Tudor MercWench Smith

"Don't you even DARE to walk away from me!" She bellowed at him, then walked forward to close the distance between them as he turned to face her, a slightly annoyed look on his face. Expecting more words of a bull-headed nature, he was more then a little surpirsed when then next sound was of her palm smaking against his cheek. He was even more surpirsed when suddenly his jaw hurt. Before he could comment, the fury-filled words expected from Tudor spilled forth. "How . . . dare . . . you! What makes you think that I am incapable of worrying for my own saftey. How dare you assume that all I know is only theory! YOU DON'T KNOW ME!! You seem to think like everyone else does on this ship, that I am some naive little girl! You've seen battle? Well I've seen it too! Do not even think for a moment I haven't. I have had brothers in arms lose limbs standing next to me in lines . . . I have had . . ." Her voice was cracking from emotions. "I have had men I owe my life to cut down and disembowled in front of me!" She glared up at him. "Don't devalue that just because I'm young and a woman. I am as prepaired as you or any man, to fight, kill and die. Just because you have not seen me do it, does not mean I cannot." She paused, then without warning, belted him again. "And that is for thinking you can order me around!! I answer only to The captain and the quatermaster, and any other officer. Just because you slept with me does not give you the right to tell me what to do!!" Her voice was rising slowly again. "And as to that . . . I don't play the coquette - so my apologies for that. And my apologies for my reaction, which apparently isn't good enough for you. It has been my experience in the past that men prefer when women don't assume their affection the morning after they lay them!" She turned away from him. "Now I am going to go speak to the Quatermaster about where my services are most needed!."

"First off, you don't intimidate me," She said looking at him, from her blocked in postion. It was very true, his display of force did not intimidate her, it did something else entirely, but she was not about to admit that. "Second off, who are you to tell me NON!" The last word was shouted so loudly, members of the crew hard at work paused to look up at the noise. "If this is about the . . .other - thing . . . then it's you that has a problem. If you can't work with me, then . . . you need to grow up. I am more then capable of doing my job."

Sheer fury and rage crossed Tudor's pert face. "Non?" She questioned angrily. "What do you mean, 'non'?" She said inflected word with a sneer. "Listen you! Who are you to tell me NON! There's no way short of tying me up in the hold that would keep me from going along on this trip! If your worried about diplomacy, I assure you that I have just as much traning in politics and the art of diplomacy as you do!" Her face was red from the yelling. "I'll tell you where to stick your 'non'." She said, a touch less loudly but with an equal venom.

Armand had opened his mouth the respond, but before a single syllable could be sounded, Tudor's voice spoke. "Permission to go along sir . . . I could keep the, um, good captain in line, most easily . . ." That frightening glint was still in her grey eyes. She quickly glanced at Armand to see what his response to the Quartermsater's request would be, and how he would take to having her along.

So, over the summer I picked up the Simplicity Sparrow-ish coat pattern, and for a little while I had considered making it for faire wear/part of my gear. But my sense of historical accuracy could not allow me to do so. But as it was starting to get colder a few weeks back I remembered that I needed a new winter coat . . . all this to say . . . I now need buttons for my black wool frock coat. Anyone know of a place I can get 28 silver/pewter, old-ish/piraty looking buttons. The local Joann's has some really cool ones but they don't have that many in stock and would have to order them from the company and charge me extra to do it . . . errr, no thanks . . . ideas anyone?

I did some stage fencing. I guess the principle it the same as real fencing, only half of the lessons were in how to make it look like you hit the person you're duelling without actually coming near to them. I'd love to learn it for real. I had way too much fun with it. There's actually a video of me in practice . . . i'll have to go into my old alma mater and nag about getting it.

"I have a few ideas sir . . ." She growled murderously, a violent glint in her eye yet again, only this time, it was a slow burning fire instead of an inferno.

Tudor wandered on the deck, and came across who she was looking for. "Mr. Lasseter," She hailed the quatermaster as she approached him on the quaterdeck, waiting for other members of crew. "Sir, I just wanted to apologise about my um . . . let us say rash . . . reaction yesterday. I'm much calmer now, and if there is anything , anything I can do to help . . ." She stopped to gauge the officer's reaction.

Tudor kicked open the door to her cramped quaters, it swinging on it's hinges from the force she had used. After another assult on the door to close it, Tudor collapsed on the floor, cross-legged, nursing the bottle she had brought with her from the galley. After chugging a good half of it, she closed her eyes, images playing in her head. For so long she had lived diffrently. Emotion was to be curbed if unable to be avoid it at all times. And if anything should happen between two people, act as if it didn't. Because if you do, it's a weakness and a distraction. Leave the moment in the moment. There was never room for relationships and love amongst life before. They were weakness and weakness gets you killed. Gets them killed. Every could get killed. She took another swig from the bottle. What was more, she wasn't even sure that what happened wasn't anymore then just carnal instinct . . .she couldn't assume that. Tudor paused for a moment and looked at herself. This was the worst part. This is what she hated herself for the most. Right now she should be working every second to figure out how to return the captain, but instead she was here, drinking her time away to console herself over a man. It had been true - relationships get in the way of productivity. She corked the bottle and stashed it under her bed, then straightned herself up and exited, to go be useful. She'd figure out the other mess later . . .

Tudor watched as he left - part of her breathing a sigh of relife, but a usually hidden, quieter part of her wanting to chase after him and have him hold her again. She smacked her head on the counter. "Buggered that one up good and well, didn't ya Smith!" She muttured to herself as she shook her head. She looked down at the coat she wore. This too was giving her mixed emotions. Normally she would have just taken the outer garment off and thrown it casually back at him the second she was warm, but now . . . now those odd behaviours that were so uncommon for her were becoming habit, and she followed the unfamiliar instinct of keeping the coat on, grabbing a bottle out of the stores and heading back to her closet to curl up in a ball and cry . So, with bottle in hand she swaggered out of the galley towards her cabin, trying to ignore the voice in her head shouting he deserves an explaination!!

She bit her lip as she looked at him. Tudor had rarely met a person who could destroy her composure like this, and even fewer number of who could see through the facade she'd put up to pretend she was collected. "It isn't supposed to work like this" she hissed behind clenched teeth. She finally let her eyes catch his, an expression almost like pain in them. "You think your confused . . ."

She swallowed tightly, and looked at him intently. "Me? A puzzlement?" She started to laugh forcedly, but trailed off, and continued to gaze at him, an almost sad expression on her face. "What have I done to confuse you then?" She said, just a shade of her former cheek shadowing her words, as she cut her gaze from him and started to stare down into her half empty flagon.

"Ta." SHe said, taking the tankard, pausing for a sip before she continued. "So what's on your mind, my friend?" She said. "You seemed distracted." She asked. A sibling like tone forced through in her voice. this way is best. she thought to herself as she took another swig. never assume affection the morning after

Tudor nearly jumped three feet into the air when Armand touched her shoulder. She quickly covered her surpirse as she could easily excuse the contact as mearly a directional advisment, but all of his behaviour was making her jumpy and unsure. This was not how things had ever been played with her before. Habit and training had taught her diffrently, but here he was, still a gentleman, still being kind - if anything, being more kind then he had been before. It was as if he actually cared . . . she shook her head, and refused to let herself think. "I could murder a pint of ale right now!" She said with false bluster and an impish grin that hid the unsurity in her eyes.

She smiled warmly and nodded. "Sounds good by me." She said and started to lead the way below, pretending she had not seen his hand, not waiting to walk beside him. She fought hard to maintain her distance, a self-assured swagger falsly gaiting her steps. When they reached the lower corridor, she began to chat jovially if not noncomittally about the work she had put in on her favourite weapon, eyes flitting everywhere, but refusing to focus on her companion. She also maintained several feet of space between them.

"Ta very much" Having been avoiding all eye contact as she spoke, Tudor quickly stole a glance at Armand after her gifted her with his coat, and she noticed a wrinkle in his brow. "Is something the matter?" She asked, genuine concern in her voice. She was usually a good reader of people, but this lone frenchmen always proved inscruitable to her.

"Well enough, thanks" she said with a forced tone of easy comradierie. "Any news on the situation?" She asked, the question asked proffessionally and matter-of-factly.

The sky was a dusky colour, light starting to peek through the dark when Tudor surfaced on deck. Her face was expressionless, as she looked about for something to do. She had contemplated finding the Quatermaster and offering aide in whatver planning he was involved in, but remembering his anger with her earlier, she thought better of the idea. As her eyes skimmed the deck, her heart jumped when she saw a familar pair of shoulders hunched over the rail, look out at the shore in the distance. She hesitated, not sure if she should approach him or not, but then with steely determination, she strode purposfully towards Armand. She pulled in next to him, and was starting to formulate her question on the news, making sure every word would be well phrased. It was taking her longer then it normally should.

Toast with apple butter and a mug of sweet, black tea.

I took five years of french. And I'm still far from fluent. But that is prolly only because of lack of practice and dedication. I can read it and understand it pretty well, but can't speak it or write it much. Just couldn't wrap my head around all the vocab and grammer. But some of that is a personal thing.

In a final flourish of rage, Tudor pulled her hand from his grasp, and with an enraged battlecry, she gave her best attempt at giving the wall a black eye. And just for good measure she hit it for a second time, not noticing the skin starting to tear on her fist. After a final squeal of anger, Tudor looked down at her hand, and her face wrinkled in pain. Armand looked at her, affectionate amusement and concern in his features. "I think you hurt yourself more then you hurt the wall, mon cher." He said, then looked at the wall and was just a little surprised to see a slight imprint on the thick wood wall, in the shape of Tudor's fist. He looked at her again, and took her hand into his and gently kissed the scarred knuckles. With a look of curiosity, Tudor looked up at Armand, and gently pulled her hand out of his, and with fleetness of movement wrapped it in his chestnut hair, and moved in until her lips were just barely touching his. "Stop being a gentleman . . ." She whispered slowly.

Not taking her eyes from Armand, a shadow crossed Tudors face. "Cooler heads may prevail, but delaying action gets people killed." Her eyes seemed far away, as if in a time and place past. "I refuse to stand by and see my captain killed aga . . ."She quickly cut the last word off. "I refuse to stand by and see my captain killed." She repeated with more steel to her voice, her sight finally refocusing on Armand's grey eyes.

Tudor grunted as She was dropped uncerimoniously on her bunk in the closet she had turned into sleeping quaters for herself.

With still much protestations and fidgiting, Tudor continued to rail against everyone from her postion atop Armand's shoulders. She sneered at the quartermaster as Armand started walking away. Just for good measure she fisted his back a few more times then paused. "Where are we going?" She demanded sullenlly.

The Gascon's soothing words did nothing to dispell the rage that was built up in Tudor's small frame. "LEMME GO!!" She bellowed loudly stuggling to work her way out of Armand's grasp. "I'm not going to let some scummy bastard take the captain!" She screamed with fury as she started pommling Armand with her fists, trying to loosen his hold on her.