Tudor MercWench Smith

that looks yummy ciaran - lint and all!!!

mmmm . . . butter for the bacon anyone? Free heart attacks for all!!!

GIMME A DRINK!! *grabs a bottle, heads to usual corner table and starts nursing said grabbed booze*

of couse - there is always enougn HC to go around. Now . . . is there anyplace I can hide around here. . . I don't want to go into work!!!!

I need something warm and soothing to ward of this snow we're getting . . . I think hot cocoa . . . good emotional salve too . . . *wanders into kitchen and starts fixing the famed Merc's Hot Chocolate* . . . don't mind me, in a mood . . .

Tudor was silent as Armand escorted her below. She really had no wish to go, nor did she see much of a need, other then to change to clothing more suited for the shipboard surrounding. But after intial hesitation, she allowed Armand to lead her away from observation of the departed. Death did not bother her, it did almost more to entrance her, as she gazed at the enshrouded bodies. As they moved below decks, Tudors mind was already racing in a million diffrent directions, most of them plans for the next few hours, papers that needed sorting, errands that needed accomplished, but not a few of them were revolving in unanswered questions about the gentleman beside her and the ever developing saga that surronded them.

odd . . . you look more like a William to me . . . *shrugs*Ohhh . . . that hurt, remind me not to shrug anymore. . .

*hobbles in, bent over like a question mark and snicks the first bottle of vodka that comes to hand* I shall be in my room, nursing this, if anyone of you wants to find me a swedish massus named Sven . . . now excuse me while I go curl up and die . ..

Tudor giggled mirthfully as she allowed the flirtatious frenchman to escort her into the carriage. With careful navigation, she folded her skirts into the cabin onf the carriage, settling in for the short ride to the docks. It seemed like months ago that they had arrived at the Don's estate, even though it had been little more then twenty four hours. She sighed contentedly as she reclined in the comfortable interior, glad to be heading back to the ship, even though she knew not what the coming days held

Ta very much . . . but let's try not to kill them . . . . they DO sign my paychecks . . . Yeah, I'm going through GBS withdrawl . . . loaned my CD to me sis better part of a year ago and haven't seen it since. She says she thought she gave it back to me (Along with my Nirvana CD) which means, simply put, that she lost them. Which album did you buy?

Yep - going to be there again. And short of another, better location opening up, we're going to be at the same spot, and this year in a hard booth instead of under canvas. Which will be a godsend if it's as rainy this year as was last. We're also going to be opening a leather booth this year. Quite exciting. check out the PARF website. They have the scenario posted and planned. Brush up your french accents everyone!

bless you for being an angel of mercy!!!! *takes tylenol and heating pad* Nope. Not allowed to sit, doesn't look good if we sit, or some such customer-serivce bullshit. It doesn't appear that we are ready to bend over backwards and kiss our own asses if we are actually comfortble.

Pain killers! NOW! please . . . *whimper* I don't know if it has anything to do with my surgery, or to do with standing for 8 hour shifts, but I've been getting killer back pain on a more regular basis. Tylenol, Advil, Alieve, Vodka, whatever ye got . . . not necissarily all at the same time mind ya . . . And maybe something warm to go with it . . .t'is a bitter cold and damp day here.

It took another few moments until Tudor's hair passed her discerning scrutiny. Most of the reason for the delay was not due to difficulties in the arranging, but rather, she kept herself following Armand's movements aroud the room in her mirror, amused by his apparent distraction and obvious thoughts. She smiled, then had quickly refocused on her task at hand with a grin, upon Armand taking note of the eyes following him. The eye tag continued several rounds, until Tudor could no longer contain he giggles. But when they emerged in the courtyard, both looked prepaired and well groomed, the late morning sun glaring off the perfectly placed tresses on Tudor's head. As they crossed to where The Surgeon and The Quatermaster stood, sideways glances continued to pass between them, along with small smiles.

When Armand had reached the chamber, Tudor was behind the dressing screen, layering on the multitude of garments. Upon hearing the door open and close, she peeked her head around the edge of the screen. "Good Morning." She said brightly. "How was the . . .appointment?" She asked sweetly. Armand, without going into full detail, quickly assured her of the swift and sure outcome of the duel. Before he had finished the retelling of his exploits, she emerged, the gown of green offsetting her pale skin excellently. She smiled at Armand's apprechiative stare. "Do you like it?" She asked with a cheeky grin and he assured her that he did. With the rustling of skirts and petticoats, Tudor crossed to the vanity, and started to arrange her hair. "I was wondering, Armand, if you would do me the service of escorting me into town - to the market place. There are several items that are needed for the ward room. I of course, need to speak with the Quatermaster first, and gain his permission, but I am sure he will insist on my having an escort."

Tudor was unable to disguise the surge of relife she felt when she saw the party enter the courtyard on return from their morning adventures. She even found herself calm enough to find an endeared amusement at the antics of the two frenchmen. Armand first noticed her in the window as the entered the main building, and she returned his smile, then turned when there was a nock on the door. She turned to acknowledge the two lady's maids who entered the room bearing what looked like a pile of green and cream fabric. "Seniora Vasquez thought perhaps you would need a change of clothing." The first maid explained as the second layed out the pieces to an exquisite day dress. "Will Seniorita need help dressing?" She asked, and when Tudor assured her she would manage well enough on her own, both maids bobbed in small curtsies and left the room. With a smile, Tudor looked over the fine garments, then started dressing.

Well . . . as childish as it sounds, I've been kissed, which was one of the major things on my list, because for a while there things were looking dubious . .. Other then that . . . I haven't managed to scratch anything off this list. But everyone tells me I've got time. Too bad I'm not patient . . .

Too bad for me that I can never manage to follow my own advice then . . . But I still have to seriously pitch my vote in with the timing thing. In that, 'someone you already know, but the time isn't right' . . . got a potential one of those right now, but I keep pushing the timing . . .

. . . Tudor had continued to observe unobserved as Armand finshed readying that morning. As he finished, he then crossed to the bed, a gently placed a gentle kiss on her supposed sleeping form, then he had exited the chambers, heading for his dawn appointment. Tudor rose slowly, soon after he left. Donning a dressing gown that had been left for her by the changing screen, she went and crossed to the large windows looking down onto the courtyard, watching and waiting for news. That was the part she hated the most . .. no being in control, not knowing and not being able to control destiny . . . but she had to simply wait for word.

. . . At Tudor's request, Armand began to escort her towards the sleeping chambers set aside for the Watch Dog's party, as usual, the epitome of decorum, her hand resting gently on his. Only the gentle stroking of his thumb on the heel of her palm belied both of their formal stances. They arrived at the opulant room, without incident or even questioning glance, to which both breathed a mental sigh of relife. Armand ushered his companion into the room, then, as she looked around the candle lit room, turned to secure the door, then crossed to where she stood in the middle of the room, reaching gently to play with one stray curl that had worked loose from the chignon she wore. But as if even such a small movement hurt under the pressure of all events both past and to come still, he stopped, almost flinching. With a small smile, she slowly reached up and pulled the pins and combs out of her red locks, letting them fall, brushing his hand, before he managed to pull his hand away fully, but as if the flame red curls actually burned, he pulled away even faster, even taking a step back. She smiled demurely, nodding her head regaly, making her hair cascade over her corseted chest. "Monsieur, allow me to take you coat and hat for you . . " She said, sweetly, her voice that of any hostess welcoming any gentleman with hospitality. With graceful and light movements, she crossed to stand behind him, running her palms up his shoulders, slipping his coat off his frame removing with it his waistcoat, drapping them over a gently curved arm, then using her free hand to remove the wide brimmed chapeau, her little finger catching some of his chestnut locks. Then with graceful steps crossed to the vanity stool and deposited the garments, looking over her shoulder, repressed intent glinting in the silver of her eyes. With a quick release of the breath he had inhaled at her touch, Armand crossed to stand behind her, wrapping himself around her petite frame, forehead resting against her hair and hands working their way along the stomacher of her gown, feeling the boning of corset under the layers of smooth silk. With a nimble flicking of fingers and turn of wrists, the hidden hooks, holding the front of her gown together were released, and Armand gently slipped the over dress off her shoulders, hands dropping with garment, coming to a rest on her shapely hips, gently pulling at the ribbons the held the dress's petticoat. It dropped to her feet in a pool of silk that matched her eyes. Backing up, ever so slightly, Armand pulled Tudor out from the pool of garments. Then, in continued silence, one hand remaning resting at her waist, the other gently slid up along her spine, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. He pushed the curls away, and gently placed a kiss on the ivory skin. Then standing straight, Armand focused his eyes on the ties of the corset, intently unworking the knot. With a burning smile, Tudor leaned back into him, obstructing his view of his work, and placing a hand behind his neck, she streached her head upward, gently starting to kiss his ear lobe. He flinched, and suddenly his patient work on the corset became a bit more frantic, and soon, the only thing holding the stays up was Tudors arms. Then gently he turned her to face him, taking her hands, making the undergarment fall to her feet, leaving just her shift. Again, he wrapped his arms around her, one hand tangling itself in her hair, and his mouth pausing only a few scant breaths from hers, he started to gently push her towads the the bed. . .

Dawn had come to early.Tudor feigned a continued slumber, curled around a down pillow, eyes slitted so that she could be observed without notice. She watched as Armand silently dressed, treading carefully so as not to wake her as he crossed the room to gather his discarded garments from their scattered corners. She smiled silently to herself, burrying her face in the pillow, images from hours past replaying in her head. . .

can I take the crazy irishman *drooooooool* . . . . . . yeah . . . little bit of a crush on Stephan of the Irish/David O'Hara

Let me start by saying, I was the one who voted for you know the one when you see them. But that being said, lemme explain. I really don't think that there is just ONE person in the world for you. I believe that you choose the one you are supposed to be with. So, there is ONE soul mate - but you have to decide. Because, you don't just have one destiny in life. I think, in life that there are many places that you could live, many diffrent jobs, diffrent fates. And not one is better then the other. Like, I could go move to Ireland, become a historian. Or I could go on the road with RenFaires, and make/sell garb for the rest of my life. Or maybe just get married and live happily ever after as a suburban house wife. At least for me, all these would be awesome, and I'd be happy doing all of them. And likewise attached to all these potential life, there is the ONE. Only ONE. now there is a diffrent one per life, but there is a soul mate that you will spend your life with. And I have met 2 potentials. I just have to decide what life I want first.

'Course Captain! I would be honoured!!!

*sigh* I would join y'all on the dance floor, but I am once again painfully aware that I have no dance partner . . . so I shall sit here, woebegone . ..