Tudor MercWench Smith

She was astute enough to realise that her glib answer was not enough to satisfy Armand's curiosity. Perhaps, if conversation between the two was to continue outside of mixed company . . . but of course, to speak her mind would be to break lady-like behaviour, which seemed to be more acceptable to her companion then her more opinionated self. And even more to the point, her honour - which was already being questioned and defended - would be even more impugned if she was to be seen entering sleeping accomodations with her escort. However . . . Armand was at all times a gentleman, and was reputed as such. And as a Lady, she needed to be escorted at all times. She smiled tiredly, her mind exhausted from trying to keep in propriety. "Yes, I am near ready to faint. If even just to find a place to sit down, let us go." She said, deciding to let decorum and the night take care of itseld

Tudor flinched. She had hoped he would not see through her guard. But there was no way she would be able to express what she had been trying for the last few hours to hide. "A lady does not criticise a gentleman's dawn escapades." She said lightly, trying to pass off her concern as insignificant, and any outsider would not question the almost merry intonement with which she spoke. No matter how foolish she thinks they are She mentally added. And with that she moved to change the subject. "No, I have no wish to return to the ship. I shall take full advantage of the good Don's hospitality and enjoy a decent night's rest." She said, keeping her eyes focused on the rest of the world around them.

Tudor gracefully accepted Armands arm. It was much easier to pretend that there was nothing going on in her head, when she could appear as if her only purpose was to be decoration on a sleeve. When he inquired if there was any service he could provide to aide her contentment, Tudor simply smiled and shook her head, her mind having been elsewhere, mainly trying to decide if she could kill Santiago herself and make it look like a stroke of ill-luck. She wanted neither Lamaire or Armand to be harmed in anyway, and even though she held implicit faith in both of their skills, she held no faith in Santiago to fight fair . . .her mind was simply running amuck. She simply smiled sweetly at Armand. "I am at your whim, monsieur. Where ever you wish to go . . . although, I shall insist again, you owe me the last half of a waltz" She giggled slightly, trying to be blithe and glib.

I did, but took it off because no one was joining I would have if I had known it was there . . .

food!!! Of any kind!!! PLEASE!!!! . . . this averaging one meal a day sucks . ..

Tudor, for the most part, had kept silent during Lamaire and Tempest's conversation, more then content just to amusedly observe the interplay between the two. She couldn't contain her smiles and laughter. The frenchman reminded her so much of old friends . . . She was almost jelous that Tempest would be allowed to witness the duel on the morrow. She wished she could find some excuse to go along - but it would not make much sense that the woman who's honour was insulted should witness the defense. Her fingers practically itched to feel her blade, but instead she contented them with fidgiting with the edging on her gown. It was hard to contain the laughter when Lamaire realised that he had no second, but the mirth quickly died with Tempest's suggestion. She quickly stole another look at Armand, praying her concern was not evident on her face. She barely even noticed Lamaire's departure.

My life

Ahh, Will, y'know we'll clean up after ourselves . . . we always do . . . mostly *shoots a pouty look at the pile of peanuts she had planned on shelling and eating*

"That is true if only you have a soul to bind." She said quietly, almost as if to herself, other words of wisdom echoing in her ears, along with Tempest's. But with a quick shake of her head and a blink, she turned a smile to Tempest. "I shall take any advice I can find, to be sure." She said, then stole another glance at Armand.

*stumbles downstairs, hair a mess, eyes bleary when suddenly a speeding pidgeon smacks into her head.* Moning all . . . cup of the strongest . . . *starts choking on her next word* decaff . . .*gag* you've got. It's too damned - early? - to put up with random instant messenger pidgeons . . .

Well, the buttons I bought when I was making my frock coat aren't EXACTLY period . . . they look it though. I got them from an Ebay store called Villa Novella that sells only SCA approved buttons. So, accurate looking to say the least, but I don't know if they'd even have the style of button you are looking for either. But it's worth a gander I say. They have nice stuff.

I concurr . . . let's all move to Newfoundland . . . Yes, but you do realise once you own one GBS CD you will have to own them all . . . it's an addiction, that will be impossible to break. I had one to tide me til I had cash . . but my sister borrowed it and doesn't even remember that she has it. grrr . . . I want my martime celtic rock!!!!

Tudor dare not say how familiar she was with duels, for the simple fact, that she was much more accustom to fighting them, instead of causing them. "I am used to causing a stir, I admit, but I am not sure what to do with further attentions whether they be from the likes of cads or chevaliers. Even in fine social situations like this, in the past, I must say that my honour has never really been concerned about. The Lt. is a man of a quality that is rare, and I am flattered indeed." She then cast a long look towards Armand. "Even more flattered when more then one such man seeks my attention . . . especially when my behaviour in the past has been less then kind." She spoke softly, self-doubt and incrimination hiding in her timbre, memories from past weeks plauging her. She took another quick sip of the unanimously acclaimed wine and smiled impishly. "But I shall take it all in stride, even if it kills me." She let a strangled laugh escape her.

Slightly startled byt the surgeon's invitation, Tudor gave a crooked smile, and approached, taking both a seat and wine glass for herself. "Thank you." She paused and glanced over to where the gentlemen stood. "Yes, they do seem fairly lost in conversation." SHe took a delicate sip from her glass, then returned her silvery gaze to Tempest. She let a small twitter of a laugh escape her, to cover her unsurity. She had never conversed much with the good Doctor, and now she was not sure of what to speak. "This is excellent wine . . ." She started to fall back on the wide repetoir of small talk that was filed away in the back of her head, from years past. "It has been a long time since I have had any of this caliber." She took another sip, then sent a look to Tempest, that almost seemed to apologise for the banality of the conversation. "And how are you this evening Miss Fitzgerald?"

I've died and gone to buttered bread heaven!!!!

What - Newfoundland food and no Seal-Flipper Pie? lol!!!! I'll just take some fresh bread and some tea William, seafood and I don't get along. So, Ciaran, offical screecher now are you? So's me sis . . . and now, I've been dying to ask . . . in your maritime travels, have you ever encountered the beauty that is "Great Big Sea"? I hardly think you could go to Newfoundland, and not, but I thought I'd ask . . .

Mirth filled Tudor's face and tone as she allowed herself to be escorted back to Armand and the Quartermaster. "Well," she started sweetly. "This is one young maid who shall enjoy your company, wheather or not it is to be trusted, and who shall still consider you a gentleman despite rumors otherwise. To my mind, t'is not mere actions, but inner nobility that deigns a man an gentle or not . . " They now stood infront of the rest of her party. "Au revoir, mon ami." She said sweetly, "et bon chance dans le matin." And with a final kiss to the back of her hand, Lamaire returned her care over to Armand, with a formal bow.

"The chivolrous knight begs a token before the joust." She smiled at Lamaire, a flattered amusement crossing her face as she rephrased his request. "Of course Lieutenent. There is merit in such superstitions, I think." She paused and thought for a moment what item she should give him. She then pulled an embroidered silk kerchief out of where it was tucked into her sleeve and handed it to him. "Here, I give it to you gladly. May it bring you the luck that I am sure you already have." She said, then leaned forward on tip-toes, and lightly kissed his cheek."You are a true gentleman, sir."

With a quick glance to Armand, and seeing his nod of consent, Tudor stood gracefully, navigating her skirts around the chair that she had just vacated. With a small smile, she took the escorting hand Lamaire proffered to her and they made their way to a secluded corner of the room. "Now, Monsieur. What may I do for you?"

For a moment Tudor was thrown aback by the Frenchman's confusion, but she realised he had no idea how quickly gossip spread or how many details had been observed. "Do not be so confused, good sir. The Spanish dowadgers seem to believe I do not know the spanish word for 'whore.' That and, I must say, Senior Santiago's opinion of me had not gone unnoticed before you so gallantly stepped in." She almost laughed at Lamaire's startled expression. "Do not be surprised monsiuer, I have ears everywhere."

Tudor remained in her seat after the captains left, her face now a mask of composed and demure expression, but her mind quickly itemising and catalouging every detail that had been spoken of over the past hours. She turned to Armand, who had remained seated next to her. She smiled charmingly at him. "I believe you owe me the last half of a waltz." Her enjoyment in her teasing was evident, a playful glint in her silvery eyes. The hint of a smile tugged at his mouth and he stood and bowed, elegantly extending his hand for hers. "Avec plaisir, Madamoiselle." Just as she was about to stand, she noticed Lamaire approaching their end of the long chamber. She smiled sweetly, acknowleding his intent to speak to her. "Lt. Lamaire," She addressed him in quiet tones. "I do believe I owe you all sincerest gratitudes."

Okay! So . . . what all is it going to take to plan to go to PIP? It looks like crazy mad fun, but I don't even know where to start planning . . . help? I would love to go in 2006, but I would need to start planning now, and I need to know if it would be too hard to swing . . .I want to go . . .*pout*

*sneaks in quietly after work and tiptoes around the kitchen proccuring cocoa powder, milk and whipped cream* Hot Choclate a la Merc, anybody?

Hey!! You don't have to be high to love Gordon Lightfoot!! I was the one who said "People I know, but not myself" Never have, and don't have any urge. My one friend tried it once. It was laced so she tried flying off a flight of stairs. Scary! You never know what else is going to be in that stuff . . . Known addicts of stronger stuff too . . . I don't trust anything that you can become addicted to so easily and that can destroy your life just as easily.

Tudor let a breif chuckle escape her, although she quickly stifled it as it was 'innapropriate.' But she could not wipe the wide and contented grin off her features. "Let us hope his luck holds then." She thought breifly of what the morning held, then shut her mind to it, not wishing to think of duels past. Instead, she once again looked up at Armand. "What is in your head, Monsieur? You seem to be in your a world all your own." She asked sweetly, wishing to know what private thoughts could create such a content look on her shipmate's face.