Maeve O'Treasaigh

Maeve excused herself from a conversation with Mr. Pew and hastened to answer the door. She opened it to find a sodden Capt. Lasseter at her doorstep. "Oh!", she exclaimed. "Please do come in out o' the weather Captain". Maeve moved quickly out of the way and ushered him inside, taking note of the stitched wound he seemed to no longer be doctoring. She made to take his hat and wet coat, which he allowed and she placed them by the fire. She simultaneously informed Dorian that Mr. Pew was awake and that he could go on in to see him. Just then, BriarRose entered into the storefront from the kitchen, holding a little black cat she had never seen before. It immediately began growling at the site of the Captain, and cut short Briar's salutation as the cat bristled in her arms. "Where did that thing come from?", Maeve asked, surprised. Dorian ignored the cat but kindly greeted Miss Kildare as he passed into the surgery.

ooh aye! Tasty indeed. Thanks for filling my special request :-)

Ciaran Hinds is cool, but a bit old for the role. I nominate the scrumptulicious Gerard Butler for the role of Barnabas instead.

Maeve was surprised that he would have the energy to cuss, though she didn't know why she should be. She laughed internally at his unnecessary apology. It had been a while since she'd heard sailor talk, true, but it was nothing she hadn't heard before on her journeys here. Many had spoken similarly in the countryside she'd come from. Indeed, the kind of language that came out of men's mouths as their limbs were being sawn off was nothing compared to sailor talk. And as Mr. Pew mentioned Dorian Lasseter, she gained a kind of far off look, as she recollected a rather brutal surgery she'd helped her father perform on another man who's last name had also been Lasseter. Coming back from her gruesome reverie, she looked once again at Mr. Pew. "You've been here for about 2 days now. Your friend Mr. Franklin and several others brought ya here. Captain Brand showed up soon after. You've been visited by many. Today's just a slow day", she said with a smile, looking once more back out the window into the gloomy day. "BriarRose has taken even better care of you then maself, knowing much more about caring for those with Marsh Fever than I do. We're makin' you a thin stew that you should be able to eat fairly easily after such a long time without food. Since ample money has been left for your care, I'll be happy to take any reasonable food request ya might have. But mind ya won't get anythin' harder ta drink than an ale while yer under our care. I trust that'll suit ya just fine", she said, turning back to regard him.

Maeve stared out the window at the dreary weather, wondering if it would ease up enough to allow her to head out and shop for the supplies that Briar needed: 2 chemises, heavy linen scraps, sewing tools, hair ribbons, 2 hair combs, soap, diapenidion, ginger, anise, raspberry tea leaves, laudinum, Manus Christi, Species Diatrion Piperion…the list went on. Up above, she could hear Briar’s soft footfall on the floor above her as she moved about the bedroom, stoking the fire against the chill and dampness. “Oy!”, called an impatient voice from the surgery room. Maeve was a tad surprised to hear Mr. Pew’s voice so suddenly. She hadn’t even heard him stir. Quickly, she stepped into the little room. Mr. Pew was sitting up, looking pale and drawn, but somewhat recovered. Maeve smiled to see their patient marginally revived. “What can I do for you?”, she asked pleasantly. He looked a tad grumpy and pointed at the folded stack of clothing Mr. Franklin had purchased for him. “I’d prefer ta have ma clothes, ifn’ ya don’t mind”, he said, his voice sounding a bit gravelly. “And, I’ll be in need o’ the chamber pot right away”, he added. “Oh!”, she said. How silly of them not to have kept a pot close by for his use should he suddenly need it. “Of course”, she said as she moved to the shelf and removed a dusty earthenware chamber pot. She handed it and the pile of clothes to him. “Would ya be needin’ any help with either task?”,she asked seriously, the perfect countenance of someone that was past being embarrassed about or beneath such things. The sudden look on his face was all the answer she needed and she merely raised an eyebrow and smiled a smile as one would give a silly stubborn child. “Have it yer way Mr. Pew. I’m sure ya have questions. I’ll be waitin’ in the next room when yer done”. Maeve crossed into the kitchen to begin boiling some water to make a simple stew for Mr. Pew. She heard Briar come down the stairs. “I thought I heard voices”, BriarRose said from another part of the house, and it was followed by an indignant shout from Mr. Pew. Maeve, understanding immediately what had just happened, couldn’t help but burst into a laugh, even as she heard Briar apologize and shut the surgery door, a little too hard. Briar was smiling sheepishly behind her hand as she entered the kitchen. This renewed Maeve’s laughter, and they both dissolved into the silly girlhood giggles that occasionally overtook one even as an adult. “Twouldn’t be so funny”, Maeve managed after a moment, “if he weren’t so indignant about it”. Briar nodded, laughing breathlessly, wiping a small tear from her eye. “Aye indeed”, she agreed. “Ah”, Maeve sighed, finally catching her breath. “If only the men knew just how many patients we’ve “seen”, mebbe they’d understand ‘tis nothin’ to those in our trade”. Regaining her composure, Maeve gave Briar a wry smile who stayed behind to prepare the stew, and stepped out of the kitchen. She waited several minutes and walked to the surgery door. Knocking softly, she called “Mr. Pew?” “Aye”, he said gruffly, sounding embarassed. He had likely heard their giggling, as much as they’d tried to stifle it. Either that, or he was still put out by having been walked in on. “Is it…alright ta come in now”, Maeve asked. Mr. Pew merely grunted. She took it for a yes and opened the door. He had managed to dress himself, although he had broken out into a slight sweat for his efforts. He was leaning against the table. Without thinking, Maeve reached into a small bowl filled with water, rung out the rag that was in it, and handed it to Mr. Pew so that he might mop his brow. He gave her a weak smile and took the rag. “So”, she began, “let me tell you what’s been happenin’ and if ya have any questions after that, I’ll do ma best ta answer”, she said. Maeve began a full accounting of all she knew that had befallen Mr. Pew and the subsequent steps that had been taken by his friends, Captain, and crewmates to see him delivered here and cared for in the absence of their own ships’ doctor. “No one’s been by ta see you today yet, but I should think the weather be what’s stallin’ ‘em”. Maeve turned to look out the window and Mr. Pew followed her gaze. He didn’t say anything right away, as though he gathered his thoughts about him.

Aye Ransom. Pan's Labyrinth is excellent. A must see. I would rate is as: (if you're on a budget) and (if cost is of no concern to you). Either way, this film is beautiful, even though on the dark side. Simply gorgeous.

Maeve forced herself out of bed and made her uninspired way down the stairs. Half way down, she could smell the tea that BriarRose must have brewed and her nostrils flared. Hot tea suddenly sounded amazingly good to her. That and a leftover biscuit or two from yesterday. She reached the bottom of the stairs, shuffling her rumpled form over to the table where Briar sat. Maeve managed a sleepy smile as Briar laughed at her appearance and the way Maeve slumped into a chair beside her, letting her head thump forward onto the table as though she might head back to sleep right there. BriarRose ruffled Maeve’s hair. “Would you like some tea?”, she asked, smiling, setting down the pen she had been writing with. Maeve merely managed a nod against the table and a quiet “mhmm” in answer. Briar fetched another cup, and, as though she read Maeve’s mind, returned with a couple of biscuits and some jam from the kitchen. “Here you are”, she said, pouring a nice cup of hot tea for her friend. Maeve sat up a bit and regarded the steaming cup with bleary eyes and gave her friend a grateful smile. “Thank you”, she said and caught site of the list BriarRose was making. Maeve took a sip and then asked, “Is that my shoppin’ list for ya?”. “Aye”, said Briar. “I thought I’d get started on the items I think I’ll be needing for my journey”. Maeve nodded gravely. “And how is Mr. Pew?”, she asked, changing the subject. “He seems to be fairing better and is past the most dangerous part of his journey I suspect”, she reported. Maeve smiled. “’Tis wonderful news. I can’t wait to tell the Captains and any of the crew that stop by”. BriarRose and Maeve continued to speak on their patient, then returned to the subject of the shopping list while they snacked on biscuits and drained the entire tea pot.

Eating a good old fashioned Fun-Dip candy....a silly childhood favorite. MMmm! Sugary goodness....

DOH! SO polite of you not to point out that I directed you to the original site you posted......jeesh. 10 points to me for idiocy...

I thought this was a fairly informative article: http://www.vintageconnection.net/ModesInMakeup.htm You'll have to scroll about 1/2 way down the page to get to our GAoP era.

Ah! Simply perfect! *tosses aside boring toast and milk and digs in*

Jenny love, how 'bout something more tempting that a piece of peanut butter toast and a glass of milk?

contemplating a piece of peanut butter toast and a glass of milk...

bottles of beer

Maeve grew still and she failed to entirely hide the crestfallen look on her face. “Oh”, she said simply, and took a moment to half-sit on the edge of the table. “Well, I dunno know really. You’ve barley spent one night here…I dinna expect ya to be lookin’ ta leave so soon”, she said quietly. Briar went to speak just then but Maeve cut her off. “I do understand yer sense of urgency though”, she added, with a look that spoke volumes. “First, as yer dear friend, I absolutely insist that ya stay with me and I’ll not hear anything contrary”. Maeve fixed BriarRose with a look, though it was not as stern a look as she hoped, holding instead a rather imploring quality. “I’m not in harms way with ya here”, she continued. “As far as anyone knows, ya've answered ma post lookin’ fer someone ta share expenses and livin’ space”, she added with a sly smile. Briar’s face broke into a reluctant smile. “And besides”, she added, casually reaching for a freshly sharpened bloodletting razor, “I’ve got some friends” she said as she fingered the wicked tool, a wide-eyed innocent look suffusing her face. After a short moment, Maeve couldn’t maintain her composure and they both burst out laughing. With a sigh, Maeve set down the razor and regarded BriarRose once more. “Second”, Maeve continued, “I wouldn't involve the Friar any ferther in thes than ya have to. He's already put 'imself at risk doin' what he did fer you. Instead I think that perhaps that would be a good question ta ask Mr. Franklin when he retarns with clothing fer Mr. Pew. I imagine he’ll be able to give you some advice and ideas. In the meantime, just lay as low as possible. Try not ta go outside until dark. I'll run all of the errands en the daytime an' do as much as I can fer you, includin' runnin' to the shipyard to arrange ya passage when the time comes alright?". BriarRose still looked anxious, but agreed to at least wait for their patient's friend to return. With a warm hug, they discussed beginning a nice simmering pot of stew that could be had for lunch and dinner that day.

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Maeve and Briar cleared the table and brought leftover foods and dirtied dishes to the kitchen. Mr. Franklin, feeling a tad useless, lingered by Mr. Pew's side as the two women went about their tasks. He heard soft conversation and laughter spilling from behind the closed kitchen door as the women worked. With a chagrined sigh, Mr. Franklin drew up a chair and settled himself down, again near Preston. What silliness the two women were speaking of, he decided it was best left unknown. The gossip of ladies was full of barbs and fanciful things, sometimes best left unheard by an unwitting eavesdropper. In the kitchen, the two friends spoke lightheartedly about the mix of company they'd had this morning, and laughed over the poorer table manners of some. They kept their voices pitched low enough so that when their conversation turned to more private matters, there was no fear of being overheard by Mr. Franklin. Unfortunately for Eric, there were those who cared not at all whether they were overheard through thin walls. He had to endure what sounded like a disagreement between a husband and his wife next door. She sounded shrill and ill-tempered as he bellowed at her. "Still thy mouth woman!", were words he caught clearly. With one more outburst from the wife, and a slammed door, there was silence once more. Eric smiled to himself. The thin walls reminded him of being home on the Watch Dog. 'Twas too bad though, he thought, that the two ladies had to deal with such ill mannered neighbors. Maeve interrupted his thoughts by coming out of the kitchen doors, calling back to Briar. "I'll see ta it", she called over her shoulder. Eric turned to watch her as she moved closer to him. She smiled pleasantly as she picked up the filthy pile of Preston's cloths, and heaved a sigh as she inspected them. Turning to Eric, she looked at him a moment. "Yer friend's cloths are a right harrible mess. I'll see about gettin' him a new set". Maeve turned to fish out the needed coin left by the Captain's. Eric stood up. "No need for that ma'am", he said. "Preston's my friend and I'd probably have an easier time of finding him the right sizes. Besides, Preston's a tad particular", he said with a smirk. Maeve smiled, thinking it would be a great errand for Mr. Franklin to keep him busy and useful. "Ah, what a wonderful idea", she agreed, handing Eric the coin she pulled out for the purchase. She briefly described some of the best shops to patronize, along with careful directions. Eric thanked her and headed out. Maeve began a thorough cleaning of the shop and house.

Like all crew members, he is in rotation. Sometimes he is up late and sometimes he is not.

Maeve's smile lingered as she moved into the kitchens. For some reason, all of this unexpected company in her house and the loyalty and concern they showed for their comrade put her instantly into a good mood. Not knowing the plans of the crew that lingered, she thought it best to make a light breakfast so that everyone could have something on their stomachs. Humming softly to herself, Maeve dug into her flour stores and began to make biscuits. While they baked, she scooped generous teaspoons from her jar of bacon lard and began making a savory sopping sauce for the biscuits. She smiled to herself as she moved about the kitchen, hoping everything smelled at enticing to those hanging about the shop as it did to her.

Briar and Maeve spoke in soft tones over a bottle of warmed mead. They spoke on matters of personal import, of secrets, fears, and dreams as they made plans for the near future. Preston stirred occasionally, drawing their attention away for a brief moment until he settled back down. The emotions of the day, as well as the mead, eventually began to take its toll on the two women as lids grew heavier. Despite the circumstances, Maeve was, at the moment, truly content. She was only just now realizing how lonely she was in her home. Briar’s company filled a hole she had not truly realized was there, and her contentment grew as they talked and the night progressed. She had always looked forward to the times when she would work side by side with Briar on patients at the church. They worked in tandem, falling into an almost hypnotic routine as they made their way through those in need. Each one learned from the other, and where one had a weakness, the other filled in seamlessly with her strength and knowledge. As of late, they were some of the only truly happy moments she had had. They smiled at each other, and then they giggled for no good reason. The giggles eventually left them breathless. Maeve finally stood up, wiping streaks of laughter from her cheeks. “Alright ma dear. ‘Tis time, I think, fer us ta be headin’ fer sleep.” She stretched and almost lost her balance as Briar stood, a bit unsteady herself. After another small fit of laughter, they ministered to Preston one last time before helping themselves somewhat comically upstairs. They fell into bed, still in their clothes of the day.

Maeve was not all that surprised when Eric Franklin took his leave of her shop and his friend’s company. The man’s worry and distress were barely contained and it was obvious to her that he needed some fresh air and perhaps a good stiff drink either alone or with some trusted company. She breathed a small sigh of relief as she found it quite stressful to put on a brave and serene face for the sake of Mr. Pew’s comrades than she actually felt. The truth was that Mr. Pew was not doing well and their shipmate hovered all too closely on that thin line between life and death. The chirurgeon gauged once more the amount that she had bled from Mr. Pew, and deciding that it was enough, took care to clean and bind off his bleeding arm, laying it gently against the patient’s side. Now, with a moment’s peace, she sought out her father’s notes on how to treat this illness. It wasn’t but ten minutes later, as she poured through her father’s notes, that she heard the sound of a cart pull up. A moment later, an urgent knock came at her shop door. Thinking that perhaps one of Mr. Pew’s shipmates had returned, she smoothed the worry and insecurity from her face and opened the door. Instead of one of Mr. Pew’s companions, she was greeted by a pair of stormy blue-green eyes that hinted of tears. A quick assessment took in the packed bags on either side of a lovely woman standing before her with a face contorted between fear, anger, and hope. “Briar!”, she exclaimed, immediately grabbing her friend’s hands despite her having dried blood on them. “Whatever is wrong?!”, she asked. Maeve hardly gave Briar a chance to answer as she looked down once more at the bags. “Are ya leavin’?! Come inside!”, she said urgently and didn’t wait for a response as she pulled her dear friend inside the shop, grabbed her bags, set them just inside and closed the shop door. “Oh Maeve”, she whispered, voice thick with the emotion of fighting back tears. Just then Briar took notice of a man lying on Maeve’s table who looked as though the reaper stood over him, patiently waiting. This distracted her from an explanation to Maeve. “Who’s that? And what’s wrong with him?”. Briar was crossing to the table to inspect the man herself. Maeve almost laughed at her friend just then. It was so typical of her to throw her own worries aside to help someone else in need. Maeve gently grabbed her friend by the arms and stopped her from getting closer. Then, gripping Briar’s arms firmly, she forced her friend to look her in the eye. “Never ya mind him fer jest a moment. Tell me what’s wrong and why ya’ve packed all yer wordly possessions!”. For a brief moment, fierceness flashed across Briar’s porcelain features, but were quickly tempered once more by fear. “He’s found me!”, she said and pressed her lips tightly together, as though that admission had suddenly made her situation too real for her. Maeve was confused for a moment, and then a slow comprehension dawned upon her. “Ya mean…”, she trailed off, giving Briar a look of knowing. Briar bit her lip and nodded vigorously. A tear finally slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away defiantly.

Maeve heard the sound of a wagon and horses but paid it no mind until it stopped suddenly outside of her place. The sound of urgent voices came to her from below. She moved over to her bedroom window for a look and saw 5 men dragging some poor wretch out of the carriage. For a moment, she thought this was the result of some brawl, but quickly realized the man was unconscious and had a shirt covered in blood. She couldn’t help herself as she flew down the stairs to her open shop door to meet the men who had obviously brought this man to her doorstep for help. “Bring ‘im inside”, she said urgently motioning to the table she had for this express purpose. Not all five men could fit through her doorway at once, and she would have laughed had the situation not been serious at the way the men argued a bit over who would carry him and fumbled over which way to turn the poor unconscious man to get him through the door. One of the men took charge, barking rather sharply in his deep concern, that he and Luc would handle ‘Mr. Pew’ from here. He ordered the others to wait outside. Maeve looked on as this transpired and wondered why the name of Mr. Pew should seem familiar. She peered at the unconscious man as he hung strung between the shoulders of Luc and the One in Charge while he barked his orders. Maeve could see now that his shirt was soaked in blood as well as vomit. Eric Franklin turned his attention now to Maeve as he and Luc carried Mr. Pew across the threshold. “Miss, we ‘ave urgent need of yer services”, he puffed as he and Luc bore the patient to the waiting table. They laid him down carefully, the One in Charge cradling Mr. Pew’s head. “Oh!”, Maeve exclaimed, suddenly recognizing the unconscious face now that it wasn’t hanging down against his blood soaked chest. Luc took a polite step back after laying the body down, but Eric’s body language showed he had every intention of staying close by. “I recognize this man”, she said looking from the patient to the One in Charge. “Now would ya please tell me yer nem and exactly wots happenin’ here?” Eric quickly introduced himself and told the surgeon all that he had witnessed regarding Mr. Pew’s onset of illness. Maeve unconsciously pressed her lips firmly together as she listened, and her eyes flickered often to Mr. Pew as Eric spoke. By the time he was finished, Maeve wore a grave expression and had stopped looking at Eric altogether as she bent over the unconscious form. Dried blood and vomit clung to his lips and goatee, and his pallor was altogether unnatural. Beads of sweat clung to his skin and his breathing was much too shallow. Eric’s voice trailed off and he watched as Maeve assessed Mr. Pew’s condition. With a grave expression, Maeve carefully lifted a closed eyelid and, to her dismay, noted the dreaded yellow tinge. Her hand dropped away quickly. “What?”, Eric asked tersely. “What is it?” “Well, et looks as though yer friend has the Fever of Siam”. Eric’s face became more grave still at this pronouncement, and Luc crossed himself. Eric’s lips moved as he stopped and started sentences many times before he finally asked, “Miss, can ya help ‘im?” Maeve nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can ta help, but yer friend here is very badly off. I’ll get ‘im cleaned up and then we’ll have ta bleed ‘im a bit”, she said decisively. Her confident plan of action seemed to comfort Eric a bit, who stepped outside to send the waiting men on there way back to the boat with a message for the Captain and Mr. Lasseter to inform them immediately upon their return to the ship of Mr. Pew’s condition and as to their whereabouts. Eric stepped back inside as the men began to leave and firmly closed the shop door as Maeve resolutely set about the tasks she had prescribed for the patient. Fidgeting, he watched her working, wondering if there was any hope for his comrade. He wondered this and many other things as the night wore on.

Rumba, you're evil! Why did you post this site?! I haven't got enough kleenex to catch all the drool...

I would like to pre-order some kind of wicked yummy cake to celebrate my last day here in the OFFICE OF EVIL! Can that be ready for Wed, May 9th?

She watched the captain and his two mates leave as she contemplated why such a man would bother to make a personal appearance to make gifts of books which could have brought him some nice coin instead. She was bemused that he seemed so ready to accept her skills as a chirurgeon when the rest of the world merely regarded her, at best, as a midwife. When her father, Diarmid, had left her to return home to Ireland 7 months ago, she had hoped to fair better than she actually was. She had assisted her father with nearly every patient he had, often taking the lead in operations, administering sutures, and the like. Naively, she had assumed that a trust and confidence in her skills would have spread and given her a kind of hard won credibility. She had felt confident that she would have plenty of work even with her father gone. With the hard pang of an aching heart, she realized she’d become far too familiar with naiveté and the high price it demanded. Things were not turning out as she had planned and as soon as the money from Captain Lasseter ran out, she knew she would be struggling even harder to make ends meet. Maeve glanced over at the book on midwifery. Except when giving free charity service at the church to mothers who had nowhere else to go, no one to help them, and no means to pay, she’d done very little of it. Truth be told, she'd had more experience birthing lambs than human babes, although the similarities were there. Perhaps she should have gone back home with her father, but she'd fallen so in love with the lush tropical beauty of Martinique that she'd convinced herself all would be well if she stayed. Furthermore, the promise from her father to send her brother Seamus from the Americas to stay with her had helped to cinch her decision to stay. Yet, Seamus kept putting her off, saying he would send word when he could arrange to come and would send money until he then. She had yet to see any assistance come her way, and she was loathe to beg her Da’ for money. Distraught, she wondered how much longer she would be able to stay afloat before she too was begging upon the charity of the church. Though she loved her independence more than she ever thought possible, perhaps it was time she re-considered the offer to move in with her friend BriarRose. The companionship would certainly be most welcome. Maeve stared down the street, long after the captain had disappeared from view, wishing vainly for a world filled with people who thought much more as this intriguing Captain Brand did, a world where women were free to be fierce, brandishing the swords of men, and valued for knowledge and skills thought only proper for a man. She laughed just then, and it nearly turned into a sob. Maeve had thought she was done feeling sorry for herself, resolute now in her purpose to get her affairs in order. Contrary to her previous resolve, she needed one more good cry.