Tudor MercWench Smith

All I want to know is what is in my orange juice? And are those scones I see . . . . mmmmmmmmmmm. . . . scones . . .. . The treasonous eggs look devine but my tummy will kill me if I eat them .. ..

Tudor surfaced on the decks from the below, scanning the decks and approaching the captain on the Quarterdecks, his spy glass, cutlass and a tankard of coffee filling both of her ink-stained hands. "Here you are sir." She said, handing the procured items to him, then standing back at a form of attention, awaiting any forthcoming orders.

I actually found some the other week. Found them on ebay. I think the ebay shop was called Villa Novella. Out in California, I do believe. It's all SCA buttons. The buttons I ordered were a bit smaller then the pattern told me, and not exactly piratey, but the size diffrence worked out well, and they looked great on my black wool trench coat. If any of you are ebayers, looking for SCA/costume buttons, look them up. They are really nice buttons and the prices were really good. I got 4 dozen buttons for a little over $8 then shipping. Score for me!

*Tudor wanders in after yet another frequent abscense* I'll second that I could murder some coffee . . . . *looks around* Golly, I barely recognise the place I'm here so little anymore . . . and to think I used to practically live here . . . oh, yeah . . . I did . . .*raises a brow, then runs for the stairs to her room reemerging half an hour later with a teddy bear* Yah!

Tudor laughed gleefully as she and the Captain spun around the deck to the mery music. She had been resigned to being a rail flower when the Captain was deprived of a partner and he ordered her to keep him on his feet. Her bare feet seemed to hardly touch the wood planking of the deck as they kept up to the fast meter of music.

She crossed to where the captain now stood, moving to make her customary curtsy, which she realised looked a bit silly in the slops she was wearing, so she substituted it for a simple salute, her ink stained fingers brushing her brow. "Welcome back Captain." She said, standing at attention, waiting for any orders, thriving in the moment.

Tudor had been sorting through various notes and parchments down in the Ward room, filing them away with proficent tidyness when a great fracas was heard on deck. She nearly tripped over her own feet and the toppled chair when she heard Ciaran calling to the quatermaster. Nearly colliding with the door she ran as quickly as she could to the deck, skidding to a stop almost going head first over the ship's rail into the ocean, just in time to see the cutter meet the dingy. She wanted to shout on the top of her lungs upon seeing the captain in the boat.

The deck hummed with anticipation and the sounds of men anxiously prepairing and waiting for action. After the Quatermaster had boarded the cutter Tudor made her way to the armoury, to equip herself with some blades, incase negotions on board the spanish ship went a-wry. After retrieving her personal rapier and main gauche from Mr. St. Anthony, and stowing them on her belt, she made her way back to the deck. With comfortable ease, she straddled the railing of the deck and pulled out first one then the other of her pistols to make sure they were clean, ready and loaded, one ear always carefully listening to the distance voices of Mr. Lasseter and the spanish captain. Hearing the faint echos of movement of men and the Quatermasters orders on the other ship, Tudor looked up to see all of the spanish crew being corralled and Mr. Lasseter going below. Taking a cue from him, Tudor slid off the rail and made her way to the Ward room, to ready it, anticipating the Quatermasters return which she knew would be in short order.

Ater seeing the Quatermaster quickly diffuse the situation with the giant, she silently uncocked the pistols and holstered them back in her belt, but still wary, her eyes flitted about the deck, jumping between Ajay and Mr. Lasseter, making sure a respectable distance was kept between them. As she kept her vigil, she started to pace the decks, anxious to close the distance that was between them and the ship they had spotted. Action was all but a forgone conclusion and she relished the potential. Only in hand to hand combat would she feel useful again, as if she contributed something to this crew. She watched as the ships came nearer, fingers itching over pistol stocks.

absolutment! Some Pie for ya dear Ciaran! There's always plenty of left overs . . . And I just brewed fresh . . .

SOUPS UP!!! and my favourite of Turkey day - CORN PUDDING!! . . . and let's be good little pirate lads and lasses and remeber to eat our veggies . .. And, then, my piece de resistance! APPLE PIE!!!!! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!!

Tudor's head snapped up as the large African brushed past her carelessly and start to vituperate the Quatermaster, and angry, nay, almost violent gleam in his eyes. Without out thought, but simply out of instinct and reflex, she grabbed her pistols, leveling them at Ajay's back, the quite click of the locks lost admist the noise of her target's tirade.

Sound and action assulted Tudor's senses as she gained the upper decks. She looked around to see writhing form of Ilex, bound up and being swung out over the water. She crossed to where the quatermaster stood, standing next to him, making her look short, her head only barely being above his shoulder. A dark amusement glinted in her silvery eyes. "Permission to shoot her and put her out of her misery?" Laughter lined her tone. Dorian laughed. "No - let her fret for a bit." Tudor shrugged and watched as they dipped the prisoner in the water, her blood streakin through the waves, and her screams echoing through the still air. After a few moments her sight began to glaze as her mind wandered. Being at liberty, and with nothing to do, she watched the spectical, as did most of the crew, but it really held no interest for her other then the fact that she had never seen sharks before.

YAH! *runs into the kitchen, trailing recipe cards behind her, not to be seen again for several hours, only re-emergin, flour on nose, to get a drink* The kitchen is closed to day for meal preperation. I did make some sandwhiches though, so help yourself.

*wanders out of the kitchen, dozens of recipe cards in hand* William? Can I cook thanksgiving dinner? I have a hankering to feel domestic . . .

apie cake . . . if you don't know what it is, you don't know what you are missing .. .

Tudor's naturally pale face dimmed even more in colouring, the knowledge of his planned departure upsetting, if not unexpected. "Push you from my mind?" She quirked an eyebrow. "Never. I do not forget people I care about, Armand. So few of them you see . . ." She paused and managed to shot him a devilish look. "The only thing I regret is that I wasted precious time being a damned confused mess." She paused and swallowed, hesitating, mulling over her next words. "Some would say . . . that we should make good use of the even shorter time we have before fate takes us from eachother's company . . ."Her voice trailed and she looked up at him, "That is, you're not gone yet, are you?" She silently argued with herself, finding herself trotting down the path of being brazen again. But this time, it her brazeness was not to cover fear, and she closed the distance between them until the was only the smallest amount of space between them. Slowly she reached up, and put one of her slender hands on either side of his face, pulling it down from it's upturned angle, gazing at the rafters, and with out fear, her eyes met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. "Respect me enough to decide what is for the best for myself . . ." She said, then smiled, then backed up, her tone regaining some of it's former cheek and spirit. "Perhaps we could have time to talk again before you depart the Watch Dog . . . that is if you have actually forgiven me yet?" The last statement was more of a question, punctuated by another arched brow, but without waiting for a response, Tudor turned, mussy red curls bouncig, and made her way for the upper levels of the ship.

Tudor bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. "You have. You have been more then patient." She said, and tried to disguise her sniff. "I suppose I've buggered up any chance . . . Ye see, I couldn't bring myself to believe you actually held any affection for me. I damn near convinced myself of it, so that when you were trying to keep me safe, all I saw was insult to my ability. I'm not used to men trying to protect me." She sighed then rolled her eyes. It was time to call a cease fire. "But like I said, no chance now aye?" She tried to smile, but it didn't work. "Just wasting air now . . . My apologies, I never meant to hurt you or confuse you. I don't expect you to forgive me, but if you ever do . . ."Standing on tip-toe, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, but quickly pulled away, hurt by his closed stance. She smiled sadly at him, then turned quickly to leave, hoping he wouldn't notice the pooling liquid in her eyes.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I react this way, because . . . it does matter. I don't know why, but it does." she said quietly, then turned around fully. "There, is that letting my guard down enough for you . . . " She couldn't resist stabbing a little. "It wasn't meant to be a game. I . . . don't know how to play the game. I don't . . . " She trailed, scuffing her bare feet on the wood planking. "I want your respect, whether or not the affair . . . " She shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm used to being treated as just another of the men, but that doesn't mean I don't want to have . . ."She searched for a word. "affection."

"This isn't about the Don anymore!" She cried out, pinching the bridge of her nose. She finally looked up at him, on unfamilar ground once more, and she found herself speaking what she was thinking without regard to what it was. "What if I don't want it to be in the past?" She couldn't bring herself to wait for his reaction, finally realising the folly of making herself so vulnerable. "Nevermind . . . it doesn't matter . . ." She said then turned away.

With a squeaking growl of frustration, Tudor's face contorted in rage and her fists clenched. She quickly turned away, again to avoid making mistakes she had in the last confrontation. "Obviously . . ." She shouted as she spun back around "You do! First of all - nothing I do - or have done - is quite good enough for you! I didn't react just the right way to you spending the night with me - well, my apologies, but I was unsure of the next move, so caution was the tact I was using. A little understanding would have been apprechiated! And then, then I reacted very badly, VERY badly to your trying to protect me. I've admitted that, and apologised profuselly and put myself at your whim to make that up to you, and you cast that aside like a torn garment! Short of cutting myself open and bleeding to death in front of you on the deck there's not much more I can do!" Her eyes were full of confusion, anger and pain, and still fliting from object to object, refusing to look straight at the person she was confronting. "So, I ask my question again - What do you want from me?!"

Tudor lead the way in silence to Orlop. It would be just about the only place they could go where they would be able to work anything out without being interuppted. The silence remained until they had reached the deck above the bildge, and even pervaded a few moments after they had reached their destination. She finally turned to look at him, her silvery grey eyes large and liquid. If ever she were to cry, now would be the moment, but no matter how much she felt she wanted to, tears would not come. "What do you want from me?" She asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Tudor trudged her way out of the galley. The drink she had hope would refresh her did no such thing, and she felt weary, the rush of energy that her violence had given her now gone, leaving her numb and tired. She paused for a moment, then set her course for the ward room, instead of to where Ilex was chained. She rapped on the door quickly, then stepped inside. "Mr. Lasseter sir, I still have not beaten any information out of the prisoner." She paused momentarily. "I bloody well shattered her nose and she still only has insults to give us. If you order me to continue, I fear she might end up . . a little worse for the wear, let us say." She said. "What are your orders." "Leave her shackled on the deck, then be about your buisness." He said, looking up from the map he and Mr. Pew. She nodded her head in salute, then backed out the door. Making her way topside, again, she wandered the decks, trying to clear he head with the fresh air and cool breeze. She froze midstep, when she recongnised, what she had assumed was just another crew member leaning on the port rail in the waist, as Armand. With caution, she approached. "Monsiuer D'esnumbuc," She addressed him formally, leveling her eyes at his chest. "Are you at liberty? There are some matters I would like to discuss with you . . ." She paused and looked around. "In private, of course." She added sheepishly, not being fool enough to want to reapeat her previous mistake.

toast with cream cheese and Irish Breakfast tea in my favourite mug . . . *sigh of contentment*

mmmm . . .brisket . . .