CrazyCholeBlack

Aye, Mr. Tar. I'm not all that tall now. But I was 5'6" by my 11th birthday. Made fer some uncomfortable preteen years n' seems to 'ave effected my choice of guys even now.

Current conditions in Port Royal: Hurricane (class 2-3) may include rain, winds between 96 & 130 MPH & swells up to 12 feet higher than normal. Flooding occures up to 8 miles inland in low lying areas. Low level escape routes cut off 3-5 hours before center of storm. Some structural damage especailly to poorly constructed buildings. Minor curtain wall failures expected. Time of day for most charecters: hard to tell because of the weather. Evening-night most likely. The time thing is tricky. Not everyone is in the same place/time when they post. So it might be evening for Ransom, but I'm still working on writting everything my charecter did to get to evening. What I'm trying to say is that if your charecter has something "to do" and the person that posts after you jumps to the next day, don't feel that you have to jump as well (unless you're somehow mentioned in that jump). Try to keep the time frame consistant with your own charecters and keep up with the others but don't neglect what your charecter is doing in those "hours" either. Am I just a blithering fool today? Knew I should have slept longer.

3rd!

Aww, poor Mr. Tar. I'm sure Red Cat or Ransom will make an exception for ye. I spent to many years as tha tallest gal in school I guess. One too many Jr. High dances where my partners face was in my chest ta not 'ave height issues.

Tha little swab's still up so I'm keepin 'er busy by playing her favorites off tha machine til she crashes again. It's currently Lindsey Lohan "Drama Queen". great, now she wants to add smilies.

flannel butt wipes? Seriously. Any hand sized scrap of cloth works just fine. It doesn't need to be wet or anything, just wash it out & reuse as needed. They'd only need one and it could just be a scrap from what ever clothing they had worn to death. oops, my inner hippie is showing!

This question just sounds *bad*. I like guys that are tall, 6ft or more. I like a guy that is tall enough that if I stand behind him I can't see over his shoulder. I prefer normal-athletic guys. I'm prety well build & lift so I do prefer a guy who, well, it would be nice to be with a guy who has bigger bicepts than mine. Mr. Hand I think it's perfectly ok to say "small breasts". Course I don't fall in that catagory so maybe I'm not one to choose.

Mr. Tar, did ye just Compliment me? I'm so terribly flattered, I think I might actually be speachless.

Ulises stood like a statue in the small window, silhouetted by the intermittent flashes of lightening. His dark eyes stared into the equally dark night. The stale smell of death permeated the room around him. A scared hand released the window latch, drawing the pane forward. Blustering wind swirled around the tight space, the single oil lamp flickering under the sudden assault. The Spaniard turned his scowling face to the corpse huddled in its own blood near his feet. He stripped the limp body of its clothing before hefting the body effortlessly over the window sill. It twisted oddly as it fell the short distance between casement and earth. Soon enough the raging storm would flood the city streets, taking the carcass with it. “¿Que difícil es una mujer para encontrar?” Tangled black hair shook in frustration. He would have to track down the girl himself once the weather stabilized thanks to his foolish men. Any sane man would have written the idea off as hopeless, but Ulises was not about to let the Dane’s weakness slip through his fingers. The same scarred hand reached out, pressing against the gale as the glass was forced shut again. Opaque eyes returned to their survey of the night sky. Striker would undoubtedly take La Maligna to the sea to escape the tempest. Ulises had thought to use the storm to his advantage, surprising the Dane while he cleared the bay. The Capitán had hesitated, unwilling to brave both the storm and the galleon’s full complement of cannons. He drew in a deep breath as he watched another jagged bolt of lightening split the sky. Keen instincts told him that the two men he had hired would be successful. Once La Maligna was defenseless it would a simple matter to collect her and her erstwhile captain. Slowly the shadow receded from the window. Ulises settled onto the stiff mattress, drifting into a dream wracked sleep as the hurricane continued to ravage the city around him.

“I thought so” Jane mumbled in reply, taking in a deep breath. Her thin fingers twisted together to hide their trembling. Striker’s bright eyes followed her as she paced the cabin, waiting patiently for an explanation. Jane couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed him one, even though she had only known him a short time. Yet she feared telling him to much, feared what he would think of her if he knew about her past. She was not the innocent flower most men thought of when they saw a woman. Jane found herself unable to look at Striker as she spoke. Her green eyes focused instead on the polished wood floor below her. “I had a husband and a son, once, in New York. Tha boy died before ‘e was born. My husband he, well,” She laughed lightly, her misplaced humor raising a questioning brow from her listener. “’e’s dead too.” “’bout that same time my, ah, tha Anna Rae was in port. ‘er carpenter, Joseph, convinced me ta put on some slops n’ join tha crew. Even took me on as ‘is own mate, made sure I did everythin’ right at first. It was just going ta be fer long enough ta get some coin n’ find a new city. A way ta disappear n start over. He was even going ta come with me, make up fer, things.” She smiled faintly, thinking of Joseph’s whispered promises for their future, the home and children he wanted to give her. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, her lids fluttered closed to prevent any from falling. She paused a moment, the only sound in the cabin the occasional rumble from the storm and constant lap of the ocean against the ship. Jane could still feel Striker’s sharp gaze on her, the unblinking eyes waiting for her to continue. “A fever took him almost eight months ago. I should ‘ave left then but I promised ta keep tha Anna floating till I had enough ta take care o myself. Only tha captain was a terrible drunk. We kept goin’ out longer n’ getting paid less every time. I could never get enough coin for more than a week or so. It got so I’d rather starve on tha streets than serve under that drunkard any longer, but, well.” she sighed, finally lifting her head to look at the captain. His face remained expressionless, hands folded neatly over each other across his thigh. Her feet shifted with the rolling ship as she found her way back to the stiff chair. Thin legs curled underneath her as she sat, eyes wandering away from the Striker’s once more. “When we came ta Port Royal I thought ta go off fer a while, see if I even remembered how to be a proper lady. I knew I’d ‘ave ta go back eventually but then you, well, I” She faltered again, to embarrassed to admit her feelings for the captain. She could feel the color heating her cheeks. A shaking hand tucked stray hair away from her face. “When tha fire threatened tha ships, I couldn’t jest let tha Anna burn. But Fulton wouldn’t move ‘er till tha cargo was stowed. By tha time tha storm kicked up ‘e was so into ‘is cups ‘e wouldn’t give tha order. There won’t be much left o ‘er once this is through n’ I don’t ‘ave” She shrugged, letting the sounds of the storm fill the room once again. The ship pitched, sending one of Jane’s legs out instinctively to prevent her chair from falling. She rose her eyes to Striker’s suddenly, a deep furrow between her brows. “How’d ye know where,” Her question trailed off as she looked at him. She knew it couldn’t have been chance that he was at the same tavern but she wanted to hear it from him.

That's an interesting thought Ian. The problem is that it assumes that romance & love can't happen to people who are "bad", that outlaws can only feel negitive emotions. Now we all know that isn't true. The emotional connections between charecters, be they love, hate, envy or indifference, are what makes a story. The events of the story line either prove or disprove these emotional connections, making them stronger or weaker as the story moves forward. It happens just as much in real life, only at a slower pace. Now, I will admit that the romance does bug me sometimes, but that's my own issue. I'm just not a romantic person. I'm much more comfortable with fights, blood shed and hate. Given a choice I'd write someone getting stabbed in an alley over two people kissing anyday. I think that's pretty well reflected in what I write. But I don't begrudge anyone that is comfortable or enjoys writing the romantic end. Like Ransom said, it takes some of each to make a good storyline. Plus, I can always channel my frustrations into one of the angry charecters and it works to my advantage.

I was thinking the same thing Christine. For once I'm glad my birthday is at the *end* of the year. As a teen I was famous for my Star Wars Marathon Parties. I would get everyone together and we'd watch all 3 back to back with tons of pizza, soda, popcorn & chocolate. I have yet to try it with all 6. Don't know if I have the stamina for that honestly.

Greetin's Atrice. Let me be tha first ta take yer coin. I mean, share a drink with ye! Yer another Dane I see. M'dear Captain Striker also calls that fine land home. Enjoy yer stay at the Pub!

Strikers suddenly red face elicited a burst of laughter from Jane. Her hand clamped over her mouth as she gasped for breath between giggles. He had completely misunderstood her question, although his hidden suggestion was one she wasn’t likely to forget. “No, sir, you misunderstand” she stammered still shaking with amusement “I, everything I had is back at tha tavern. Although twasn’t much more than this anyway.” She, stood, dropping his heavy coat onto the vacated chair and took the offered clothes. The man could be as stern with his crew as he wanted but around her he faltered like a young boy. The ship pitched suddenly, Jane’s feet bracing as the floor beneath them tipped violently. She could see in Striker’s face that the storm made him uncomfortable. She had seen a few squalls while on the merchantman but there was something about this one made her nervous as well. With her free hand she gestured at him to turn around. He obeyed, his head dipping as his back faced hers. Her sodden clothes fell easily to the cabin floor, replaced by Striker’s pleasantly dry garments. “Thank you” she muttered, folding back the long sleeve cuffs as he turned to face her again. “Ye’ll hold me ta that explanation then aye?”

She looked down at her soaked clothing, blushing slightly before her brow furrowed. She had left her trunk and all her meager belongings back in the attic room. The haphazardly patched slops and tattered jacket were all the clothing she had, even less than when she had first joined the Anna Rae. She looked back at Striker, the perplexed look on her face obvious. “Um, well. Now what would ye suggest sir?” She smiled broadly, tipping her head to one side quizzically.

Jane tugged the mud caked shoes off. Wet legs were pulled up, knees hugged close to her chest, wrapped in the warmth of Striker’s heavy coat. She reached out, removing the saturated red cap from her head and shaking loose the tangle of hair underneath. It dropped softly to the cabin floor. Jane’s head tipped down, resting against her raised knees. Green eyes fluttered closed as she felt the ship pushed forward by the insistent winds. The light touch on her cheek jolted her out of a faint dream. Her eyes flew open, breath caught by the surprise. “Oh, captain!” Jane exclaimed, exhaling with relief. She sifted under her warm coat, a hand reaching out from the surrounding fabric to push the damp hair away from her face. “I was just, have we cleared the bay?”

Jane took Striker’s offered coat, sinking into the warmth he had left behind. Even with the downpour she could still smell the heady scent of him in the material. It stirred long forgotten feelings in her. The captain's face lit as he smiled at her, the commanding spark in his eyes making her smile in return. The wind whipped about them as they ran, shifting briefly before snapping back to its previous direction. As they reached the docks Striker’s pace quickened. Jane could just make out the darker outline of the galleon as they hurried along, her mud covered shoes slipping as she attempted to keep stride with Striker. The ship struggled against the swelling waves, knocking violently against the unmoving dock. As they neared a call went out from the crew, barely auditable against the drumming rain. Striker bellowed in response. His strong arms forced Jane ahead of him on the gangplank. She stumbled slightly as the board jerked along with the tethered ship before finally finding her footing on the rain soaked deck. The captain’s lieutenant was quickly at their side, the knowing smile on his face making her blush. The two men conferred quickly as Striker ushered Jane to the enclosed cabin. Once inside she slumped into one of the stiff chairs, still clutching Striker's heavy coat around her shoulders.

Jane saw Striker acknowledge the crew gathered behind them in the shelter of the tavern doorway. She didn’t turn to see the men, keeping her back to the past and focusing instead on Striker’s outstretched hand. She took it, surprised at its warmth compared to the chill of her own. Her other arm tugged the sodden jacket tighter around her shoulders, the thin material little protection against the pounding rain. “Aye captain” She nodded officially, knowing that he would hold her to a full explanation if they survived the squall. With a jerk of his head, Striker indicated to his anxious crewman that they would be leaving. The torrent continued, obscuring the view ahead, as the trio began their struggled up the muddy streets towards the docks.

Jane stepped back involuntarily. Her pulse quickened, heat burning the tips of her ears. Did Striker really want her to go with him? It felt to good to be the truth. Her brow furrowed, trying to read the captain's illusive expression. The dim light offered little clue to his thoughts. A burst of lightening lit the street around them, the crack startling her with its nearness. Jane had to swallow hard before speaking. “I’ll follow captain. If ye’ll ‘ave me.”

Film did you say? Now you're talking my language gentlemen.

There are no specifically written rules outside of general courtesy. Many of us are writers with emotional investments in our characters, many of us are trying to develop characters and exploring their minds for further use at real life events. Tis very hard to do either when someone is murdered without prior consent. I might warn the brothers that all's fair and should they attempt such despicable acts in the wrong place again, they might also be subject to the same treatment. Now, Mr. Read, please disregard the post if it interferes with your story arch. There are many such inconsistencies in the thread, as happens when you reach 100+ pages. I can assure you that the good Captain Striker would be very grateful for any information you might have.

Hong Kong Phooey! Borrowed the entire series dvd from the library yesterday. Me little swab is bent on seein 'em all.

GRRReat. thanks for the warning!

ahh, you really want a job that generates stories & attracts every weird-o out there, try bartending! nothing like a little to get people sharing things you didn't need to know.

Jane felt her heart fill as his azure eyes locked on hers again. The slightest smile curved at the sides of her mouth. “Tha ship, tha Anna Rae. I made a promise I couldn’t keep. Now,” She shook her head. How could she explain to him that it wasn’t the storm but him that made her want to leave the merchantman? Another combination of lightening and thunder shook the heavens, the downpour increasing noticeably. The young sailor behind Striker jumped, obviously anxious to retrieve his captain. Her eyes broke from Striker's, searching the ominous clouds over his shoulder. She sucked in a deep breath at the enormity of the tempest. “Tha storm! What of your ship captain?”