Pyrates of the West Coast

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

**"Well enough, thanks" she said with a forced tone of easy comradierie.

"Any news on the situation?" She asked, the question asked proffessionally and matter-of-factly. **M.W.

He looked sidelong to her and cocked a brow to her manner. Turning to lean his hip to rail support, Armand watched her momentarily before commenting.

"Monsuier Pew has returned with company. A landswoman...He and some of the others spoke briefly with the Quartermaster before going below. I did not hear overmuch, but it was enough to disturb my instincts."

The offshore breeze had chilled as the sun retreated and carried a heightened dampness that saturated the air with the passing of recent storm. Making note of Tudor's attire, Armand stood to full legnth and removing the long coat he had donned afore coming above, placed it about her shoulders.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"Ta very much" Having been avoiding all eye contact as she spoke, Tudor quickly stole a glance at Armand after her gifted her with his coat, and she noticed a wrinkle in his brow. "Is something the matter?" She asked, genuine concern in her voice. She was usually a good reader of people, but this lone frenchmen always proved inscruitable to her.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

" Non, mon petit colombe...It is nothing for which you to worry yourself."

He commented in offhand manner, though scrutinizing her manner secretly. " Perhaps we should go below were the atmosphere is more abiding and obtain a vessel of something hot to warm us. There is nothing for us to do above but gain a chill. I am sure that we shall hear, soon enough, what is to transpire with the situation at hand."

He offered a hand to her and waited as the breeze became stronger.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She smiled warmly and nodded. "Sounds good by me." She said and started to lead the way below, pretending she had not seen his hand, not waiting to walk beside him. She fought hard to maintain her distance, a self-assured swagger falsly gaiting her steps. When they reached the lower corridor, she began to chat jovially if not noncomittally about the work she had put in on her favourite weapon, eyes flitting everywhere, but refusing to focus on her companion. She also maintained several feet of space between them.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Gascon followed in Tudor's wake and gave outward appearance of ease. It was a strange thing the way woman acted, a true puzzlement of the ages and he bagan to wonder if her actions had ment nothing more than a toss of carnal release during stressfull conditions. But, there were facts that negated that notion and he would simply play along. Reaching across the distance that lay betwixt them, Armand caught her shoulder and directed to the galley which seemed deserted on their arrival.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor nearly jumped three feet into the air when Armand touched her shoulder. She quickly covered her surpirse as she could easily excuse the contact as mearly a directional advisment, but all of his behaviour was making her jumpy and unsure. This was not how things had ever been played with her before. Habit and training had taught her diffrently, but here he was, still a gentleman, still being kind - if anything, being more kind then he had been before. It was as if he actually cared . . . she shook her head, and refused to let herself think.

"I could murder a pint of ale right now!" She said with false bluster and an impish grin that hid the unsurity in her eyes.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

" As you wish, mademoiselle..."

Being familliar with the lay of the Galley and its appointment, Armand brushed past her, pausing to pardon himself before going to where the Surgeon's partial private stores were secured. Returning with a filled tankard, he nonchalantly offered the vessel before checking the stoke of Galley stove.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"Ta." SHe said, taking the tankard, pausing for a sip before she continued. "So what's on your mind, my friend?" She said. "You seemed distracted." She asked. A sibling like tone forced through in her voice. this way is best. she thought to herself as she took another swig. never assume affection the morning after

[Pirate Petee]

*He sat there at the aft of the row boat, his arm hanging over the tiller, holding a pistol and guiding the small vessel through choppy water towards what he hoped was the direction of the Watch Dog. His coat pulled close around him protecting him from the sea and in his other hand he held his flask, periodically bring to his mouth to take a belt to warm the insides.*

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Fournier kept his place on the quarter deck, watching closely as the first of his orders rolled into motion. The shot was delivered true and a hole appeared mid the sloop's legnth above the waterline...and still she did not strike. The amber sights narrowed to the imprudent desicion of quary and as he watched Lamaire discuss the next actions with Master Gunner Boisselier, a tug of caution called from his gut.

Leaving the Holy Ground, Fournier crossed the legnth of weather decks and interrupted the conversation.

"Monsuier Boisselier...belay what you have been instructed. I wish the larboard guns loaded with grapeshot...The starboard with round. We shall lay to and distance ourselves before aligning then I wish you to sweep that sloop's decks."

Paul Boisselier nodded agreement as Fournier continued,

" We own the weathergage...Reload with roundshot and if she does not strike, fire with predjudice. I would prefer that she be left mostly undamaged, but her Master is testing my patience."

As they spoke, a roar sounded from rear chasers aboard the sloop, chain tore screaming through the upward reaches of mizzen mast and the fall of tackle and rigging crashed below at its passage. The frigate's decks became a mass of controlled frenzy. Already hands were working their was aloft to manage the damage.

Fournier focused across the distance that lay between and guaged the possibilities. Without leaving his center, he repeated former wordings and added clarification " Extreme prejudice, Monsuier Boisselier..."

Catching Lamaire's eye, Jean-Micheale turned away and regained the Quarterdeck, feeling the shift of deck as the helm command changed bearing.

[William Brand]

William was in the midst of his captive routine. The days were long and this day had been as uneventful as the rest, not that he was sure it was day. It might be the middle of the night. He had long since forgotten which hours the bells were sounding. All was a darkness and a foul stench going up forever and ever.

"I'm in Hell." he mused.

Then it happened. The sounds from above and below had been so constant that there could be no mistaking the muffled boom and shudder of a distant cannon and a not so distant impact. The ship shuddered from what must have been a well placed hit somewhere along the bulk of the hull. The combined distress of many voices overhead confirmed the hit.

"The Watch Dog...?" he wondered. "Would they fire on a ship they hoped to rescue me from? I pity them for Mister Youngblood's aim and Mister Lasseter's tenacity. They'll make mince meat of this prison barge. To say nothing of the others if they ever make it aboard."

His thoughts dwelt on his own mortality then and the predicament that he was in, presently. Still, he smiled in the dark, lamenting only that he was not on deck to watch the action.

"Would that I could watch the carving of the bird."

[Diego Santana de la Vega]

I hate rain..... and as Ajayi and I finally got down into the first street where we were lucky to see three men come out of a tavern, so we walked in. Nine patrons, three at one table, three at the bar and two at a table and one alone in the corner all looked up and with enormous eyes stared at the size of Ajayi. I spoke in spanish and it appeared they all understood offering up that we had been on the road three days and were in search of lodging. The three at the table went back to their conversation and the two at their table did the same. The three at the bar all turned around in their seats and addressed us with a really snooty kind of "we are the town tough guys and you aren't going to get shinola from us" attitude.

All three began giving me ship waste about bringing the slave into "their tavern". The middle one was the largest of the three and had the loudest mouth as well, so I walked up to him and just slapped him across the face and said shut up. In terror he began mumbling sorry and hail Mary's as the other two quickly turned around and returned to drynking. I asked the babbling idiot to sit with us. Adding I should liken to discuss the past few days in this town. He picked up his drink and we took a table near to the man sitting alone. We all three sat and then the single man got up came over and asked if he could join us as well and turned to Ajayi and said something to which Ajayi understood and answered him back. He looked at me and said you stole this slave and brought him here? What are you loco? I asked if he would translate a few things for me to Ajayi in a moment and then addressed the pub idiot. Has there been any new comers in town recently one with red hair in particular? He said yes that yesterday he was brought into town and without even stopping for ale they went into the wharf boarded a ship which left in the night. I stood, Ajayi did as well and at the ready. I thanked the man threw a silver piece to the keep and said it was for he and his friends next drinks looked down to the single man and asked if he wouldn't mind coming aoutside with me and Ajayi?

I began writing a note for Ajayi to carry to the Watch Dog. The captain has been takin to sea. I turned back to the three men at the bar all ready involved in their new free drinks and asked what was the name of the ship???? None could remember but it was Dutch and it was a sloop. I added that information to the note. We three then went outside. I asked the man to say the truth and that it was important not to change or shorten the meaning. I said The captain was taken prisoner and the ship he is on has left the island. That was translated. I handed the note to Ajayi adding take this to Lassiter on our ship. That was translated. I added Make haste while that was transletd I took out the claymore handed it to Ajayi and asked one more thing to be translated as I held Ajayi's arm. You must set the port on fire first then make it back to the rowboat and get out to sea where they will pick you up. I will get back on board when I can. Now go and stop for no one. I let go of Ajayi's arm as the man translated it and Ajayi turned and took off.

I thanked the man and Asked his name and together we went back inside.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

"Ta." SHe said, taking the tankard, pausing for a sip before she continued. "So what's on your mind, my friend?" She said. "You seemed distracted." She asked. A sibling like tone forced through in her voice. this way is best. she thought to herself as she took another swig. never assume affection the morning after

Having brought an amount of porter to proper temp upon galley stove, Armand poured a ration into wooden cup and added spice. He had kept his peace as his companion had flitted subject to subject, only giving comment as neutral as what Tudor proffered.

With cup in hand he stepped to her proximity, coming to rest very close though not acting as though her nearness was of any issue. The coolness of grey sight focused on her with intensity and at her query, the Gascon simply shrugged.

"Distracted, mademoiselle? Does it appear as such? Perhaps you have become a puzzlement to me and it is showing outwardly against my wishes, non?"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She swallowed tightly, and looked at him intently. "Me? A puzzlement?" She started to laugh forcedly, but trailed off, and continued to gaze at him, an almost sad expression on her face. "What have I done to confuse you then?" She said, just a shade of her former cheek shadowing her words, as she cut her gaze from him and started to stare down into her half empty flagon.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

He said nothing for a moment, then placing the wooden cup upon the counter that they were both leaning against, Armand stepped around to face her. Placing a hand to either side of her small stature, he leaned forward, forcing her to look him in the eyes. There was a jump of panic that fleeted her expression, kindered to an animal trapped with no escape route. The grey sights centered unwaveringly as he spoke softly,

" Oui, mademoiselle...And I think you know of what I speak"

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She bit her lip as she looked at him. Tudor had rarely met a person who could destroy her composure like this, and even fewer number of who could see through the facade she'd put up to pretend she was collected. "It isn't supposed to work like this" she hissed behind clenched teeth. She finally let her eyes catch his, an expression almost like pain in them. "You think your confused . . ."

[The Doctor]

Jack awoke to a splitting headache and a wave of nausea. He was disoriented in the dim light trickling in the wherever he was. He rolled onto his side, wretching up a mercifully small amount of acrid bile. He spat to clear his mouth, and tried to sit up and atttain his bearings. He could remember taking a small tot of whiskey before speaking with the Monsignor. Jack thought as hard as he could through a stining and muddled head; the Monsignor wanted to go ashore and find the Captain on his own, Jack had provided him with concealable arms, and was going topside with the holy man. In his haste, Jack had forgotten to secure the Armoury door, so he was going to lock the door and join Monsignor Diego after that. He couldn't remember anything after that.

Jack felt the back of his head. There was a sizeable lump at the base of his skull, and a small amount of dried blood. That at least ruled out drugged whiskey. Feeling about, he realised that he was somewhere in the aft hold, amid a number of barrels. He checked himself, and found that both his pistols were missing. His duty sword was gone, as well. At least his attacker had not found his dagger.

He collected himself as well as possible, and made his way back forward on unsteady legs. He thought of the cane Rummy had made him, hoping that the villian had only cast it aside to be found later. And what of Kendra? She had been attacked as well, and the modus operandi for hiding his victims appeared the same. He wondered if she recovering from her assault...

"So, our unwanted guest likes the darkness, eh? Then we drive him into the light, even if the light must come to him" Jack thought to himself.

Jack negotiated the ladder from the hold to the companionway leading forward. As he approached the Armoury, he could see that the door was indeed secured, either by his own hand or Mr. Lasseter's. He continued on to the Surgery, and rapped upon the door before swinging it open. He leaned heavily against the doorframe and forced a smile at the Doctor.

"Would it were that I had come a-courting, my good Physician; but alas, I find myself in need of your aid once again" Jack winked, and winced at the pain brought on by an attempt to chuckle.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

** She bit her lip as she looked at him. Tudor had rarely met a person who could destroy her composure like this, and even fewer number of who could see through the facade she'd put up to pretend she was collected. "It isn't supposed to work like this" she hissed behind clenched teeth. She finally let her eyes catch his, an expression almost like pain in them. "You think your confused . . ." **M.W.

Armand leaned closer, " Then perhaps you should be allowed time to sort through the things which are causing your strife." Removing his hands from the counter, Armand stood to full heigth and reached for the wooden cup. He watched her briefly then turned to take his leave. At the Galley door, Armand glanced over his shoulder.

"Mademoiselle, I must beg your pardon in my need of parting company. There are duties that I must attend to in the Sick Berth and I am sure the Surgeon is curious as to my prolonged absence. Please feel free to keep the coat until you are no longer in need of it."

The Gascon proffered an easy smile then left to gain the Surgery, down and aft of current area.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor watched as he left - part of her breathing a sigh of relife, but a usually hidden, quieter part of her wanting to chase after him and have him hold her again. She smacked her head on the counter. "Buggered that one up good and well, didn't ya Smith!" She muttured to herself as she shook her head.

She looked down at the coat she wore. This too was giving her mixed emotions. Normally she would have just taken the outer garment off and thrown it casually back at him the second she was warm, but now . . . now those odd behaviours that were so uncommon for her were becoming habit, and she followed the unfamiliar instinct of keeping the coat on, grabbing a bottle out of the stores and heading back to her closet to curl up in a ball and cry .

So, with bottle in hand she swaggered out of the galley towards her cabin, trying to ignore the voice in her head shouting he deserves an explaination!!

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

The frigate was repositioned as requested and grapeshot screamed through the air, decimating everything in its path as it crossed the sloop's upperdeck. The high wind made quick work of powder smoke and what was revealed in its wake was a portrait of carnage. Fournier surveyed the scene through 'glass eye and noted the aftermath of action. The shots fired had traveled true...and still the sloop refused to strike. In answer to what had traspired, the collection of facing guns roared in deffiance from the sloop's port side.

The sloop's actions were becoming an aggitation to Fournier. The other Master should have given in by now...before now, when all the facts were aknowledged. The sloop was out-manned, out-gunned and taking a beating. The Frenchman scanned the decks again as the next round of broadside and roundshot caused a rolling vibration beneath his feet. This volley tore into the 'wale without mercy, leaving ragged holes and deep gouges where it contacted...and still the sloop refused to strike, though her condition was worsening.

'What is that imbecile thinking', Fournier mused inwardly; a thought that was disrupted by the bark of six pound iron from the other vessel. The Frenchman had to give due where it was deserved. Though the Sloop's guns were small in comparrison, whoever was giving direction was true to his craft. Though meager in size, the small shot was landing with great accuracy, one going so far as to cause minor damage to the fore mast. Collapsing the 'glass, Jean-Micheale pondered out loud and underbreath, " What is it mon tenace ami?...What drives you so? Stupidity? Duty? Glory?...Fear?"

From peripheral view, the approach of another disrupted the Capitaine's thoughts. Turning to receive the other, he took in the slight cock of brow in silent query to next desires. Jean-Micheale considered momentarily, unconsciencly watching the movements of crew as damage was acccessed.

" Re-align to make way for boarding. That small shot is becoming a nuisence and it is obvious that yon capitaine is not going to use good sense in this matter. You are aware of what is needed, Monsuier Lamaire...Please see that it is done."

"Oui, Capitaine...As you wish."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor kicked open the door to her cramped quaters, it swinging on it's hinges from the force she had used. After another assult on the door to close it, Tudor collapsed on the floor, cross-legged, nursing the bottle she had brought with her from the galley. After chugging a good half of it, she closed her eyes, images playing in her head.

For so long she had lived diffrently. Emotion was to be curbed if unable to be avoid it at all times. And if anything should happen between two people, act as if it didn't. Because if you do, it's a weakness and a distraction. Leave the moment in the moment. There was never room for relationships and love amongst life before. They were weakness and weakness gets you killed. Gets them killed. Every could get killed.

She took another swig from the bottle. What was more, she wasn't even sure that what happened wasn't anymore then just carnal instinct . . .she couldn't assume that.

Tudor paused for a moment and looked at herself. This was the worst part. This is what she hated herself for the most. Right now she should be working every second to figure out how to return the captain, but instead she was here, drinking her time away to console herself over a man. It had been true - relationships get in the way of productivity.

She corked the bottle and stashed it under her bed, then straightned herself up and exited, to go be useful. She'd figure out the other mess later . . .

[William Brand]

July 9, 1704

It was hard not to flinch every time part of the hull disappeared. William was now reassured that it was day from the daylight that greased its way into the bilge from the half dozen shattered entrances made from cannon balls. The last one had destroyed the overhead beam of the compartment in which he was kept. It had come down almost upon his head.

"I'll be killed by my rescuers." he mused.

He was now gently buried under leaning fragments of wood and cask remains. One cannon ball must have struck an overhead barrel of wheat, for a fine powder of grain was settling everywhere. The bilge water, already thick with filth and stench, was now becoming a foul dough sprinkled with splinters.

"Pirate pâtisserie a..."

Another blast shook the ship from stem to stern. William heard his captors answer with their own small arsenal.

[Pew]

::Waking, I realize we have not left the Ward room, yet find Pete Straw and myself asleep upon a pile of charts and papers from Ilex's bag. Thin shafts of light display themsleves through the windows illuminating the table and it's contents.

Mr. Lasseter is not to be found.

"Wot says you, Pete?" I ask as we both try to regain our senses.

Releasing a yawn, Pete stretches, and tries to find his place again in the ledger. "Looks like the lady has 'er hand a bit o' business around town. She 'ad a 'andful o' boats she be lookin' at and 'ad the money ta buy 'em . . .Says 'ere she would take a bit o' coin from the Las Aves in return for her ladies bein' abouts there . . .With that and permission from the Gov'nor, she 'ad a right 'and full o'coin . . . " Slamming shut the book, he places his face in his hands, "Where be her gold Pew?"

"I dunno Pete. I know Mr. Lasseter 'tis not concerned with the possibility of our parlay of that sorts. Anything 'bout her knowin' 'bout our Cap'n though?"

"Nay". Smiling he offers, "I did find us a chart o' the ships 'ere in 'arbor since 2 weekes ago. I know which be 'oldin the plate fleet."

I know where he is headed with his plotting, "Duly noted, mate. I be makin' it a point to tell our Quartermaster."

Clearing the table we stuff the charts into a chest by the back wall of the room. Closing the ward rooms main door, Pete goes to find offerings in the galley and I head topside for Mr. Lasseter . . .::

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

**Jack negotiated the ladder from the hold to the companionway leading forward. As he approached the Armoury, he could see that the door was indeed secured, either by his own hand or Mr. Lasseter's. He continued on to the Surgery, and rapped upon the door before swinging it open. He leaned heavily against the doorframe and forced a smile at the Doctor.

"Would it were that I had come a-courting, my good Physician; but alas, I find myself in need of your aid once again" Jack winked, and winced at the pain brought on by an attempt to chuckle. ** by M.J.

Tempest heard the scrape of bootheel approaching and at first consideration, thought it to be Armand returning... but the tread was too heavy. The familliar voicing further clarified the fact, as she glanced up from the medical log before her and over the rim of spectacles. What she viewed there instinctually brought her to standing. Closing the gap that lay betwixt them, the Surgeon reached to Jack's arm and lead him to the nearest chair.

" Pity...I had hoped for a liaison and I am cheated again." Tempest smiled warmly, but her brow was knit with concern. " Tell me what has brought you to my door is such a state...It was not a tumble as once before, or was it?"

She carefully inspected the area encrusted with dried lifeblood and the raise of swelling. Squatting to balance on the front of her feet, Tempest cocked her head a slight to the left and waited quietly as the Master at Arms spoke.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Monsuier Blanc handled the helm with the talent he had been come to know by. Nearing the wounded sloop, hands prepared for the jarring of wood to wood and the release of grappels which would secure position. Aloft in the airy regions of crosstrees, men of sharp sight and better aim positioned muskets to help cover the boarding parties gathered fore and aft. Although the sloop may try to add damage by using her six pound guns, the only success to be reached would be battering the Frigate's thick side above the waterline. The threat existed still with the four smaller swivle guns, but the sighting was clear to target any who dared to reach them.

Fournier stood his ground upon starboard aft cas'l stairs and looked forward to Lamaire and the boarding party under his command. The younger Frenchman glanced aft and noticing his cousin, proffered a wide grin before returning attention to the nearing decks of lower bearing. The crew that occupied Requiem's starboard rail did so quietly. These were Men-o-War's men and though they no longer served the Motherland's Navy, there was no mistake in the discipline in which they carried themselves. Tried and true, they would answer the call to arms under the direction of the Master they served. This was old suit for them and they knew Fournier's expectations as well as they did their own first names.

The Frigate neared her smaller prey, the grind of hull against hull ensued and for a brief glint in time, the crews of both ships eyed each other. The casting of hooks found purchase and the handlers worked rapidly to tie down attached ropes. Not waiting for complete stoppage of movement, the French poured over the Frigate's side to gain footing on the carnage scattered deck below. The Sloop's hands raised to the task, fighting hand to hand with lust not diminished by the truths of being outnumbered. Pistol and musket fire rang the air as casualties were claimed on either side by ball or steel thrust.

And so let slip the dogs of war...