Ransom

I am trying to post some pictures that don't need to be in the gallery (They are fun ones I took to show PEW). However, when copy and pasting the direct link from Photobucket into the img box, I get the code for the photo in the post, but not the photo itself. Is that us, or Photobucket? (And yes, Michael, I did finally find where to adjust the resolution. Deleted the large pics, and re-uploaded them at a lower res. Thanks ) Okay, it's working now, so I figure it was Photobucket playing with my brain.

Just a reminder... Buy gifts from your talented brethren this Christmas. There are a lot of us, making all manner of kewl stuff, so ck out the Thieves Market, and those of us on Etsy for that special prezzie — for pyrates or non-pyrates. I'm sure you can find something for almost anyone.

I just finished... Stories in Stone, Travels Through Urban Geology by David B Williams. It sounds like it would be very dry reading, but it was quite fascinating, and the author mixes the history of stone used for buildings, with the actual geologic history of the stone. Among many interesting words used in the text was this one: Depauperate. I couldn't find it in the dictionary, but by its use in the text, I assume it must be a geologist's term for a time/era with no plant or animal life. He had a very interesting and entertaining chapter on Coquina, a stone made of compressed clam shells, and how its use in the Spanish fort at St. Augustine, Florida saved the fort from being taken, in 1702, by an attack from English pirates. The stone's porous nature absorbed the shock of the cannon balls, rather than shattered, thus defeating the English bombardment.

I was away all weekend, and then without power for half the day today. Hope your birthday was grand in every way. Best wishes to you, suh!

Happy birthday, you Bahstard!!!! LOL Bring back some sun from PIP. Seriously, hope your day was grand. I mean really, how could it not, considering where you are?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN September 18 Western shore, San Cristobal Island “So, is that a cannon in your breeches, or do you like the suit?” Helena winked at Alex, who stood openmouthed and staring. “I’ve got to be honest with you, there’s not much of it to like or dislike. But, I ... like it.” “How about the back view?” She turned, so he could get the full effect of a gym-hardened derriere in a thong. “Jeeze, Helena, give a guy a break.” She turned to face him again. “Come on, it’s not like you’ve never seen a thong bikini before.” “True, but I’ve never seen one on you. Totally different scenario. Come here.” Julia stepped between them. “Oh no, Blue, you start that stuff, and she’ll never make it to the beach.” “Yeah,” Christa chimed in, “you just go off and play with your rapier.” After a meaningful pause she burst out laughing. “I’d rather Helena played with it.” Grinning, Alex tried to sidestep Julia. “Good thing the other guys have already gone, or none of you girls would make it to the beach.” Christa did a little twirl, showing off a suit in an eye-blinding hot pink, and not much bigger than Helena’s. A belly ring sparkled in her navel. “Do you think Eamon will like this one?” “If he doesn’t, dial 911, ‘cause it means he’s dead.” Alex quit trying to dodge Julia, and stood appraising the three women. “I must say, I’m a lucky captain to have such fine lasses as part of my crew. Just don’t get yourselves shanghaied by any of these other sea-dogs.” He gestured toward the camp. Helena wrapped and tied a cotton pareo around her waist, picked up her tote, which she’d filled with a towel, suntan lotion and a book, blew Alex a kiss, slipped on sunglasses and followed Julia and Christa to the beach. “Watch out for sharks,” he called after them, “and be careful in the water too.” The three woman flipped bright towels down on the sand, slathered their bodies with suntan lotion, and settled in for a nice snooze. Helena started to read her book, but found the pages blurring after only a short time. The sand was warm, the sun bright and hot, and the breeze balmy and soothing. Whatever dread of the ocean she’d felt the other night was banished away. She thought of Alex’s reaction to her suit and smiled. The look on his face had been worth the hefty sum she’d paid for the little thing. She had no doubt his concentration would be off during his rapier class. Good. Give him something to think about besides pirate stuff. She glanced over at the other two woman, who seemed to be asleep. A bit further down the beach a group of kids were playing in the tide, or building sandcastles, watched by a half dozen adults, also wearing bathing suits instead of pirate costumes. A few more adults sat on the pier, legs dangling, with fishing poles in hand. Helena closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic rolling of the surf, and eventually dozed off. “What do you want?” Julia’s annoyed voice woke Helena. A large shadow covered her, blotting out the sun. A sudden feeling of fear gripped her. She sat up, hurriedly reaching for her pareo, which she wrapped around her chest before scrambling to her feet and turning around. Tibbits stood three feet away. Sweat made dark stains in the khaki at his armpits, and gleamed on his bare arms. She could smell the sourness of it. As before, he wiped a finger and thumb over his mustache. Helena stepped back. Julia and Christa took places to either side of her. “What do you want?” Julia demanded again. “Not a thing. Just admiring the view.” The sneer that pulled his mouth made Helena sick. Then angry. “I don’t appreciate you looming over me like some fat bear. I told you before to keep away from me and I meant it.” The sneer changed to a snarl. “You’re pretty fucking brave, for a woman standing there with practically nothing on. What, you don’t expect people to look?” “Looking is one thing, leering is another,” Helena shot back, furious. Christa, who had wrapped a towel around herself, glared. “Kinda funny how you’re the only one who’s leering. The rest of the guys around here show a little respect.” “Like I said, they’re all a bunch of wimps. Probably mostly fags. Why else would they play dress up? You could stand there naked and they wouldn’t notice.” “Oh, I don’t think that's so true.” Eamon, a relaxed smile on his face, joined the tense group. He nodded at Christa. “I’d be noticing that little stunner from a mile off.” “Who are you?” Tibbits snapped. “Well, I’m not a wimp or a fag,” Eamon answered. Behind the ubiquitous mirrored glasses, Tibbits gave the young man a casual inspection, then sniffed. “Could have fooled me.” “Leave us alone, Tibbits.” Helena pulled his attention back to her, afraid Eamon might taunt the man into doing something dangerous. “Just go away and stay away.” Tibbits stuck his thumbs into his belt, and cocked his head. “Sorry, Missy, but you’re stuck with me until the twenty-third. You keep wearing that suit, I’m going to keep looking, and there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.” “You do that and I’ll report you to Temp Security when we get back. I’ll tell them you have an attitude problem and you’re a voyeur.” “That means Peeping Tom, in case you didn’t know,” Christa said, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “Now, beat it,” Julia ordered. “You people think you’re so special, prancing around in your stupid get ups.” Tibbits gave Eamon a disgusted look. “But you’re just a bunch of rich snobs play-acting. You pay for this island for a week and think you can do what ever you want. Well, I got news for you. You can’t. You’ve already had stuff stolen, so all you have to do is piss me off, and I call the ferry. I don’t have a reason, I’ll make one up.” “You do that, and I’ll make sure you pay for it.” Alex, blue eyes narrowed and hard as steel, stepped between Helena and Tibbits. Helena’s heart sank. A confrontation between these two was the last thing she wanted. “Tibbits was just leaving,” she said, wishing she’d never bought the skimpy little suit or been stupid enough to wear it. Eamon stepped to Alex’s side, essentially blocking most of Tibbits' view of the women. “Best do it.” Alex, his fists clenched at his side, added, “You forget, Mr. Tibbits, there are forty of us and only one of you. It will be our word against yours. I don’t know what your record at Temp Security is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve had other complaints about you. So, you better have a damned good reason before you call that ferry.” “Or you’ll do what, run me through with that prissy sword of yours?” Tibbits chuckled. “Might be a bit tough with that little knob on the end of it.” “Get lost, Mr. Security Man.” Eamon's voice was cold. For a horrible moment Helena thought Tibbits was going to refuse. That he would force them to leave the beach in order to escape from him. With a mocking sneer, Tibbits drawled, “You best mind your people, Captain Fucking Blue, or I’ll mind them for you. Don’t want any accidents to happen, now do we?” With a final snort, he turned and headed back to the main camp. ***

Woo hoo! Got my person, and this is going to be fun, fun, fun!

Dang, if I lived closer, I could kidnap you for your birthday! Hope the day is grand, with lots of ice cream LOL.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN September 18 La Perla Islet Curled in a hollow he’d dug in the sand, Gray Dog woke to another roaring sound. He sat up, brushed sand from his face, then crawled to the edge of the palm grove. At first he looked to the sky, to see if there was any more cloud writing. To his relief, the sky was clear. He stood, keeping within the shelter of the palms, and looked around. The sound seemed to come from just beyond the curve of the shore. His heart pounding, he jogged between rough trunks and clumps of sawgrass to the southern tip of La Perla, and scanned the horizon. It was the flying demon boat again. Bright orange, with red flames streaking down its sides, and spewing smoke and sprays of water, it sped barely fifty yards off shore. To his horror and bewilderment, inside the boat were a man and two women. The man wore no shirt and his eyes were covered by a mirror-shiny mask. But the women. He sucked in a ragged breath and felt himself get hard. Both had hair the color of guinea gold, that blew in long waves behind them. They also wore masks over their eyes. But they were naked. Or as near as, but for some skimpy bright bits of cloth to cover their privy parts. He stood at the edge of the palms, struck stupid and lusting, as one of the demon women, whose ample breasts bounced within their small harness, waved at him. Then with a quick motion, she untied the harness and bared herself, laughing as she did so. He screamed and ran. He’d seen broadsheets depicting hell, put up by priests in the pirate colonies and around busy port towns. Tortured souls screaming for mercy, taunted by naked demon women with pitchforks. Helpless men being forced into giant stew pots, to boil like a haunch of mutton, as flames licked around them. The hell-boat people might look real, but he knew behind those masks the demons wore, their eyes would be blood red. And they had seen him. Curled once again in his hollow in the sand, Gray Dog tried to banish the vision of the two naked women from his fevered mind, but his cock, oblivious of the risk of damnation, stayed hard.

After the men from the Relentless had gone, Ludo came in to collect the tea things. With the tray in his hands, he paused at the door and asked, "Cosa facciamo adesso?" "Vi aspettiamo," I replied with a shrug. "Perche'?" he said, then gave me a friendly wink. "Ahhh, per amore." I thought a moment, then shook my head. "No. Non per amore. Per amicizia. Dura piu a lungo." He started to walk out the door, but then turned back, his expression serious. "Non sempre, Signora. Non sempre." Then he turned and left my cabin.

Okay, I got the box of books from Pyrateleather today. So, I have mine back home, and I have Jill's and Patrick's. After going through my book, it appears that Lady Seahawk missed or forwarded my book on without doing anything in it? I have no art from her. ;={ The other thing I noticed is that all my little dangly things tied to the spine must have jumped ship while making the round...none of them made it home! LOL I guess the bony foot walked!!!LOL Great job everyone, the artwork is wonderful, and I'm thrilled to have another art journal to add to my collection.

I'll take two sweatshirts. One large, and one medium.

I don't know. Seems people are getting a bit bored with the story. And I hate to say it, I'm one of them. We don't seem to be going anywhere, and even the characters are sounding bored with each other. LOL Maybe it's just me, but the story seems to have lost its spark. I know people are busy preparing for PIP, and then there is the holidays, so maybe we need to take a break until after the first of the year? Recharge everyone's batteries, and come back with more enthusiasm? Or, we can keep floundering along like we are now... Up to you guys.

Being a compulsive reader, who tends to panic if I have no new book, magazine to read, I am currently reading the following: The Cavalier in the Yellow Doublet by Arturo Perez-Reverte...translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa I have read several books by this author, and loved them all. Give him a try. And, as I am a fan of a good murder mystery, which this one is proving to be, I am also reading: Blood Rain by Michael Dibdin. A story which takes place in Sicily. Oh, and I have read Two Years Before the Mast many times, and played and sailed off Dana Point, CA. My copy of the book is one originally owned by my grandfather. I recommend it highly.

Okay, guys, the interest in this story seems to be dieing and on life support. If no one is interested in keeping it alive, I say we pull the plug. Thoughts? R

It was close to noon, so the two headed back to the Boca camp. Christa was in transports, listing Eamon's many attractions, and thanking Helena profusely for the way she’d discovered he had no girlfriend. “I thought I was going to burst when he said he didn’t have anyone. God, I can’t believe it. Don’t you think he’s a hunk?” “Very hunky.” Christa gave her a grin. “Yeah, but you’ve got Captain Blue. He’s pretty hunky too.” Helena laughed. “Oh yes. I’d say he’s very hunky.” They entered the camp giggling like schoolgirls. Alex sat at the folding table, a platter of fruit in front of him. “What’s so funny?” Helena sat next to him and picked up an apple. “We were discussing hunks.” Christa sat across from them, wrinkling her nose. “Is this all there is for lunch?” “I think there’s leftover chicken in the ice chest. I just got here and was waiting for you two. Which hunks were you discussing?” “Well, to begin with, a young, very talented charmer named Eamon Hawk. He says he’s with the crew of the Merry Death.” Helena watched with amusement as Alex’s eyes narrowed. “And who is Eamon Hawk?” Christa grinned. “Relax, Blue, Eamon Hawk is my hunk. See, he even gave me one of his necklaces.” She leaned in, giving him a closer look at the rose pendant. Helena diverted his attention from Christa’s nubile charms. “But your name was mentioned as qualifying for hunk status. No need to feel jealous.” “Well, that’s comforting.” Christa, after showing off her gift, went in search of the chicken. Arthur wandered into camp, his face flushed, his clothes dusty and sweat-soaked. “Where have you been?” Alex asked. “Matilda posted the first clue this morning. I was out looking for the treasure with a few of the guys from The Spotted Dick Tavern.” “God, I hate that name.” Christa returned with a Tupperware tub full of drumsticks, a bag of potato chips and a roll of paper towels to use as napkins. “It sounds so gross.” Arthur plopped into a folding chair just as Bill and Don strolled up and joined them. “What was the clue?” Helena asked, mildly interested. “ ‘Look for a rose with no petals or scent. Then follow it north and make your assent’.” “What’s that mean?” Christa said, her mouth full of chicken. Bill answered, “A rose with no petals or scent? That could be a compass rose.” Arthur nodded. “Right. So, you follow a compass north up into the hills.” “Not much of a clue,” Christa said. “It’s only the first day of the hunt. Matilda doesn’t want someone to find the stash right away.” Alex dexterously peeled an orange. “How far up into the hills did you go?” “About half way. Mainly just to get a look around. It’s pretty steep in places and rough. The island is riddled with trails, going in every direction, so there’s no telling where she’s hidden the chest.” Helena, licking chicken from her fingers, looked at Arthur. “Did you see anyone up in the hills?” “Well, sure. Dozens. All looking for the chest. Why?” She told him about the theft of the ice chest contents, and who Tibbits thought might have done it. Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know all of the people from the other crews. If the stowaways were dressed like the rest of us, how would I know they aren’t supposed to be here?” Julia, wearing a one-piece bathing suit that fit her admirable figure like an emerald second skin, entered the circle of tents. Around her waist she had tied a purple sash, the fringed ends brushing against her left knee, giving her a swashbuckling look. “Any chicken left?” “Nice costume, Irish,” Don remarked, jigging his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx. Julia pulled up a chair then plucked a chicken leg from the tub. “Thanks.” “If you’re going back to the beach after lunch, would you mind if I joined you?” Christa asked. “No, I don’t mind.” She tossed a chip in her mouth. “It felt wonderful to lay in the warm sun, then plunge into the water to cool off. I must have done it a dozen times. You want to come with us, Helena?” Feeling there would be safety in numbers if Mr. Tibbits should show up, Helena decided lying on the beach for an afternoon sounded great. Besides, she wanted Alex to see the neat little bikini she’d bought especially for this trip. “Yeah, I think I will.” “What will you men be doing?” Christa asked. “Don and I are going to take in a class on how to use a sextant,” Arthur said. “I think I’ll lend a hand in the first aid cabana,” Bill said, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “Give Sandy a breather. Not that he’s had much action. Mostly scraped knees and bug bites.” Helena looked over at Alex. “Sandy doesn’t sound like a pirate name.” “It’s sort of a play on words. Doctors on board ships had sand poured on the floor so they wouldn’t slip in the blood while treating the wounded. Sandy’s a real paramedic, which is lucky for us if someone does get hurt.” Helena grimaced at the visual the paramedic’s innocent sounding name brought up, then asked, “What about you, Alex?” He gave her an appraising look. “Well, after I’ve given your bathing suit the close inspection it no doubt deserves, I may or may not mosey off to Marcel Riposte’s rapier class.” “Are the foils going to have those little knobby things on the points, so no one gets impaled?” Christa asked. “Couldn’t hold the class otherwise.” Alex replied. The thought of Alex flourishing a sexy rapier sent a little shiver of excitement through Helena. Maybe she’d skip the beach and go watch him instead. Maybe she’d even take the class. But then the thought of what his reaction to the bikini would be made her change her mind. “Come on, Christa,” Helena said, rising from her chair, “Let’s get changed.”

“What are you going to do about Tibbits?” Christa asked. Helena and Christa strolled among a small group of PFCers who had brought crafts or artwork to sell. There were costumes, jewelry, homemade soaps and scented oils—anything small, easy to transport and that could be sold from a spread blanket on the sand. One enterprising fellow had gathered coconuts, punched holes in them, added straws and was selling them as take-out refreshment. At the far end of the gathering was the object of Christa’s attention, a young man sitting on the ground carving designs into faux ivory. “Nothing, for the moment, other than keep out of his way,” Helena said, examining a vial of lavender scented oil. “Just your luck he has the hots for you. Yuk. Can you imagine—” “I don’t want to imagine.” Helena set the vial back, deciding the scent was too strong for her taste. “I hope Alex doesn’t find out. Old Tidbits would be in big trouble.” To Helena’s amusement, Christa, with slow calculation, was working her way toward the young man. “He won’t, if you and Julia don’t tell him. You promised, Christa.” Helena prayed the girl would keep that promise. “I know, I know. I won’t blab, but I agree with Julia. I think you’re making a mistake.” “Hopefully, after this morning, he won’t try anything. I think we made it pretty clear his attentions aren’t wanted.” They approached the blanket where the young man displayed his work. To Helena’s surprise, it was exceptionally good. The man looked up. Helena guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. With a mop of chocolate-colored hair, soulful brown eyes and the haze of a budding mustache and neat Vandyke, she could see why the just-turned twenty-one year old Christa would find him attractive. He face lit up with a charming smile. “And what could I be showing two fine lasses such as yourselves?” Helena waited, but the usually ebullient Christa had gone silent as a clam. When an elbow in Christa’s ribs proved ineffective, Helena answered him, “We were told you did fine work. I see they were right.” In a fluid, graceful movement, the man stood. “Gramercy. Tis nice to know me work is appreciated. See anythin’ ye like?” “Actually, yes.” Helena pointed to a small box decorated with skilled line drawings of sailing ships. “Ah,” he knelt, picked up the box and handed it to her, “that be a trinket box, fer puttin’ all yer bits and bobs in.” Helena examined the box, then opened it. Everything was done with expertise. She didn’t know how he achieved it, but it looked antique. “This is very nice. Do you do all the work, or just the drawings?” “Oh no, miss. I do all the work meself. That way I know ‘tis done a’right.” Christa managed to squeak, “I’d like to see that pendant.” The man winked at her. “And don’t ya have the fine eye. That’s one of me favorite pieces.” He handed the pendant, shaped like a flat teardrop and strung on a velvet cord, into Christa’s out-held palm. The pendant was etched with a single red rose in full bloom, and could have been two hundred years old. “It’s lovely,” Christa whispered. Helena asked, “Do you sell your work in a gallery anywhere?” The man looked surprised. “Why, no. Wasn’t thinkin’ it was all that good. Not that I’m not proud of me work, mind.” “Do you have a business card, Mr. ... ?” Helena handed back the trinket box. Forgetting to use his pirate accent, the man said, “Only these. I make them myself on the computer.” He pulled a small rectangle of paper from a leather bag tossed to one side of the blanket. “Why?” Helena took the card and read ‘Eamon Hawk, maker of fine, authentic scrimshaw’ and there was a Miami phone number. “Well, Mr. Hawk, I work for the White Gull Gallery in Boca Raton. I’d like to show your work to my boss. I think your pieces would fit in nicely with our other artists.” The man’s eyes widened. “No shit?” Helena laughed. “No shit.” “Then, here.” He pulled a half dozen more slips from the satchel. “Take these, just in case you lose that one.” “Thanks.” With a smile at his enthusiasm, Helena took the extra cards. The man turned to Christa, his expression changing from enthusiasm to one of open interest. “And here’s one for you. You’ll be noticin’ that me phone number is on there.” Christa took the card, then her eyes sparkled, and her quick wit returned. “And just who do you think yer dealin’ with, mate, that I should be callin’ you? As if I’ve no other interests in me life.” “Well,” he gave her a grin that would melt ice at the North Pole, “maybe, with a bit o’ charm, I can make meself one of those interests?” “And who are you, to think yerself so charmin’ then?” Christa shot back. The man bowed with a flourish. “I be Eamon Hawk, crew member of the Merry Death. And who might you be, lass?” “Tortuga Tess, and this,” she nodded at Helena, “is Hurricane Helen. We’re with Captain Blue’s crew.” “Ah, a fine man, is Captain Blue.” Eamon gave Helena an appraising look. “And I’m thinkin’ he be a lucky captain, if’n you be his lass.” Helena chuckled. “Well said, sir.” Then, on impulse, because she knew Christa wouldn’t have the nerve to ask him, she said, “And you? Where’s your lucky lass?” Helena could almost feel Christa holding her breath. Eamon turned to Christa, and with another wink, said, “Well, tis a sad thing. Would ye believe it, but I’ve no lass of me own.” Helena grinned. “What a shame.” “Aye, ‘tis.” Christa held out the pendant. “Well, Eamon Hawk, 'twas nice to be makin’ yer acquaintance.” He took it, then said teasingly, “Would ye be turnin’ yer back to me, fer a moment.” Obviously puzzled, Christa turned around. Eamon took the velvet cord and carefully put it around Christa’s neck and fastened the clasp. “There,” he said, as she turned to face him again, “isn’t that the perfect place for such a rose, lyin’ on such perfect skin?” Helena hoped this wasn’t a sales pitch, as the look on Christa’s face was rapturous. Then Christa’s face fell, as if she too realized it might be nothing more than that. “I can’t afford this.” Eamon cocked his head and gave her a look of mock disgust. “And did ye hear me ask fer yer silver? Nay, it be a gift, to remind ye of its maker.” Christa grinned. “Oh, I’ll not be forgettin’ him any time soon.” Helena, secretly enjoying the encounter between the two, diverted Eamon for a few last questions. “How many finished pieces do you have?” With obvious reluctance, Eamon pulled his eyes away from Christa. “Probably around two dozen, give or take, with another half dozen in progress.” “When this event is over, do you think you could bring some samples up to Boca?” “Are you kidding. I’d crawl there if I had to. Sure, I’ll bring as many pieces as you want.” “Good. I’ll call you when we get back to the mainland and set up an appointment. I’d give you one of my cards, but they’re in my purse, back at camp.” She decided to give Christa another assist, as if she needed one at this point. “Come by later, and pick one up. Our camp is just past the last cabana.” Eamon’s eyes swung back to Christa, who’s chin was tucked into her neck as she tried to admire her new pendant. The ice-melting smile returned. “I’ll just do that.”

The only thing that I might add, is talk to a travel agent. They have access to special deals/prices/packages all the time, and may find you a real bargain. Also, they can handle the airline tickets, etc. This came in very handy when we got back from our cruise through the Panama Canal. Because of bad weather, LAX and SF were socked in, and flights were being canceled right and left, including ours. We called our travel agent in Oregon, and she had us booked on another flight going out that same day. We really thought we were going to end up sleeping on the floor in LAX, so that was a life saver!

Okay, Pyrateleather got a hold of me this morning. He has all three books — Jill's, Patrick's and mine. He is almost done with all of them, and will be sending all three to me within the next few days. Apparently he can't get on the Pub for some reason, so sent me an update through email. So, the books are okay, and will be on their way soon. :angry:

Sold my first item from my Etsy shop! Wooo hooo!!!! Lots more to see, so check it out!

My cards arrived in the mail today. OMG, "The Haunted Pyrate Patrick Hand" is a classic! And Kate, the batik skull is awesome! (thinking where I could add it as a patch to something—jacket, shirt, hat,???) Great job, everyone!!!

There was a young lad what loved rhum Who habitually got knocked on his bum But he always ran quicker To girls selling liquor And blamed it all on his old mum.

This gets tossed in the "stupid" file, along with the headline just below the Meeps one. "Old woman sent to jail for overdue library book."

Still no books from Pyrateleather...