saphire ring. I had to double back and go to the backroom i was crying so hard.

This is so sweet! I am very happy for you, Bloody Mary.

messiahs