Port Royal, Part Two

[Ransom]

Okay folks, here is the new Port Royal. Some characters from the old story may come back, and many new characters will be added.

Let's play!

[Cheeky Actress]

So...who wants to start this Bad Boy up?! Setting/Time?

[Ransom]

Let's say it's been six months since PR Part One left off. We're heading into hurricane season, just to make things interesting. We can refer to old players, but obviously, we can't play their parts.

I suggest we still use the Joint Thread for questions, etc. And it would be nice if new characters posted a brief bio in the Bio Thread, but it's not mandatory. Just makes it a bit easier for others to get a better visual of what your character looks like, age, etc.

So, anyone, hop in whenever you want.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

In a cushioned chair, Professor Angus Trilby, like some Turkish Pasha, sat under the cane shade of his rooftop terrace, sipping from a half coconut. It’s watery milk was fortified with a healthy shot of dark rum. On his head, protecting his semi-bald pate, was a turban-type coil of grubby cloth, which matched the equally grubby scholar's robe covering his stocky frame. Tufts of graying red hair sprouted from under the turban, and grew from his upper lip. It also, like two rufus caterpillars, hedged each of his piecing blue eyes.

Currently, those blue eyes were fixed on his Jamaican servant boy, Souris, a former starveling he’d found half dead behind one of the numerous taverns in Port Royal.

“What’s all that buidy racket below?” he growled, his thick Scot accent becoming even worse when he was riled about something.

Souris, used to his savior’s odd ways, merely shrugged. “Don know, suh.”

“Well then look, blast you.”

The boy walked to the half-wall which confined the terrace, and peered over into the street below. “Master Tennant has knocked his wife onta the street again. He’s throwing cabbages at her.”

Master Tennant was one of the many vendors who plied their wares from carts or baskets hauled through the many streets of the city. He and his obese wife had been fighting for as long as Trilby had been in Port Royal, which was almost ten years.

Trilby sighed dejectedly. “Sae, that’s all I’ve got for entertainment since that she-devil of a pirate left town, is it? And that imp, Devon Burke gone as well, more’s the pity.” He glared at Souris again, who had picked up Trilby’s cat, Cleopatra, and was stroking her calico fur, much to her annoyance. “What this town needs is a little more excitement. I havena had any fun since Burke and I spent that night at the tavern drinking. Drunk as lords we were by nights end.”

Souris dropped the squirming cat, and refilled his master’s coconut with rum. “Hurricane season commin’. Somethin’ bound ta happen. Maybe you loose your roof again?”

“Better than having the place burn down, as it nearly did.” he groused, remembering the fire of a year ago. “Ah well,” he sighed again, sipped his rum, and batted at a huge fly that was circling his turban. “Mayhap something will turn up soon, afore I die of boredom.”

[Thomas Neede]

Thomas Neede had hired two natives to finish hanging his sign from the corner of his tavern. The pace had kept up over the last six months and he was drawing in more coin than he could spend. Even his side 'projects' were not worth the effort due to his ordinary outgrossing them.

The portly British East India Company ex-accountant went back inside to his private office in the rear of his building. He removed a ledger, made a few notations and withdrew several coins from a faded leather pouch. The tavern-keep ran his finger over his script and suddenly remembered the twins. He had nearly forgotten about the lads and his proposition to them. Thomas had not heard from them in quite awhile, yet he had not heard from either the marine nor the butcher. "A job well done perhaps," he mentioned to himself.

Thomas closed the ledger and placed it back in it's keep under lock and key in the desk drawer. He held the coins in his hand and made his way back to the rapidly filling main room. The two men sat on a high stool and drank from two small cups. The innkeeper thanked the men and offered them a bottle to which they graciously drank heartily from. He placed their payment on the bar top and their eyes opened wider, if even possible.

Edward Sullivan had remained on with Thomas as his personal aide-de-camp. He despised the term as all things French, but the boy had proved more than his meddle in his dealings with the back alleys and sideways politics of Port Royal. Sully joined him at his side. Thomas tucked his hands in the taut pockets of his finely tailored waistcoat. He remembered the snuff in a small tin he kept in one of those same pockets. He proffered the tin to the young man. Sully nodded and did his best to appease his master. Thomas smiled. Purposefully he withdrew a batch and inhaled. A small pinch opened his senses to Port Royal's magnificence.

He stood on his porch facing north across Kingston Harbour. He walking placidly into the street and looked east towards the Governor's Mansion and then back west to the Admiralty Court. Business was active that day.

Edited April 14, 2009 by Thomas Neede

[Reginal S. Killingsworth]

With a slight moan of despair from his lips, he knew it was time. The very sight of the morning sun made his soul pitch and stagger within him. Things were different now….very different. The life in which he knew was gone and in its’ place something wretched, vile and inhuman took its place. He had once taken to prayer first thing in the morning, but now he could only mutters wicked curses under his breath. Lo, he was a very unhappy man.

His life, or whatever it was now, had blackened his heart, destroyed his spirit, and left him alone in the world. The only thing that drove him was revenge.

It was then he heard a row outside his window. He slowly moved towards the window and opened the window slightly. Peering down below he saw the cabbage vendor, Master Tennant and his ugly obese wife arguing under his window. Another curse muttered under his breath as his drew himself closer to the window. “Piss on you both!” He said and he relived himself on the couple below.

Edited April 15, 2009 by Reginal S. Killingsworth

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Souris broke into giggles, and pointed over the wall. "Some gent has pissed all over Master Tennant."

Trilby left his chair and walked to the half-wall. He could see and hear Master Tennant shouting invectives at a figure standing in a balcony across the lane, and above the merchant and his wife. Trilby grinned. "Ye seem tae hae come tae a wee bit o' grief, there Master Tennant."

Tennant and his wife both turned. Tennant shouted, "That man pissed on me! Pissed on my wife as well. He's ruined my cabbages. I'll have the law on him."

Chuckling to himself, Trilby replied, "Weel, with your good wife already smelling o' cabbages, a bit o' piss will hardly be noticed. And half the time, your cabbages be rotten or worm ridden. Ye've suffered nae loss that I can see."

Trilby then focused his attention on the man who had done the dousing. Suddenly all feelings of mirth left him, as a memory flooded back into his mind. Surely it couldn't be? That blackguard was dead. Or was he? The body was never found. Trilby squinted his old eyes, trying to get a better view of the man, but he withdrew into the room behind him, foiling Trilby's attempts to identify him.

[Reginal S. Killingsworth]

As Reggie cast his eyes down upon the upset couple; the sudden pleasure he felt from his work was brief and fleeting. The iniquitous, sinful smirk that crossed his lips had faded back to its new arrangement, a distorted snarl.

In the low lit room his eye caught a glimpse of his own figure in the looking glass. He felt his body stiffen and his heart began to pound harder. Slowly, ever so slowly he took a step closure. The lines of his body now in view of the looking glass showed everything…every detail of the horror that he now had to live. Reggie stood quiet looking at the shell of himself and thought back how could this have happen.

His mind raced back to the earliest memory when the madness had started. A pair of hands came out of the darkness and dragged his body through the streets of Port Royal. Of course, it was the continuous gut-wrenching pain that he remembered the most. Days turned into weeks as he dealt with fever and infection.

Reggie spent several months in the care of some polish quack. It was then he realized that he did not die at the hands of his beautiful cousin, Tess St. Claire, but suffered at the horrendous indignity and shame of her trying to dispose of his body. It was too much for him to handle. The true madness of what had happen did not sink in until he saw his face weeks after the tragedy.

“Bitch!” He shouted out in frustration wrenching his head away from his image. It was a gruesome sight. Nothing from his old self was left. He was horribly disfigured from the fire. He had no hair to speak of, his face as a twisted mass of scared flesh; only his left hand showed any resemblance of normalcy, except of a deep gash in the palm. Reggie, the witty, charming Fop of London was no more. In his place was a creature so vile that he could not to look upon himself.

“I curse you all!” He shouted again. This time throwing a chair across the room and smashing against a table. “I will have my revenge…my revenge on you…all!”

It was then there was a knock at the door.

[Red Bess]

From the deck of the sloop Carlotta, Port Royal looked like paradise to Bess McManus. Lush green palms, white sand and endless blue sky filled the horizon before her – so different from the cold, rocky coastline of her native Scotland. But as the ship moved closer to the docks, the true character of Port Royal presented itself. Vessels of all kinds filled the harbor, and most looked as if they had seen better days. The docks were teeming with activity – beggars, whores, pirates and merchants – each conducting their own “business” with little or no regard to what was happening around them. Bess was both thrilled and repulsed by what she saw.

“Are you sure this is your destination, lass?” Captain Ellis asked. “It seems a mighty rough place for a genteel young lady such as yourself.”

“Oh, Captain, I am hardly a lady.” Bess laughed. “Yes, I am certain this is the place. I am sure Geoffrey is here – it is exactly the pirate haven I've heard stories about.”

“Well, if your young man is pirate, I wish you even more luck. Even in a 'pirate haven', a man's chance of survival is only as good as his talent with pistol and sword.”

“And his wits” Bess added, “which is why I'm sure I will find him alive and well.”

“Then may God go with you” the Captain said. “Mr. Baker will take you to shore, but I'm afraid then you are on your own.”

With her meager belongings wrapped in a linen bundle, Bess took her place in the longboat, next to seaman Jacob Baker.

“Thank you for your kindness, Captain Ellis.” Bess shouted as the boat was lowered into the water “God bless you.”

“God bless you as well, lass.” the Captain shouted back. He turned away and shook his head. “Heaven help you; you are going need it!”

[Marisol de Sansal]

Port Royal was not where Marisol de Sansal had intended to be. It stank. It was crude. She had not seen such filth since leaving Istanbul. No, she had hoped for the refinements of Paris, or Venice, (she had disdained London, the English being so prudish) where she could ply the trade to which she had been so artfully trained, to those who could pay the most. And she could only blame the wife of her former Spanish lover for her current stranding in purgatory. Marisol had been forced to leave Cartagena, albeit with a sizable monetary recompense.

The Dante (she'd had no forewarning the name would be prophetic) had become so riddled with worm, that her captain—a scurrilous fellow with foul breath, and a lecherous nature—was forced to wallow the Dante into Port Royal or risk the ship sinking. With a day's sailing still to go, the bilge had filled with over six feet of water. Rats sought shelter anywhere they could find it, which had included her small cabin. She had dispatched two of the creatures with the stiletto always hidden within her bodice, and with their carcasses wrapped in a spare face cloth, had pitched them overboard.

There was no hope of the ship sailing any time soon, or ever again. Captain and crew had disappeared into town as soon as the ship was secured. The only other passenger, a trading agent looking for new contracts, had bid her a surly farewell, his lack of gentility brought on by the fact that he could not afford her. And the fact that Marisol's partner and guardian, Ahmet, had prevented him from contesting the point.

So here they were, stranded on this pitiful island, with no immediate means to leave—she had checked the few outgoing vessels, and none were heading for Europe, or at least, none that she would risk her person on. However, she had not progressed far when she noticed the sign above one of the dockside Inns. Sinners Neede.

Well, she thought, sinners have many needs. Perhaps it is an auspicious omen, that sign. She turned to Ahmet and spoke to him in Turkish. "Let us see what the Sinner's Neede holds in store, shall we?"

Ahmet nodded, straighten the scimitar at his side, and followed her into the inn, while the locals of Port Royal ogled the site of a highborn, exotic courtesan and her fearsome protector.

Edited April 16, 2009 by Marisol de Sansal

[LadyBarbossa]

The morning sun bathed the Caribbean in tropical warmth with a few clouds here and there while a brisk breeze from the southeast ruffled up the gorgeous blues of the sea in steady waves that would a ship couldn't help but roll just ever so slightly or occasionally.

Men scurried about the deck as well as up and down the rigging, a sail taken in, a line secured, an order by the coxwain, chuckling from below that echoed with pounding by the carpenter.

A tall lad stood next to the bowsprit for a moment gazing ahead before shuffling off to the right, leaning over the railing of the bow as a man tossed in a rope line to get bearings ensuring NOT to run aground a sand bar hidden underwater.

Straightening up he glanced up at those in the rigging then to the main deck as a man came up from below and another trotted down from the quarter deck after conversing with the tall, stocky man that stood there before the helm. The helm being manned by only one right now.

One step infront of the other, he left the forecastle at the bow of the ship and made his way aft along the starboard side of the main deck waving around two men before he came to the foot of the steps to the quarter deck.

"Inform th' Captain Port Royal is within sight," a deep, burly but velvety voice came from above as the young man looked up stopping in his tracks seeing Graves standing at the top of the steps looking down at him. Apparently Graves had seen Kidd cross the main deck and took advantage to make the young lad useful.

After a second of letting that order sink into his head, the teenage boy Davey Kidd nodded, "Aye," almost reluctant and trying not to sound like he really didn't want to do this. He would anyway.

Turning from the steps he shifted to his right to the ornate double doors and knocked upon them three times. Pausing , waiting to be allowed in.

"Enter!" a muffled voice replied.

Instead of opening both doors, he only opened the one and slipped inside to a cabin that didn't really stretch the width of the vessel. It would if it weren't for the side cabin on the right and the side cabin on the left. The cabin was rather ornate and finely decorated with persian rugs, sturdy furniture such as a cabinet on the back left and a small secretary like cabinet on his immediate right against a bulkhead wall. A large square table slightly off to the right, the right wall decoritively dotted with weapons displayed like trophies siezed one way or another from opponents - swords and pistols of various sorts. Along with those weapons the walls were dotted with figures that stuck out functioning as candle holders with mirrored backs. The figures were of sirens, horses, cherubs on a wall of ordinary moldings. The ceiling was carved of God and Lucifer battling it out with Christ upon a horse leading the Heavenly Hosts and the Archangels Michael and Gabriel clobbering demons. Silver and brass candlelabras in various places in the cabin, along with a small chest or container of sorts. Something decorative with something functional.

The cabin usually left Kidd in awe, amazed at how his Aunt now lived. As his eyes diverted forward again from looking around the cabin, his blue-ish gray eyes landed upon a middle-aged woman sitting at the table with a log book underhand writing into it dressed in a white-ish plain shirt, light blue velveteen breeches and matching cotton stockings, black shoes with big black ribbon bows. Her long slightly curly hair pulled back away from her face with a black ribbon.

Nex to the table was a man standing. Average and thin, same height as Kidd, not all that finely dressed with his hair pulled back by a simple strip of leather 'string'.

"-ossible. D'pendin' upon tha merchants if they sought what we 'ave." Warren Wyldes informed the woman seated at the table then looked up to see Kidd standing there. And generally refrained from saying anything more.

A few more 'scribbles' in the log book done by the woman before her eyes lifted upon to lock upon Kidd.

"Yes, Davey?" as a brow lifted ever so slightly.

"Graves, uh, had me come to tell you that we are near Port Royal," Kidd said.

A moment's of nothing before the log was quill in the woman's hand was returned to it's ceramic holder and the ink holder lid closed, followed by the log book closed. "We 'll figure it out once we've dropped anchor, Wyldes. Doubt th' Merchants 'll pass up what we have t' offer." She smiled. Then turned to Kidd, "Go inform Smalls to get to th' helm," she told her nephew in a mellow voice, giving the lad a barely noticeable smile. After all, he was her nephew. But if ne didn't know it, one would swear the boy was her son; she treated him like a son.

The lad nodded and left the cabin.

Wyldes left the cabin following Kidd.

Grabbing hold of a simple linen/cotton justacorp and slipping it on, she picked up the spyglass and left the cabin.

[Reginal S. Killingsworth]

The knock upon his door made his heart race. “Who isss there?” He questioned back.

“It is I, Bess. I’ve come to deliver your morning meal, Sir.” Her voice sounded raised and forced. He knew that she did not care to wait upon him.

Was it fear that she felt every time she looked at his face? He “Yes, of courssse. One moment.” And with that he pulled his banyan around him and crawled back into bed.

“You may enter.” The door slowly opened. She awkwardly pushed the door aside as she carried his tray to the small table near his bed. “It is almost mid morning, Sir. You right to be out of bed by now?”

Reggie said nothing as she laid the napkin upon his lap. “Is there any news from England?” Bess pulled back for a moment and shook her head. Reggie rolled his eyes and muttered a slight profane word under his breath. “Oh do go on…I do not have all day.” He commanded her to continue with the tray.

“If I may Sir?” Bess said hesitantly. “Yessss?” Reggie paused as he was about to attack his meal with his fork. “I hear there is a new owner of the theater now.” “Yesss, yessss…so?” He continued to devourer his food.

Bess watched as Reggie clumsily handled his fork and brought it to his deformed mouth. “I hears it be a woman, Sir. “Tis all. I think her name be Renfield, or Radfield or some…” “Elizabeth Remsfield?!” Bess stood there for a moment…somewhat amazed. The words blurted out so quickly…he didn’t even stutter!

“Right, that’s it!”

“Damn Bitch!” Reggie shouted, almost tipping his tray over upon the floor. “Of all the little whore to come to this island…ssshe owes me a pretty penny!” Reggie tone once more grew vile. “Bess, I want you to take a letter to Mrs. Remsfield. You’ll stay and wait for a reply and will have need of you later on today. “

Bess watched Reggie wipe what little mouth he had left and stood there awaiting his next request.

[bosun red]

The smell of damp wood and stale water greeted me nose as me eyes opened. Where was I.....Oh yes the captain of this ship took pitty apon me, starving and alone on that retched rock. If only she new what sort of shipmate I be. The hamock gently swang back and forth and a short lenght of rope was ideally picked up as this last thought was contemplated.

The changeing of deck hands should be called soon. Pitty was not given freely. I have been expected to pull my weight since coming on board. Something tells me had I not the captain would not have allowed me to remain. I think she would have no qualms at throwing this bag of bones overboard. The rope was being tied and untied. The hands of the crewman seemed possessd, make a knot untie the knot, moving without thought. Perhaps it is time to move out of this hold.

*Bang* The door to the captains quarters could be heard as it shut soundly behind whoever was visiting with the captain. Yes a little fresh air before me watch would do me a bit o'good. As I strode into the sunshine and crisp salty air a bustle in the rigging and at the helm drew me inerest.

"What goes there?" I shout to the tall man at the Helm.

Land hoe, Port Royal is just within sight.....man yer riggin we'll be make dock shortly.

Port Royal...finally....how long I have waited to see land again.

My voyage started in England three years ago. Theiving is the crime I was accussed of. Accussed by that fat, greasy, son of a pig, silversmith. I never touched his wares was not even in the market that day. His word against mine is what is boiled down to and his word was heavier. They didn't wast no time puting me on that convict ship headed out to sea.

Luck if you would call it that brought pirates down on that convict ship looking for staples and fresh men. They had been plundering heavely through out the caribean. On one of these last raids they had been depleated of crew and lightened of plunder. I signed there articales and became a full fledged member of the crew. Circumstances as it were I had to become the best crewman I could be I started studing with the bowsun. Within weeks I could tie any knot he asked of me and at dock I became indisposable when it came to loading fright and such. I was the first the Bosun would call for duty with him.

Fearless in a word thrown around in taverns after a man has had a couple stoute drinks. so when I say I became fearless I mean to say I had no fear of death of of life. I had no desire. I just lived for the work and the killing. Killing is something I had never done before but out of neccicicty I learned how to do it efficiently without any qualms. Doul short swords was my weapon of favor, but could also weld a whip whith acurate malice.

2 years into service with these pirates the Bosun was found dead in his bunk, stabed. I was blamed, Me who studied night and day with this man, became like a son to him and he a father to me. They sorry dogs put it to a vote.....I would be marooned. They left me in the blistering heat on a shallow coral reef with one meal and one small pistol loaded with one shot. I vowed then and there to find the one responsible for the Bosun's murder. Even if it was the last thing I did.

And that is how the captain found me starving and alone, but now with Port Royal on the horizon I will have me justice........

[Ransom]

The food stuffs for the Maid of Gibraltar were almost completely loaded within the hold. Ioan Loghry, sweating like a pig, climbed back up on deck, enjoying the small bit of breeze which cooled his face. With a darting look, he inspected his chances of stowing away, but instinctively knew that he was still being watched.

He’d thought once the Rakehell and her crew left Port Royal that he’d be free of the constant guard that had dogged him ever since he’d stabbed that she-witch Ransom. He’d hoped to kill her, but had failed. For months her crewe — his former mates — had watched his every move, and blocked any attempt he made to leave Port Royal. Now they were gone, but others had taken their place. Men he’d never seen before, who never spoke to him, or attempted him any bodily harm, but kept him caged within the city as thoroughly as if he were caged behind iron bars.

No ship offered him safe passage, and even though he’d managed to get a job as a dock hand, he’d never been able to sneak aboard any of the ships he’d helped load. Seething with frustration, he took out his anger on the town whores, where word among them spread that he was cruel and dangerous. Some were even starting to refuse his money.

Like a cornered lion tormented jackals, Ioan was a man ready to explode if he could not escape this island prison. And when he did, the captain of the Rakehell would be the first person to pay for his months of incarceration.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Trilby came away from the terrace half-wall, still puzzling over who he’d seen on the balcony across the lane. Ignoring the rum left in the coconut shell, he headed indoors, passing the reconstructed dog skeleton which guarded the entryway — the former wolfhound faithful in death as it had been in life. It currently had the humiliating job of hat stand, as three straw sun hats in various degrees of disintegration, were crookedly stacked on the heavy skull.

Once inside, Trilby descended the stairs and headed for is study. The air was cool and smelled of herbs, chemicals, and sulfur. He glanced quickly at the Da Vinci barometer. For the past two days its small glass globes had been slowly sinking, warning of a coming storm. Well, Trilby thought, this house has withstood more than one hurricane, it could withstand one more, should it come to that.

He filled his pipe with a particularly noxious Turkish tobacco, lit it, and settled back to think. How could a dead man come back to life? Trilby wondered. How could a man beaten, branded, and burned survive? Yes, Ransom had described the wounds suffered by Killingsworth, as it had been she and her crewe who had rescued him from the island. Then he’d been kidnaped from her ship with the collusion of that blackguard, Ioan. No one knew where Killingsworth had disappeared to, until it was reported he’d been murdered.

Even with such compelling evidence, Trilby was certain the man who had relieved himself on Master and Mistress Tennant, was the same man who, years ago, had raped and murdered the young girl who had been Trilby’s housekeeper while he was still a professor at Oxford. If Trilby could prove Killingsworth was still alive, he had only to report the fact to the Devereaux’s to exact his revenge on the man, and let that clan finish the work they had so artfully started.

Edited April 23, 2009 by Professor Angus Trilby

[Liam Finn]

It had taken Liam and Ian a bit of time to find those men they had been hired to find, and kill. They had studied the men and their habits and after seeing their temperament and evil nature, when they died at the hands of the twins, both men enjoyed snuffing the evil light from their eyes. And to the delight of the brothers, the men had plenty of money on them and some fine swag to sell for more money. The boys lived like kings for a months time before the gold ran low, so it was time to return to their benefactor to see if they were needed yet again. The only offer from elsewhere was from one of the brothels the frequented, one that could be quite lucrative in many ways.

[LadyBarbossa]

Making her way out upon deck wearing a light justacorps over a thin cotton shirt that somewhat meshed with the rest of the attire. Hair pulled back despite the gentle breeze that started causing a few whisps of hair to flutter about.

On deck, moving around to the steps and climbing them as she looked about.

"All Hands-" a holler went out, as men and two women made way about with a younger lad than Kidd weaving through the scurrying crew as they went about as ordered to bring the ship into port.

"Port Royal within sight I'm told," she said calmly as she strode up the last of the steps to stand before the helm with Graves.

Graves nodded and pointed in a general two finger motion.

Nodding as she glanced about again, her eyes landed upon the woman known as Red. Odd circumstance but T'was none of her business of former issues. Just so long as this woman Red didn't cross her cause she'd find herself tossed into the drink after the crew strung her up and took potshots at her with their pistols. "Let's make port. 'Bout time th' crew had a bit of rest." She smirked almost slightly as she placed her palms upon the railing, leaning upon it, looking before her and beyond the ship to Port Royal.

Bit by bit, the good ship Resurrection sailed closer and closer as it was sailing in from an easterly direction.

Sailing around the small pennisula where Fort Charles and Fort Walker were planted and to the North Docks, watching as those in the rigging, took in sail as commanded and the two men at the helm doing mighty well steering the vessel.

Looking up to see the British Colours flying high and fluttering full in the wind which was coming from a ESE direction.

Anchor dropped with a fairly loud ker-splush while some crew leaped off to moor the vessel to one of the North Docks.

She turned to Graves and smiled. "There be times I wonder why I need t' be here. Fine job, Mr Graves," she straightened up and patted his shoulder.

'Thank ye," he chimed in robotically.

Barely a half-hour in port and finally the gangplank laid out. Nothing unloaded yet for it was time to strike business so to speak.

Now adorned in some of her finest, Anastazia sported a fine travel habit of crimson velvet and gold damask with black embroidery and brass buttons. With her, her nephew, Kidd, accompanied her along with a couple others. All about to head ashore to see what goods could be unloaded here and sold.

Before coming to the gangplank, she spotted the woman known as Red and strode towards her. The clunk of her footwear and the clink of the fashionable walking cane upon the wooden deck would alert anyone of the approaching presense.

"If I may, Miss Red?" generally she was one to be formal... somewhat.

"Ye are not bound to this ship and therefore you have an open choice to leave the ship or to continue on as a crew member. No need to decide now. I'll let ye simmer upon this whilst I am ashore." She briefly smiled to Red.

[Reginal S. Killingsworth]

It had been raining on and off most of the day on that summer morning and the crowds at the Theater dwindled miserly to Eilzabeth Remsfield's liking. "Oh, this will not do!" She muttered to herself as she looked through the curtain. The audience was waiting for the first act to begin. Then she looked over at her dressing table where a stack of unpaid bills laid unattended. "Damn them to Hell!" She cursed. "I cannot expect to live the life I am accused to if the cursed people of Port Royal haven't got the good sense God has given them to appreciate a fine actress as myself. They rather sit and listen to priests on Sunday then to hear me and my lively performance!"

Her hand maiden quickly passed her a note as the rest of the stage crew rushed about to get things ready for the first act. "Oh lovely!" She let out a sigh. "We are saved..saved I tell you." She quickly kissed the forehead of the maid servant and smiled uncontrollably. "Looks like John Dryden has received my letter. He has agreed to let us do his new play, "All for Love". I hope that this will show you all I can still manage and obtain a first class playwright!" With that she tucked the letter into her tight fitting breaches and waited for her cue. "This will be the week we perform The Country Wife!" She said with a sniff and then walked out upon the stage with a smile.

Now, if it hadn't been for to Bess' employer demanding payment from the famous Eilzabeth Remsfield, she would have never had ventured out that afternoon in the deluge bad weather.

It took her almost a good half hour to walk the street to the theater. Her hands and feet were completely soaked. She was not in the mood for an argument, especially with an actress. They always seemed to make matters worse with their poise for drama. It was hard to make a point while they yelled, cried, wailed and threw things at you. With a sigh she looked up at the theater entrance and walked in. There she managed to find her way through the tiny little path down to the main seating area. It was then Bess saw her. She stood there performing her scene with such poise and grace. It took her a good minute or two to realized she was performing a comedy. She sat there trying to warm up and looked over the paperwork her employer had given her. She didn't care for this part of her job. Never did, really. Collecting debts were just one of many 'uncomfortable' jobs he had been performing these last six months. She looked at her paperwork again; "the sum of 367 pounds due August 17th 1696. Payment to be claimed in full from Elizabeth Remsfield". She looked about then saw the stairs leading to the back of the stage. She knew once there, they would have a hard time throwing her out.

She stood and made her way to the back stairs. Once there, she walked up the landing towards the back room where the performers dressed. "Here? What are you doing here?" Asked the maid servant as she looked at her up and down. "I must speak with Mrs. Remsfieled "Do you, now?" Sniffed the maid servant. "As you can see she's performing." "I will wait until she is done." Bess said taking a seat at the actress' dressing table. "Wait if you like, but she doesn't take lightly to strangers." She smiled lightly, then turned to see the pile of unpaid bills on her dressing table. "What's your business, here?" Said the maid servant quickly snatching the bills up in her hands. "Oh, I would like to discuss my employers business with her." Suddenly, the maid servant looked pleased and somewhat surprised. With a smile she quickly changed her tune. "Oh yes, of course!" She said quickly pouring her a goblet of wine. "Of foolish me, we were expecting you. When the miss is done with her performance I will make sure I notify her of your arrival. Please, make yourself at home." With that the maid servant left the room. Bess looked about the room briefly. The costumes, make-up and props scattered the room. "My word...is this what she spent the money on?!" The maid servant quickly dashed her way towards the stage left. "Quickly!" She said looking at one of the stage hands. "The moment Mrs. Remsfield is finished you tell her that there is an important visitor waiting for her in her dressing room!"

[bosun red]

This damnable rain...(grumbles underbreath)....I've been up and down these retched lanes, ankel deep in filth, all day!!! I swear if that servant boy was lieing I will cut off his ear...maybe his toungue!

Once being dismissed so sharply from the ship the day before I headed strait for the taverns. A drink and a hot meal is what me belly grumbeled for. Plus thier was no better way to find out information than to share a cup of mead with a bloke a bit under the weather. It was not hard to find such a "friend" willing to wag his toungue. It was hard to find the right "friend" with the info I was looking for. By the third or fourth tavern I had a name. I came to call on that very same name tonight. What I found was not the man but his servant boy. Now it is very dark and I am still very wet! I will only wait here a bit longer before retiring to the tavern. The servant boy did say it maybe end of week before the slave trader will be back in port.

(Foot steps aproach and the shadowed figure presses deeper into the alcove of the door.) A women's figure? The shadowed figure pondered only a moment why she was out on such a night and to where she maybe headed.

No concern of mine.(with a shrug of the shoulders the figure shoved off down the street) I will come calling again tomarrow. The warmth of the tavern was calling....Perhaps I can get in on some game of chance, a little gambling never hurt anyone. Since ariving in port pennyless payment for room, food, and comforts was something I needed. The first night pickpocketing payed me way but before this is overwith I would need much more.

I can only hope the cap'n Barbossa keeps her private knowledge private. I think it best me wareabouts be keept hush, hush for right now, and the cap'n has some very private knowledge not even me dear Bosun,dead now, know'd.

[Marisol de Sansal]

When she entered the Sinner’s Neede, Marisol wrinkled her nose. It was less than she had expected, smelling of beer, tobacco, and harsh spirits. However, it appeared to be moderately clean. The few patrons looked up as she entered, their eyes widening slightly, as they moved their gaze from her to Ahmet. She ignored them, and continued her way toward a heavy counter, where she assumed the proprietor would be stationed. There was no one.

Frustrated, and not at all sure this was the type of establishment to suit her purpose, she decided to ask one of the scruffy men staring at her, where she might find the tavern keep.

“Pardon Monsieur, ou’ e le proprietaire?”

She received nothing but a lurid grin, and, “No speaky Frenchy here, lady.”

“Faleant,” she muttered, then switched to English. “Please, where can I find the owner of this establishment?”

The man scratched his beard, then gestured toward the door. “Was out on the street a minute ago. I ‘spect he’ll be along soon. Care to join me? He won’t mind if I serve you myself.”

It was all Marisol could do to keep from laughing in the man’s face. She forced a tone of regret to soften her voice. “Alas, maybe some other time. I have had a long sea voyage, and would like to acquire a room in order to rest.”

One of the other patrons pointed at Ahmet. “Aint likely Thomas will allow a heathen to stay here. He’ll have to sleep in a stable or sumthin.”

Ahmet leaned in and spoke to Marisol in Turkish, “Are these men being disrespectful?”

She shook her head, answering him in the same language. “No, they are saying you must sleep with the horses. Personally, I would sooner sleep with horses, than with these swine. However, I do not know this town, and may hap this is the best we can hope for until another ship arrives, which will take us back to France.”

“What’s all that gibberish?” the bearded man growled. “We won’t be having that foul heathen talk in here. We speak the King’s English, by God, and so will you, if you know what’s good for you!”

“My apologies, and forgive our ignorance. Of course we will speak English, as is proper. And to make amends, I will purchase for you another drink. Will that suit?”

“Best show us the color of your coin, first,” the other patron, a fat man with greasy gray hair, rose from his table and stood threateningly close.

Marisol nodded to Ahmet, who pulled a Spanish coin from a pouch on his belt, and handed it to the bearded man, who had also risen from his chair.

The bearded man took the coin, bit it, examined it, then grinned. “Well, it’s a good day when you can spend Spanish silver on good English ale.”

“With my compliments,” Marisol replied, then she and Ahmet moved to a table in the far corner of the room and prepared to wait for Mr. Thomas Neede. She only hoped the Dante wouldn’t sink before she could get a room, and return to the vessel and retrieve the remainder of her baggage.

[Ian Finn]

We made our way through the streets o Port Royal, shared the last bottle o rum in th' rain as we approached the establishment of Thomas Neede. Me bruddah yanked open the door an in we slogged makin' our way to our table o choice near th' fire. Liam and I slung our soaked coats off and hung 'em near by ta dry, ignorin' th' looks by who else were in th' place. Checked over our pistols an' swords before settin' ta see when Thomas or Sully might come a callin' fer us. Bunch o th' regulars were there an' some new faces that looked lost an' outta place in this den of thieves.

[iPirate]

Tiberius climbed up on deck and blinked his eyes in the blinding sunlight. Virginia had it's share of sunshine and even humidity but nothing like these waters. Some of the mates complained the heat but it felt wonderful to him.

And the sun! The glorius sun! There was something about it's raw power here that invigorated him. Other's wilted in the heat but Tiberius stood proud, drinking in the sunlight like it was rum. He lightly fingered the hilt of his new sword. He'd earned it in their last battle, along with a beautifully made flintlock. He'd single-handedly saved the Captain and turned the tide of the battle. He'd been rewarded with the best blade and pistol they'd captured from the merchant ship. The Captain said it was like a small sword but stouter. Like a hanger with a straight blade. The hilt was a masterpiece. Not a cup like a cutlass but fine bars of shining brass. Not a cage like a rapier either. Two loops of brass formed a guard at the base of the blade and a single bar curved down to protect the fingers. It's balance was superb. Tiberius had never seen a thing like it, and now it was his.

"Ho, Lad," cried the Captain, "come have a look here".

He handed the boy a spyglass and pointed off the starboard bow. Tiberius looked and saw an island. He could tell it was very large even though it was small in his view. It was get larger as they got closer.

" 'Tis very green, Sir".

"Aye, very green it is, wait until we get closer, Lad".

As they sailed closer to Jamaica, Tiberius felt his jaw go slack. Never had he seen anything like it.

"Sir, if we land there, surely our feet will burn to ash".

"Eh, what nonsense is this, Lad"?

"Oh, Sir, surely this is the Garden of Eden. I don't believe we'll be allowed there".

The Captain laughed and clapped him on the back.

When they finally made land, Tiberius still half expected his feet to burst into flames. This was paradise! The Captain led their small party into Port Royal.

"Ha! Here we are boys! Go spend your gold on women and rum. Spend it all! Haaarrr! There's plenty more for us to find at sea. Ho Lad! I know exactly what you be needing. Something else ye've never seen or had, I'm sure. See that house there, with the red light in the window. Haarr... here Lad, you've earned this. Take this gold, go there and ask for Molly. You'll be a true man by tomorrow"!

The Captain laughed and clapped him on the back once more, shoving him off in the direction of the establisment he had pointed out.

[bosun red]

T'was sitting in the far left corner when I eyed them come in. Alike, yet different. Aye I could tell they were brothers, twins maybe. They seemed to be waiting for someone as they hadn't ordered anything. Thier eyes seemed afixed to to the comings and goings threw the door. I wonder if they would be up for a game........ I am still looking to pick up a little coin.

Tomarrow I would head to the docks maybe I could find some honest work untill the slave trader arrived back into port. At least I would gain knowledge of when his ship arrived. I don't have much faith in the servant boy keeping quiet about me inquering after his master.

3 years have gone by so quickly....................I can still see his face as he loomed over me in the belly of that ship shakeled and striped of any humanity treated worse than any animal should be treated. Kicked and spit upon, wipped, even left for the amusment of the crew. No, I would never forget that face twisted in evil meriment, yellow rotting teeth, or the fowl breath that hit me every time he called me crumpet. Justice can only be the explination of me finding him here. He has changed his profession but he can not change the color of his sole. I dream often of him and how he will recieve me upon our reuniting. At first he wont know me. I have changed me proffesssion and apperence. I am not the frail female at the mercy of her jailer. No, years at sea have hardened me and forced me to hide me female traits just to survive. I would invite him to the tavern buy him a drink once his toungue was loosened and he was braging of his past cruelties I would gut him stem to stern. His evil black sole would run free of his cold corps. Aye I vow before the rising of the new moon this man would be dead!

[Ransom]

It took more than a downpour for the dock foreman to call a halt to work. Ioan, soaked to the skin, hefted a cask of pickled fish and carried it aboard the Maid of Gibralter. As he did so, he eyed the great black ship which had just arrived. For a fleeting moment, he thought it would be a good candidate for his escape. Then he observed that her captain was a woman. All ideas of finding work on the vessel left his mind. Never again would he take orders from a woman.

Cursing under his breath, he stowed the cask, and returned topside. Rain beat against the deck, loud as kettle drums. Squinting his eyes, he crossed the plank connecting ship to wharf, and returned to the nearby warehouse. A dozen bedraggled, tired, and wet workers huddled in the doorway. Ioan joined them.

Suddenly, from behind them, a voice boomed out, "Get back to work, you vermin! The Maid's due out on the first tide, and there's still two dozen casks to load. Besides, a great soaking will wash some of the filth off you lot. Now get to it. No one lounges until that ship's hold is full and I've been paid for our services."

Resisting the urge to throttle the foreman, Ioan picked up another cask and headed back to the ship. But once this job was done, he decided, he was through being a wharf rat. He'd find a way to get off this island, or die trying.

[iPirate]

Tiberius was entirely unsure of how long he spent inside that place. He'd heard of brothels prior to this and had some vague notion as to their purpose, but he'd never imagined what he'd experience there.

Molly told him he was sweet but he certainly was NOT in love with her, despite his assurances otherwise. She insisted that the next time he visited, he spend time with one of the other ladies. It was quite allright, she would not be jealous at all, and then he'd have a better understanding.

It was raining when he left. He had no idea when it started. He figured some rum would do him good about now, so he wandered off in search of a public house. He had more gold left from what the Captain gave him than he thought he would. Molly had been satisfied with just one of the coins and he had... one... two... th... more than two, remaining in the bag.

He also had a handful of his own shillings to spend.

And this is when he learned a fast and harsh lesson about how folks behave in a town like Port Royal.

"Pssst... Pssst... hey, boy, you there".

The voice came from a darkened alley as Tiberius examined the contents of his purse.

You see, in Virginia, he'd never had a purse so never had to worry about anyone trying to take it. And there were strict rules on board their ship. The Lads didn't steel from one another. You'd be aquanted with the Captain's Daughter if you even thought about it.

(note: I assume this lot would know this but just in case, the "captains daughter" was another name for the cat o' nine tails)

Tiberius wandered closer to see who called him.

" 'ere... give us hand, Lad".

Tiberius peered into the alley.

"A hand with what?"

"This"!

Fast hands darted out pulled him into the alley and he saw the flash of a knife.

Now, Tiberius was uneducated. He didn't know numbers nor letters nor even how a wheel could dictate what direction a ship sailed. But he was far from stupid or unclever. He understood the situation at once. He'd spilled blood to get the money he had and he'd spill blood to keep it.

He didn't want to draw undue attention with the crack of gunpowder so he put his new sword to good use. The theives had thought him slow, standing in the middle of the street and trying to count his money, but they soon found that he was much faster than them.

The blade handled well. It slid into flesh smoothly and withdrew without sticking. If the two men in the alley managed to get to a doctor quickly, they might live. Tiberius cocked his head sideways as that thought crossed his mind and he pierced both men once again through each leg. He smiled to himself, wiped his blade clean and resheathed it. Then his stomach growled so loudly it startled him. He'd start chewing on his own sheath if he didn't get some food soon.

"Right, tell me where a good public house is and I'll send some help for you. No? Suite yourself, I'm sure if you crawl out of the alley, someone will pick you up. Folks around here seem good that way".

Tiberius walked off down the lane, whistling to himself.