Ransom

You can sign them in some way, put your mark on them, or on the back, put a brief bio or description of your design. I always put an "R" on the front of mine, and on the back the series name (Lost), number( in this case, 4, but I screwed up and put 3 by mistake, LOL), date, and a brief description/bio. Some people don't do any of that. It's up to you.

Okay, Michael, mine are done. I need your new addy. (Oh, and I still have time to get out in the garden. )

Wild hair moment. Looks like Chain Shot and I are headed for Seattle come April. Nice birthday prezzy! Abney Park Circus at the End of the World Concert

I am so excited, I'm just tingly all over! LOL

* * * The Boarding Party was in full swing. A soft, warm breeze kissed the flushed, rosy faces of the PFCers as they enjoyed bowls of salmagundi and drank with enthusiasm the rum-punch entries. Laughter and music, along with ruby and garnet sparks from the bonfire, spiraled into a sky black as any pirate flag, and littered with diamond-chip stars. Beyond the aureole of rippling light and shadows, the palms, their saw-toothed fronds resembling outspread hands, sighed and whispered. And beyond the palms, unseen in the darkness, but its presence still felt, lurked the volcanic summit of San Cristobal. Helena sat cross-legged on a blanket next to Alex. In her lap was a half-eaten bowl of salmagundi, which she had decided she liked. She had even agreed to a mug of rum punch. Whoever concocted the recipe loved rum more than punch, and she’d nearly choked to death on the first swallow. With the mug currently half empty, she was mellow and relaxed. The women hadn’t won their category in the costume contest. First prize had gone to two young boys and one girl, all dressed with ruthless authenticity by their mother. Helena hadn’t really minded coming in second, but Christa was still a bit put out. Eamon was helping her get over the disappointment. Against her inclination, she was still wearing the green dress, per Alex’s request. With the skirts spread out around her, Helena had the sudden impression of being waist-deep in a pond. She giggled, and took another swallow of rum punch. Alex, one eyebrow raised, remarked dryly, “Had enough rum?” Although she couldn’t be sure, Helena thought Alex was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. She held up the mug. “No. I like it.” “So I see. Better go slow though, you’re not used to that stuff.” “I’m fine. Really.” She glared. “Hey, you’re the one who told me I was too uptight. Well, now I feel looser.” He smiled, and poured rum from his own mug into hers. “I’ll bet you do.” Bill, sitting on Alex’s other side, nudged him. “Be careful, Blue, or you’ll be up all night with her.” “No he won’t. I’m fine. I’ll just finish my salit ... my sillyma ... this gundi stuff.” Alex gave Bill a helpless shrug. “Everyone has to learn the rum lesson on their own. I’ll take care of her.” Julia, having sensibly changed into something more comfortable, joined the group. When on eye-level with Helena, she shook her head. “Not nice, Blue, not nice. She’ll have cannons going off in her head in the morning.” “I’m fine. I told you.” Yes, Helena decided, Alex, along with everything else, was definitely going fuzzy around the edges. But she felt wonderful. When the musicians started another reel, she put aside her bowl, grabbed Alex by one hand, and headed toward the open area set aside for dancing. She was only vaguely aware of Bill rolling his eyes. Alex, his eyes glittering like dark sapphires, let her lead him, and together they joined a swirling line-dance. Laughing, she was spun from one strange arm to another as the dancers wove the pattern. Her skirts flared, more than once getting tangled—in someone’s legs, if not her own. Faster and faster the fiddle and drums beat out the rhythm. The dancers whooped and clapped. The world spun. The bonfire snapped and hissed. Overhead, the stars winked, cold as ice. As she reached the end of the line, the boy whose elbow was crooked in hers tripped and lost his grip. She was flung away like an out of control top. Still laughing, she crashed into an unyielding body smelling of sweat and beer. Two heavy arms gripped her waist, then beefy hands fumbled up to her breasts. For a stunned second she froze, realizing in an instant who held her. Then with blind panic she screamed, and struggled like a trapped animal. She heard Tibbits grunt as she rammed her heel into his knee, but he didn’t let her go. She reached over her head, trying to scratch his face, but he held her too tight. His fat stomach pressed into the small of her back, his belt buckle digging into her backbone. One of his hands snaked down her bodice, and she went crazy, yelling for Alex. Then she was free, stumbling to the ground, crying and gasping, Julia and Christa at her side. Tibbits, his face purple with rage, blood pouring from his nose, started to pull the billy club from his belt. Alex, the knuckles of his right hand bloody, his voice cold as the stars overhead, said, “You pull that thing out, you better be prepared to fight all of us.” Tibbits wiped at his bleeding, broken nose, one hand still gripping the club’s handle. “You’re done. Fucking asshole. I’ll report you attacked me.” Bill stepped to Alex’s side. “And we’ve got forty witnesses to say he was provoked, and one woman who can charge you with assault.” Tibbits shot Helena a contemptuous look. “She going to flaunt herself like some hooker, she should expect to be treated like one.” Helena struggled to her feet, charged up to Tibbits, and before he realized what she had in mind, with all her strength, slapped his face. “You touch me again, I’ll kill you.” “You won’t have to,” Alex said. “He’ll already be dead.” Tibbits, his eyes bloodshot and feral, met Alex’s cold rage. “You think you can take me, faggot? Try it.” Bill carefully touched Alex’s arm. “He’s drunk. Let it go.” Around them, the crowd was deathly quiet, but six or seven PFCers, including Eamon, joined Alex and Bill. Then, as the face-off continued, several of the women joined their men. Tibbits' eyed them like a cornered bear and took his hand off the billy club. With a sly grin, Alex said, “Bad cop, no donut.” A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, then, like a burst dam, everyone was laughing. Tibbits scowled in impotent fury. “Wimps. You’re all a bunch of wimps. Fucking assholes.” “Either sit down and shut up, or go back to your cabin.” Alex’s eyes never left the big man’s face. Helena, still trembling with rage and fright, snapped, “Get away from us.” Tibbits started to raise his fisted right hand. For a moment, Helena thought he would hit her. She suddenly felt sick. Alex pulled her away, confronting the man. “Better do as the lady asks.” Tibbits picked up his mirrored glasses, which had apparently fallen off when Helena crashed into him, stuck them in his shirt pocket rather than put them back on his swollen nose, and as if nothing had happened, slowly headed toward his cabin. As suddenly as the adrenaline had flooded Helena’s body, it dissipated, leaving her sick and faint. She sank to the sand in a billow of green brocade and to her acute embarrassment, started to cry. Alex knelt beside her. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” She shook her head, fighting nausea. Sandy appeared from the crowd and knelt next to Alex. “She okay?” Helena finally caught her breath. “Just a little dizzy.” “Well.” Sandy stood. “I guess I had better go offer my services to Tibbits. If you broke his nose, the least I can do is tape it for him. I’ll just make sure I’m none too gentle in the process.” “As far as I’m concerned, you can leave his nose crooked.” Helena said. “Maybe it will swell so much, he’ll suffocate.” “One can only hope,” Sandy replied, then walked in the direction the security guard had taken. “Come on, let’s get you back to our camp.” Alex helped her up. The world wasn’t just fuzzy, it was tilting and leaning at unnatural angles. The ground rolled under her feet. Helena swayed, felt Alex take her arm, and tried to concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. Her body seemed made of rubber, while her mouth tasted of rum, cabbage, and bile. In her head, she repeated the mantra, “I will not be sick, I will not be sick.” With Alex on one side and Christa on the other, Helena was half carried to the campsite and helped into a chair. She leanedback, covering her face with her hands, trying to blot out the whirling world. “I’ll make some hot coffee,” Arthur said. “Good idea.” Alex knelt in front of Helena’s chair. “Sorry, H. H., I should have been there quicker. I didn’t see what was going on until he already had you.” Helena took her hands away from her face. Alex’s expression of regret and disappointment in himself gave her something to focus on. “You stopped him. That’s all that matters.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I shouldn’t have let you drink all that rum, either. But it’s sort of a rite of passage within the PFC.” He sighed. “Bad timing all around, I’d say.” Anger flared within her spinning brain. “A rite of passage? You let me get smashed on purpose, just to pass some stupid pirate test?” She sat up. Alex and the camp yawed and dipped. “You know what? I’m sick of pirates. I’m sick of playing dress up, and I’m really sick of using a privy.” Alex stood. When he spoke his voice was flat. “I said I was sorry. I am. But until the ferry comes, you’re just as stuck on this island as Tibbits.” “Don’t mention the name of that disgusting slob,” she said, wishing she could take a nice hot shower and curl up in her own soft, safe bed. “Here, maybe this will help.” Arthur put a mug of steaming coffee in her hands, closing her fingers gently around it. “It’s not scalding, so go ahead, take a few sips.” Helena stared at the mug, then carefully brought it to her lips. It smelled like civilization. She sipped. It tasted wonderful and coursed through her system like antifreeze. “Better?” Arthur asked, smiling. “Better,” Helena said, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of Colombian roast. When she opened her eyes again, Arthur was no longer in front of her—nor was Alex. She looked around, but didn’t see him. Christa and Julia sat in chairs some distance away, their expressions guarded. Bill and Don talked quietly, coffee mugs cradled within laced fingers. No one met her eyes. With one outburst, she’d destroyed the camaraderie between herself and the others. They might understand her anger over Tibbits’ groping attack, but not an attack on Alex. She closed her eyes again, sipped her coffee, and for the first time wished she’d stayed in Boca and let Alex play pirate without her.

Happy birthday, Maeve. Hope your day was grand.

Checked out the prop site. Low and behold, I discovered that I was....a project! LOL And that William is in charge. Seriously, I had never even heard of Firefly when I joined this forum, but I think it's kinda kewl that there is a place in the Verse called Ransom. William, I will PM you about maybe staking out some real estate. But, I'm still kinda in shock over the whole Ransom Project thing. Also, ironically enough, Chain Shot and I had just started re-watching the entire series again. Now we're gonna have to start over and look for that dang Han's Solo bronze. LOL

That's very true. I have also carved them into wine and champagne corks. Still not real crisp edges, but a more rustic look. Kinda fun.

Thought you might enjoy this... Out of Town

A link to this comic was posted on my Facebook page. I liked it so much, I decided to share it here. It is great stuff. Not piraty, but still fun.....Enjoy. Wondermark

For those of you who like to use rubber stamps in your journals or on the PTCs, check these out. It's a girl who works out of her home. This site was just forwarded to me this evening. Pyrate rubber stamps

Sorry, but, what is a Kepi? Sounds like a little furry animal. Not something I want to wear on my head! Oh, and Patrick. Something coming your way...leaving Oregon this Friday.

Belated Happy Birthday, Merry. Hope your day was grand!

With the fog enfolding the Flodden, her first mate approached a none-to-pleased Captain. "What'll we do now, Capt'n?" MacTavish sniffed the air and wrinkled a bulbous, red-veined nose. "Weel, I've nae desire tae spend any more time in this bog-stinkit. We'll away North a wee bit, see if we canna get past this blasted fog." "What about the other two ships? Bet they have plenty on board that we could use or sell." "Aye, ye great ninny, and they got guns aplenty. Two against one isna very good odds. Nae, we'll veer north, then circle around tae see if the other two ships are still hanging aboot. Besides," MacTavish gave the air another sniff, "this place has an unwholesomeness aboot it that I dinna like." With orders given, the Pride of Flodden turned her prow North, away from the wreck of the sloop, and the guns of the two remaining ships.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN September 19 Bilge Rat Pub “Ye look more like an organ-grinder’s monkey than a pirate,” Mad Matilda shouted to Don, who strutted his outfit in front of the costume judges. He doffed his grubby, green knit cap and gave her a mock bow, thrusting out a white hairy leg, bare below the knee. “ ‘Tis true, I be no fashionable nob, but I be goin’ fer authenticity. I be but a lowly sea dog, savvy?” “Check him for lice,” Alex shouted. Don frowned. “Now, that be cruel, Captain. Powerful cruel.” Helena laughed as Don, whose outfit consisted of cutoff baggy pants, long over-sized tunic-shirt, and bare feet, all liberally rubbed with dirt, made way for the next contestant. So far, the unpleasantness of the morning seemed forgotten. Almost all the PFCers were crowded around the cabana, cheering on their favorites. She noticed some of the contestants went for strict authenticity, while others went for showmanship. She had to assume Christa was leaning toward the latter. The three women stood together like strange, hothouse flowers gone berserk. Helena had no idea what a New Providence prostitute might have looked like, but she suspected they weren’t quite so grand as Christa’s portrayal. Personally, Helena felt more like Miss Kitty, from Gunsmoke. “Oh look, there’s Eamon.” Christa, dressed in flaming red trimmed in black and silver, pointed toward the judging area. “Doesn’t he look just like Johnny Depp?” Helena watched the young artist swagger proudly before the judges. She thought he did have a vague resemblance to the famous movie star in his role as Captain Jack Sparrow, but that was probably due to his newly-beaded hair and stylish frock coat. Apparently Christa was not the only wench in the crowd to appreciate his good looks, as a chorus of shrieks and catcalls erupted from many a female throat. Eamon, exuding so much charm Helena thought he should bottle it, accepted the accolades with grace. Suddenly, Alex charged into the open space flourishing his cutlass, its point hovering just in front of Eamon’s chest. “Hold fast, ya scurvy dog. I hear ye’ve been making loose with one of me crew. What be yer intentions?” Eamon, a wide grin splitting his face, pulled a replica pistol from his belt. “Dishonorable ones, o’ course. What do ye take me for, a lily-livered landlubber?” Christa squealed in delight. “That’s what I feared,” Alex replied, then turned to the Boca group. “What shall I do with the cur, lassies?” “Turn him over to us, Captain. We’ll teach him to show disrespect for a lady,” Julia shouted back. Eamon’s grin got wider. “Ha! I be seein’ no ladies here, just fine wenches waitin’ fer a lusty pirate to carry them off.” With that, he charged past Alex, grabbed Christa by the waist, hoisted her over his shoulder, her red skirts fluttering around his head, and started to jog away. Christa, shrieking and pummeling his back, finally got him to put her down. The crowd cheered. Laughing, the two rejoined the Boca group. Alex approached them, replacing the cutlass in its scabbard. “Well, it seems the wench can take care of herself. If ye passed muster with her, I guess I’ll be lettin’ ye keep yer gizzard.” Arthur shoved a mug into Eamon’s hand, another cheer went up from the crowd, and the contest continued. Helena, shaking her head, took Alex’s arm. “A fine performance, Captain Blue. How come you didn’t enter the contest—any of them?” “For one thing, I got elected judge of half of them, and for another, I’m too busy running everything else. When is it your turn?” “Soon I hope, or Christa is going to let Eamon carry her off for real.” She nodded at the two in question, who were busy kissing each other. “Belay that, mate,” Alex demanded, separating them. “She’s a contest to win.” Christa adjusted her hat, and Eamon wiped very non-period lipstick from his mouth. He then gave Christa a swat on the rear, and said, “Give um yer best, lass.” Alex glanced at Helena, gave her a wink, and added, “Same goes fer you.” Julia glared at the two couples. “Well blast ye all to Davey Jones, where the hell do I fit in?” Before Helena could answer, Bill shouted, “Avast, lassies, it be yer turn before the judges.” Helena, feeling suddenly silly as a child playing dress-up, grabbed Julia’s hand, and together the three women, already slipping into their roles, sashayed into the open space in front of the cabana. * * *

Great find, Eyes! I agree, we need to register with this site and start planing! :angry: Patrick, whot say you?

I have made another attempt to reach Matusalem. Pew, did you ever send him a snail mail request? Also, does anyone know someone who knows him and might be able to get in touch? Better yet, someone who lives close by and could pay him a visit? We need to get Cal's book home. As for the two lost in the mail, don't give up all hope yet. In the second round, we had two books thought lost, and after about four or five months, they ended up being sent back to the sender. So, they may still turn up. Let's all hope so. If they don't, I have photo's of the artwork I did in both books, which I will gladly forward to both Kate and Cass. If anyone else did the same, I'm sure they will send them along as well. I also have photos of the work I did in Cal's book, which I will send to him if his book is truly lost. That's one of the big reasons why I always photo the pages I do in each and every book I work in.

Patrick, we need to talk. I really want to send you a replica flintlock cap pistol that Chain Shot picked up at a junk store. The lock part is broken—it was made of cheap pot metal. I thought it would make a good base for some kind of Steampunk gun, if you would make it for me. The gun is wood, heavy, with brass on the butt. Neither Chain Shot nor I are good at making stuff like that, and I would rather pay you to make me a gun, than buy one from somebody I don't know. I know you are heading for Searl's, so maybe we can PM each other after you get back and work something out? I really liked the first candle holder gun you made, which gave me the idea of maybe having you do something with this cap pistol flintlock. Whacha think? :angry:

ROTDALMAO!!!!! So taken, thar Eyes! LOL

Me too. "That's all right, Captn. We always knew you was a whoopsie."

Sooo, lemme get this straight. This means you don't like it, right?

Aboard the Terra Simon followed his new friend through the chaotic bustle on deck toward the rear of the ship, where a man in uniform was directing the taking on of supplies. Just as Touch was about to call up to the officer, a loud crash behind Simon made him nearly jump out of his shoes. Touch, startled for a moment, quickly regained his composure. “Aw, that be a shame.” “What was in the cask?” Simon asked, willing his heartrate to drop. Then realized the smell should have told him. “Beer, more’s the pity. But, I doubt that’ll be the last keg we lose on this voyage.” The boy shrugged. “Likely we’ll pick up more somewhere’s along the way.” The lad’s confidence amused Simon. “Well, if you’re not worried, then neither shall I be.” Touch gave Simon a crooked smile. “Do a body no good to be worried ‘bout that kind o’ thing. Besides, I said me and me mates would watch out for ye, and we will. Never you fear.” Before Simon could express his gratitude, however dubious, the boy shouted up to the officer. “Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant Woolsworth, Sir, but here be the new clerk. Seems to be a right friendly bloke, and he says he don’t get the sea sickness, but he been nowt but to France and back, so I’m not sure that’s a true test, Sir. Seems ta need a bit of looking after too, so I volunteered me and me mates for the job, if it’s all right with you. Don’t want him fallin’ overboard on our first day out.” Setting down his portmanteau, Simon doffed his soggy hat, gave a short bow of greeting, and called out, “Simon Millechamp, ship’s agent, at your service, Sir.”

Hey, all you Airship Pyrates, time to head to Seattle. Never to early to plan for this November event. Here is the link to the SteamCon web site. More information is coming every month, and since the turnout was so amazing last year and they ran out of hotel rooms, they are incorporating two hotels this time. They are across the street from each other, so going from one place to another will be easy. So, get those airships ready to hit the sky, and plot a course for the great Northwest. And, in the words of Abney Park..."We're a crew of drunken pirates, we're the only airship pirates. We're full of hot air and we're startin' to rise, we're the terror of the skies but a danger to ourselves, now..." See you there.... SteamCon Seattle 2010

Provenance — How a Con Man and a Forger Rewrote the History of Modern Art....by Laney Salisbury and Aly Sujo Fascinating.

Yeah, I probably should have done a follow up here. I posted about five pages of photos in my Facebook gallery, because it's so much easier to post pics there than it is here. Ya need to get on FB Patrick!! (BTW, it's easy and free) The event was a blast, and all the people involved were super nice, from the organizers, merchants, performers, etc. Just a neat group of people. Abney Park was outstanding, and what a great group of guys/girls. They hung out before their concert, signing CDs and letting people get there picture taken with them — with no "Oh crap, the stuff I have to do to sell CDs" attitude. They were laughing and joking around. Then they put on a wonderful show. Aferwards, they hung out again, while Beats Antique played. We left at around midnight, and Abney Park was still there selling & signing CDs. As it turned out, Robert, the lead singer, had a room in the same hotel as us, and was about two doors down. It was this event, and the friendly community, that made Chain Shot decide that we would head to Seattle for SteamCon in November. Also, Faerieworld is holding a three day event in Eugene, OR in August, where you can camp if you want. Steamers more than welcome. They will be bringing in bands from Europe along with local groups. We may go up for a day and check it out. If you go to the Faerieworld site, they are already posting information. And yeah, Patrick, ye need to fire up the ol' Columbia's Revenge. People at the faerie market kept asking what ship we were from (we went as airship pyrates), and we'd tell them CR, and they all thought it was a kewl name.