Tudor MercWench Smith

Tudor's face pinked. "No, I should be the one apologising - I didn't mean to interrupt . . . I jsut saw you standing there . . . I thought . . . or, well . . . I should have realised you were alone for a reason. I didn't mean to interrupt your reverie . . ." She took a few steps back. "Please, don't let me interrupt." She paused, and looked behind her, as if to make sure there was a clear escape path, but then paused before running. "I was just going to ask if you knew if you were going ashore in the next shift or not," She shrugged, "But . . .I . . . I'm just going to . . ." She stammered then pointed away as if to offer to leave him to his thoughts.

Tudor wandered the decks, this time in the early morning light. Sometimes it seemed she never sleeped. She walked past as the the Quatermaster gave the order to bring the crew on leave back to ship. She smiled and bobbed in a half curtsie to the officer, hoping that she would be on the next shift for leave. She froze in her steps as she saw a familiar back standing at the rail. "Hello," She said hesitently as she approached Armand.

The night was getting late as Tudor wandered about deck, after having given up on sleep. The meeting with Senor Vasquez was playing over and over in her head. She wasn't sure she trusted him enough to want to give up her position in the line to kill Scully to him . . . but yet it wasn't enough to take her mind off other things . . . the cool night breezes blew past her as she skulked in the shadows, hoping no one would see her clad only in a pair of bloomers and a sleeveless chimmy. The interlude with Vasquez wasn't the only part of the afternoon that kept playing over in her head. She was never one to assume anything, she knew better. But she was very nearly sure she wan't making any assumptions where the elusive surgeon's steward was concerned. But all she was convincened of was that he had an odd effect on her knees, and the stable state of her stomach. She sat herself on a barrel on the deck and watched the stars and pondered as the rise and fall of the ship lulled her into a half somnulent state.

half a canteloupe

Tudor looked up and frowned upon seeing Armand. Or rather, looked horrified at her own appearence. "Oh, Lord - you're prettier then I am!" She said hand still fussin with hair, but the smiled and laughed, then grimmaced again as a finger got hoplessly tangled in a knot.

Tudor was heading topside, passing the Surgical ward. She pasued in her path to fidgit with her hair one more time.

Tudor bobbed in a quick curtsy and then spun around and fairly skipped below decks again, red petticoat swishing around her ankles. She had to freshen up a bit, maybe try to make her hair look presentable. She didn't have any nicer clothes on board, but she assumed anyone with half a brain would accept that as a sailor she wasn't a rich woman. The best part of it all was the fact she was allowed pistols during meetings like this. She still wished the captain would have let her shoot Scully when she had the chance . . .

'Galley first' the Steward muttured to herself as she saunted from the captain's side, plotting her course of action to see to the Captain's requestes in the most efficient matter. Three years studying strategy and I put it to use as a serving wench she thought bitterly to herself for a moment, but then silently reprimanded herself. There was a reason she was on this ship and not off strategising against armies, and she was glad for her position. Soon the Ward room was aired out and food and drink were ready, looking very appetising, and Tudor returned to the captain for any follow up orders.

Her mind was still in other places, but she had heard the Quatermaster's call for the captain, and she quickly sent the deck hand he had ordered to wake the captain about his buisness and quickly made her way automatically to the captain's cabin. She knocked rapidly on the door. "Captain? You're needed above." She called to wake him.

"um . . . alright." She said, as he settled down next to her, still clasping her hand. She looked down to where he held her hand, and bit her lip nervously. He noticed her discomfort and let go quickly. "Pardon mademoiselle." He said quietly. "No . . .it's alright, or um, I mean . . . i don't mind . . ." She looked up at him shyly. She nervoulsy cleared her throat and changed the subject. "How was your trip ashore?" Soon, she was entranced listening to his soft voice recount the events of the misson on the island.

Tudor gasped, startled by the deep voice from behind her, upsetting her inkwell in the process. Luckily, she managed to catch it before it spilled all over her work, instead, dying her hand even more then it already was. "Um . . . hello." She said, smiling up at him, overturned ink pot still held in her palm. 'I'm not usually this clumsy y'know . . ." She said, trying to look serious, not looking him in the face, fearing that he would be laughing at her.

After stowing away the Captain's newly repaired coat for him, Miss Smith took a stack of parchments and ledgers she had been working on in the Ward room early and headed topside. She saw no reason to be cloistered up below when she could finish up just as well, sitting somewhere out of the way on deck, getting the advantage of sun and fresh air. She spread out in a secluded corner, her quill in ink-stained hand. She watched as the crew bustled around, and smiled sadly to herself, as she looked back down to her work, her handwriting glaring back up at her.

awww - phil! I'm blushing! :) Thank you . . . *curtsies*

Tudor stood by her captain's side, ready for his next order, and only occasionally taking the odd glance out towards the cutter that was slowly shrinking as it made it's way towards the land nearby. "Wish me to fetch you some dinner Sir?" She said cutting her gaze back to the Captain. "I hear Diego's put on something of the spectacular nature for the meal."

Her jaw dropped in a rather unflattering way as she again found herself struggling for words. "Well . . . I - I didn't know you rode, or well, I suppose you would but . . ." She blinked a few times, and soundlessly spoke a few more words. "I'm not a good seat on a horse, so, you may find riding with me tedious, but . . ." She paused again, and looked up from behind a lank of hair that had fallen in her face. "I would love to go riding with you." She said, and started sheepishly at him, trying to force herself to look him in the eye. But then she flinched . . . "I think I hear the captain calling for me!" She said, then bolted down the hallway, red skirt flying out behind her, leaving Armand standing alone, thinking of how the Captain was not even within calling distance . . .

"Aye - I do well enough on the sea, but I miss the land sometimes . . . I haven't gone riding since I came to the carribean. I miss my horse." She said, thinking back to her last year in Europe, not notcing Armand's amused expression. "And I can't really go riding now . . ."

Her mouth opened and closed several times in guppy-like fashion. Clearly, words were not coming to her. She took another few breaths, then shook her head as if to clear it. "So . . ." She squeeked nervously. "What has you up so early?" She tried to make light conversation, following Armand's lead and trying to look everywhere but at him. She was in the process of quickly taking a furtive glance at him again, just as he was doing so himself, and any part of her face that had remained in it's naturally pale state was now flushed as badly as her ears.

fine! I'll eat it all meself!

The first she noticed Armand was when her nose smacked into his chest - his bare chest she noticed as he wrapped his arm around her, keeping her from landing on her bum on the wood planking of the floor. "SORRY!" She gasped, her voice slightly strained from embarrasment. She could only imagine what he was thinking of her being so clumsy. Her ears, bright red as they were wont to be whenever she was around the Doctor's companion, were now having their blush challenged by the tip of her nose. It too was turning pink, and not from the impact of the collision. She looked up to his face, "I . . " She started to explain her inattention, but stopped short. She never looked people in the eye, but his grey eyes caught hers whether she willed it or not. She couldn't describe the look she saw in them. Bemusement seemed the best word, but why, she wasn't sure. "Je suis desole . . ." She tried to respond collected but her voice cracked, after the second word . . .

Finding Mr. Youngblood still dead to the dawning world and Mr. St. Anthony not much more awake, still half in slumber with an occasion unintelligable mummble to her inquiries, Smith headed back for the upper decks. Tired herself from the late night and early morning, she watched her feet intently as she walked, and not seeing the lithe figure emerging from the sick bay, she collided head on with it and started to topple to the floor.

She smiled, and bobbed down in a half curtsy and turned for the door, to run her errands

*feeling guilty for yesterday's continental, Merc wakes up, stumbles downstairs and starts digging pans and Bisquick out from the kitchen cupboards* . . . and voila . . . In compensation for yesterday - come feast!!!!!

*rolls over in bed hearing Diego yelling* IT'S CONTINENTAL! *rolls back over and returns to slumber*

A little Beatles this morning - Rubber soul to be precises - currently on track 11, In my life . . .

I'm thinking of getting one to pin to my bodice/corset for when I wear outside of the faire; "Yes, this is a corset, No, it isn't uncomfortable, Yes, I can breath, and Yes, I am weired - any more questions?"