Port Royal, Jamaica

['Bastian Devareaux]

Devon sat in familiar local near hearth's expanse with half-lidded eyes. In one hand, the simple render of pipe bowl balanced as flame was brought near to conjure content's life. Pungent sweet the scroll of smoke rose lazily to rafters above; coupled pulls strengthening ignition. Casual scan of proximity was given, lingering on barmaid crossing of Common before clay stem was traded of porter sampling.

Comfortable sprawl in posture was accomplished next and the Waiting Game after that. Eventually Kelly would regain well worn chair across table's wobble existence; until then, Burke would give relish to the simple pleasures at his disposal.

Mind wandering, he tip-toed events leading up to breeching of Port Royal's surround and his impression of said local. Smallish crease appeared on smooth brow in reflection of silent mental traverse. For the majority of time spent, things had an easy rhythm and that had been the norm for many months....This was not the case of late.

Granted, the Owling Trade proved well in reward, allowing provision for the things Devon Burke counted highly in priority for the day to day. Not that former occupation of cut purse and general thief had not....Still...

His posture adjusted without conscious venture, and tankard once again was cupped, draught taken.

Passage back to table support paused in mid-flight as further thought tugged.Port Royal was becoming a hot bed and things in general were falling under closer scrutiny; scrutiny was no friend of Artful Dodger. He was quite loyal and appreciative to those he served, nevertheless the heat was raising and it had little to do with Jamaica's climate.

Deep draw was taken from clay companion, rings formed and wobbled aloft to points unknown. Perhaps it was time to move on to cooler latitudes...

Attention re-trained to Barmaid's movements.

[Cheeky Actress]

“Miss, I nil know wot is greivin ya so but I’m tinkin ya may wont t’finish yer meal in private. Care t’use one uv d’back rooms?”

Silkie lifted the meal to her tray, and lead her to one of the small private rooms. The lady followed, trying to control her outbursts but their walk was still punctuated with loud sobs.

As Lilly was escorted to the small back room for a private meal, she kept thinking that all was not right with the world. She was alone and those who were important to her pushed her away from them.

Tears continued to flow as the meal in front of her grew cold. It would be a difficult thing to leave Port Royal with out her Captain, but she had to convince herself that it was the right thing to do.

['Bastian Devareaux]

As evening's darkened blanket crept over the Port with lethargic characteristics, Sebastian gave smallish stretch. Eyes roved the encompassment of room from far corner seating, hearing trained on the muffled voices that luft through closed door. It was odd to his thinkings, that an establishment so rife with life and carousing in the past, could become so much as a tomb in the present. The hushed air almost oppressive having been contained and unoccupied until recent.

Footsteps nearing brought his attention away from private musings, bring full attention to the doorway; hint of smile played lupine expression. Sound of knob disrupted the silence, and with portal's opening, the chamber seemed to take deep inhalation of fresher air. Keeping statuesque poise, Beggar Prince watched as new proprietor moved about the surround; choosing to lite near large desk occupying glazier proxy. Rifling of parchment could be heard as the Other perused the contents of leather tome unawares and one word comment hung the room's laden qualities.

Shifting position within confines of high-backed chair, Sabastian spoke with quiet soothe, "Bon soir, Monsieur Neede..." Careful note was made of the other's reaching for pistol just right of the tome's placement. "That will be far from necessary...There is no call for its' application and you will find that it is no longer charged."

Leaving the chair's support, Rom moved into the edge of lantern's reach of light. "Welcome to Jamaica, Monsieur and might I offer felicitations to you regarding newly gained establishment." Dark eyes surveyed Thomas Neede with veiled interest. " I do believe that we may be of service to each other..." Cunning smile appeared over swarth terra.

"And further, that such service could prove most, shall we say...lucrative?"

[Thomas Neede]

Thomas' eyes narrowed and he caught himself persing his lips to almost a ratlike state. "Lucrative, you say. You have my attention sir". Thomas clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. "And you may be," Thomas dulled his tone. He did not know what to think. How had this person gained entrance to his pub, let alone the back office. What did he know, how did he know, whom did he know. Thomas kept an ear on the boys out front and heard Sully return, much to the delight of the front room. Thomas leaned back in the seat and offered a crystal goblet from his own selection. "Madeira?" he offered.

['Bastian Devareaux]

Sabastian drew two paces closer, lamp oil flame caressing angled features until reaching penumbra cast by wide brim. He measured the man before him, as he did the worth of crystal vessel. A nod of approval was given to the offer of libation, its' scent and colored measured with the same care; though sampling of such would hang limbo for the time being. Smooth evasion was delivered to previous query of identity; bypassed as if never uttered.

"It has been my experience, Monsieur, that there are those of refined taste and those without. To impress the later is of no great effort, but to do the same with the former..." Pause was taken as crystal was re-evaluated, "Is only done with the knowledge of current whims and unending desires. Which is it that you care to appease, Monsieur Neede?"

One brow arched slightly under chapeau's shadow.

"Anything can be had. Any whim, any desire....Any pleasure..."

The smile returned.

"For a price."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Cold hands about his face, brought heavy lids to a slight flutter... then they opened slowly and looked upward into the dim light of a lantern.

"Been out for  two days you have," a voice announced. The sound seemed to ricochet about Sterling's skull causing the throbbing to increase and send him rolling onto his side, innards reeling from it.

"There now, have a care!" Came the voice again.  "Wouldn't have even noticed the state you are in, cept you haven't touched yer food, but then I can't blame you there."  A low chuckle, far more nervous then honestly amused, followed quickly. 

"Here now, someone's done given you a proper thrashing. Mr. Pinon, I would hazard to guess.  Send for a doctor I would, but I am not permitted to do so.  Still, I could no longer let you just lay here."

Nathan Kelley stood near open cell door gazing into the dim. The lamp hinted at livid tattooing, to traumas he doubted were delivered by hand alone. The mention of Pinon's name caused unconscious reaction, a quick glance down narrow corridor and sharpening of hearing. Thompson's body language spoke volumes of his discomfort, yet he lingered near Sterling as if in some mental battle of right and wrong.

The oppressive air and stench of chamber did nothing to ease the nerves, steady flicker of oil flame causing ghostly fingers to stab the darkened walls than retreat; only to stab again. Thompson pivoted the merest degree, his features drawn and jaw set tight as gaze fell on Nathan's thresh hold vigil. Eyes were twined window's of confusion; reflections of inner questioning that had no simple answers.

Kelley's full attention was trapped within companion's haunted expression, and he found himself suddenly craving a vast quantity of the Craythur.

[Capt. Sterling]

He closed his eyes, fighting to keep from being sick, but soft voices only echoed through out the cell and in his head far worse than any broadside he could remember. For a moment he tried to think of what he had done now to cause such displeasure to his master but the voices were wrong, the accents far too familiar…

Eyes were forced opened and cell’s interior slowly inspected as far as prone placement would permit. But he could not remember where he was or how he had arrived in such a place. He would have wracked his brain to think of who it could be that he had now offended, but it was not within his power to concentrate. As others’ deafening murmurs continued to bandy about, it was all he could do to whisper…

“For God’s sake, help me.”

[Ian Finn]

The two brothers sat for a few moments drinking and eating from plates that were for once, not stolen. Ian leaned in closer to Liam, "Wot y' tink? C'n we git o'er 'n 'im?" "Nay," said Liam, "'e may b' th' 'nly way yew dinnot 'nd 'p back 'n th' gaol." Liam smacked his brother across the head. Ian scowled at him, but then broke into a smile.

['Bastian Devareaux]

“For God’s sake, help me.”

Though whispered it was, the unexpected plea startled the silence and the two men nearby. Kelley gave smallish start as sight shifted quickly to he that lay in curled repose. Thompson remained speechless, mute on some deep level of inner being as half-hearted gesture was made to companion. Irishman drew near hesitantly, ever aware of the dim passage beyond the gaping maw of cell door.

Leaning close in conspiritor's posture, words were exchanged betwixt and between with constant glances traded to the one way out and in. Deep inhalation broke the still as Nathan drew back and considered; nod was given to hushed tradings of contemplation. Retreating a number of steps, attention rapt upon fallen form, he paused once more before quitting hell's forgotten annex. Thompson lingered briefly, then followed in companion's wake. Just as heavy door was swung near closure, he addressed lone occupant.

" I canno' offer promises..."

[Lady Violet Cunningham]

Lady Violet stood sipping her early morning coffee, a small smile on her lips. Within the tumbled sheets and coverlets of her bed lay her husband, still sleeping off the effects of post connubial bliss. However, the scent of her coffee must have reached him, for his nose began to twitch like a rabbit's, and one eye opened.

"Violet, is that ambrosia I smell, coffee?"

"Yes, dear, it is. If you would bestir yourself, I will pour you a cup."

Albert sat up, his night cap askew and his graying hair wild. He grinned at her. "My, my, haven't had a night like that in a long time, eh wife? May hap we should spend more time in the Royal Grace. It seems to have an efficacious effect on us."

Violet handed him a cup of coffee. "Don't be rediculous, Albert. You will not be hauling me off to the inn like some trollop every time the itch is upon you."

He winked at her. "Had a bit of an itch yourself, deary. Not that I'm complaining."

Despite herself, she smiled. "Yes, well, it was rather...boistrous, wasn't it? But now I have a task to perform, so—" He tugged at her bed gown and she slapped his hand away. "I need to get dressed with no more distractions. And you need to return to Trade Winds. Or do you intend to loiter in town waiting to see if that Sterling character is hanged?"

Her husband's expression sobered. "I have filed a formal complaint, but I have no desire to see the man hanged. Hangings always put me off my food.

Lady Violet knew that to be a blatant falsehood. Nothing ever put Albert off his food.

[Capt. Sterling]

Gaining the shore had been no ordinary feat. Still, they could not rest until they found a place to hide. He glanced at his companion, his own chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. The swim had been a major battle. He had been chosen for being one of the better ones in the water but the current had been against them, the temperature far colder then they had hoped for this time of year. He coughed, then sucked in a lung full of air.

"Come along then," he whispered, one hand coming to rest upon the other man's shoulder in order to give a gentle shove in the desired direction. "T'will be a miracle that no one seen us heading in. There be no point in giving ourselves away by standing around in the open now."

['Bastian Devareaux]

It was insistent cockerel crow in some alley by-way that brought disgruntled crease to young Irish forehead. The next sounding heralded change of body position on divan and protest from feline lamprey. What was once comfortable human mattress played traitor, and bookstore cat settled on flooring with snide disapproval glinting amber eyes.

Thrice did morning trumpeter sound; and third time was truly the charm. Raising slightly on cushioned surface, Devon muttered a parade of Gaelic curses not fit for the ears of Clergy or Innocents. The fourth chiming of Alley Antagonist brought upright posturing and louder proclamations of native soil. Companions glanced to one another briefly; feline breaking away to attend proper grooming.

As fifth sounding shattered the still, object was taken in hand from nearby table and waiting commenced for the call of Six. And Six did sally forth, as the Five before had so boldly rung. Rear entrance was achieved with steadfast concentration, doorway opened with greatened care....

And there! In archway's loom, stood He that could and would raise the Dead. Bare-footed step gained cobbles below and for a spinning of Infinity, Protagonist and Antagonist seemed to measure each other. It was a smallish laps of time that held in its' clutch Eternity and the balance of Universe sway.

Object in possession was leveled at arm's length; a smile of satisfaction graced Celtic features...

A roar of manmade thunder further insulted the morning hush...

And when the powder smoke cleared...

Near surround was a tempest of multi-hued feathers.

Devon gave nod of vindication.

[Capt. Sterling]

“You know well enough that we should not be here at all,” whisper of protest was given as the pair hunkered down in the over growth far from the beach.

“He’d a come if it were ye that were needing the looking after,” said the other. Then he sat, heavily, tarred package coming to rest upon his lap. Knots were quickly undone and clothes, no more the worse for wear than had been expected from the long haul in, were laid out to dry. They would be needed … in time. For now, having escaped from the sea’s embrace, the early morning air was amply warm enough for the wet slops they were currently adorned with. One last cautious look was cast about before he laid himself down in the tall grasses, offering one more word of advice, then eyes were closed to try and sleep a bit before he and his companion made the hike into Port Royal.

[Andrew March]

"Well?" March asked, waiting for the report. His dark eyes remained fixed on the horizon, a small boat making its way back to the Archangel's care.

"They are away, Sir," young Mr. Merriweather reported.

March did not stir.

"Thank you Mr. Merriweather. Go below and get yerself something to eat," he replied quietly. The small boy nodded, hand coming upward in a half hearted salute. March's gaze shifted ever so slightly to view younger charge from the corner of his eye.

"Ye'll be needin to keep yer strength up, Mr. Merriweather. He will be needin us soon. Cannot be havin ye unfit for a fight, if there be one."

The boy's eyes widened briefly, betraying, momentarily, his excitement at such a suggestion. A second nod was offered, this one more in keeping with what was expected of him.

"We will not be leaving Captain Sterling behind then?" the boy asked.

March turned then, sharply. He eyed the midshipman hard.

"Would thou have me disobeying the Captain's orders, Mr. Merriweather?" he asked sternly. "Thou knows full well, that the Captain said we were to keep the 'Angle safe and not return for him!" He winked suddenly at the lad.

"Now enough of such foolish talk. Do as thou has been told and get thee below!"

['Bastian Devareaux]

The desire to regain peaceful repose was strong, as well as taunting. Former state was dodging and fleet in its' doing; a fact that did well to further aggravate Irish character traits. Giving in to defeat, Calico companion was bestowed small scratching of affectionate means, as once again he found himself on back entrance stoop. Time was taken to breath deep the qualities of salt laden air; its' smell and heaviness something Burke had called friend since his birthing.

Door was secured, mount obtained though he chose to walk and lead versus ride. These were the quiet hours of the day, a time when the flavors and denizens of local were still mostly hidden away. Brim was tugged forward and down to hamper the smallish flashes of sunlight seeking caress of sights as streets were navigated without conscious thought.

Reaching a stretch of coastal range, he paused to take in the gathering of fisher folk preparing for outing. The area was flurry of eased conversation and the sounds of labor's effort. Perched upon upturned barrel, a fisherman's daughter worked steadfast the task of net mend; pausing at Devon's arrival with a smile.

"Tis a bit early to see ye abouts, Devon Burke."

"Well now, gerl..." he smiled warmly in return." True as true is, it was me cravin's to see yer beauty baskin' in the golden light o' dawn tha' found me here."

Setting the net down and eyeing the other quiziclly, Maggie Fitzpatrick stiffled a laugh. "Now there ye go on, bigh....Tis trut' tha' if it were ye an' aul Scratch in'na battle of silvered tongue, I don' know where wager should be placed regardin' the winnin'."

Mount was tied off and another barrel obtained for seating. He reached for net, and she handed it over appreciatively. Ingrained practice set hands to motion, nimble and precise each movement a showing of old family tradition. In some ways, it was an easing of the soul; a meditation that cleared his thoughts and she was quite comfortable to allow the silence.

It went on this way for a passing of time; the net steadily returning to whole state; he humming quietly a song of the Auld Sod, she watching his actions. Final knotting was carefully placed as he glanced sidelong to companion; who, in turn, blushed as his eyes caught her own.

"Ye keep hangin' abou', ye'll find yerself back in'na doin's." She chided.

"Aye." Burke nodded. "Yer Da an' brothers will try an' make me an honest man."

[Capt. Sterling]

Late morning heat roused first man from light slumber. He sat up, stretched than woke his companion. Both dressed hurriedly in spare clothes that had quickly dried in the intense heat.

"Glad tis not myself locked up on a day like today," the second man grumbled. "'Twould be such as being confined in a dutch oven, I'll sware."

"Belay such talk ye fool!" Came a harsh warning. "Or ye just might end up in such a state and I have no plans to be joining ye. We have a simple enough task to accomplish. Get the lady and get out of here as fast as we can. Any news we may be able to gather as well surely will not do any of us a disservice either. Just make certain ye be not volunteering any in return."

[Nelly Greene]

“No I refuse to believe such,” Nelly replied. She was not angry. Yet, she was not convinced for something refused to allow her to consider that Sterling had escaped out to sea with the rest of his crew. She halted her pacing, for she had been criss-crossing the room since Major Conner had come to call with his news, delicate hands twisting a linen handkerchief into a wrinkled mess. The major shook his head and would have smiled at her incredulity, if he had not known her better. She was truly apprehensive and now, so was he.

“ 'Tis not much else I can do my dear,” Conner informed her. Regal shoulders shrugged as he continued. “Except to go through the prison and check each cell myself.”

He had meant it as an extreme measure, some thing that he would not ordinarily do but when she whirled about, her expression hopeful, he could not help but feel as if his work, for the next few days, would now have to be rescheduled.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Souris came in toting a iron kettle full of steaming water, which he placed next to the cot on which the limp figure lay.

"Bout time," Trilby groused, as he struggled to pull off the woman's coat and bloodied shirt.

From behind him, the big black man said, "She not goin' to like dat you took her clothes."

"I doubt she'll bloody have much tae say about it at present." Trilby gave a final tug and the shirt came away. "There now, may hap I can finally see what damage has been done."

Turning her onto her side, he probed the would carefully and decided it was deep, but noting vital had been damaged. As he lay her all the way over so he could dress the wound, she gave a moan. Suddenly his shirt collar was yanked from behind and twisted, so he could barely suck in breath enough to squawk, "What the deevil!"

"What you do to hurt her?" The black man's voice boomed in Trilby's ear.

"Let go yea heathen deevil, or I'll nae lift a wee finger tae help this she-witch. Yea can take her back tae your ship and let the injury fester till she stinks like rotting meat, for all I care."

The black man released Trilby's collar and stood back. "You mend her, but I will watch."

Cursing the day the woman had shown up on his doorstep, he bathed the knife wound in hot water, then poured into the opening a generous amount of sulfur powder, before wrapping her with bandages and throwing a blanket over her.

When he was finished, Trilby turned to the black man. "Since your just standing around, why not make yourself useful and wash up these bloodied clothes."

The black man looked down on him with contempt. "I not a slave anymore. You find someone who still is to do dat job."

With an exasperated sigh, Trilby tossed the coat and shirt to Souris, who glared at the black man, but took the bundle away.

[Nelly Greene]

“Mistress, there is a man here to see you. He says ‘t is urgent. 'T was Major Conner that has sent him,” Sally announced as she burst in upon Nelly. Blond head tilted upward from small book, pale eyes enlarging slightly as she was disturbed. And then suddenly she rose from a fine settee, book closing abruptly as she move toward the young girl.

“Urgent? The Major has found Captain Sterling?” she asked. Sally moved aside to allow her mistress to pass and lead the way back downstairs to the front door.

The hour was late, even for the night owls of the port city, but now three figures, two cloaked and masked hurried through the maze of streets with the solider to guard them and explain in hushed tones what Conner hoped was the incentive to Nelly’s quest. She lingered, starring in surprise as she was ushered past the damaged office, already under repair from the earlier explosion but now eerily quiet as work ceased long ago for the day.

“Not a sound,” the soldier whispered and held the large door open for the women to pass beyond. Major Conner silently greeted them and the uneasy look upon his face bode no good in Nelly Greene’s mind.

“Mark…”

Firm shake of head was given as finger extended upward to the officer’s lips. He held out his hand to her and with an indication of head once more, silently commanded that maid and others remain behind. Lantern was held aloft and Nelly took the hand that he offered and was guided further into the bowls of the prison. She glanced backward once, Sally offering a weak smile of encouragement, soldiers coming on guard, preparing to stop any possible interference.

Not knowing to where she was being lead, the journey seemed endless, and the sounds and stink of the prison soon made the lady unsettled. Still she grasped tightly to her old lover’s comforting hand and continued on until finally the officer stopped. Lantern was passed to her keeping for a moment and look that spoke warning was past from one to the other before the lock was undone and the lantern retrieved. She stood anxiously as the heavy door was shouldered open and Conner made his way inside. Once more hand was offered for her protection and Nelly allowed herself to be helped inside. The stench took her breath away and if it had not been for Conner’s quick reaction to hers, she would have fallen as her knees gave way at the sight.

[Ransom]

Ioan had been living hand-to-mouth since deserting the La Maligna. He huddled in the darkness of a stable, thinking about his sorry lot in life.

His luck, rather than improve after escaping Charles Town in the Colonies, had gotten progressively worse. He'd thought the Rakehell would earn him the money he needed to return home to Wales, but instead of paying him his share of the gold collected fromt he sale of the pirated arms, Ransom had him flogged for letting the prisoner Killingsworth be taken from the ship. His dealings with Lady Tess hadn't gone any better. What little money he'd gained from her was long gone.

Ransom should have given him his share of the arms money. He'd risked his neck, same as the rest of the crew. Her refusal had infuriated him. Yet, with the town as nervous as an alley cat, and soldiers constantly on patrol, he'd dare'd not kill her. But a little warning did no harm. He knew she wouldn't die of the knife wound he'd given her, but it would let her know he was not a man with whom to trifle.

His only real fear was the big black man, Africa. If Ioan was ever discovered by the former slave, Ioan knew he would be shown no mercy. As Ransom had threatened the evening he'd confronted her in the tavern, his body would be found floating in Chocolate Hole long before he had a chance to enjoy his new-gained wealth.

That thought did not improve his current malevolent mood.

[Cheeky Actress]

With her last coin placed upon the table to pay for her food, Lilly pushed herself away from the table. Though the proprietress and her serving maid did their best to keep her from drawing attention to her, Lilly knew that thing had to change. She would be the only one who could take on the fates. “Where would ye be of ‘ta now?” Asked the proprietress of the tavern inn. “I know not. But my fate and my life are my own. I shall see to it that I do my best to keep it that way.” And with that Lilly left the tavern.

With no money upon her person and no place to go, Lilly soon began making inquires about employment. Off she spent most of the day chatting up the lower class of creatures that lived in the shadows of Port Royal. Upon her journey Lilly had met up with a Ruffler by the name of Sam and his Whip Jack friend, Nathanial. Both were half drunk with rum. It was Sam’s Strowling mort, Jane who offered the most help. She joined the conversation with another jug full of ale.

“I know a Patricio looking for a mort.” She muttered softly through her toothless grin. “He’ll treat you well enough.” Lilly smiled, but being a mort wasn’t what she was hoping for. "I was looking to ply my trade.” The men both glanced over at Jane. “Tis that what you wish? Such a business! We have more than our share whores here in Port Royal."

Lilly's eyes narrowed.

[Thomas Neede]

"Anything can be had. Any whim, any desire....Any pleasure..."

The smile returned.

"For a price."

Thomas shifted a little in his chair at the elongated pronunciation of "pleasure". He smiled also, "Price is inconsequential." Thomas' blatant reply caught the man off guard. "I believe an accord can be met goode sir."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Price is inconsequential...

The words played as sweetly to Dauphin's hearing as would delicate coaxing of notes from a lute. Nod was given almost as an afterthought to the Other's next statement. Moving to desk's edge, Sabastian leaned forward to finger tip support upon wooden surface. His expression lay calm as tranquil water's surface and dark eyes scrutinized companion's demeanor with careful deduction.

"Then it only remains to be brought forth what it is that your wants are in entrepreneurial pursuits, Monsieur Neede...." The words hung the air momentarily before followed further. "I do believe that if such were applied with pen to parchment, a contemplation of the said might be easily weighed."

Clever smile caused rippled upon stoic waters and another nod of smallish proportioning was issued, "Very little is out of the question with the parameters you have set...." Sabastian regained full height, clasping hand to wrist behind his back.

"A listing of you desires is what I require....Then we can discuss what such things deem proper in the way of exchange."

[Thomas Neede]

"Then an accord shall be met on the morrow. I shall have Young Sullivan bring you our demands." Thomas laughed heartily. He offered crystal goblet once more, only to be denied again. Thomas raised the goblet, "On the morrow then my good man."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Sabastian eyed the other with amusement dancing dark visual pools and chuckled softly, "Very well, Monsieur Neede, on the morrow it is. Though as to sending your young friend with the requests...." a smile of more feral facets disturbed verbose briefly. "You may find that acquisition of his destination might prove more fool's errand than success."

Coat sleeve was focused upon momentarily, "Generally speaking, he might become quite distracted with frustration in the pursuit of such. Hide and seek is rather an art that is not so easily set aside with childhood's loss...I might rather recommend, that your young friend deliver his dossier into the keeping of Monsieur Talbot, proprietor of the Dancing Stag. He, in turn shall make it known to myself."

With modest bow, Dauphin turned to gain door proximity. Right hand resting on handle, glance was cast over shoulder to where companion watched on.

"There is no need to seek me....I will most assuredly find you."