Pyrates of the West Coast

[William Brand]

William retired early to search his trunk for those hidden things laid there in the false bottom. Pulling up the compartment he withdrew the contents carfeully folded there and lay them on the table.

The first was a red coat of some wear, worn by time, salt and use. The brocades, embroderies and trims of that great coat gave evidence of a time of great prosperity mixed with the tell tell signs of a vagabond.

The second was a simple satchel of papers containing enough documents to condemn a man three score times. Here was a letter of reprisal. There an assault of words printed by a scandelous paper. And here, a printed vissage of a man that never truly exsisted, but on the paper it was printed on. William added his recent warning or threatening dispatch to the satchel.

Finally, William withdrew his cutlass. It was the very likeness of the one wielded in the drawing of that notorius pirate, William Brand. He drew it out and lay it naked on the table. The steel of it gleemed a dull brown black and was etched throughout by an engraver's hand and the use it had seen in combat. William lifted it up to feel the familiair weight of it.

"Hello my dear, Curtal-axe." William said while holding the cutlass at arms length. "How many baptisms of blood have we known together? How many more still have we been acused of?"

William smiled then. It was a smile of a half dozen faces folded into one curve of steel.

Then quoting some other William, he began to speak what he and Carter once rehearsed in a more friendly hour...

"There is not work enough for all our hands; scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins to give each naked curtal-axe a stain that our French gallants shall to-day draw out, and sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them.

’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords, that our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, who in unnecessary action swarm about our squares of battle, were enow to purge this field of such a hilding foe, though we upon this mountain’s basis by took stand for idle speculation: but that our honours must not.

What’s to say?

A very little little let us do, and all is done. Then let the trumpets sound the tucket sonance and the note to mount: for our approach shall so much dare the field, that England shall couch down in fear and yield."

[CaptainCiaran]

(His shift as lookout over, Ciaran walks down to the gun deck. He counts the cannons until he reaches the thirteenth cannon on the larboard side. His hand touches the big gun and he rubs it gently, as one would greet a friendly dog.)

Ahh, Zeus. Ye wait so patiently. Soon, soon, ye will roar into action. Ye will blast our enemies from the water with a force like bolts of lightning crashin' against 'em.

(Ciaran pulls out a well-worn cloth, a rag, and begins to rub and shine the cannon. Zeus he christened #13 larboard, when the Captain gave him the opportunity to name a cannon.)

[Dorian Lasseter]

With well wishes for the night made, the Quartermaster and Surgeon took the Capitain's leave, returning to their former post and the company of the cognac bottle left there earlier...

:: a silence hung in the air while each of them mulled over the revelations with the captain... their thoughts turned inwards, reviewing their own lives, to the point in time they now shared, here, on this deck.... Unable to stand the silence the quartermaster speaks...::

Ah, Lass... might ye pass tha' bottle 'ere?

:: the Surgeon, almost startled at the sound of his voice, takes a second to understand what he asks, then slowly hands the bottle to him ::

Thankee, Lass...

:: withdrawing the cork with his teeth, he releases it into his open hand, then up turning the bottle, taking a large gulp of the firey liquid, return the stopper and hands it back... ::

Well... now tha' th' cap'n's let his cat out o' th' bag..... I s'pose Armands li'l secret should be easy ta tell...

:: the surgeon gives the quartermaster an aprehensive look, but before she can speak...::

Aye, 'e told me enough... showed me plenty.... I's thought surely 'e'd a told ye wot 'e done... we must tell th' cap'n.... seein' as fer wot 'e jest confided in us.... I trust 'im... he been a fair man thusly.... best ta lay 'r cards onna table.. as it were... I think 'e should know afore we weigh anchor....

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Her mind races with what Dorian relates in regard to Armand. Instinctual panic wants to rise to the forefront, but she contains it with well practiced concealment. Finishing the goblet's content, her focus lies upon the plays of subtle prisimed light on cut surface for a moment before speaking.

" I am well aware of what he has shown and he felt a certain duty in doing so...At the very least, the offer of the weapon to the armory.Armand has always carried a very honor bound spirit...."

Her voice drifts to silence, then turning to center on his expression and locking his eyes with her own, she drops her voice to just above whisper.

"Dorian...Just what exactly did you gleen from what you saw?"

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Sleep of deepened nature had acted as a mirage on distant arid sands. What was supressed to the Waking World, had been stired to fever pitch in the mists of the Unconscience one, playing herald to memories of desire, betrayal and the falsely accused. On this stage of the mind's eye where Morpheus gave direction, the players portrayed their parts,The Villian, The Maiden, The Young Cavalier...Movement dictated within the sets and scenes of Amboise and the River Loire, orchestrated to the pound of heavy hoof and the strains of "Harue!-Helas! ou sera pris confors". The build of intreague pacing steadfast, the course of plot twisting this was and that, mounting to unchecked proportions only to be suddenly cast out and away... vanquished to the presence of the current time by sudden start and the opening of cool grey eye.

Armand woke, the pace of heart and breath compeating in cadence of racing canter. A stroke of coup d'oil and the slight sheen of sweat that lay over flesh, assured his where about in the world. Gathering mental faculties to proper order, his attention was drawn to the chest waiting patiently to the left...A silent specter that taunted and catcalled with what it held within. Forcing his focus away, Armand reached to rub the planes of his angled features and paused, as sight was drawn once again to the heavy wooden haunting.

With a drop of head, he srutinized the object through the tangle of unbound and dampened chestnut tress. An underbreath utterance disrupted the quiet of the room's bearing as he stood to approach the chest's lure. "Foutre la merde...."

The keys, ever present, were removed from their repose against glisten of bared skin, as the lone figure stood over the sometimes nemesis of memories in thought. Resistance gave free its foothold and the keys were sent home, the sharp snap of withdrawing clasp pirouetteing the stillness. Subtle protest of hinge rang in followed suit as sight roved the objects of well known familiarity, hands searching the right inner wall and down past the resting blackend leather, past the cloth of crimson white and blue hues, beyond the coolness of steel...downward brushing the curved grip of wooden smooth to the soft texture of velvet unseen.

Here the nimble fingers stopped their search and clasping the pouch from its deep dwelling below, a reverse of motion brought the intense strike of royal blue to light. Armand weighed its feel with one palm, intensity of grey orb debating the content hidden from view, buried in its being as it had been for the seeming of eternity. A heavy exhalation escaped lungs as the chest was closed and the pouch was taken to a chair of plain design and its deliverer took a seat.

Silkened tethers were worked free and the object within was drawn from its place of rest. Tarnished oval of golden case lay with obidience upon the opened palm, acting as innocent shield to the image it contained. Delicate clasp was moved from position of securing to allow muted light a lay caress upon vision of beauty carefully rendered within. A flood of emotion stormed through Armand's senses, a myriad of anger, frustration and longing, as he took in the milk hued flesh, the hint of smile and slight lift of delicate chin, eyes of saphire brilliance that trapped his own. He gazed entranced as anger rose to the forefront, and the image was shut away with the clench of fist. A name came forth to his mental process, its inner acknowledgment drawing the narrowing of eye as its verbal announcment was hissed through the tight clench of jaw...

"Antoine Jacques Donatien...."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Her voice drifts to silence, then turning to center on his expression and locking his eyes with her own, she drops her voice to just above whisper.

"Dorian...Just what exactly did you gleen from what you saw?"

:: Placing both hands on the top rail, he stepped back, stretching his back like a cat, then pushing off of the rail, bringing himself upright...::

Wot I 'gleened' from th' items 'e show'd me... an' wot 'e told me is tha' Armand is of some form o' royal blood.... I's not sayin' 'e be th' long lost prince... but he be a Comte at th' least... An officer wi' th' Cavlery... an high rankin' on from wot I c'n tell, ain't somethin' ye work yerse'f up to... ye either buy it 'r yer born inta it...

I's seen a feller several years back when I was in Marseilles... 'is men called 'im 'Comte de sumthin-r-uther' canna remember wot now... 'e 'ad a sword very much like Armands' and dressed rather highly...

So... some twist o' th' fates 'as brought 'im from high horseman, down ta manservant... in a short time by th' looks o 'is finery...

Now from wot I sees o' 'im, 'e's a goode man... has this fall from grace been an 'umblin' experience? 'r did 'e know 'ow th' world looks ta th' rabble?

:: A look of true questioning crosses the quartermasters face, not one of scorn, or posing of jibe ::

[Diego Santana de la Vega]

Aye good morrow Quartermester, a glorious day is it not?

(Not waiting for Dorians answer as I knew my interuption of thought was rude and so arrogant of nature I return)

And Tempest is this day wondrous?

I'll be lookin in on the galley ifin iehter of ye would you care for a cup of hot coffee?

[The Doctor]

:: Jack slowly awakens in near darkeness. He's disoriented, and possibly still a little drunk. His mouth feels like a baby dragon has used it for a potty chair, and his head is pounding like a drum. He finally realizes that he's in the back portion of the main hold and begins working his way to the ladder ::

Dear God... What time is it? What day is it? Bloody brilliant of ye, Jack... "Oh, what will one more tug on the bottle hurt?" Idiot!

:: He emerges into the daylight, and his head throbs in protest of the bright light ::

Coffee... Yes, coffee...

:: He does his best to make a straight line to the kitchen, and does a more than passable job. He take a cup of the strong, rejuvenating brew, and makes his way to the gunwail. This allows him to take up his watch, and also be ready if the coffee does not wish to stay put ::

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Surgeon's expression keeps a neutral stance as she listens intently to what he says. Decissive process of thought picks away the relevant and non of Dorian's observations. Their lies an odd kinderedship and trust betwixt them, but is it enough to give flesh to the bones of his deductions. She weighs the options carefully, for this matter of discussion carries no light bearing. This Masquerade of finite device and detail had played perfection to the probing eye for the time of three years without fault. Its removal could prove fatal if certain knowledge fell to the wrong people. Treason has but one boon to pay...and she considers very carefully what should be brought to light. The Surgeon shifts against the rail, voicing just above a whisper...

" I think it best to continue musings of this nature in more secure locations..."

[Cap'n Pete Straw]

Mister Quartermaster, ye and I have unfinished business. I have as yet not provided ye wit' me inventory of goods I have aboard ship. Wot be the manner ye prefer? Of course, I have me personal firearms, but I be woefully short of powder and ball.

[Pirate Petee]

*sits up from his makeshift bed of sail, yawns and stretches. Stands up and puts on all his gear. Finds his way to the galley and fills his tankard with coffee and makes his way to the main deck. Walks up the ladder to the fore castle and pulls his pipe . He sits quietly on a rail sipping from his tankard and taking slow drags from his pipe.*

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Quartermaster, ye and I have unfinished business. I have as yet not provided ye wit' me inventory of goods I have aboard ship. Wot be the manner ye prefer? Of course, I have me personal firearms, but I be woefully short of powder and ball.

Aye Mr Straw...

Glad ta see ye... As fer an invintory o' goods... I's not sure wot ye mean...

There be th' binnacle wi' th' compass in it.... if ye look in th' cabinet there be a back staff, a quadrant, an astrolabe... a few other items as well.. If ye wish ta add ta tha' or ye got personal equipment, tha's fine....

If ye wish ta purchase new, I'll see about some coin, an' make sure ye take one o' th' lads wi' ye, armed...

As fer yer weaponry... give us a list an' hand it' all over ta be kept in th' Armoury, ye c'n come ta me until we get a Master 't Arms ta claim 'em...

[Cap'n Pete Straw]

There be th' binnacle wi' th' compass in it.... if ye look in th' cabinet there be a back staff, a quadrant, an astrolabe... a few other items as well.. If ye wish ta add ta tha' or ye got personal equipment, tha's fine....

Sorry ta be unclear, but this fever has not yet cleared away. At least the shakes have ceased. I be a bit suspicious o' this foul green elixir the surgeon has prescribed fer me to take, fer it seems to do nothin' except muddle me brains. And loosen me bowels.

Sure, I've seen the cabinet, and all that's fine. Of course, in me chest I packed two of me own astrolabes. One has done me great service in past voyages, the other I ... er.... acquired. It is a fine and fancy piece o' equipment, and may be useful in barterin' for a better instrument, if the need arises. Per'aps it should be kept alongside the ship's coin.

Nat'rlly, I also have me own astronomical compendium, another pocket compass, a spare lodestone, a "Bring 'Em Near" of finest manufacture,

a Spanish waggoner, and a fine pair o' dividers.

I also threw in this broken quadrant, hopin' to get it fixed... but I see no need fer a second one. Per'aps ye think we ken melt it down? I don't know as it would be worth anythin' else.

:: (Straw lightly taps the sea chest, testing by hollow echo the integrity of the false bottom and its unrevealed contents) ::

Er... that be all, I guess. I kinna see th' need fer purchasin' more supplies at this point, but I'll let ye know if anythin' comes to me mind.

As fer yer weaponry... give us a list an' hand it' all over ta be kept in th' Armoury, ye c'n come ta me until we get a Master 't Arms ta claim 'em... 

As fer me weapons, I be bringin' on board this hyar cutlass, this pair o' flintlocks ... they shoot true every time, I ne'er had a misfire, but ye kinna trust them for distance... these other two flintlocks, and this hyar boarding axe. As I said, I have woefully little powder -- just enough for one or two loads in this hyar horn, and these three balls.

Now as for this small dagger, I use this for shavin'. Also, ken ye see these notches? I had them filed into the hilt -- they make good wrenches fer adjustin' my instruments -- and the handle has a graduated scale which I use with me charts. So I'd be needin' te hang onto this. It hardly be a weapon on any account.

:: (Straw swiftly scans Lasseter's face for any reaction... Seeing none, he continues...) ::

Sir, I needs be askin' ye how te get a length of canvas to replace the one I been usin' fer beddin'? Seems that durin' me illness over the past few weeks, I made all manner of sick and filth into it, and no one saw fit to look after cleanin' it. Or cleanin' me. I think most hands ne'er thought I would pull through, and figgered it'd be used for me death shroud and the problem and smell would take care o' isself when we would be dumped overboard. I have burnt me wetched and tattered clothing, and used the spares that I had packed for this voyage, but I still need proper bedding. There seems to be no spares that I have found.... I'd greatly appreciate yer advisin' me.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Armand, much roused by the delving of the past, had remained awake and as would have, was aware of her return to the space that they shared. The Surgeon had offered an outward smile of warmth to him as if to signify all was well, but...He could tell that inwardly she was fretted with worry. He did not inquire and she did not offer, a silent accord lay between them and any detail need brought foward would happen in good time...Such was their strong bond of trust.

After a series of catnap interludes, the Gascon rose to the far away echo's of cockerel announcement. Any effort given to sleep would be a lost cause so greeting the break of day seemed to only course of action. Quietly he padded to where she lay curled, not unlike a small child and looked upon the steady intake and exhalation known to those craddled in the arms of deep sleep. Assured of her comfort, Armand continued from the Ward double checking the heavy door's securing before taking the ladder to the upward reaches of planked deck.

Finding a tranquil spot out of the path of hands at duty, he leaned his lank frame to the support of larboard waist rail and watched the activities taking place around him. He made a mental game of comparing the sames and differences of sea and land and those that served either. There was a certain admiration to be held for those that dared harness the wind and the grand vessels that were manuvered in and out of harm's way. It took skill, practice and determination to lead such a life and he gave due respect inwardly to these adventerous souls who heard the call....But, in his heart of hearts, the recent journey of twenty miles, the stregnth and power of driven Equis form called to his soul with a siren's song. His father had wished for Armand to take place amongst the Naval ranks as he had done as a young man. No amount of persuation could deviate the desire of bond between rider and mount. Perhaps if his father had been successful in intentions...things would have taken a different route.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aye Mr. Straw...

Ye says ye been sickly? An' laid waste in yer hammock? Where abouts aboard, as I had not seen you anywhere in my travels tween decks...?

As fer administrations of a doctor, ye best check yerse'f in wi' th' Surgeon... She'll be sure ta have ye back in fine health.. not a moment too soon, as we shall be weighin' anchor afore weeks end....

As fer yer need o' a new hammock, see Ms. Kendra, she'll make ye a new one right proper...

So, yer not in need o' more tools o' yer trade? Fine then...

I'll take yer cutlass, axe, an' all them 'locks, put 'em in th' armoury... ne'er ye mind about powder n' shot... we got plenty aboard...

Yer intitled ta 'ave a knife, as are all th' rest o' th' crew.... but be warned... ye best not be hidin' a sword 'r pistol from me....

Very well... now off with ye, at some point th' Cap'n'll want ta have words wi' ye... so 'r way c'n be plotted...... where e'er it is we be headin'

[Dorian Lasseter]

:: after sending the Navigator on his way, the QM checks the logbook, notes that most of the work at hand has been accomplished in due time... a sudden realization struck him as he noted the date..::

Lardy, tis been two days past time fer me ta pick up my order... Hmmm....

:: he wipes his face with his hand, and looks forward, sees Armand, leaning against the gunnel ::

Ah.... I wonder... Lessee... Bo'sun! I 'ave an errand ta run.... Ye have th' deck, til th' Cap'n makes his presence, 'r I get back.... shouldn't be gone long....

:: he nods o the Bo'sun, turns and walks up to Armand ::

Ah, Armand.... As most o' th' crew be busy.... might I have yer misteress' leave ta 'ave ye join me ashore? I've a small errand ta pick up some items, an' would enjoy yer comp'ny... I'll be tellin' th' Cap'n I's goin' ashore, would ye ask Tempest fer yer leave? I'll met ye at th' side, we'll take th' dingy...

:: noding to Armand, he tuens and makes his way to the Captain's quarters ::

*knock, knock* Cap'n? Tis Mr' Lasseter... I's a need ta go ashore... ta pick up some items I had orderd when last ashore.... I'll have a lad wi' me, and shouldn't be long... Bo'sun's got th' deck...

::He returns to the waist of the ship, waiting for Armand to return from the ward...::

[William Brand]

:: noding to Armand, he tuens and makes his way to the Captain's quarters ::

*knock, knock* Cap'n?  Tis Mr' Lasseter... I's a need ta go ashore... ta pick up some items I had orderd when last ashore.... I'll have a lad wi' me, and shouldn't be long... Bo'sun's got th' deck...

::He returns to the waist of the ship, waiting for Armand to return from the ward...::

"Very good, Mister Lasseter." William says, appearing in the door frame. I shall go above and mind the ship.

William follows Mister Lasseter to the gun deck and makes his way aft to the helm. He lays his coat over the rail there and takes a drink from the bucket laying hard by.

"Tis a fine day. Aye."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The Ward was as silent as when he had left it and the sleeping form lay much as before. After a moment of contemplation, Armand scribed a note explaining his intentions and with whom before changing into something of more appropriate means.

Quietly stepping from the Ward's dim, he returned to the Main considering the Quartermaster's request of company. At the very least, the hiatus from ship would be a refreshing change. Spying Monsieur Lasseter, he approaches and waits.

[Diego Santana de la Vega]

Having had no response to me questions to the quartermaster and the surgeon about any need for a cup of coffee I went ahead down to the galley and poured myself a carge tankard full and made my way back down to my cot where I was to involve my morning in the study of the word. The quiet and solitude giv'n was all the more to me liking and as the morning flew by I was found nye on noon ta be still with thoughts involving the safety of the ship and it's first endeavors pon the ocean blue.

Coffee gone I rose to seek nourishment of somekind hoping anything was prepared to me liking? Fer I was with a mighty hunger.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Spying Monsieur Lasseter, he approaches and waits.

Ah, there ye be... all is well then?

Right, we're off then...

:: with a quick smile, he slides over the side and down the tumblehome of the hull, taking the side ladder down and into the waiting dingy... he steadies the boat as Armand malkes his way down, slower than the QM but not without pluck, once aboard, the QM takes up the sweeps and pulls toward the shore::

So, Lad... ye look a might pale.... have a bad night? Well ne'er ye mind... we's all in goode hands... Oh, I've a spare pistol fer ye, since we be goin' ta town...

:: Armand, nods at his question of the evening... his face brightens a touch at Mr. Lasseter's words of encouragement, and that he will be given arms::

"Merci, Quartermaster..."

::Mr. Lasseter gives Armand a pinched look::

Armand... ye c'n call me Dorain iffn' ye like, as we're away from th' ship... might be best as well when we be in town...

:: Armand, slightly taken aback, nods ::

"Oui..... Doriene....."

:: The QM nods back ::

Aye, that'll do....

::Soon they are at the beach, through the light surf and onto dry sand..::

Aye, help me pull th' dingy up farther...

::they pull the dingy up out of the surfs claws, brush off the sand, and at a medium pace, head into town...::

[Pirate Petee]

*watching the dinghie row to shore, he looks up at the sun. Having gone through the daily gun and ammo inspections, he ponders on what duty he might do next. Makes his way below deck, he goes to his sea chest and removes the ale cask and fills his tankard. Returning to the main deck he paces back and forth eyeing the guns, stopping to take closer looks and sipping his ale. Pleased, he walks up to the quarter deck and has a seat on the stern and continues to sip his ale.*

Till then this will do.

[William Brand]

Pleased, he walks up to the quarter deck and has a seat on the stern and continues to sip his ale.*

Till then this will do.

"Mister Youngblood. Have the repairs been made to those guns which could not be made to fire before?"

William doesn't wait for a response, but instead, he proceeds to his next question.

"Have you been promoted above the gun deck in my absence, sir? I should think that a gun deck which runs the length of the ship and occupies its greater girth would be enough for any man. Why then are you found so often near the helm?"

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The "Steward" finds himself warming to the man in his company. He recalls fellow men of the past that were reflection of the one that is nearby. Gladly accepting the proffered 'lock, the rove of grey eyes carefully inspect the weapon's carriage of being with focused knowledge before tucking it away. The small boat is pulled firmly to sand grip to disallow the water's want to claim.

Standing placidly by, the Gascon wonders as to the Quartermaster's intention. Is there an underlying purpose to this walkabout or simply one of goodwill and company. He considers momentarily, then decides to allow it for what may be.

"Monsier...Or as you said...Dorian. Are we afoot for this errand?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Monsier...Or as you said...Dorian. Are we afoot for this errand?"

:: Stoping in his tracks, Dorian turns to Armand ::

Aye, we be on foot.. th' town is just o'er th' rise... Ahhh.... fer want o' a horse... The travel time would be shorter, aye... but we havn't any 'orses ta use....

Come now... a goode, brisk walk... yer gonna miss this once we get under weigh...

:: the two men set out on their trek ::

[Pirate Petee]

Pleased, he walks up to the quarter deck and has a seat on the stern and continues to sip his ale.*

Till then this will do.

"Mister Youngblood. Have the repairs been made to those guns which could not be made to fire before?"

William doesn't wait for a response, but instead, he proceeds to his next question.

"Have you been promoted above the gun deck in my absence, sir? I should think that a gun deck which runs the length of the ship and occupies its greater girth would be enough for any man. Why then are you found so often near the helm?"

Aye, sir, guns was just gummed up, notin a good o cleanin couldn't fix. An as fer ta quarter deck, well its got such a nice view sir.