Tudor MercWench Smith

Allo Tempest . . . *draws pistols and looks around curiosly* Who are we going to shoot?

Sipping from her goblet of wine, Tudor conversed easily amongst her comrades, enjoying the glamour and elegance of the evening. Armand was ever present at her arm. She had noticed a few more then a few lacivious glances and lewd smirks aimed in her direction. She had just rolled her eyes ever so slightly, took another elegant sip from the crystal and brushed it off. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. But then a scuffle seemed to ensue. Dorian was the first to draw attention to it."Oh bloody.... Tempest, Cap'n, Tudor, Armand... I do believe we be in th' middle of a confrontation... " Tudor flicked her gaze to where Lamaire was confronting a group of spanish gentlemen. Hmmm... I do believe there gonna be a duel in th' morn....Any thoughts Cap'n? Tempest? You two? Hmmm?" Without giving direct answer to the Quartermaster, Tudor looked over her shoulder to Armand, catching his eye. "Armand, dance with me." She said, barely above a whisper, but her eyes conveying most of the message. With an understanding nod and courtly bow, he escorted her onto the dance floor as the waltz began, directing the dances path, towards where the scuffle had ensued. Tudor's eyes flitting about, absorbing all the detail, catching a few words from witnesses to the events, muffled by the music as it was. The most informative bit came from two frumpy spanish dowadgers. "There she goes now, that English puta!" The first sneered as Tudor and Armand danced by, Tudor never giving them any indication that she was listening to their converstation. "She comes her, all dressed up, tempting our sons, causing trouble." The other nodded her head conspiratorily. "Si. Poor Seniora Santiago will not sleep tonight for fear her son will die in the morning." With a bit of a smirk Tudor looked up at Armand. "It seems to me that I have caused a bit of a stir." Armand looked down at her, am amused grin threatening his expression. Tudor bit her lip, a quick stab of concern filling her eyes. "Is Lamaire a good duelist do you know? I certainly hope . . ."

MySpace go. . . look . . . be frigtened . . .

I think it migt just!! Thankee cap'n!

T'is not nausea, per say - just nothing is sitting well with me any more. T'would be great if I was trying to diet, but I miss food!!!!

*starts nervously nibbling on ginger snap* hmm . .. yummy . . .

thankee cap'n . . . *drinks tea and eats muffins then makes mad dash for bathroom*

food does not like me these days Captain - by chance ye got any tea, maybe some toast?

*looks around the emty Kate* Well, I had been hoping for a party . . . but this is keeping more withing tradition. *orders in some chinese food and movie rentals and curls up on the floor with a blanket, munching on seaseme chicken and watching Ocean's 12* mmmmm . . . pork-fried rice anyone?

Does anyone notice that these look like folds of skin? *raises brow* *no one responds* *shrug* Oh well, I'm game for anything. *takes bite*

Tudor blushed prettily and gave an elegant half curtsy. "You flatter me sir." She smiled to herself, deciding to let his anticipation of trouble over her go unchallenged, silently affirming to herself her own prepaireness. She had paid a quick visit to the armoury before the group came ashore, to retrieve some of the more obscure objects she had turned in upon joining the crew, so that she now had not less then three blades secured about her person, and the smallest muff pistol secreted away in her pocket. Should any scuffle arise . . . She barred that train of thought, trying her best not to borrow trouble, on any account. She could not help but be both amused and unsure of Armand's flowery words. Often she did not put much credence in flattery, but as embellished as his words were, she could not question the sincerity. Not with him being unable to keep his eyes off her. So she continued to blush. She curtsied again at Armand's request. "I would love to. I has been so long since I waltzed." She let out a peel of girlish laughter, very unlike her normal giggle, but not all together unpleasing.

The flash of colours, the rustle of material, and the general hum of voices and clinking of crystal all made for a sensory overload. Tudor absorbed every moment of it from the moment she was escorted in through the wide doors. Not a detail escaped her notice. After surveying the room, Tudor turned to her escort, and offered him a coy smile. "Well, Monsieur, are we actually going to have any words between us this evening, or shall we continue on in silence?" Before Armand could respond, the servant passed with a tray of wine glasses, and Tudor delicatly retreived one for her self, and lifted it in salut to Armand, taking a sip of the rich liquid.

In time, the carriages lurched as they came to a halt infront of the Don's sumptious abode. Tudor silently thanked the heavens. She could feel her escort's tension, and while it quietly amused her, even flattered her, she needed all of her composure. The all clamboured out of the carrigaes, onto the drive infront of the mansion, Armand proffering his hand as aide as Tudor delicately held up her skirts as she decsended, carefully placing the brocade slipper as not to get it caught or dirty. When she had finally stepped down, she turned to face Armand, and looked him in the eye. "Thank you" She said, with the first, and quite possibly the last sincere smile for the evening.

I am going to have nightmares about that chicken now. But the salad looks yummy anyway . . .

Tudor sat, her posture most formal, giving her escort the occasion glance as the cutter made it's way across the water. "Well, Monsiuer D'esnumbuc, how have you been keeping yourself. It seems quite a while since we have spoken." She said, her courtly chit-chat said in a voice that seemed altered from her own. Her tone was more rounded, her words better pronounced. But yet she was still herself . . . just diffrent. Everything about her was thus. Her ruddy curls, while arranged just so, still had an air of mishap to them, as if any second the silver combs that held them would cease to work and the locks would topple awry. And with a small couquettish smile, that held just the faintest shadow of her usual impish grin, she gently flattened a crease in the fine silk of her silver dress. She waited patiently for Armand's response, her fingers slowly tracing the dark blue embroidery on the fabric.

ohh - that salad looks devine!! I'm not trying to lose anything - the hospital did enough of that too me. But I am trying to be healthier. Start working out and the like. I'm thinking of taking up Krav Maga *starts scarfing down the salad* . . . maybe tomorrow. . .

I am considering maybe hauling out to this. Sounds like fun. I need to travel more anyway . . . I dunno yet though . . .. I'll think about it. I just wish it was a bit closer . . .

OHHHH!! A DANCE!! It has been such a long time since there was dancing in the Kate, Will!!!! PLEASE, can we have a dance??

Angus Mcfadyen, eh? hmmmm . . . this could be very interesting . . .

I've been around . .. I'll have to get some pictures up of the coat. Looks spectacuar, in my humble opinion. Yeah, the buttons were a steal!

:Having said so, she closed the door in her wake and allowed the smile to have its' way. : Armand was just one more person she would be able to prove herself too with this excursion. Although, she held no hope for . . . With steely determination, she pushed all thoughts of Armand once more from her head as she neared the door to the Doctor's quaters. She would not let emotion get in the way of duty and honour again. She had been too well and hard trained to make the same mistake yet again. And so, with all emotion and intent other then anticipation for the mission, Tudor beat her small fist against the door to Miss Fitzgerald's rooms.

Her diving technique was unique to say the least. With self-deprecation, Tudor thought that she must be the only crew memeber on any ship that dives into the water, holding her nose and breath. Just managing to keep her head above water, Tudor quickly lathered the soap and scrubbed of any visible dirt from her arms, sholders, face and hands. She spent at least 5 minutes alone, scrubbing violently at her hands, trying to get the inkstains off. When she was convinced that every layer of grim was gone, she floundered awkwardly and grabbed onto the rigging on the ships side, pulling herself out of the water. She left wet foot prints along the deck as she went in search of a bit of fresh water. After rinsing and drying, Tudor once again made her way back to her quaters. She quickly slipped into a thin shift made out of the finest cotton, that she had pulled from her trunk, discarding her wet slops and shirt into the corner that still held her dirty red skirt. She then combed some of the scented oil through her already wet hair, dabbing the excess left on her fingers on her pulse points. The next step would prove the trickiest. She silently swore to herself as she pulled her set of stays out of their place in her trunk. There was only one person she could think of that would know how to lace the corset up properly, so with resolve, she clutched the garment and went in search of the ship's doctor.

mmmmm . . . foood!!!!

A grin of surprising purportions broke the Steward's face. "Aye sir. I shall see to it right away. When do we depart for shore?" She said, already going through the order of actions in her head. "Plenty of time, Miss Smith. An hour or two." Tudor thought to herself that asking any other woman to transform herself from a grubby Steward into a lady of standing in only two hours would be a near to impossible task and it was all she could do to keep herself from laughing knowing that she could. "I shall be ready in an hour and thirty." She said then turned and headed below. Opon gaining her cramped quaters, Tudor pulled a small trunk from below her bunk. But contrary to the case's compact size, it was filled with a myriad of items. On the top sat the items she would need first. A sea-sponge, a uneven piece of soap, and a bottle of perfume. Collecting the first to and leaving the glass vial, Tudor once again, headed topside, and approached the Captain. "Permission to go swimming sir." She said, a small smile pulling at her mouth.

Tudor continued to stand as the captain looked her over, circling her. "Is there something amiss Captain?" She asked, an almost amused curiosity to her tone. She tapped her bare foot on the wood planking of the deck, waiting and wondering what was going through the good captain's mind.