Pyrates of the West Coast

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

::His eyebrows pricked up, this was not the way she acted... ::

Hmmmm... I's not wishin' ta pry... but does this 'ave somat ta do wi' Madmoiselle Bertrand? Aye?

::he watched as she shifted he weight away from him, again avoiding his gaze::

My apologies... I 'spect a bit o' yer past ye wish to ferget... ne'er ye mind... mayhaps a wee dram o' whiskey might help ease it away.... I c'n scare up a gil 'r so iffn' ye like...

She considered his words and offer...

"Yes...I think a dram would be most welcome."

Tempest inclined her head in attempt to read his eyes in the dim illumination.

" The past is the past...though sometimes it has ways of presenting itself to the present. As for the tot you so graciously offered...."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aye, past be th' past... Well, I's a fine drop in me quarters, which I need ta put somat there, wher I was headin'... care ta follow 'r shall I see ye topside?

::He looked at her, seeing her relax further...::

"lead on, Mr. Lasseter"

::He bobbed his head::

Aye, come along...

:: Mr. Lasseter stepped past her in the tight confines, noticing that she had already been hoisting a glass by the scent mixed in with her own... She followed him aft to his small, but reasonable room. ::

A moment, Lass.... make yerse'f at home...

::He gestured to the chair in the corner as he knelt in fron of an iron strap bound chest, fished a key from around his neck, worked the lock and opened it to reveal a modest pile of specie.::

Got somat ta add ta th' funds... Pew n' Cutthroat found this on th' deck...

::He showed the coin to Tempest...::

Prolly one o' 'r friends dropped it... no matter...

::He dropped it into the chest among the rest, closed the chest, relocked it and returned the key to its place... he then opened his Sea Chest, slid his hand down the side and withdrew a brown bottle from the depths...::

Ah... there we go... I's told it were nigh on twelve years old when I got it... been two since then... I don't 'ave it often... rum, grog, n' th' like do fine fer th' usual fare...

::He gently pulled the cork out, then waived the bottle under his nose... his eyes closed as a grin split his face as he inhaled... opening his eyes he picked up his jack, poured some of the smokey liquid in and offered it to Tempest...::

Here ye be, Lass... heal wot ails ye....

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Taking the proffered seat, she listened to his safe verbose with a tilt of head. His back turned, the emerald sight roved the interior of confine with curiosity, for she had visited no other private chambers other than that of the Captain's, and then always by call of duty.

The room was much like her own with the exception of furnishing placement and small objects of personal remembrances. Refocusing as he moved to the large banded trunk, she listened deeper and beyond the words he spoke to the lilt that flavored them. In ways it gave her comfort, calling remembrances of the cottage near trickle of stream marking her childhood and she smiled just a hint.

With the appearance of bottle, her attention drew back to the present as she picked up the aged scent with the cork's release. Reaching forward, the tips of fingers brushed his with the acceptence of jack. Giving a nod of thanks, she sipped from the content. Allowing for aclimation of pungent flavor and burn, she drew a heavier pull.

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: he watched as she partook of the whiskey...::

There now... Roisin Dubh's finest... make yer troubles melt away...

::he reached down and gently took the jack from her, touching her hand a moment longer than needed, then lifted the vessel to his lips and took a swallow...::

Care fer more Lass?

::she shook her head in the negative, the glow of the smokey liquid turning her cheeks slightly pink...::

Very well...

:: he tilted the jack back and drained it, set it on the small shelf that doubled as a desk. He then took up the cork and shoved it into the top of the bottle, giving it a quick smack to lodge it in tight, truned and replaced the bottle in its previous confine...::

Well then... better?

::He looked into her eyes and she into his, she quickly stood, almost causing him to fall back onto the chest. Righting himself, he stood full...::

"Dorian... I should go... we're still in dangerous waters...."

::She again had the slightly haunted look about her face. Ghosts from the past rising up...

The Quartermaster tilted his head down trying to see into her eyes again...::

Now Lass... All is right as rain presently.... even you said th' past be th' past... Not to worry...

::He reached out and took her into his arms, she resisted slightly, then gave in...::

See? All is well... Life's a bed a roses in th' sweet trade... Go where we like, take wot we-

::A knock of boots on the deck above brought him out of his revire, and startled the Surgeon as well, causing them to part....::

Ah hmm... Aye Lass.... s'pose I need ta get back on deck... I see yer a'right now... yer more'n welcome ta join me topside...

::He smiled and slowly backed out of his quarters, gave a wink and headed back to his post...::

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Strange things occured in the little lattitudes, and years of discipline by self administration could jade one's emotions. But...for a brief moment, all of that and the worries of the times, past...present...future, stopped in their arrogance and allowed a feeling of peace.

Colleen Jaquelyn Bertrand watched as the Quartermaster took leave and some small hint of regret came forward with his doing so. Shaking her head in unconscience effort to remove foolish thoughts from her mental spaces, she glanced quickly about the small room and unsteadily reached to snuff a small storm lamp's lumination. Waiting in the comfort of darkness, a small smile of another, younger time played her features; just for a tiny split in the continueum.

Stepping carefully out of quarters, she secured the door and deliberated whether she should chance the upperdecks or return to her own domaine. Stronger wills prevaile, but tipsiness of drink wins the wagers, she thought and decided her own cot would be the best of choices.

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: As the QuarterMaster came topside in the waist, he overheard some of the gun crew and Master Gunner talking of the french. He was about to comment that the frigate off their quarter was better armed and crewed than they, but stopped himself, thinking to let the men have their fun....::

Aye Lads, merry time it is...

::He turned to head up onto the quarterdeck, spied the Master at Arms...::

Mr. St. Anthony.... still up an' about at this late hour? Tis a fine clear night... I see yer leg appears ta be mendin' well?

:: he nodded to Jack and continued up the stairs, walked to the Bo'sun...::

Thankee Mr. Badger... ye may take yer leave iffn' ye wish...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The muffled toll of ship's bell stirred Armand from the catnap extending longer than original intention. Rising with a stretch of frame, he surveyed the sick ward groggily and found it as it was before dropping off, empty and quiet. Pulling on a shirt, the Gascon made his way to his sister's quarters and knocking gently, peered inside. Satisfied that she was tucked away in cot's embrace, he padded onwards to taste the night air.

[The Doctor]

Nodding a salutation to the Quartermaster, Jack enjoyed the bit of dizziness that followed. "Aye, sir, still up. 'Twould be a shame to waste the rum in me belly by fallin' asleep just yet. That star up there has an unsavory twinkle about it. I'll be keepin' an eye on it, just for safety's sake."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Gaining the upper decks, Armand breathed in deeply the semi-cool of salt tinged air. Spying the Master at Arms across the way, he strolled over and took a space near against the 'wale.

"Salut, Monsiegneur St. Anthony. "

[The Doctor]

"Armand, mon ami! Isn't it a beautiful night?" Jack asked, obviously still enjoying the spell of Bacchus. He dropped his voice much lower as he leaned toward Armand, who attempted to tactfully distance himself from the smell of rum, "I may have said something earlier this evening that upset your si... the Doctor. I asked her how she knew Capt. Fournier, and she took her leave quite suddenly. If you see her before I do, please let her know I wish to apologize for prying."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Gascon listened tenitively, nodding here and there, then shook his head in negation.

"Non...There is no reason for apologies. It was an innocent thing, I am sure."

Armand scanned the parameter briefly than returned his attention back to Jack.

" I think she is just worn from the happenings, oui? I am sure she will be fine with the arrival of the new day and there is nothing of your fault. It was a long time ago, I am not at....liberty to say anything more."

The Frenchman gave attempt at reassuring smile.

"Perhaps you should like some help to your room? I do not think you should try the stairs unaided. It would not be a good thing to reinjure what is trying to mend."

[The Doctor]

"An excellent sh'ggestion, my friend. I would apprciate th' help." Jack slurred. Armand gestured to Mr. Lasseter that he would be helping the inebriated Master At Arms to his billet. With that, Jack was soon safe and snoring in his billet.

[Jonathan Hawks]

William spent the beginning of first watch checking and re-checking the anchor cable that bound them hard fast to the Danzig Trader.  He noted the position of the Chasse de Mer, far astern.  Fournier had been crisscrossing their wake for several hours now.  He was just close enough to serve and just far enough to slip away when his service was done.

William returned to the deck, finding Rummy as he went and there she delivered the new addition to his cane. 

"Tell Mister Hawks..."  William paused. "No.  I will tell him myself.  Thank you."

William wound his way among the crew on the deck.  Youngblood was at a smoke near the larboard rail speaking with Mister Johnson.  William stopped to make conversation and inquires.  They were there speaking when Miss Smith passed with a tray of coffee.  William took a cup and dismissed himself to find the Carpenter, but after searching the ship, he found him abed and fast asleep, so he kept his praise for the morning.

When he returned to the gun deck he stood a long while with Mister Badger, and they talked of England for the better part of an hour.

Mr Hawks finished shutting down his small forge for the day after giving the special piece to Rummy for the Captain. Once satisfied all is cool, he puts on his hat over his bandana and makes his way up the stairs and along the rail to take in some good sea air. Seeing William, across the way, Jonathan removes his hat and waves it in his direction as an acknowledgment. As he looks over the rail out to sea, he softly hears a tune coming from somewhere on board. It is from a flute. He cocks his head slightly to take in the sound better.

"That must be Rummy" he said to himself. A small smile came across his face as he listened intently to the lively tune.

[Captain Jacob Badger]

:: he nodded to Jack and continued up the stairs, walked to the Bo'sun...::

Thankee Mr. Badger... ye may take yer leave iffn' ye wish...

''Aye sah.......But the night be a calmin' on me soul.......I mighten have me another hour on topside sah........'tis a time fer rememberin' aye?''......(moves t' starb'd rail).........''s'kinda' odd havin' the frenchys tailin' us liken this sah!......naught a place I likes t' see a frig......she should be up front wi' US chasin' her!.....hurr hurrr!''....(a racked laugh starts deep in the chest an' ends wi' a bellow that would wake old Hob)........'' Sorry sah!.....all the talk o' blighty wi' the Cap'n has made me a might nationalistic inside sah''......(chuckles..).

[Pew]

::After my last past of checking to make sure all cannon were secured, I made my way back to the Quarterdeck. Leaning on the rigging for the gaff sail on the Mizzen mast, I think back to the first time I was under the command of a "Pyrate". About 20 years ago, I was fortunate enough to sail under the direction of Captain John Cook of the Virginia Cooks. In April of 1683, we arrived in the Chesapeake with two prizes captured in the West Indies. One, a French merchant ship much like the Danzig Trader nows that I think of it. It was filled with fine wines which had been taken only shortly before off the Isle of Vacca. That made for an easy late spring of resupplying the Revenge for the summer and what it may bring. With the Captain knowing of my being raised in these waters, I was lucky enough to be raised to the postion of Cox'un for Captain Cook. The Mid-waters of the Cheaspeake are wide yet treacherously shallow. Nary a war-o-war would be caught there, unless you knew your way in an abouts the shallows and knew the tides. We decided that that was the best time to outfit the better of our two prizes, a vessel of eighteen guns. The Revenge was docked at Kent Island which was still in the throws of land parcel battles with Lord Baltimore and a Mr. Claiborne from the Virginia Colonies. The Revenge, dubbed as such after Captian Cook's first command was sunk by a French Warship, was truly one of the most fleet-a-foot ships especially after we had outfitted her from our two catches. By then 'twas mid-summer and the trade upon the bay was greatly invested in the fortunes of tobacco farmers. An easy parley for us being as how many of the skiffs and sloop upon the Bay were outfitted with maybe two- three cannon and a swivel gun or two . . ."Evening, Mr. PEW", a voice calls behind from behind me.::

Sorry Mr. Lasseter sah, didn't hear you come topside. Just reflecting back to me ole days . .

[Dorian Lasseter]

Right then Mr. Badger....

Ah, Mr. PEW.... so many thinkin' o' their pasts....

[Pew]

Aye, sah, aye.

[Dorian Lasseter]

30 June, 1704

7 bells of the morning watch 0730

::The night was uneventful, many of the crew stayed on deck to remember their fallen by talling stories and sharing rum... slowly they dispersed, some to their hammocks, others to the deck under foot, succombing to weariness and inebreation...::

::As the light on the horizon slowly crept into the sky, the tips of the masts catch the rays, lighting almost as if afire... the sky is clear but for a few scant wisps of clouds... ::

*Yawn* Ah... looks ta be a fine day comin' forth...

[William Brand]

Ciaran is aloft early in the watch, having taken his morning meal, beginning on the gun deck and finishing it high above the Watch Dog's weather decks. The air is crisp but not unpleasant.

Mister Lasseter sounds the seventh bell of the morning watch and not three minutes later something catches Ciaran's eye off the starboard beam. He puts the spyglass to his eye, and even then the object is small.

"Not a boat..." he says aloud to himself. "...but..."

Then he sees it, sign of life. There is a figure that is almost imperceptible at this distance, small, but waving or moving about on...what...wreckage or a raft?

"MAN OFF THE STARBOARD QUARTER!"

Ciaran notes the sudden change in the figures below.

"BOAT OR SWIMMER, MISTER CIARAN!?" Mister Lasseter cries back.

"CANNOT SAY, SIR! TOO FAR OUT AS YET!"

[Pew]

::Hearing Ciaran cries of a man in the water, I burst awake where I slept on the Quarterdeck. Leaping to the gunwale I hang from the rigging nearly fallin overboard wile squinting into the distance.::

Mr. Lasseter!

Shall we launch the Samson sah?!

[Dorian Lasseter]

Right! You there! Pass word to rouse th' Cap'n!

::He takes his 'glass from pocket, extends and looks to where Ciaran pointed... from the Quarterdeck he can bearly make out a shape on the horizon...::

Ah, there.... Cox'n... head us towards 'em...

::Mr. Lasseter climbs up the ratlines of the mizzen, hoping for a better look... He steadies himself in the standing rigging, peers through his glass... yes there is the shape, there is movement...::

Mayhap someone else got caught up in th' storm.... wi' a worse endin' then just some damage... Hmmm.... hope they's able ta stay afloat... gonna be a wee bit o' time afore we get to 'em, 'specially towing tha' damn'd tub....

::hearing Mr. PEW ::

Nay Lad... too far away.... might send th' cutter... gonna wait fer Cap'n William ta see wot 'e wants ta do... gotta rescue 'em... I's sure tha'll be 'is wont...

[Diego Santana de la Vega]

Well you'd have ta be dead not ta wake after a call as that! Up and at 'em. I was already slipping on me slops and finished dressin with me shirt. I runs down the way up the stairs and over to the rat lines and seeks me brings 'em near. Holdin it in me teeth I climb up to Ciaran and hands him me last mango. Where? I says. Pointing "three point starboard Monsignor" he said. I am scanning the distance I don't see anything. (but then me own glass is not near the strength of the baskets glass) I pats 'im on the back you have eyes matey you have eyes. Can I bring you anything me ole son? he waves me off no and never drops the trained glass on his subject. I turns back to looks about the French in follows and they are too with this mans sighting and begins their turning off to the port. (I leans back in toward Ciaran ) ya sure I can't bring ya somethin? He stops and looks at me eye to eye. Monsignor he says I could use a couple slices a dried beef ifin ya can find any? I says I think we can find a few hanks fer ye friend, I'll be back. I descend the main mast and greets the gathering crew comin up as I descend good morrow, good morrow, yes a fine day indeed and i heads off to the galley.

[Pew]

Nay Lad... too far away.... might send th' cutter... gonna wait fer Cap'n William ta see wot 'e wants ta do... gotta rescue 'em... I's sure tha'll be 'is wont...

Aye, aye sah, standin' by . .

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The sudden loud movement from above had stirred with demented intent the once sleeping state. Through one blurred and squinted eye, Tempest glared at timbers overhead with deep disdane. Raising to upright position, her head gave heaviest of reminders to actions of the preceeding night.

"Jays, Mary and Patrick...bloody bit of racket. A soul would find more tranquility in a bawdy house..."

Leaving the swing of cot embrace, she bent over to retrieve the pile of clothing deserted somewhere in the course of night...and immeadiatly regreted the forward and downward motion; squating proved more kind to the throb of cranial manner. With the carefully made act of dressing, she retrieved a wide brimmed straw hat and stepped from the cabin's offer of darkness and moved with sloth plagued footing to the decks above.

[The Doctor]

Jack awakens to the calls of alarm on deck, and his head immediately feels as if it is being crushed in a vise. Too much grog and not enough food. No time for self-recriminations, he thought. He rose and dressed himself as quickly as possible, checked his arms, grabbed his cane, and headed topside.