Capt. Sterling

ship's log

This would make good sense for a particular crew who ran their lot like this... silver on coats could be reclaimed (removed and melted down) so that it could be used over again, thus a nice profit depending on how much is used per coat.... It makes a lot of sense to see a crew bickering over the right to keep such a coat and divide it into shares...

Check out the "In yer Garb" thread in Rabble Rousing...you'll see lots of folks in their kit there...

That also gets back to the arguement that sailors and Pyrates didn't dress like landsmen.... Nice coats, but you couldn't work in them....... Captain... I don't "work"...I just make suggestions.... but then that was the way of gentlemen in those days... orders were for the middling sort/commoners to give... and if I chose to climb riggin, one would do it easily in either ....frockcoat... sleeves with large cuffs naturally fall downward out of the way of hands as arms are raised upward or sleeved waistcoat, with snug tight sleeves, works just as well.... as for the silk...I leave that to GOF... I prefer wool

one lump or two?

fortune teller

female preacher

That's my darlin Lill! spendthrift

clothes horse

Sterling watched the exchange of persons in the room as if he were but viewing a theater production back home… enter one, exit the other… and yet he had been left with little to go on regarding characters, just a terse rebuke and the knowledge of his health spiraling downward at a rapid rate. He shuddered slightly, his appalling behaviour as callous as any vagrant in the theater pit. Thank God those at home did say their prays and new well how to do so, or he would not be making a fool of himself as he had. Home… the thought that he was not truly there but still stranded in Port Royal chilled him., his shiver all too real. He brought his left hand to rest upon his brow, the heel of his palm pressed against his useless eye. All the trouble he had caused himself and now…how much had he caused to others? The brute in the doorway had been all too clear that someone had extended a kindness that his outburst proved him unworthy of.. He had been chastise by one, beneath his station, and yet the reprimand was honestly served and most certainly deserved. He shifted slightly as the young woman came closer toward him. “Lass, my behaviour just now was shameful.” He stopped to catch his breath. He could not remember being this ill before. Another chill played with the blood in his veins. My God, what if he was not able to sail when Morgan finally set his date? A thought he quickly pushed aside…as a dishonor was in more need of rectifying then concern of the future expedition. “I would be most grateful to thee if thee would be so kind as to inform thy Mistress of my most sincere apologies unto her and her household.” He looked up at the charming girl that hovered by his side and certain memories, though disjointed and vague, flooded his mind. “You!” He tried to raise himself. “Kakit nam-ur?” he asked… “Sar to anav?”

golden idol

manipulation

the future

Aye, Cascabel You be right there...now where are those middling sorts? Actually there are two in the crew who take care of this lowly task...unfortunately they don't live with me and I have to wait to get to the event first.

Yeah they're brilliant but not very conducive to getting out the front screen door... I'm always catching mine on the handle and jerking myself backward on the way out to events... I do like the guy in the background...looks like he already has his wig tied back into a que or perhaps even a bag..

fireflies

Good day to ye Birthday Girl! Moonshine

put yer feet up and rest a spell.... Hillbillies

He spied her, the first time, from a distance during one of the festivities at court. It was fairly close to midnight, as the King’s guests took their ease after an elaborate banquet . She had arrived late on the arm of John Churchill and all the men’s heads had turned to watch her, her escort ignored or envied, as she took her stroll about the gardens. He had to admit she took his breath away and yet there was something about her that told him he would be playing with fire. After all was she not the most accomplished and sought after courtesan in all of London and had not the King's head been turned as well? Still he could not help but ask what the commotion was, having only just returned from a year at sea. His reply came in the form of a slap on the back and “oh John, where have you been my lad!” He could only roll his eyes and sigh at his simple companions. It took him several more attempts before he learned her name, Catherine Grey. It did not take him as long to make his introductions. He had been in one piece then, twas long before his captivity, the golden haired child of a wealthy and powerful lord, fit, healthy and well made, if not a little vain, and then, as well, blessed with a knack of turning everything he ventured to try his hand at into a success. In his mind, she would be no different.. And so as he bowed before the enchantress it was she who paled and seemed to fall to pieces when confronted with him. Such a reaction only bodes well for a young rascal who thinks he is God’s gift to women and there after he was in hot pursuit of her. And she, for reasons all too personal, quickly welcomed his advances. He remembered the first time he had carried this magnificent creature in his arms to her bed chamber. It was there after he had pressed her with loving words, that they had truly become most intimate as secrets were uncovered and his eyes were truly opened. From then on, they were in each other’s company until all London talked about the glamorous couple in hushed tones and all too “knowing” innuendoes. It had come as a great shock then to her as well, when he had thrown everything away to marry his Tess. It would take her time, but to her credit, she was the first to forgive him and wish him well, something his father would never do. They had renewed their closeness soon after and since then, no one nor nothing could break them apart... He opened his eyes enough to see the dim light outside. Was it morning or was the sun just now setting? He did not know, he no longer cared. He was exhausted to say the least. He shifted slightly, the dank smell of illness accosting his senses. Still, he thought, it was good to be home even if Cate had changed around the room she always had ready for him. He would have to thank Andrew March for getting him here safely… And Cate. Only she could mange to plant trees outside his window and in Covent Gardens…. Of all places. He allowed his exhaustion to overtake him a moment longer. He thought on the dark haired vixen, how very much alike they were. He tried to sit up but couldn’t and knew he should rest but he had to see her. “Cate! Habibi!” he called out but as he looked toward the door, he was taken aback. He was meet with faces he knew but could not place, unless… surely he had left them back in Jamaica……. “Who are you then and what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

Cossacks

So did they go "boom"? I really want to know...

charts

chase

contest

Instead of tar and feathering, we have paste and wooling. This I gotta see. :) It's an Irish thing...