Pyrates of the West Coast

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Tudor flinched. She had hoped he would not see through her guard. But there was no way she would be able to express what she had been trying for the last few hours to hide. "A lady does not criticise a gentleman's dawn escapades." She said lightly, trying to pass off her concern as insignificant, and any outsider would not question the almost merry intonement with which she spoke. No matter how foolish she thinks they are She mentally added. And with that she moved to change the subject. "No, I have no wish to return to the ship. I shall take full advantage of the good Don's hospitality and enjoy a decent night's rest." She said, keeping her eyes focused on the rest of the world around them.

The Gascon's aquiline features bore a measure of uncertainty, but he made no further voicing to Tudor's first statement. If he had been a man of more crass manner, he would have pushed her to reveal what she chose to keep an enigma. Never the less, her off hand and casual dismissals were doing their best to needle him mentally. Armand chose to keep his peace, and perhaps, given time, his daint charge would open up and enlighten his curiosity.

Tudor's second statement did little to ease him any further. The night was following its' steady coursing to the beginnings of new day, and although he carried no concerns of being rested for duty's calling, it was his responsiblities to her that harried insistantly. Protocal denied her being involved in the impending bout and he had to be in attendence. Tudor's refusal to return to the ship left his mind racing under outward appearance of cool. The grey sights shifted the where Fournier stood in conversation with a small grouping of local dignitaries. Perhaps there was a way around this after all.

Recentering his attention to fair companion, the Gascon leaned to her ear and spoke softly.

"Mademoiselle, may I suggest that we secure chambers for the night?"

Lamaire had given him instruction as to where accommodations where to be had. The quandry that arose now was the matter involving what to do next...For there had been only one bed chamber mentioned.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

:: A hint of a smile graced Dorian's lips as Tempest spoke of needing assistance...

With a slow bow, he doffed his hat...::

Indeed M'lady... I am at yer command...

::Slowly straightening, he reached out and took the edge of the door, swinging it closed behind him. He took a moment to gaze across the room at her, then took two shallow steps backward, found the bolt on the door and shot it home. Glancing to the side he saw a vicars bench and coat stand, to which he threw his hat. The heavily plumed and scented chapeau landed on the benchtop and slid to a stop. His eyes turned back to Tempest, and his feet followed his gaze. As he crossed the space between them, the crystal vessel was lighted on a small table without missing a beat... ::

I see... Indeed, you are in need of release... Have you a particular wish in how I might release you of these bindin's?

:: His hands lighted on her shoulders, then slowly drifted down her sides to her hips...::

She watched his movements, the closing of the door; the casual survey of room; the toss of well plumed adornment; the dismissal of goblet and the language of stride. All of this she did with a vissage benign of expression, benign that is, unless one were to focus into the depths of liquid emerald floating just above the fine wrought of cheek bone. For it was there that true nature could be deciphered and therein lay a nod to the workings of Domesticus Felinis waiting patiently at mouse hole doorstep for its' inhabitant to venture forth.

She held her ground as he ventured near to rest weathered hands to softened shoulders; gave no indication of retreat as the same hands traveled downward to lite gently. A smallish curl teased the corners of full lips as she locked eyes with his own and cocking one delicate brow with minute raising, she studied him momentarily before speaking in velvet tone.

"Mister Lasseter...You seem a man of experience and adventuresome spirit...I am sure that you are quite capable in which to answer your own query..."

[CaptainCiaran]

(Sobbing more loudly than he could control, Ciaran climbed the riggin' to sit alone in the nest. He needed to be alone. He needed to grieve for these two pyrate brethren. As he sat weeping alone in the Lookout's seat, the twinkling lights of the town and the twinkling stars above mesmerized, lulled, and comforted him.)

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

The Gascon's aquiline features bore a measure of uncertainty, but he made no further voicing to Tudor's first statement. If he had been a man of more crass manner, he would have pushed her to reveal what she chose to keep an enigma. Never the less, her off hand and casual dismissals were doing their best to needle him mentally. Armand chose to keep his peace, and perhaps, given time, his daint charge would open up and enlighten his curiosity.

Tudor's second statement did little to ease him any further. The night was following its' steady coursing to the beginnings of new day, and although he carried no concerns of being rested for duty's calling, it was his responsiblities to her that harried insistantly. Protocal denied her being involved in the impending bout and he had to be in attendence. Tudor's refusal to return to the ship left his mind racing under outward appearance of cool. The grey sights shifted the where Fournier stood in conversation with a small grouping of local dignitaries. Perhaps there was a way around this after all.

Recentering his attention to fair companion, the Gascon leaned to her ear and spoke softly.

"Mademoiselle, may I suggest that we secure chambers for the night?"

Lamaire had given him instruction as to where accommodations where to be had. The quandry that arose now was the matter involving what to do next...For there had been only one bed chamber mentioned.

She was astute enough to realise that her glib answer was not enough to satisfy Armand's curiosity. Perhaps, if conversation between the two was to continue outside of mixed company . . . but of course, to speak her mind would be to break lady-like behaviour, which seemed to be more acceptable to her companion then her more opinionated self.

And even more to the point, her honour - which was already being questioned and defended - would be even more impugned if she was to be seen entering sleeping accomodations with her escort. However . . . Armand was at all times a gentleman, and was reputed as such. And as a Lady, she needed to be escorted at all times. She smiled tiredly, her mind exhausted from trying to keep in propriety. "Yes, I am near ready to faint. If even just to find a place to sit down, let us go." She said, deciding to let decorum and the night take care of itseld

[Kendra The Sea Maid]

*As the Captain gave his orders, Kendra had a vice grip around the giant's midddle for it was all she could do to hold herself up, starring that well know "blank stare" at her fallen funny friend. The Captain turned round again letting out a huge sigh, before seeing the little tailor and her giant sheild. Normalily, he would tell a member of the crew to "buck up there sailor, we have all lost a commrade or two." *But he knew this was cold comfort, especially for her. he had seen how close the two of then had become. He walked over. She removed herself from Simon and did her best to stand at attention. She wanted to say she was sorry for the spectical she had made. His eyes said all was well. * Large tears strolled down her cheek, she knew what he was asking and she nodded her head in reply. He then in a rare gesture of affection whiped the tears fron her eyes and kissed her cheeck. It was then that she was so over come with grief, and the Captain orderd her taken below

Edited January 25, 2006 by Kendra The Sea Maid

[Dorian Lasseter]

-Don Vasques' Estate-

::A smile spread across Dorian's face at the mention of 'experienced' and 'adventuresome spirit'... ::

Very well M'lady... these bindin's shall be quick work for a sailor such as I.... yet, I shall nay make haste lest I foul such finery...

::His hands made slow progress to the lacings of her gown. With intentionally slow movements, he easily released the strain on them. Stopping short of drawing the bindings apart, he reached up and released what binding that held her hair in place, letting it cascade down her back. He set the comb next to the lamp, then ran his hand through her locks. Her eyes closed as she tilted her head back, revealing her elegant neck. Leaning in he lightly kissed the side of her neck where it met her shoulder. Slowly retreating, his hands found the lacings again, this time drawing them loose....::

[Pew]

"Bring me this man's hammock." William just managed. "He is in ernest need of it."

::I nudge young McGinty and he hurries below to collect Mr. St. Anthony's hammock. Eric Frankilin and myself kneel before Jack and close his eyes. I reach into his nightshirt pocket and retrieve the key to the ships armoury. Eric turns and picks up Mr. St. Anthony's hat as it was nearly blown overboad by the shot. Placing it upon his chest, we stand again to wait for McGinty to return with Jack's hammock.

The sun is just beginning to peer over the horizon . . .

"A long day indeed", I say to myself.::

[William Brand]

In the interim between Kendra's departure and the arrival of Jack's hammock, William paced a tight circle on the gundeck. Mister Warren, Straw and Johnson had arrived on deck throughout the commotion and stood near at hand, each in the middle of his own dawning comprehension at what lay before them all. Most of the crew was silent. Many were shaken.

When McGuinty was topside again, they set about wrapping Jack in the customary fashion. He was laid out in the canvas that he had laid out in each night when sleep had carried him below. His pallor made any comparison to then and now impossible. One could not look on a face so drained and make analogous remarks about his sleeping form. His visage was entirely too stark, so little was said and each man's thoughts were his own as they stitched the shroud about him.

William paced all the while. His short deliberate steps brought him back to Jack's side many times as the men went about the wrapping of their fallen shipmate. In his black coat he was ever the carrion bird as he swung about the deck in slow strides. Sometimes he stopped before the fallen clergyman. Sometimes he slowed along the rail. Each time he returned to his walking while his eyes seemed far away in some deliberation.

Meanwhile, the men made what might have been short work of Jack's preparation a longer task by the use of many volunteers. So many offered their assistance, that no one man made more than seven stitches in the canvas. When it was almost complete, Mister Pew remembered the ship's arms key and brought it to William.

"Thank you, Mister Pew." William said, stopping in his paces and looking at the man with a discerning eye. "Perhaps you might keep it."

"Cap'n...?"

"I know the circumstances are not ideal for the delivery of what might otherwise be a favor worthy of celebration, but circumstances being what they are...I am need of a Master-at-Arms. What say you, sir?"

[Pew]

"I, I, . . ." trying to find the right words, looking at Mr. St. Anthony, remembering Diego, Mr. Youngblood, Ilex, the Las Aves, my head started spinning . .

I believe I stammered out something so as to make the Captain feel as at ease as possible in the immediate circumstances.

"I'd be honoured to take the position sah." I took off my hat and placed it in my left hand and for only the second time for as long as I have been on the Watch Dog, I saluted the Captain with my knuckles to the side of my forehead.

[Pirate Petee]

* Gathering his thoughts he stood up and took a deep breath. Turning, he walked back down to where the captain was standing* Captain…..sir, I was wondering if it would be alright ifin I prepared a three gun salute fer each o our fallin brethren.

[William Brand]

William nodded in return. "Carry on, Mister Pew. There are arms about that need storing."

William managed a wan smile than. It was thin and it lasted only a moment. Mister Pew was off at once and William was assured immediately that he need not put any more thought on that matter. Mister Pew had ever followed orders with grace, haste and an exactness that dispelled all worries.

Jack's boddy was carried to the side of Diego, where they sat together like to penitants in a quiet discussion of the afterlife. William ordered a shroud to cover both bodies together until such a time as all hands were aboard again. Only then would he think about the funeral matters of these two departed souls.

Other orders were given, and over the next few minutes the watch changed from Middle to Morning Watch. The Bell was sounded and those crew not already awake came into their duties with wide eyes and stunned expressions as they learned of the recent discoveries and losses.

* Gathering his thoughts he stood up and took a deep breath. Turning, he walked back down to where the captain was standing* Captain…..sir, I was wondering if it would be alright ifin I prepared  a three gun salute fer each o our fallin brethren.

William did not answer at first. Instead, he reached for the onion bottle that Mister Youngblood had been nursing and took a long swig from the rum there. When his throat was wet and the burning liquid had revived his all too tired frame, he looked the Master Gunner in the eye.

"Mister Youngblood." was all he said at first. The Master Gunner made as if to speak again, but William raised a hand and shook his head. "No, Mister Youngblood. We'll fire the guns when words have been spoken over those disposed."

He passed the bottle back to the Master Gunner. Petee took it, and unsure what to do under the scrutinizing eye of the Captain, he sipped from it and returned it again. In this silent fashion the bottle passed between them many times. Each had much on his mind, but what words could convey all that might or could be said? Blame and apology hung in the air. Accusations, reparations, punishments, sorrows, regrets, and questions went unspoken. Niether man said anything, and no one else aboard dared interrupt. This silence said more than anything and neither man chose to break the spell of it. Instead, as if in a shared trance born of fatigue and loss, they both made their way to the rail, trading not one, but eventually two bottles as the sky began to show its first true signs of dawn.

Only two others aboard were more quiet.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Dawn crept slowly onto the horizon, her gossamer gown spreading in phantasmagorical tracings to chase away the loom of darkness in the heavens. Ink turned to shades of more livid hues and at various points of the compass, cockerals filled their lungs and expelled forth with boisterous quality, announcements to rival the trumpets of Gabriel and Heimdall; for their heralding could be compared to be much in the same vien as their unearthly brethren. In a cast of die; in the drawing of steel; in a game of gallant risk; realities would draw to close and new paths drawn in their wake.

Dominique had long since been awake before the soft rap upon chamber door. Already fully clothed and at ready to the events that would follow in the blink to time's continueum, he laid aside cold steel to table surface and called entrance to the unknown lurking to the other side of wooden barrier. The large door swung open slowly upon heavy hinge to reveal the quiet vissage of entrusted Domestic.

"Good morning to you, Estaban. Please come in and close the door, s'il vous plait."

The small form advanced with a reverant nod and with door's securing, waited with infinate patience.

"I am to assume that all is at ready for the mornings festivities?" The Frenchman stood offering friendly expression to the other.

"Si, Senor Lamaire. The grooms have prepared mounts for your need and Senor Vasques has already rode to the designated area to act as Marshall to the... event."

Dominique nodded with satisfaction to the wordings while tucking guantlet pairing into the secure restraint of wide leather belt.

"I am on my way to rouse the members of your company and have secured the other items you have requested."

"Very good, Estaban. You do me fine service, sir and I am most appreciative of your efforts. I shall be down shortly to finalize what need be attended to. Please inform the others that I shall await their arrival near the stables."

The Domestic bobbed his head in answer then backing to the doorway and disapeared into the vast hall beyond chamber's view.

The warmness of expression leached away with the door's closure. What lay over the plains of scarred Botticellian angel's features gave forth nothing but coldness to rival the steel that lay near at hand, but within the twin orbs floating above, there burned a fire that rivaled the qualities of Hell...

[Dorian Lasseter]

::As sunlight slowly crept through the openings between heavy curtains, Dorian slowly opened his eyes. He shifted slightly, looking round the opulent splendor of the room. Looking to the form beside him, he smiled, then he slowly edged away, sliding out from under the cover. He stood and stretched, wobbled on his feet slightly, still having not fully gotten his 'land legs'. He quietly walked into the ajoining room, found a basin and pitcher and splashed some of the cool water within on his face. A small towel was laid beside the basin, which he used to dry off. As he did so a knock was heard on the chamber door. Quickly he paced to the door, only then realizing he was not dressed. Looking around he saw his coat, thrown on the back of a chair. Grabbing it up, he donned it, buttoning it up the front, then unshot the bolt from the door, quietly opened it.::

Aye?

::In the hallway stood a young man of Spanish origin, a look on his face of confusion..::

Speak up man, what is yer wish at this hour?

"I was told Mademoiselle--"

Yes, yes, She's 'ere... I 'spect tis time fer us to make ready fer th' Dawn's appointment, aye?

"Si, Senor.... "

Very well... we shall be down in a turn o' th' gl... Ah... in thirty minutes time...

::The young man bowed shallowly and turned, heading down the hall...

Dorian shut and bolted the door, then padded back to the bedroom...

calling out softly...::

Tempest... Colleen... Rise n' Shine, Gerl... th' morn 'as come an' we must be off...

[William Brand]

(Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog)

When both Petee and William had said all that could be said with silence, William ordered the Master Gunner to bed. When he was gone, the Captain made his revolutions about the ship then, stopping to speak shortly with some and walking with his head bent and his hands behind his back the rest of the time. He ruminated over the events of the previous day and measured the fortune and misfortune that had visited the Watch Dog in so short a time. Eventually he found himself before the Master-at-Arms.

"Mister Pew. Report."

[Pew]

"Aye sah."

::Unsure of my first duties, I know I need to go below and make a full report of our available arms. Some goodes were brought back to the Watch Dog several days ago, but how much powder and musket shot, I am unaware of.::

"Cap'n. Begin' yer pahdon, sah, I was unable to retrieve the munitons log from Mr. St. Anthony's belongings. Whoudst ye be knowing of a safe palce where 'e be keepin' it sah?"

[William Brand]

"Aye sah."

::Unsure of my first duties, I know I need to go below and make a full report of our available arms. Some goodes were brought back to the Watch Dog several days ago, but how much powder and musket shot, I am unaware of.::

"Cap'n. Begin' yer pahdon, sah, I was unable to retrieve the munitons log from Mr. St. Anthony's belongings. Whoudst ye be knowing of a safe palce where 'e be keepin' it sah?"

William considered the question for a moment and then bade the Master-at-Arms to follow him down to the Ward Room. There they found a partial list as William had kept it when he was the Master-at-Arms. He perused it before handing it over to Mister Pew.

"I apologize, Mister Pew, but unless you can recover the list from wherever it has disappeared to, you shall have to begin anew from this incomplete list of arms."

"Aye, sah."

"Of course, this affords us the opportunity to confirm the accuracy of the previous tally and be certain of our accuracy."

[Pew]

"Of course, this affords us the opportunity to confirm the accuracy of the previous tally and be certain of our accuracy."

::Cocking one eyebrow, I begin to understand to importance and size of the task before me.::

"Aye . . .sah?"

[William Brand]

"Aye."

William removed his bloodied coat as Mister Pew turned to go about his business. The door was almost closed before the Captain called him back again.

"Mister Pew...please have any remaining personal effects belonging to the Monsignor and Jack brought to the ward room. I shall have to dispose of them. You have the deck."

[Rummy3]

The heaviness in the air drives Rummy to pull her flute from her sash and she begins to play an appropriately solumn tune~

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

There was a stillness to the morn, a stillness that gave impression that the world around was holding its' breath in some greatened anticipation. A lingering fog of low stance whirled at the stirring of equin mounts trudging small dirt packed path. In undetermined proximity, the coo of dove broke the haunting qualilities of solem chill tinged air; then dissipated not to be heard again, as if given instruction that such was of improper action for the moment.

The small entourage numbered five, a number that could be regarded as the digit associated with chaos...if one were of superstitious nature. Not a word had been spoken following the departure from estate livery, it was only as they neared an ornate gateway that any form of communication had been issued, and that was only a pantomime of gesture signaling nearing of destination. In response, Lamaire gave small nod of acknowlegement and glanced to his Southern cousin as if to silently inquire readiness to the event about to transpire. The Gascon smiled wryly, then refocused on their guide ahead.

Passing under gateway's arch, they rounded a small bend to the right, which gave view to a clearing bordered by a small copse of trees. Gathered there were the faithful and the fated. As the Five dismounted, the Spanish offender paused in his display of prelude to eye his nemesis with contempt. The sneer was lost in its intent, for the other gave not so much as casual notice as he retrieved guantlets from where they hung and snugged them to proper use.

The Seconds approached Don Vasquez's brother who had been given the right to Marshall the proceedings. Blades where offered for inspection and finale conditions settled upon. No apology was proffered from Emil-Umberto Santiago, not that any was expected and after an accord was reached, all that was left to be determined was the extent to which the bout would go to. No deliberation was needed from the offended party, Armand had his instructions in advance.

The Marshall inquired, the Gascon answered and Santiago's man paled slightly to what was said...

[Pew]

"Aye sah."

::For the first time in many years, I was able to stand on the main deck of a glorious sailing veesel, and proclaim myself to be an integral part of her functioning. Not since back home had I been able to "command" a vessel under such exacting precision, even though we were at anchor.

Mr. Youngblood had taken his leave below as to clean-up and try to rest after the early morning's incident. Shaken, sobering, remorseful, are but few of the words that could describe our officer in charge of the cannon.

Mr. Ciaran had resumed his position in the crow's nest, partially to be alone, partially to do his duty. He didn't have to explain, but the pain on his face from the loss of two of our own had spoke volumes.

Retrieving my eyeglass from my pocket, I look ashore. Mr Franklin and Mr. Straw were seen making their depsoit of said rubbish our Captain had disposed of unceremoniously upon the deck. A cart slowly being wheeled away from the docks explained their job had been completed. Looking upward and scanning the hills surrounding the town, fog could be seen lingering in the air, causing just enough chill to make myself shudder ever so slightly.

Hearing a splash, I glance at the port side to see that young McGinty and Mr Winters had grabbed the slop buckets and dropped them over the side for sea water as to clean up the crimson pools that had begun to set upon the deck.

Turning to look at our two crew mates shrouded in silence and covered by canvas, I spoke loud enough for myself to hear, "soon enough gents, soon enough . . ."

As the crew went about their duties for the day, Morning Watch had begun upon the ship the Watch Dog.::

[Dorian Lasseter]

::The Surgeon and the QuarterMaster stood in complete silence, observers to the contest of honour about to take place. Observers that is, until the fatal blow had been landed, then Ms. Fitzgerald would become a participant it the closing act of the dark play...

Mr. Lasseter viewed the preperations with mild interest, as his eyes darted about the surrounding landscape, watching and listening to anything that might seem out of the ordinary. Occasionally his vision alighted on Leftenant Lamaire, standing at ease, looking as if he was awaiting the delivery of a note and not awaiting the terms of a duel to be reconciled.... A duel of which he was in harms way...

Then Dorian looked to the opposing duelist, the young spaniard looking daggers at the frenchman, all cocksure and arrogant... Dorian laid his hand on the pommel of his Mortuary Sword, the coldness of the metal on his palm warming to the touch of his skin brought fourth memories of engagements he had been in, mostly of the rush from boarding an adversaries deck, fighting many opponents til the call of quarter is given, or til no opposing force was left.... He took a slow, deep breath and slowly let it out...::

[William Brand]

(Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog)

William removed his boots with a sigh that expressed all of his fatigue. He had walked, stood and danced in these boots for hours and was glad to have them off. He was more tired than he could have imagined possible, worn down by the days events. It had been a wonderful, terrible day and he was glad to see the end of it.

In the air above decks, Rummy was playing a tune at once as mournful as it was uplifting. It was the perfect tune for sadness, for it neither lent or took away from the crew's grieving. Rather, it lifted them through contemplation. It soothed like a suave. It lulled. William twice drifted off in the Captain's chair before he roused himself enough to make the Herculean effort to put himself to bed. He was asleep even as he convinced himself he couldn't.

Rummy was already playing a lighter tune.

[Pew]

::Seeing the crew begin their days tasks, I find important for me to take my leave and investigate the whereabouts of our ships armoury’s log. I inform Mr Ciaran in the crow’s nest that I am going to search for the firearms manifest below.

“ . . .send McGinty for me when you see the rest of our crew arrive at the harbour Mr. Ciaran . . “, I yell aloft. And with wave of his cap high above I see that our lookout has understood . . .

I head below decks to put together the rest of the Monsignor’s and Mr. St. Anthony’s things.

“I need to find ‘er gun book ‘s well” I say to myself, trying make a mental note.

I pass by the Surgeon’s quarters and find the bunkroom where the majortiy of our ship’s masters stay. Petee is nearly asleep in his hammock as I creep quietly to Jack’s things.

I find his sea chest and try to open it, but it is locked. I remembered seing more than key on the Armoury’s ring. Fumbling for the keys, I drop the ring, making a loud CLANG and nearly awaken Mr Youngblood. I look over to find him trying to roll over in his hammock and still snoring. I smile to myself,

“Poor Jack, ‘ad ta deal wit Mr.Youngblood. ‘tis not a wonder why he be in sick bay all the while catchin’ a nap . . “

Placing the key in the chest’s lock very gingerly, I turn it and a loud POP!! occurs. I gently open the lid to find Mr. St. Anthony’s possessions.

On top of what are mostly a few shifts of clothing, I find the log book to the armoury on the Watch Dog. Placing the log book in my shirt, I look gently through the rest of Jack’s things. He kept mostly small personal tokens: A small bag of coins, a bottle of indescript rum, a small portrait of a woman; “ . . ma’am . .”, I say quietly to the drawing. Placing the picture to the side of the clothing, and looking deeper, I find several uniform decorations further buried in his chest.

Beneath it all I find the full dress uniform of a Royal Navy Captain.

“ . . .bloody ‘ell, ‘ole Jack was a Cap’n ‘imself . . .”

By this time Petee had awoken and walked quietly up behind me. I peered out of the corner of my eye and saw him looking over my shoulder in Jack’s sea chest.

Moving the uniform and accutremen to the side I found Jack’s prized silver flask.

Standing and facing Mr. Youngblood, I hand him the flask, and pat him on the shoulder.

“Jack would’ve wanted ye to ‘ave ‘er Mr. Youngblood.”

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Field of Honour

The terms had been set and it was only when Armand returned to Northern cousin, that Lamaire had given casual glance to the other party involved. Santiago's Second stood in almost fidgity manner, his relay of verbose a muted action at this distance, though the expression that appeared on opponant's face was more than enough to assure that level of bout had been revealed. For a fleet of moment, the arrogance that had been worn like a crown wavered; and two pairs of dark eyes cut across the clearing to where Dominique stood ready for the call with an air of something likened to boredom. Armand returned to Marshall's proximity as his opposing kindred did, there was no negotiation to the means of satisfaction achieval and with nod of uncomfortable accord the other returned to his primary.

The sun rose a fraction higher and fog lessened its hold on the ground below as the younger Vasquez called for the beginnings of trial. Instruction was issued and the antagonists faced each other mere paces dividing, at clearing center. Salutes were issued, one with refined and fluid gesture, the other with snide hautiness. The Surgeon silently stood to Vasquez's left, gaging Santiago's movement to calculate possible threat. Armand did much the same, giving unspoken judgement as tips of razor legnth teased and taunted each other to make the first true move of engagement. Mister Lasseter's expression was a mask to the thoughts he held inside, though his line of sight cut to those of the opposing company. Santiago's Second had kept his lighter shade of pale and shifted unthinkingly from foot to foot in almost a swaying movement. To his right, stood a young man who looked to be of seven and ten years, it had been determined ealier that he was the younger brother to the offender. The expression he bore lay somewhere betwixt embarassment and sorrow, it was a face of gentle carriage that gave no beam of pride or approval, to his elder's actions.

Dominique eyed his opposer passively, he had quickly deduced what was already assumed. He could make quick work of the job at hand, yet he found no amusement in that direction. Lending to stoke the fires of confidence to his rival, the Frenchman allowed intentional openings to his guard. Santiago leered with over zealous smile as he took one said opportunity to lunge...and soon discovered that perhaps all was not as it seemed. That, or the Frenchman just managed a turn of good fortune in his side step, but something in the pit of Spanish stomache screamed like a claxon that luck was not involved.

It continued on this way for the mark of twenty minutes time, as the sun rose higher and a sheen of sweat could be viewed on antagonists brow; and the dance of steel continued. Balesta countered by Arret; Radoppio denied by Riposte, and the young Spanish peacock grew more daring in his actions. It was in this moment of time, that Dominique allowed one more opening, to which was answered greedily with haphazard maneuver...and a cold light came to bare in Botichellian angel's eyes.

Santiago made sloppy intent of Benderole, his confidince of diagonol chest cut allowing Lamaire to bind the opposing blade and initiate Pris de Fer. As the sound of steel slide screamed to morning's still, a smile of dangerous undertones made way to grace the Frenchman's expression. Santiago winced and his blade was overpowered an cast a short distance from where he now stood...defenseless. Suprise rose in his eyes, quickly replaced by fear as he glanced sidelong to the only thing that could almost keep the field level.

The Spaniard made motion to back pace in attempt to retrieve steel companion and stopped suddenly as the prick of touche rested at life pump level. Emil-Umberto Santiago made half hearted attempt to side step, only to feel the warning nip of pierce to flesh. His hands went out at right angles, as dark eyes traced the legnth of blade from contact point to bearer's hand. Upon travelling further up and meeting the eye of the Offended, he made to form words that lacked courage to present themselves and the Frenchman's smile of sardonic tincture widened.

The last words to fall on Emil-Umberto Santiago's ears, were delivered to his hearing only; in a whisper that carried all the warmth of sarcophagus clime...

"There is one, of female kindered blood, that wishes you good journey on your way to Hell."

Confusion issued forth in frantic likeness, quickly cut short as rapier's appetite was quenched with driving thrust. The sights of deepened chocolate hue flickered and faded as the now lifeless body, formerly known as the head of Santiago House, slid to the ground below without ceremony. Lamaire casually wiped the blade clean on offender's clothing and stepping back, gave one last comment to unhearing ears.

"I never could turn down the request of a pretty mademoiselle in distress..."

**In means of historical correctness, I have taken some liberty in the rendering of time frame regarding events leading up to and entrance unto the Field. This was with fore knowledge and intentional as to futher the story line's progression forward. According to the rules of etiquette regarding duels, generally credited to the Italians, (Flos Duellatorum circa 1410) and further revised by the French, the minimum amount of time to pass betwixt demand of satisfaction and actual bout, was to be one day. This allowed Seconds to make arrangements and come to agreement in regard to area to be used , etc. These rulings were established during the Renaissance period with semblances to old Germanic laws. Although there were offshoot versions of these guiedlines, in 1777 an Irish committee created the Code Duello which gained worldwide acceptance as proper practice.