Ransom

Hmmm...Well, the antibiotic and toothpaste thing, of course. Then maybe... 50 proof sunblock (sorry, I burn easy) My lavender & vanilla skin lotion A year's supply of Excendrin extra pairs of reading glasses nice undies (sorry, no scratchy wool knickers for me) digital camera & batteries journal, pen and water paints Dorothy Dunnett's Lymond of Crawford series for reading material. A picture of my husband (I'd really miss him—no, wait) My husband! And, a transport key, so I could zip all my found treasures back to the new world.

What DOES make a good pirate?

Awesome site. I bookmarked it as well. I also printed out two pages of the writing styles listed, and they came out perfect, so I can keep them handy when I practice.

For an hour, Trilby, Souris and I battled the sparks and the small fires they caused. The thatched patio roof cover burned to ash, a wool carpet and two of the patio chairs caught fire, but were put out before being destroyed. Covered with soot, and wet from the sloshing buckets, the three of us continued to throw water wherever needed. Trilby, huffing up the stairs with a bucket, gasped, "That's the last of the water. If the wind does nae shift, I fear our fight is lost." I took the bucket, which was only half-full, and tossed the water onto the roof. With a hiss of steam, the small flames dancing along the ridge-line went out. Wiping my sweating forehead, I turned to the professor. "Pack what you can. There's nothing burning at the moment, but with no water, if the flames start up again, your house will surely be destroyed." The old man, his face flushed, his beard singed, looked with despair toward the stairs. "Pack? I nae can pack all mae things in five minutes. It's taken me years tae collect...it's mae life that will go up in flames. I canna let that happen!" I watched as the house across the street was engulfed in a hot, roaring inferno. "You may not have a choice."

Maybe I better make it a bottle!

Oh no, not hats again!!!!! Right now, Ransom is busy trying to keep Professor Trilby's house from burning down. If the winds shifts, she'll be heading for the harbor and the Rakehell. It's anchored out in the bay, so not in as much danger as the Archangel. Sterling and Cheeky, have a wonderful weekend. Aurora, the brandy is on me.

Those are in the bottom section—aspirin, Tylenol PM, Rolaids. I'm talking about the top section. But it's gone on awhile now, and none of ye have guessed, so I'll tell. It's where I keep my boxes of Stash Tea and Herseys French Vanilla hot chocolate mix—which mixed with a bit of half-and-half and a shot of Tattoo, is mighty tasty on a cold winter evening! So, who's next with a question?

Trilby and I both moved quickly to the low wall and looked down the street. People were either running away from the billowing smoke, carrying whatever goods they could manage, or were running toward the blaze, water buckets in hand. Although the fire was two streets over, the wind carried fluttering ash and sparks, dropping them like black snow on the roof of Trilby's house. Even as we watched, a corner of the thatched patio cover smoldered. I grabbed the Port decanter and, standing on a chair, poured the aged liquor over the spark, drowning it. "That was a twenty year vintage, yea idiot!" Trilby railed. "Unless you want to lose your house, you better start looking for some water. Is there a well in back? Anything we can use to wet down the roof?" Trilby shook his head. "Only a rain barrel by the side lane entrance. The door you used the day Killingsworth shot that Captain. Besides, if you nae have noticed, my roof is tile." "Find Souris, tell him to fetch water from the barrel. Your roof may be tile, but your house is beamed in wood, and so are your neighbors'. If the fire gets close enough, this place will burn like a funeral pyre." Trilby seemed too stunned to move, no doubt thinking of his vast strange collection housed within. There would be no way to save much of it if the house burned. But it wasn't until a cinder landed in his turban and began to smoke, that he came to his senses. Ripping the length of cloth from his head, he rushed to another spiral of white smoke on the patio cover and beat at the glowing thatch like a man possessed. All the while he bellowed, "Souris, God rot yea, where are yea?" The smoke and ash were getting thicker. "Do what you can. I'll go below and get the water. Is there a bucket nearby?" "It's by the barrel. Find that blasted servant of mine and get him to help." Trilby continued to swing his turban at the roof, but over a dozen plumes of smoke now danced along its surface. In the corner, the dead potted plant caught fire, blazing like a torch. Gritting my teeth, I bent low, picked up the clay pot, and heaved the burning thing over the wall. Before it hit the street, I was running for the stairs to the lower floor, shouting for Souris.

Not by itself, but I'm sure you could add something to it. Rum maybe?

I've seen him posting elewhere, so I know he's out there. Maybe he decided the story kinda ran away from him, in a direction he didn't want it to go? I hope not.

What if it's not something you eat, but drink?

bump

Dualing journalists! Pens at twenty paces? This I gotta see.

"No, I don't mind, but you realize, I have a ship of my own to run. I won't be able to stay much longer. The Rakehell will be missing me, and I her." As I stepped to the rail, the fresh morning breeze caressed my face and caught my hair. I took a deep breath. It's clean scent cleared my head of the last remnants of the previous evenings Champagne. I turned to Jacky. "Maybe we can arrange to sail our two ship together for a time. Or do you prefer to work alone?"

"Sae, yea survived the meeting with the Devareaux's I see." Trilby closed the heavy oak street door and headed for the rooftop stairs. I followed, my nose twitchng at the oder of sulpher which hung thick in the air. "Been experimenting again?" Trilby waved a hand. "Just a wee somthing I've been working on." He continued up the stairs. "Smells like it's not going too well." When we reached the patio I gulped in the fresh air. Trilby flopped into his usual chair, but I remained standing. I'd been on edge ever since the sunset meeting in the Old Church. The face and voice of Sebastion, mixed with dark shadows and frightening images, had haunted my dreams. Without realizing it, I paced back and forth as Trilby and I talked. "Well, are yea going tae tell me which Devareaux did the talking?" Trilby poured Port from a cut-glass decanter, then offered me a glass. I took it gratefully, the smokey, nutty flavor soothing. "It was Sebastian." Trilby grinned. "Ah, sae yea met the peacock of the clan. Tried tae sweet talk yea, I'll wager." Trilby's humor rubbed me raw. "He tried. He failed. We talked business." "Oh, right. Business." The old man winked. "And it's business that has yea jumpy as a flea, eh?" I took another swallow of Port. "We've arranged for a delivery. He'll inspect the goods, to make sure I haven't lied about their worth, then we will trade." Trilby leaned forward, his expression serious. "Hae a care, Ransom. The Devareax's are a tight bunch, and brook nae foolery. Sebastian may act the charmer, but nae be taken in. He and his brother are dangerous men. Conduct your business then be done with them." Before I could snap an answer at the professor, a gust of black smoke drifted over the courtyard.

Change the "Mom" to "Dad" and you'll have a list for what most women don't want! Except maybe to add "I don't need a short-leash handler, I can be trusted."

Think outside the box. What if it doesn't have anything to do with bread?

The crashing pot makes me flinch. I glare at Spoons, whose timing was perfect. I'd been sure, at that moment, Jacky meant to kiss me. With a sigh, I go back to sipping my coffee, but inwardly I smile, knowing it's only a matter of time before another moment will arrive.

If the world was run by the belief in "Eye for an eye" we'd all be blind.

Ah, free drinks. My favorite. I'll take me usual - French bubbly with a shot of Tattoo. Welcome to the Pub, mate.

Welcome back, birthday boy!

"If yer implyin', because of my age and finances, I can buy my own drinks and pizza; tis true I don't need those things from the ladies. But twenty years ago, I'd given ye the same answer. I'd been married before, and had other women in my life. Appearances may be important when yer under twenty. But busted relationships and divorce teach ye, t' look fer things in a spouse that matter." I like a guy who can afford to buy his own pizza and drinks. As I'm also on marriage number two— and the last one. I found out very quickly that it's what's on the inside that counts, and holds over time. The same applies to friends.

I feel like I've been hit by Mac truck. Worked hard in my garden all day yesterday, and this morning I'm paying for it big time!

Very nice, but you all got the bread box question wrong. Want to try again?

Ioan remained on board while Captain Striker and Jane left to attend Sterling's wedding. He didn't think Striker would make it through the ceremony, his face still pale and drawn. But he had insisted, and between the two of them, he and Jane had dressed the man. He wondered if life aboard this ship would be more profitable than the one he'd experienced on the Rakehell. At thought of Ransom his back sudden ached even more. He hated that she'd had him flogged. He also knew, had he fallen down on the job on any other ship, the result would have been the same. It also surprized him that, when he'd had the opportunity to betray her, he hadn't. He looked out over the bay. The Rakehell was anchored well away from the docks, and he could see Africa and Jimmy looking over the rails toward town. Smart move, that. It would be near impossible for anyone to approach the ship without being seen. Without thought, he raised a hand to greet the two men. He saw Jimmy tap Africa on the shoulder and point in his direction. Africa stared at Ioan for a moment, then made some pagan hex sign, and turned away from the rail.