Tudor MercWench Smith

Unable to sleep, much as she had predicted, Tudor mearly dozed for a short time, then rose from her narrow bunk and stretched, then after stifling a yawn, she made her way to the abandonded galley in search of some of the Devil's Brew. She made her way to where the coffee pot was being kept warm in the dimly lit galley and as she was pouring the aromatic liquid into her tankard, she quickly turned her head, to see what was making the scuffling noise behind her. "Sorry, Miss. Din't see ya come in." Callie, the stray said, looking up from the barrels of food supplies she was sorting through. "Didn't startle ya, did I?" Tudor shook her head. "No. You are fine, Moore. See to it." Tudor nodded her head back in the directions of the barrels. "Although, I would ask what has you up so late?" Callie shrugged. "I take the late shift, y'see. So Mr. Gage can get some sleep, like. I make sure there is coffee kept warm an' th' like." She said motioning to the pot Tudor was replacing no the embers. "Made that pot meself." She said, an inordinate grin of pride on her face, just as Tudor took a gulp. She tried, truely tried not to grimmace. "Never made any coffee before, see?" Callie was truely proud of herself. "I can tell." Tudor said as she finally managed to swallow and was trying to pick the grinds out of her teeth. The young girl's grin dimmed visibly. "I'm not much good at this serving girl, kitchen work. I'd much rather actually help with the sailing." Empathy arose in Tudor for the girl's feeling of being at odd ends with herself. And she gave her half of a grin and a raised brown. "Well, first things first. Let's teach you how to make coffee. After you've mastered all your duties in the galley, then I will see if the captain could find a place for you elsewhere." She said, dumping out the burnt, chewy coffee, and filling the pot a-fresh. "now, fetch the grounds and we'll get started."

She knew she should be sleeping, but she was too restless. Tudor never delt well with failure, and having to come back to ship in a found fishing boat sounded of failure to her. It didn't sit well. Pacing the decks, Tudor kept trying to mentally calm herself, but all it managed to do was raise her ire. With a snort of disgruntlement, she looked out to the protrusive rock islands in the distance, sighed and went to find some forced sleep for a few hours, with the hope that she would be able to return to finish the job after the dawn. On her way below, she overheard some of the crew's gossip, and with it heard the last hope of rest leaving her. The whispered news of the quatermaster's quite possible demise left her completely taken aback, with out any thought on how to react. She just let her jaw drop, and with a shake of her head, she continued in her path, hoping to fall asleep and wake to find the past few days had been just an unpleasent dream. But she knew that was futile. "I don't dream anymore . . ." She argued with herself quietly.

The water was indeed starting to show the signs of danger. Tudor marked the depth, which was slowly becoming more shallow, and gave the number to the Master at Arms. She held her peace, as she had since they had set off from the first islet, noting down any thing of intrest and occasionally indulging the rowdies with a smirk and an amused shake of her head.

The sun that now beat down on the explores dried out whatever remaning dampness their clothes held, as they continued forward. Tudor walked a good fifteen paces ahead of the others. They had just rounded another bend in the small, rocky islette. Climbing atop a large boulder, and squinting against the distance and bright light, she noticed a dark smudge against the white sand in the distance. Looking harder, she smiled as she realised what it was and took out her mess of parchments and scribled something down. "What have you got there, Miss Smith?" Mr Pew asked, capturing her attention, with his curiosity, his outstreatched hand a request to view her work. With a smile and a shrug she handed the parchments over to him, not descending from her perch, or taking her eyes off the horizon. He scanned over most of the scriblings, impressed by the work, but paused when he came to the most recent of scriblings. "Now, what are these numbers for?" He asked at the random notations. She smiled a little. "The first number is my estimation of the length of the island, the second is the width, and the third is how long it took us to circumnavigate it." He looked at her askance for a moment. The 6 hours she had marked down as time spent seemed off to him, they had only started 5 and a half hours before. She just continued to smile and pointed to the blur in the distance. Pew grinned. It would have taken any of the others another five or ten minutes to notice it. "Well, lads, the boat is just down the shore" Pew called to the others, who squinted to make out the shape of the longboat, then cheered, glad to almost be finished with the first of the islands. "Last one to it runs like a lass!!" Owen challenged, setting the rest of the small crew running towards it. Tudor just shook her head and stepped gracefully off her rock, following after at her normal pace. She found no insult in being the last one to arrive

She smiled and nodded, and lifted herself off the sand bank she had been sitting on. "Yes, best get a move one." She said taking a moment to brush away some clinging sand. Looking around, she cleared her throat, a little nervously, suddenly realised she had actually told more about herself then she had ever expected to. She took the lead again, following the path intrepidly, her keen eyes taking in every detail of the shoreline they followed.

Tudor smiled inscrutibly. "Something to do, really." She said with a shrug, then paused, chewing on a corner of the hard tack. "Now, why I needed something to do is a much more complicated and long story." She said with a wink and a wicked grin that told that it wasn't so much of a complicated story but a great escapade. "Let us just say that after my last employer," here she cleared her throat, a mischevious twinkle in her eye, "departed from this life, I found it would be better to leave the continent." Here, she looked down at the ground and scuffed the sand with her boots. "Luckily for me, my mentor had connections that were able to bring me to the Carribean and could give me a name to hide behind. And then, shortly after my arrival, I heard rumors of the Watch Dog - I knew some people that knew some people that knew some people, so to speak. Seemed ideal, really." She shrugged, gesturing towards the flask, silently asking if there were any of the spirits left to share. "Does that answer your curiosity, sir? Feel free to ask away if it does not?" She said with an indulgent grin.

Several hours had passed since the party had landed, and they had made fair progress making their way down the shore line. They hadn't found much, especially not in the last hour or so. Just a few more barrles of damaged goods and supplies. Tudor looked around at the landscape that surrounded her, and took a deep breath of the death-tinged salt air, and moved forward, knowing there was still much ground to cover in their exploration.

They soon had the boat landed safely, and were casting their eyes around the shore line. Signs of the shipwreck were there, but not much more the chunks of wood and debris were in the immediate area. Squinting against the faint fog and mist, they could see some barrels and crates just a bit further down the shore line. Making sure all was secure, they took the short walk to where the larger debris was. It was nothing but a few damaged goods. A ruined barrel of sugar, few broken crates of other goods. As they turned the items over, to fully inspect them, Tudor's prediction proved true, when they found a broken, battered body tied to the largest barrel. "Clearly hoped to make it ashore alive. Poor sod."

They rowed in silence until the distance was closed to where the corpse floted in the dark blue waters ahead of them. Tudor silently leaned over the side, to try and see if the body was at all identifiable, her nose wrinkling ever so slightly at the sight. "Hope y'all have strong stomach's lads . . . we're like to be finding lots of these." She said, with a grim smile. The body that floated near to them had been so tossed and torn by the stormy sea that it no longer could even be discerned as a man or woman. They continued forward at careful pace, keeping all senses alert for signals of rock in the water. With the careful skill of all in the St. Christophers, they navigated their way through and made landfall without incident. Jumping off the side, Tudor waded her way through the shallows and onto the sandy beach, the soaked sand molding the shape of her feet.

So who is going to Celtic Fling next weekend?

*runs all the way over from whatever far corner of the pub she has been lurking in, just to see baby pictures.* GAWD! What a cutie!!!! Precious little one he is . . .

Not knowing how to respond to any of this - not knowing what brought on such a conversation, Tudor stood silent for a moment after the quatermaster left the ward room. But then, the only answer surfaced in her head. A motto learned so long ago. "Fidelis largior idoneus dux ducis solus." She whispered to herself, then turned to face the captain. "Sir, I would not be here if I was not ready to face death be it by plauge, battle or noose. Do not think that my loyalty is so easily given that it would sway with the threat of the gallows. And do not think that any discontent comes from feeling a lack of respect, but from a desire to prove myself worthy of the respect and position that I have already been given." She paused again, then recollected the pile of dishes. "Shall I go prepare, sir?" She waited for his final order before leaving.

She couldn't take her eyes off the weapon the captain brandished. She was not altogether too worried for her own saftey - she trusted the captain. She pondered then, at his question. Then stood and held her hand out, asking to have a closer inspection of the blade. Immedietly upon wrapping her small hand around the hilt, she was impressed by it's quality. "Well, it's certainly nothing fancy sir. But well made, none the less. " She said, starting to run through her fighting positions with the blade. "It's a good weight, and balanced nicely. A bit on the older side, but that doesn't effect the quality at all." She was speaking softly as she got to know the feel of the cutless, almost as if she was explaining to herself. She then looked up at the captain. "Despite it's age and ware, it would still fetch a handsome price. But price and value are two very diffrent things, of course." She said with a small smile, proffering the hilt once more to William.

The fact that he had locked onto what she had considered the least important two words in her response did nothing to calm her unsurities about the conversation she found herself in. "That wasn't meant as a complaint sir . . I simply meant . . ." She looked at him and saw that he wasn't looking for an apology. "I would declare the diffrence between the two would be . . . organisation." She had sturggled to find a word, and she did not even like the one she eventually found. "What I mean sir, is that, a serving wench mearly brings food and clears the dishes. A steward does that, as well as keep your iternierary, and organises you workload - so to speak. A steward is meant to make the master's workload easier. I don't think I do that, sir."

She waited a moment, letting the captain's question hang in the air. She decided to answer with all candor. "Well . . . there are days that I feel more like a serving wench, then a steward," She said, with a grimmace as she once again, reshifted the load in her arms. "And days where I wonder if I really am any use to the crew, at all. But no matter where I'd be, or what I'd be doing, there are always parts of duty that one does not apprechiate. However, that doesn't mean that you would choose anything else. I chose to sign on with this crew for a reason. As I said before, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." She concluded, but then, a thought struck her. "Have I been remiss in any of my duties, sir?" She asked, suddenly worried by her Captain's line of questioning.

Tudor's hand froze in it path to the last dirty dish she had to collect. She allowed a momentary look of puzzlement to cross her face, but then collected herself and responded. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't be here, other wise." She paused again, shifting some of the dishes she carried. "Why do you ask, sir?"

Tudor swaggered her way out of the ward room, in search of those to be going ashore. She decided to start her search below in the galley and found Monahan and Roche getting a small repast of coffee and hardtack before their next watch. "Right-oh, lads." She greeted with a grin. "New oders for the day. You two lucky fellows are excused from your regular duty. Go gear up, for you're heading ashore with the landing party." And with a smile, she grabbed the tankard of coffee out of Monahan's hand and motioned him out the doors. "And find Harold Press . . .last I heard he was on the berth deck, sleeping. He's coming along too." She called after the two, taking a long swig of the dark brew. Next, she went topside, to the gun deck, sure to find Cut-throat by his cannon. Sure enough, there he was intently chipping some patches of rust from the cannonballs. Ajay was also there, helping him, mainly with the heavy lifting. After passing on the the events planned to them, she made her way towards the ward room once more, either to see if there were any more orders, or, if not, to clean up the remains of breakfast.

After making sure everyone's plates were filled with the breakfast, Tudor gratefully accepted the glass that the captain offered and took the empty seat he was motioning her to. She listened quietly, drinking from her goblet, apprechiating the strength of the drink. Mentally she filed every detail that had been discussed so far.

Tudor knocked on the door to the Master-at-Arms' quaters, and poked her head inside when she heard him bid her enter. "Meeting of the landing crew in the ward room sir." She said quickly, with a small smile and nod to him. She then went on her way heading towards the ward room again, all messages delievered. Mr. Pew had been the last on her list. On her way up, Tudor's path crossed with that of a familiar figure. "Well, if it isn't the little Callie Moore." She had been much to busy of late to follow up on how the waif was fitting in with the crew, but she hadn't heard any complaints, so she assumed that her would-be pickpocket was pulling her load. With a smile and nodd at the small girl, Tudor continued in her path, and quickly found herself at the ward room door, and quietl slipped in, all the others having gathered from their corners of the ship.

FINALLY!! I have some pirate shots of me!!! Now, keep in mind these were thown together with the bits and peices I have and in now way can be construed as anything accurate. . . but is sure looks pretty piratey if I say so myself; Do I look fierce, guys? Am I scary?

"Sorry, sir, did I wake you?" She said, poking her head in from the adjoining room. She was wide awake and clearly well rested, even after only the most brief sleep. "I brought up breakfast for you sir and have all set out in preperation for the day."

"Si Vous desirez une personne avec qui parler, cherchez moi." She said with a shrug. As she headed toward the pointed out ladder. "Bon Nuit, monsieur." She said, retreating below. She sighed, closing her eyes, trying to push the thoughts from her mind that the conversation in foreign tongue germinated. Both from the memory of her orginal tutor, and from memories far more recent. . . but before her mind was overrun with thoughts of the recently departed, she quickly shut herself into her quaters, and busied herself with double checking the weapons she prepaired for the marrow, then quietly lowered herself onto the narrow bunk and willed herself asleep, but not before whispering goodnight to he that was far away.

Before Tudor had reached her cabin, she weighed the pros and cons of prepairing for her expedition ashore now against prepairing before she left. Knowing that she would have a clearer mind now, and wishing to make sure all would be ready and that she would be fully prepaired, she went about th ship, quietly and unnoticed, gathering what items she would need, and mentally planning the voyage. She was crossing the weather decks in the shadows, almost finished with her prepratory errands, and laughing quietly to herself, as she over heard the inane repartee of two of the crew. "I could kill a hundred more men then you!" The first called. "I could kill a thousand more then that!" The second retorted. "Well, if I kill you first then it's not like to matter, aye?" The first sneered back. "True, that . . . I'll just have to remember that next time I see your mother." The second held a menacing tone to his voice. "Don't ye go bring me mother into this!" The first bellowed . . . Tudor just shook her head and silently laughed, and the unoriginal argument, but her breath stilled and constricted her throat when she heard whispered words on the night breeze. "Celui qui ne sait pas se taire sait rerement bien parler" She turned suddenly, and saw a lone figure leaning against the rail, looking out at the sky. Her heart stopped momentarily and she stepped forward to approach him, a smile on her face. But she realised, a moment to late, for he turned and saw her approach, that it was not who she had, for a second, thought it to be. The accent was diffrent - from the North - and he looked not at all the same. She realised this, but for a moment, heard the french and had hoped . . . She smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, I just uh . . . just thought you were someone else for a moment . . ."She faltered and blushed, and turned to go, but stopped and turned back to face Chanult. "Oui, je conviens. Leurs cerveaux courent beaucoup plus lent puis leurs bouches." She said with a cheeky smile. The turned once more to make way to her quaters.

Her face lit up at the very prosepect of going ashore. She had felt confined and had started to feel useless again. And the need to prove herself again had risen to the surface. Thank you for thinking of me sir." She said to Mr. Pew "I shall be ready at the call." She said with a sharp nod, then turned to make way to her quaters. She would finally be able to sleep, now that she had something to sleep for.

She smiled, a sort of smirking smile at the captain's more rhetorical question. "Yes captain. Enough money can buy anything. Including time." "You speak as if you are experienced in such matters." He said, amused and hoping he found a chink the armor she wore around her past. Again, she smiled inscruitably. "Yes, well . . . perhaps not in the purchasing of time past, but I certainly know that a large enough fortune will make even the most incorruptable over look misdeeds and histories."