'Bastian Devareaux

(Nanakshahi) calendar

The say to me in their awakening, "You and the world you live in are but a grain of sand upon an infinite shore of an infinite sea." And in my dream I say to them, " I am an infinite sea, and all worlds are but grains of sand upon my shore." Kahill Gibran

Nathan Kelley stood near open cell door gazing into the dim. The lamp hinted at livid tattooing, to traumas he doubted were delivered by hand alone. The mention of Pinon's name caused unconscious reaction, a quick glance down narrow corridor and sharpening of hearing. Thompson's body language spoke volumes of his discomfort, yet he lingered near Sterling as if in some mental battle of right and wrong. The oppressive air and stench of chamber did nothing to ease the nerves, steady flicker of oil flame causing ghostly fingers to stab the darkened walls than retreat; only to stab again. Thompson pivoted the merest degree, his features drawn and jaw set tight as gaze fell on Nathan's thresh hold vigil. Eyes were twined window's of confusion; reflections of inner questioning that had no simple answers. Kelley's full attention was trapped within companion's haunted expression, and he found himself suddenly craving a vast quantity of the Craythur.

final

Just finished Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil over the weekend. Currently reading The Smugglers, a bit of mental popcorn to mix with Smuggling in Hampshire and Dorset 1700 - 1850, not so mental popcorn.

Sweet

trade

I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both, and I believe they get paid in the end; but the fools first. Robert Louis Stevenson

harbour

Sabastian drew two paces closer, lamp oil flame caressing angled features until reaching penumbra cast by wide brim. He measured the man before him, as he did the worth of crystal vessel. A nod of approval was given to the offer of libation, its' scent and colored measured with the same care; though sampling of such would hang limbo for the time being. Smooth evasion was delivered to previous query of identity; bypassed as if never uttered. "It has been my experience, Monsieur, that there are those of refined taste and those without. To impress the later is of no great effort, but to do the same with the former..." Pause was taken as crystal was re-evaluated, "Is only done with the knowledge of current whims and unending desires. Which is it that you care to appease, Monsieur Neede?" One brow arched slightly under chapeau's shadow. "Anything can be had. Any whim, any desire....Any pleasure..." The smile returned. "For a price."

As evening's darkened blanket crept over the Port with lethargic characteristics, Sebastian gave smallish stretch. Eyes roved the encompassment of room from far corner seating, hearing trained on the muffled voices that luft through closed door. It was odd to his thinkings, that an establishment so rife with life and carousing in the past, could become so much as a tomb in the present. The hushed air almost oppressive having been contained and unoccupied until recent. Footsteps nearing brought his attention away from private musings, bring full attention to the doorway; hint of smile played lupine expression. Sound of knob disrupted the silence, and with portal's opening, the chamber seemed to take deep inhalation of fresher air. Keeping statuesque poise, Beggar Prince watched as new proprietor moved about the surround; choosing to lite near large desk occupying glazier proxy. Rifling of parchment could be heard as the Other perused the contents of leather tome unawares and one word comment hung the room's laden qualities. Shifting position within confines of high-backed chair, Sabastian spoke with quiet soothe, "Bon soir, Monsieur Neede..." Careful note was made of the other's reaching for pistol just right of the tome's placement. "That will be far from necessary...There is no call for its' application and you will find that it is no longer charged." Leaving the chair's support, Rom moved into the edge of lantern's reach of light. "Welcome to Jamaica, Monsieur and might I offer felicitations to you regarding newly gained establishment." Dark eyes surveyed Thomas Neede with veiled interest. " I do believe that we may be of service to each other..." Cunning smile appeared over swarth terra. "And further, that such service could prove most, shall we say...lucrative?"

Devon sat in familiar local near hearth's expanse with half-lidded eyes. In one hand, the simple render of pipe bowl balanced as flame was brought near to conjure content's life. Pungent sweet the scroll of smoke rose lazily to rafters above; coupled pulls strengthening ignition. Casual scan of proximity was given, lingering on barmaid crossing of Common before clay stem was traded of porter sampling. Comfortable sprawl in posture was accomplished next and the Waiting Game after that. Eventually Kelly would regain well worn chair across table's wobble existence; until then, Burke would give relish to the simple pleasures at his disposal. Mind wandering, he tip-toed events leading up to breeching of Port Royal's surround and his impression of said local. Smallish crease appeared on smooth brow in reflection of silent mental traverse. For the majority of time spent, things had an easy rhythm and that had been the norm for many months....This was not the case of late. Granted, the Owling Trade proved well in reward, allowing provision for the things Devon Burke counted highly in priority for the day to day. Not that former occupation of cut purse and general thief had not....Still... His posture adjusted without conscious venture, and tankard once again was cupped, draught taken. Passage back to table support paused in mid-flight as further thought tugged.Port Royal was becoming a hot bed and things in general were falling under closer scrutiny; scrutiny was no friend of Artful Dodger. He was quite loyal and appreciative to those he served, nevertheless the heat was raising and it had little to do with Jamaica's climate. Deep draw was taken from clay companion, rings formed and wobbled aloft to points unknown. Perhaps it was time to move on to cooler latitudes... Attention re-trained to Barmaid's movements.

**

Line

Smuggler's Moon by Bruce Alexander

Middlefaire is in the Hillsboro area, taking place in October.

erratic

( Bravo, Chat Rouge ) proxy

farmer (playing off the phoenetic)

Dogma

distortion

We have attended TRF yearly, though I think we might be passing on the venture this year. If that changes, perhaps I shall send you a line or two regarding such.

charts

averages

The Terror