Pyrates of the West Coast

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Armand was without words, rendered speechless to Tudor's revelations. No amount of time spent on the battlefield had prepared him for this situation and the floundering unease he felt left him at odds. Unconsciencously checking a loose strand of chestnut behind his ear, Armand squatted to view her eye level.

"Je..."He exhaled heavily, glancing about the room. "You would not be happy confined to the rigors I am faced with. I would offer to take you with me, but I doubt you would be content for long. The demands of title are ridicule and I cannot see you wishing for containment in gilded cage..."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She smiled weakily, as if exhausted from her rant. "It's a cage I lived in once for two years . . . but that is beside the point." She quickly cut herself off, finding herself trying to jusify and make excuses. "It's neither here nor there . . . we always knew our paths were crossing just for a moment, so to speak. Just, now that the moment is coming to end, I cannot get all the what-ifs out of my head. It has always been my weakness . .. in battle and in life." She sighed again and shrugged. "And so this is . . . the end?"

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

"Once for two years..."he repeated. "And you left that life or it would still be in effect."

He stood to full heigth and grasped the crossbeam overhead.

"What would you have me do?"

[Pew]

:: Pulling the musket from the crate, I put out the lantern and stop briefly in my cabin. Throwing the musket onto my hammock, I lock the arms locker tight. Pulling a small foot stool from under the desk I place the wadding and powder I have stored in the desk on it's top.

I take the musket and pull the doghead back until it made a noticeable click. This was the half cocked position, and was considered the safe position. I measure a small amount of gun powder and poured it down the barrel, followed by wadding and ball. We did have some load prepared, but I wanted to make sure this shot was fresh. Often to expedite the loading, our loads were prepared ahead of time and wrapped in paper waddings. In this case, the wadding was torn at the powder end and the the powder poured down the barrel. I then rammed the bullet and wadding down the barrel with the ramrod. The wadding wraps around the ball to give it snug fit in the barrel.

After loading the musket, I added a small amount of priming powder to the priming pan, insuring that the touch hole to the barrel had been filled.

By pulling the doghead back another click, the musket was now armed and ready to fire. A pull of the trigger would, most likely result in a discharge. "Careful w'it now," I say to myself.

Cleaning up, I close the cabin door behind me and return topside.

"Mr. Ciaran sir." I say to get his attention. "'ere she be, 'alf cocked, loaded and ready ta fire. ifin ye take a spot in tha riggin', we be ready fa what may fall 'pon us . . "

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Chirurgien Dupris leaned back as the bowl containing remnants of creme au chou-fleur et au cari was removed. His eyes greedily followed a platter being laid down on table's surface displaying homard henri duvernois, quickly followed by another offering gigit d'agneau a la brentonne. Lobster or mutton, he pondered silently, a quandry that was easily solved by opting for a portion of both. He thought further as both entree appreared magicly on plate to be accommpanied by a side of etouffade de pommes de terres, how strange an evening it had been thus far.

The proffering of late evening meal was a display of culinary brilliance as could be expected whenever Capitaine Fournier decided to entertain guests. But the mood contained within the Great Cabin's walls was a negation to norm. Chewing with slow relish, Dupris could not help but note, that it had the distinct feeling of dangerous undertones. The Docteur considered that it was more than likely the same feeling one would have being locked in an antre les loupe.

Conversation had proven to be a sparse commodity and even the usual chiding jibes of Lieutenant Lamaire were amiss. Fournier had carried himself in expected mannerism, calmly making comment on one subject or another, as the other two men that made up total party of five spoke as propriety deemed. Dupris was well aquainted with the large statured Capitaine at Fournier's right, but the gentleman at left, was at best, a recent introduction. Monsieur Gaultier had acted with almost a forced politeness and there was obviously no love lost betwixt himself and the other capitaine. A strange thing, Dupris mused, for William Hollande had proved fine company while under his medical supervision.

The Chirurgien had managed to strike a small conversation up with Gaultier in regard to having relations living in a similar region of France. Unfortunately, the subject was not enough to induce a free flow of vebose and the silence resumed.

Platters and plates were once again cleared and replaced, a bottle of aged calvados was presented to accompany fresh fruit and choquarts. As goblets were filled, Capitaine Hollande broke the loom of silence, fixing the man seated across from him with a steady center of visual pinning. Fournier paused mid-draught of delicate vessel as William suggested Gaultier attend his company back to Le Chien de Garde to resolve the rift of recent revelations.

Lieutenant Lamaire deftly procured waiting apple and raison turnover; Fournier resumed draught and placed goblet back on table support; Dupris watched on with idle curiosity...

Monsieur Gaultier dabbed the corners of his mouth with linen cloth, and considered the invitation carefully.

[William Brand]

William made no effort whatever to hide the ice at the edge of his voice. He was not about to offer any false charm when addressing Monsieur Gaultier, and for good reason. First, he disdained the man, though much of his former anger was gone with his words. And Second, he was certain that any false or apologetic tone in his words would be seen to easily by the man anyway. Therefore, he simply laid out the invitation with honest disregard, caring not at all if the man disliked his tone.

Apart from this, William smiled genuinely to himself, as the doctor, obviously uncomfortable at the over-quiet table, was attempting to cut a piece of meat too carefully in the silence. The knife squealed angrily on the china.

[CaptainCiaran]

(The lookout took the rifle that Mister PEW offered. Although he always preferred a pistol, Ciaran was proficient in the use of a larger gun and this one had a good feel about it. Knowing that the rifle were half-cocked, loaded and ready to fire, he handled it with extra care. This god-forsaken island had already robbed the Watch Dog of two crew members and Ciaran was determined that Mister PEW would not have his head blown off, as had poor Mister St. Anthony, at least not by a gun under his command. Mister PEW seemed to intuitively understand this, in the way that Ciaran handled the rifle. Neither man said anything about it, but a brief moment of eye-contact between the men acknowledged such thoughts.)

Aye, Sir, we are indeed ready, as ye say, 'fa what may fall 'pon us'.

And what, pray, my good Sir, do you think this night may bring? Fer she be a strange evenin'. There be somethin', a feelin', aye, almost wicked in this night's air.

(With those words, Ciaran climbed carefully up into the riggin', braced himself against timbers as steadily and comfortably as possible, held the rifle in such a way that she would be smartly ready if needed, breathed in the cool night's air, and waited.)

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

"Once for two years..."he repeated. "And you left that life or it would still be in effect."

He stood to full heigth and grasped the crossbeam overhead.

"What would you have me do?"

She looked puzzled for a moment. "I don't know really -If I would still be in that life. Hmm." Tudor really pondered this for a moment. "Lord knows that I couldn't do what needed to be done to bring it to an end . . .so I suppose I might still be. I was rather forced out of it - but was forced into it too." She realised that she was babbling, then wrapped up her point. "It is very hard to live in a gilded cage that has been smashed, and everyone suspects you of murder." She said, an impish gleam almost entering her expression, but then she remembered the gravity of the situation.

"Do? There is nothing to be done. You must go, I must stay. Simple as that. No regrets, no looking back. Take every day from your past and apply their lessons to the future." She said with a dejected shake of her head, then stood, no longer content to be sitting. She glanced at him quickly, then turned for the door, only hesitating to look once more at him over her shoulder. "Looking back," She said quietly.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Gascon listened intently to what Tudor said and was at a loss as to what should or could be offered in reply. Once again he found himself in discomforting ground for things of this nature were not his suit. This was not Milanese of '96 and the siege of Valenza, that manner of square made perfect sense; even with unpredictable possibilities of outcome. The battlefield Armand found himself on now offered no logic and he felt unable to gain sturdy footing. The thought of dying in battle never stirred the vulnerability and unsurity he felt now. In response, he simply said nothing at all.

He maintainted stance, grasping overhead beam, eyes centered on far wall, as Tudor stood and moved past. The sound of footstep hesitation and final comment, drew his attention sidelong to where she remained in door's placement; still no sound issued forth, just the steady gaze of cool darkend grey hue. She remained a momment more, then quietly released the door from latch keeper and stepped beyond to the final announcement of latch resecuring.

Armand-Gabriel D'esnumbuc, former Lieutenant des Chasseaurs a' Chavel de la Regiment du Dauphin, silently acknowledged that the field had been lost...

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Gaultier pursed his lips in thought for a moment. Something was indeed afoot here. Only minutes ago this man Hollande or Brand or whomever he was had stormed aboard and confronted him on the matter at hand, that being namely the disposition of two of his sailor's which Robespierre sought to dispose of lest they make the British Admiralty privy to a French military scheme. Hollande had said he would not surrender them and had threatened Gaultier with violence. Now the man was inviting him aboard to take them into custody. Definitely something amiss with that. *Sigh* If only Hollande didn't have that damned Letter of Marque, he could simply have the marin storm her and take them by force, or better yet blow them from the water. Unfourtunately Robespierre found himself in a position to do little but allow this game to play itself out a little further.

"Capitaine Hollande I most readily accept your offer to go aboard Le Chien de Garde and settle this matter once and for all"

[Dorian Lasseter]

In effort of segue, Tempest smiled warmly and topped off the two glasses.

"Well," she stated matter of factly. "I am sure that this Monsieur Chanault, as you call him, shall serve the station properly. As to our departure, that can only be waited for with an element of practiced patience, I fear."

::Dorian picked up his glass, nodding a thanks to the refilling before tiping it to his lips...::

Aye... I s'pect he'll do right nicely.... 'Jean' spoke very highly of him, though he be of a young age of one and twenty.... I wonder how willingly 'e be makin' th' shift o' berths... Or is 'e just followin' orders... I, we run a tight ship, but it ain't no royal navy ship, hope 'e finds it ta his likin'...

::He mused on his last words while draining the spirits from his glass, then returned the vessel to desks surface, then moved on to statements of departure...::

Aye, we shall depart when th' time comes... Patience... for it may be a long time comin'...

::A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth... he then stood and turned to put his hands on desk top, leaning close to the Surgeon...::

Give us a kiss ta help me bear th' passin' o' time as I must return ta th' weather deck an' wait fer wot may come...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Gaultier pursed his lips in thought for a moment. Something was indeed afoot here. Only minutes ago this man Hollande or Brand or whomever he was had stormed aboard and confronted him on the matter at hand, that being namely the disposition of two of his sailor's which Robespierre sought to dispose of lest they make the British Admiralty privy to a French military scheme. Hollande had said he would not surrender them and had threatened Gaultier with violence. Now the man was inviting him aboard to take them into custody. Definitely something amiss with that. *Sigh* If only Hollande didn't have that damned Letter of Marque, he could simply have the marin storm her and take them by force, or better yet blow them from the water. Unfourtunately Robespierre found himself in a position to do little but allow this game to play itself out a little further.

"Capitaine Hollande I most readily accept your offer to go aboard Le Chien de Garde and settle this matter once and for all"

Capitaine Fournier observed the minute nuances that flitted Monsieur Gaultier's body language, almost reflecting the Frenchman's thoughts...almost. There were inward flags of caution playing the Capitaine's instincts that never came to bare on stoic poise, but the dice had been cast and any regretful aftermath now lie with Captain Hollande. Mimicing the nature of faux sleeping feline, Jean-Micheale made no comment as the protagonist and antagonist squared and drew lines of unseen being in the proverbial sand. With veiled coup d'oeil, he noted that his own were acting much in the same manner, Dupris seemed quite focused upon what remained on China surface; Lamaire giving the illusion that nothing out of the ordinary took place nearby.

With Gaultier's acceptence of proposal, Fournier broke his silent vigil and true to prepared intuition, spoke calmly.

"Monsieur Gaultier, as is proper protocal, I shall send with you an attachment of marin, as well as Lieutenant Chanaut to ensure your safety while away from Le Requiem. One never knows what may occure when ashore...Even if that be for a short while. As is required of me in duty to your position, I shall not accept any protest to having said escort."

Waving forward valet, request was made for the presence of Lieutenant Chanault and Sergent LaCroix.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Gaultier smiled a shark's smile.

"Merci beaucoup, bon Capitaine"

The moment was at last at hand, Robespierre couldn't help but thrill at the chase. Danger was thick in the air, warming Gaultiers skin like a flame and he relished it. Time to put his skill to the test. Still wearing his flesh eating grin he turned to the privateer captain.

"At your convenience Capitaine Hollande"

[William Brand]

"Convenience?" William said disdainfully. 'You don't know the meaning of the word.' he thought.

Then, he rose from his seat and bowing his head a little toward Capitaine Fournier he said, "Capitaine Fournier, now that the situation at hand has been...properly...explained to me, we will depart your comfortable grace and the leisure of your generous table and see to the tasks at hand.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The chest was closed and secured, all within properly tucked away for pending transport. The summons came as was expected, and Raphael festidiously brushed a lint invader from the sleeve of uniform, taking one last glance around the shared chamber that had served as home. Unconsciencely, nimble fingers checked the placement of Naval steel hanging right hip then moved on to ensure the readiness of service pistol.

Leaving empty quarters, the young Lieutenant traversed companionway, gaining the company of Benoit LaCroix mid-way to the Great Cabin. One sharp rap to guarded door gave entrance to familiar surround and the pale reptilian stare took in the general situation. There were tempting scents that filled wooden wall parameter, ghosts of delicacies no longer to be seen. Capitaine Hollande stood near former seating and the language his figure betrayed gave obvious signals of disgust and intollorance to the man still seated across the mohogany legnth. Monsieur Gaultier portrayed something of the same in more subtle shade, but it was the smile playing the agent's expression that placed Chanault further en garde.

For a fleet of second, Dominique and Raphael's eyes met. The message gleened a flash of warning and caution...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

In effort of segue, Tempest smiled warmly and topped off the two glasses.

"Well," she stated matter of factly. "I am sure that this Monsieur Chanault, as you call him, shall serve the station properly. As to our departure, that can only be waited for with an element of practiced patience, I fear."

::Dorian picked up his glass, nodding a thanks to the refilling before tiping it to his lips...::

Aye... I s'pect he'll do right nicely.... 'Jean' spoke very highly of him, though he be of a young age of one and twenty.... I wonder how willingly 'e be makin' th' shift o' berths... Or is 'e just followin' orders... I, we run a tight ship, but it ain't no royal navy ship, hope 'e finds it ta his likin'...

::He mused on his last words while draining the spirits from his glass, then returned the vessel to desks surface, then moved on to statements of departure...::

Aye, we shall depart when th' time comes... Patience... for it may be a long time comin'...

::A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth... he then stood and turned to put his hands on desk top, leaning close to the Surgeon...::

Give us a kiss ta help me bear th' passin' o' time as I must return ta th' weather deck an' wait fer wot may come...

The sudden change of subject and subject matter did well to throw her focus to all points of the compass. Setting down half empty drinking vessel Tempest managed a blink, just one and she eyed the Quartermaster and his impish grin with a tiny cock of brow.

"Really now, Mister Lasseter..." She commented with air of speculation. "If my memory serves correctly, and mind you it usually does unfailingly. The last time something of this nature rose to view, it was in the Don's palatial halls..."

She rested index finger on the curve of her chin with continuation, "And at that time you boldly took the plum you now request."

The words hung the air and stewed momentarily, the boyish grin almost retreating as Dorian looked at her with a hint of bemusement. The Surgeon finished the remainder of cognac fire and a feral tincture touched her expression.

"And before that, it was with gentlemanly airs..."

Expressive pools of emerald sight narrow slightly counter-balanced by the apearance of preditory smile, "Now it is the vissage of roguish charm.."

She leaned closer to the desk and looked up to where he stood, " I must say, with full confidence, that you are most deffinatly a gent of multiple facets..."

The Surgeon stood and gained eye level, voice dropping in volume to just above whisper and colored with challange, "So now that you have captured my full attention with success...What shall you do?"

Thus the smile of preditory hues widened a smallish incriment more.

[Dorian Lasseter]

What will I do.... Shall I spell i'tout?

As a Gentleman, I woulda ne'er been so bold as ta ask fer th' kiss...

As a Rogue, I wouldn'a asked but taken...

As I am both it seems I do ask....

::Just as he finished the last statement, he quickly leaned in and kissed her squarely on the mouth and retreated...::

And I suppose I take as well...

::A devilish grin appeard on his face and with a wink he bowed...::

An' now I must away ta th' deck... Til later Gerl...

::The grin plastered on his face remained as he made his way out into the waist, out into the cooler night air...::

[Pew]

Aye, Sir, we are indeed ready, as ye say, 'fa what may fall 'pon us'.

And what, pray, my good Sir, do you think this night may bring? Fer she be a strange evenin'. There be somethin', a feelin', aye, almost wicked in this night's air.

"Aye mate. Somthin' wicked indeed . . 'tis why I like ye watchin' us up top 'ere. The Lord 'imself couldn't 'old a musket steadier . .on yer watch now . . .listen for me signal 'pon any 'prochin vessel . ."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

What will I do.... Shall I spell i'tout?

As a Gentleman, I woulda ne'er been so bold as ta ask fer th' kiss...

As a Rogue, I wouldn'a asked but taken...

As I am both it seems I do ask....

::Just as he finished the last statement, he quickly leaned in and kissed her squarely on the mouth and retreated...::

And I suppose I take as well...

::A devilish grin appeard on his face and with a wink he bowed...::

An' now I must away ta th' deck... Til later Gerl...

::The grin plastered on his face remained as he made his way out into the waist, out into the cooler night air...::

The Surgeon said nothing in response, inwardly amused at the Quartermaster's cock sure behavior. The act of gallant in bow, teased a hint of smile to the edges of her lips and with his departure of hallowed hall Tempest allowed a low chortle to roll forth. The response to Dorian's bravado cut short with the private door connecting to private quarters swinging slowly open.

Armand secured the door quietly, making effort to evade her questioning look. The fine render of angled features were hard set as he stepped directly to deserted crimson regimental finery suspended on near crossbeam support. He moved with determined care, unlocking wooden chest to retrieve objects from within. Sturdy table served as alter to the sacred, the bleu pantalon; heavy dragoon pistols; the clank and jingle of spurs accompanying buffed cuir noir; and finally the ornate sweep of bijou crowned saber.

She kept silent, only watching the reverant motions of sibling's intent and when all was in placement, the chest was resecured and he moved to desk side.

"I wish to board Le Requiem this night..." The wordings rendered in quiet tone.

Jaquelyn pursed her lips, a minute crease appearing on plane of brow.

"I think it is for the best and do not wish to be an inconvienence to Capitaine Fournier by arriving last minute in the morning. I am sure he has greater concerns to worry about..."

She nodded in acknowledgement. Armand leaned forward to brace both palms on desk top and fixed her with unwavering focus.

"I ask you again...I go so far as to entreat upon your sensibilities, please return with me to La Desirade. Your place is not here and you know that as well as I do. It is not safe and I shall worry without pause for your well being."

Her lack of reponse drew him back to full hiegth in exasperation,

"Rien du tout, Jaquelyn! Tu faire l'imbecile! Pourquoi?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

::As he strolled out into the crisp air, his eyes wandered as they always did, up the rigging and around the ship... Not just to look at the grandness of the vessle, but to look to see if anything was amiss... The grin slowly faded and was replaced by a confidant look. He continued his inspection of the topside, foreward along the starboard to the bow, then back to the stern vis the larboard, then raturned to the waist near the gangway... He stopped near the main mast and planted his feet...::

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

The Great Cabin was left for the breezy touch of weather decks. Standing near the 'wale in ridgid formation and stance were marin numbering six being given final inspection by Sergent LaCroix. Motioning for Lietenant Chanault to follow, Fournier spoke briefly with the assigned officer and Lieutenant before returning to where Gaultier, Hollande and Lamaire stood.

Having gained satisfaction with preperations fulfilled, the Capitaine wished Hollande well and gave quick summary to Gaultier in regard to caution and protocal. Issueing crisp salute, Fournier turned on heel and went to the quarterdeck to gain report from the current officer of the Watch.

Lamaire joined his company as the party of ten left the corvette for the quay below, shadows blending with shadows but for small lanterns swaying to movement of rythmic step. The two kindred watched as the company neared fregate's mooring: Fournier ever the chessmaster in masked thoughts, Lamaire with a tincture of concern floating expression.

[William Brand]

William walked slowly to the Watch Dog. He was tired from too many overlong days. Each had blended into the next over the last week and he sometimes felt as though he were sleepwalking. Each day he had arisen exhausted, promising himself that he would recover lost sleep during the next watch, only to lose it again. He wished he had a pillow even now, but not to sleep.

He felt like smothering Gaultier.

[CaptainCiaran]

(Ciaran watched carefully as movement along the wharf caught his attention. Aye, he thought to himself, there be the Captain, there be no mistakin' his stature and gait. The Lookout's steele-blue eyes narrowed like a cat's in the night as he peered at the shadowed figures followin' William. Eyes ne'er blinking, Ciaran silently and swiftly moved the rifle into an attentive position, in case it be needed.

He then made one tap, ever so lightly, with his boot against the mast. It was a sound that no one could hear, save fer the two men he meant it for: Mister Lasseter and Mister PEW.

Both men immediately looked up at Ciaran, who never allowed his gaze to leave the approaching figures. The Quartermaster and Master-at-Arms quickly followed his gaze toward the wharf.)

[Dorian Lasseter]

::Mr. Lasseter saw the party come from Le Requiem, alerted by the chief lookout.... He studied the figures as they passed lanterns hung along the wharf... In a low voice, almost a growl he spoke....::

Steady lads.... Steady...

::He nodded to Mr. Pew and headed to the opening in the rail at the gangway, standing to one side in wait for the Captain and those who followed... he played over several scenarios in his mind, wondering which would come to pass... As the party reached the edge of the gangway, he asked the question out of formality, as he already knew who was approaching...::

Hail th' shore, who approaches...?

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The short distance of quay to sister vessel was quickly covered regardless of speed dictated by marin cadence. In that time, no comment was uttered, no word was said, the only sounds being the soft lap of salt liquid against gun'le and pier; the steady strike of boot heel to hardened surface underfoot. Two of LaCroix's men lead the small parade through the darkness that fought to gain ground against the muted lumination of lantern's sway. Sandwiched betwixt followed the Captain, Lieutenant and Agent de Roi, in turn the colorful train of military excellence.

Rapheal-Etienne Chanault made no effort to conjure conversation with either man to his sides. When placed is such close proximity, it became obviouse that both men dwarfed him in stature; for his meager heigth of 5' 7" and wirey build gave the Lieutenant the appearance of a youth surrounded by adults. This was in no way an intimidation factor to Rapheal's mental facalties, not at present and not in the past. His quiet nature covered the workings of true skills, much as Mother Nature cloaked her children for defensive reasons and it could be said that only the gleam of intelligence existing in pale jade sights would give any action of hesitation in judgement.

The foot of gangplank brought party to halt with the sharp bark of Sergent Lacroix and William answered the hailing query for identity. The leading duo sidestepped, placing musket butts to quay surface and turned to face each other creating gap for which the Trio could make for weatherdecks above. The Captain took first position, and as Chanault followed with soft tread, he noted the crosstrees and their occupants high above. Viberation underfoot assured the escort had stepped on wooden extension and soon the party of ten stood upon vessel's upper plane.

As the Captain moved forward to meet with an officer approaching, Raphael slyed survey of the surround, liting briefly on Robespierre Gaultier...and what was gleaned from the other's over all bearing, brought the Lieutenant's senses to a higher setting of being on guard...