Tudor MercWench Smith

Tudor hesitated, standing under the shade, fighting the urge to turn back in her anger. "I had no direct orders to go back to the ship, SIR," She grumbled to the air, not able to bring herself to go back and show such an attitude to her officer. Enough had been said. "So I remained." She said, in a whisper to herself. Taking a deep sigh she moved on, discreetly looking over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner, seeing Pew and Eric, laughing and shaking their heads, no doubt at her expense, making her even angrier. She walked along the crowded lanes, watching the people, her thoughts stewing silently. As she walked she noticed the signs of the diffrent shops. She stopped in many, causing curious glances in each as she racked up large bills in each, paying for all without flinching at the gold she parted with out of her pocket, leaving directions for the miscellaneous packages of fabrics, leather goods and books to be sent onto the wharf to be taken on to the ship on the longboat with Pew's contraband. After leaving the gunsmith's where she had some trivial damage to her pistols seen too and looking at some new peices, she sauntered back onto the lane, feeling slightly less tense. A sign of the shop a few caught her eye and she made a beeline for it with a slightly mischevious smile on her face. "well, as I am to 'take my time in town', I shall." She went into the tavern, up to the barman and laying a gold coin down on the counter with a glint in her eye. "What have you by way of wines from Maidera?"

Tudor stalked through the crowds at the wharf, her eyes skitting around, taking in every face and form, looking for a certain familiar figure. It had been a trying time, the past several hours. Shortly after seeing the captain yesterday she seemed to have become all but invisible to the rest of the search party crew, always left to follow a few steps behind wherever they went, observing all the comings and goings. Eventually, upon the party's return to the tavern, she went to her own accomodations instead of drinking with the men, unwilling to sit bored while she could be catching up on much needed sleep. Her logic was, if they were ever going to accomplish anything, they needed to be alert and prepaired, and missing a few drinks and conversation might actually be of more use. Little had she known that their plans had not included stayin at the tavern they had stopped at, as they had many other evenings. When she rose shortly before the dawn, it was only to discover that they had not stayed, but had left after eating. With a grumbled oath, she started out to track them and spent the better part of the day making inquires and following their trail only to end up at the wharf. Finally she spotted them, seeing the Master-at-Arms, handing a coin to a young lad. Without hesitation, she bruskly pushed her way through the crowd, her swagger clearing a path, til she stood by the rest of her party. She snapped a salute. "Sir." She said tersly. "Reporting for duty, sir." She held her peace, not saying what she was seething with. It could be partially held as her fault for not waiting for orders last night, but she felt it was a moot point.

a dear lad of mine, when he got his liscence changed when he moved to Florida a couple of years ago had his curled pirate-y mustache. He showed me the liscense later when he moved home again. Very piratey, but not in the happy way . . .

The tavern was surging with activity, but there was hardly a move made that escaped Tudor's notice. No one came in or out with out her noting their looks, where they went in the room and how they acted. And while she was no where near letting her gaurd down, she felt confident and secure in that this was just like any other tavern and there was no immediet threat, and if there were it would be nothing that she and the rest of the search party could not handle. "Zees Tawny you zay. May he 'ave zee last name?" She reacted quickly to hear this response to the Master-at-arm's question from the corner of the turbulent room, her pistol waiting and ready by her side. She quirked an brow at the stranger's insistance that he meant no harm, but it had been her experience that anyone who held information of your enemies but held it like bait was usually up to no good. Her attentions were now focused on this man as Pew looked to Claude, and she was ready to move at a moment's notice.

Tudor stood aboard the decks with Jean, calmly discussing a list of errands. Her attention shifted from him sharply when a sudden splash and the boisterious laughter of several of the crew. Excusing herself from her conversation with her temporary assistant, she stode with purpose to the rail, where she saw one of the crew members bobbing in the water next to the hull of the ship. "What happened." She asked of the chuckling witnesses. "What do ya think miss? Ranst was to busy lookin' at the boat full o'ladies ta notice his balance as he sat on the rail." Woodington explained, shaking his head and chuckling. Tudor's mouth twisted in displeasure. "RANST!" She yelled down at the man who was now treading water and still oogling the women and cat calling to them. He looked up as he heard his name being angrily called. "Get up here NOW!" She ordered, her tone giving the only translation needed, leaving no room for question and with one final glance and blown kiss to the boat, he started to swim for the rigging. "Dorleac? Run and fetch Casteel to translate for me. When he found himself way onto the deck and shook off some of the water, Tudor was waiting for him. "And just what do you think you were playing at?" Her tone was chilled and more then slightly frightening. "Leaving the ship without leave? While on duty?" Her eyes never left him, her words directly adressed to Ranst even though they first went though Casteel. "He says t'was naught but an accident miss." The sheepish words were translated to her, Ranst trying to excuse his way out of trouble. "Tell me, would this 'accident' have happened if you had been seeing to you duties responsibly instead of shirking off and paying more attention to a bunch of whores that have been forbidden aboard." She stood not far from his face, her expression stoney. "Geen, ma'am." He hung his head. "I didn't think so." She glared at him. "Get back to work . . . now. You are now pulling a double watch." She said, upon which when was translated though to him, he was about to complain about, but quickly chose otherwise upon seeing the steel in her eyes. "And if you so much as even look in the direction of that boat again I will leave you to the captain for deriliction of duty." She warned with a pointed finger. "Well . . . what are you waiting for, get on with it." She nodded to him, then returned without pause to the instructions she was giving Jean before the interruption.

. . . I don't even know what to say - love and prayers to you through this, Snow . . . . I wish you and your boys peace during this time . . .

She grinned widely at him, taking the mug and lifting it to him in salute before taking a long swig. "What kind of weakling would I be if I couldn't handle tippling wine with women, aye" With that, she headed back for the Ward room calling her gratitude over her shoulder to Mr. Gage.

Tudor was getting a later start then usual, the party having lasted into the small hours of the morning. She wearily made her way to the ward room to clean up the last remains they had left behind. She squinted at the light the peaked through the cracks in the shutters over the window. Rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes, letting them become acclimated to the light, she started gathering up the last of the dishes to take down to the galley. She smiled as she remebered some of the higlights of the evening, everyone merry from the wine, some a few steps closer to intoxicated then others. But the evening was gossiped away, with plans for the shore. All had many plans for their leave, except Tudor herself, who did not make plans, but still she enjoyed sharing in the scheaming. Finally loaded down with all to be removed, Tudor made her way to the galley.

Tudor laughed at Siren's jest as she gracefully moved around the table filling wine glasses for the ladies that had just arrived. "Indeed," Concurred, a hint of silent mischeif in her eyes. Slowly, one by one, all those able to attend filtered in and were given drink as they took their seats at the well set table. Tudor easily slipped into the role hostess, orechesterating conversation and keeping the mood celebratory and though she only wore her worn shirt and red petticoat, she leant the common clothes an unspoken elgance with movement and manners. Soon, laughter and light chat filled the room and Tudor stood in front of her chair and lightly tapped on her glass, seeking the attention of the room. "Ladies," The hum of noise lowered to silence, and Tudor raised her glass. "A toast if I may." She paused to let everyone raise their goblets. "First to the Captain, who's kind manner and generous nature has given us this lovely little fete." There were some nods of agreement. "Secondly, to the Chef, Mister Gage, who's expertese has seen us well fed these past weeks and who's incredible talent will have us dining like princesses tonight." Hearty "here heres!" were mummered. "And finally - to us. We serve on a fine crew, lasses, and we are an elite amongst ourselves. Not often will you see women of such strength and merit, who have been bold and brave enough to gouge out a place for themselves in a world dominated by men. To our strength, to our ability and talents. To the women of the Watch Dog!" Cheers and the clinking of glasses echoed her. "And here is too a fine time ashore and a fine meal ahead of us!" she sat down, and with that, they begain to eat.

Since after the meal had ended, Tudor had not held still. While the captain adressed the men who were to sign the articles, she worked on clearing away what was left from dinner. She smiled to herself as she noticed the curious glances of the new men. It was always the same and a period of adjustment was always needed when outsiders joined whatever crew she was serving with, and they were shocked to find a woman. It made no diffrence to her, other's opinions. After she had finished with that, and bore the last load of dishes to the galley, she had offered her aide to Mr. Gage, who was prepairing food for Doctor Van Zandt and Raymer, who even at that late hour were still at work among their wounded, and any other late serving crew. They worked in silence till all was done, and the Ship's cook started to put the kitchen fires down. All became silent in the galley, and she made her way to the ward room, to make sure it was secure before she would retire. In almost wraith like silence, she moved around the empty room, making sure the last of the broken glass was swept up and disposed of and that the empty windows were shuttered up tightly for the night. She finsihed that, then after taking one last inventory of the room, she closed the door, and made her way topside, to take a breath of air before she retreated to slumber. As she looked up to the sky, remembering when she was first taught how to mesure time by where the moon was in the sky. She looked at the moon and sighed. It was just then midnight.

She nodded breifly and stood from the table, pushing her food away. Making sure that she pushed her chair back into the table so no one would trip over it, she followed the master-at-arms to where he had a moment past stood with the captain. "What can I do for you, sir?" She asked, her tone that of a soldier at attention.

Tudor sat at the end of the table, out of the way from all and keeping her peace during all discussions, just simply enjoying the well prepaired meal. It did gain her notice however when the Captain excused himself and left the dining area to go and speak to Mr. Pew. She wondered silently to herself what that could be about.

When Tudor surfaced on the gun deck from the galley, she went straight to where the table and chairs had been dropped when brought up from below. With a sigh and a shrug she palced the stack of dishes she carried up with her on the center of the table, and started to space the chairs out evenly and straight. In short order, all was ready. table and chairs were in place, and the table set in as good order as any of a fine banquet.

Tudor made her way towards the galley, sparing a glance at her bandaged arm just once. She gave a grim smile, the stories of scars she had shared with the captain putting her in a reminscient mood. But she flinched to remember a few scars who's orgins she had not shared. She touched her back and felt the large ridge across the width of it through the thin fabric of the shirt she wore. She closed her eyes and let her finger's follow it's line, almost as if it were a talisman to ward against ghost from the past and the follies commited previously from leaving more scars. She entered the galley to find Mister Gage already hard at work, knowing that all would be weary and hungry at the end of the day. Remembering the Captain's insistance at her relife from duty, Tudor smiled at sat herself atop one of the barrels and started to chat with the fine cook, speaking of the days events. A smile crossed her face when the conversation was interrupted from grumblings in the corner, and she saw young Callie, largely unscarred from the battle, sitting in the corner, fullfilling her duties as cook's assistant and hacking her way through some apples set to accompany the meal. The effort and heart were there, but unfortunatly the skill was not. Some were pared down almost to the core, others had bits of skin still clinging on. "Here lass, lemme show ya. . ." Tudor spoke with a kindly smile, to which Callie turned up her pug nose, her pride smarted, but Tudor just laughed it off, pulled out the small knife she had stowed in her boot and demonstrated. Soon, both were making quick progress, and conversation continued. . .

She looked down at her arm quizzically as she sat, almost as if she had not noticed her wound before. "Oh, that . . ." She said, a small laugh escaping. "Hardly worth mentioning. I've had far worse." She gave an impish grin, then flinched as she poked the reddened area on her sleeve. "Just one more scar to add to the list."

Tudor made her way into the ward room ahead of the Captain, turning up her nose in distaste at the choatic state the room was still in, despite her earlier efforts. Without thinking, she started moving about the room, working on sorting this and that trying to tidy the place. "What did you need Captain?" She shot a smile across the room as she asked.

Upon regainig the decks of the Watch Dog, Tudor gathered up a few of the crew who were unemployed with any pressing duties. Some she set to washing down the decks as the Captain had ordered, others she had follow her to the ward room to start moving table and chairs. If ever any of them had any issue with following orders from her, it didn't exhibit itself today. There was too much work to be done, and to many emotions - pride, mourning, fear, exitement, regret - to be felt. There was not time for challenge. Her arm stiffened as she went to lift one end of the table top, dismantling it to be moved. McCormick raised a questionign brow as he saw her wince and lower her end agin. Her bloodied sleeve had plastered itself against the wound, staunching the blood, but the movement of her arm had ripped the stiffened fabric away, tearing the gash open again. She just simply drew in a deep breath and ignored both pain, and McCormicks objections to her labor. She didn't know how soon the captain would be in need of meeting space, but she was determined that it would be ready for him whenever, and she wasn't about to let a small flesh wound stop her.

Tudor stopped short upon reaching the ward room. She had been so intent on the battle on hand, that she didn't stop to notice if any damage had been done to the Dog. And while the damage done was of no serious consiequence, a room with blown out windows was not likely to be the choicest of places for the negotiations. In fact, there wasn't one thing in the ward room that resembled any sort of order. "time to improvise" she nodded resolutly and started pulling a few chairs out of the dissarray that was the furnishings of the room. She quickly made plans to set up on deck once all had been cleaned from debris, but she would need help to move everything, and would need the captain's go-ahead. She went topside again to see how everything went and when she could expect some aide, then headed back towards the fluyt to see the captain. As she was making her way to the captain's location some dutch faces registered, the cook Cuylemburch, and a few able seamen halster - and the other one, she thought his name was Blikenderfer. She always had an uncanny knack for remembering names and faces. It was what made her so good at her job.

As soon as quater was called for and surrender assured, both Captains meeting and pausing to see to the dead, Tudor made her way back to the Dog. Her help would be needed. She took no notice that the better part of her shirt sleeve was stained crimson and stiff. Upon seeing that there was more then enough crew to see to the few departed members, Tudor turned her attention to tasks requiring more specific attention. Provided that the Cutter gave full surrender as easily as they had struck colours, then the ward room would need to be readied for the meeting of captains and officers in short order. The table would need to be set and refreshments made ready. Duties did not stop in the face of battle, and while the loss of crew was mourned, the way of things went on. . ..

The time between when the quatermaster had first briefed her of her task, to when the order was given to the boarders had been the worst part. The waiting was always the worst part in every battle. But when action was called, all of Tudor's anticipation released and habit and instinct took over. She was among one of the first too land. One of the first to draw blood as well, when a scrappy looking marine tried to stop her progress. The duel was short lived, there was no competition. She made her way quickly aft, any man fool enough to try and take her didn't live long enough to repeat the mistake. It wasn't until she had reached the flagstaff that she met any real deterence. There was the Dutch crew's obvious strong-man. She couldn't be sure of his rank just by looking at him, but she could be sure of one thing - this was the one none of his crewmates would pick a fight with. She took a moment to size him up, giving him a chance to brandish his blade and glare at her, trying to intimidate. With a subtle roll of her eyes, she simply raised her rapier in duelist's salute, and then it began. First came the predictable parries and thrusts of a fair fight. Then the pace increased, and all pretenses were dropped, and all tricks laid out - rules of engagement hanged. The upper hand shifted, rythmically almost. First him, then her, then him again, each getting some jabs and hits in. But her defenses never faltered. It wasn't until she heard the shouts, both in English and Dutch that the stalemate was broken. She looked in the direction of the English Cutter that was being spoken of and saw their colours being lowered. It wasn't until she felt the sharp sting of blade against flesh that she noticed her attention to the fight had not been full. She turned angry eyes at the Dutchman as the blood started to well from the long gash on her upper arm. And suddenly the mans bravado dimmed, although he hid it well. Waarom zouik een klein meisje moeten vrezen?" He said it almost more as encouragement to himself rather then the taunt it was to be to her, thinking that she would not know what he said. With a fierce smile, she turned her head ever so slightly to one side. She had heard such insults before, and her dutch was just passable enough to retort. "Orndat dit klein meisje betere mensen toen u heeft gedood!" she spat back at him, venom to her tone, and the surpirse in his eyes at hearing his own language spoken by the little english girl was only superceeded by his surprise at feeling her sword dig through his chest. After seing him topple to the deck, blood making a slow moving river to her boots, she took just a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow, and tie her sleeve tightly around her arm to staunch the blood, and then she turned to the flag staff. Sheathing her rapier, she pulled her dirk free from where it sat on her belt at her back, and with a few quick and sure slices of the dangerously sharp blade the rope was severed, and the wind gently brought the Dutch flag fluttering to the deck. Dutch translations; "Why should I fear a little girl" "Because this little girl has killed better men then you." I don't actually speak dutch but babelfish is a glorious thing

Tudor gently pulled out the spanish colours from the chest they were folded and stowed in, along with the various other flags that had been aquired. Setting the requested banner aside, she rearanged the others, laying them flat in their chest once more. But she paused before closing the trunk again, leaving one specific flag on the top of the pile. A black one. She felt that it would be needed sooner then any of the others. If not today, then soon.

She simply shrugged in lieu of better response. Her own worth was not, had never been, of to much of interest to her, just the worth of her actions - their worth in gold. But lack of interest had never been able to stem the rogue emotions when the lack of worth was felt. She tried to think of a way to communicate this, but found none, and shrugged again. Armand's name actually being used made her flinch, ever so slightly, not to be noticed but felt all the same. She also noted with a rueful smile the captain's use of tenses. For this she had an answer. "Armand is in my past. And we cannot alter or return to the past so there is not point looking at it. He might be in my future, or perhaps not - in truth, I do not see how - but I cannot make it be one way or the other. So, all this to say, clinging to hopes and dellusions that he should look on what was with regret when I will not even allow myself to . . . will simply keep me asking the post-battle question of 'what-if?' And that, as known to every field commander worth his salt, is a dangerous question to ask." She looked out the window and sipped down half of her refilled glass. "But, again, Thank You." She offered him a smile that was at once still melencholy, but yet with a hint of mischief and spirit.

It took a moment for Tudor to assess the situation, and still she hesitated, unsure of what the best next move would be. Not taking her eyes off the Captain, in case his mood changed again, she took the glass he poured for her and downed it with flinching or change of expression. Since both were acting so out of normal so far in this interlude, Tudor reached for the bottle to refill the glasses - or specifically her own, leaving the captain's glass to be filled by the owner. "And let us drink to The Steward's Captains! Always sure to tell them when they are being fools and want to scare three years off their lives in doing so." She lifted her glass to him a chagrined expresion on her face. But then, some of the clouds in her eyes cleared and she nodded to him ever so slightly. "Thank you Captain." It was said quietly, but with sincerity. His words and actions were just what she had needed. She hadn't had someone do such to her in quite a few years. It was oddly refreshing.

Her response was with an equal severity - she was all control, but all serverity, A look of sheer rage crossed her face but she made no movement save crossing her arms in front of her in a show of non-retalliation. "TUDOR SMITH" She bellowed hoarsly, not a woman's loudness, but the hollar of a soldier calling across a battlefield. "Sword for Hire, Soldier without country, mistress of my own destiny and up until a moment ago proud captain's steward aboard The Watch Dog." Her words were laced with venom and her expression fury.

Uncharacteristically, Tudor's jaw dropped, but only momentarily, and then her face went blank and unreadable. She straightened her posture and nodded her head stiffly in accordance. "If that is what you wish Captain. I shall be ready to depart once we reach shore. I will also make sure all in the ward room is in order before I leave. Any orders for now, sir?" She was the epitome of respect and militaristic obedience, all the while, her mind searching through her list of possible places to sign on after this. It was not a thought she liked. For all that she felt like she was just an observer sometimes, she genuinely like belonging to this crew - it reminded her of old friends. And being told that there was no longer a place for her did something startling to her. It hurt. Very seldom did she feel such emotions as attachment and remorse. She stood awaiting the captain's response, her face stoney, but if ever she was to cry, now would have been one of the times.