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Thread: Freedom at all Costs: A tale of Me First Mate

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    Default Freedom at all Costs: A tale of Me First Mate

    Prologue

    My proclivities to drink heavily and then to write, sometimes come into conflict upon which the canvas I choose to write
    my drunkenessess upon. In the world of Tynon, there is this tavern, known affectionately at the Green Dragon. Similar to
    the bar here in Evony, yet not. That tavern is in essence a Pirate's Tavern, yarrrr. However, ipso facto, and otherwise in other words, there is not a Story Thread there, sad, but yes, tis true.

    A tavern thread should have flow, a continual meeting of like minded souls to thrill audiences with their unique and particular humor, and get e-drunk in the process. Since my story is a piratical story, in another world, the spinning of yarns would be acceptable, yet not there, So! I've taken the occasion of using Evony's Story thread to place my Tynon
    tale here, since there is no conflict between Evo and Tyno, and relieve the patrons of that tavern, so they may continue to enjoy the flow, so set.

    The yarn begins, in a year sometime during the Golden Age of Pirates, 1688-ish to 1734-ish. My main character, spins
    this yarn, in the first person pov, about his first mate, told to a strange patron of the tavern, Rembrandten. The story begins after someone shot the parrot ...





    Last edited by King Alboin; 08-04-2013 at 09:18 AM.
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    *doctors up the parrot* adds a peg leg, an eye patch, spoon feeds him some good ole rum, I snagged of Morgan LF, fashions up a iddy biddy birdy hammock over the bar, says words, gets platster'd.

    Originally Posted by Rembrandten
    "And God said, let there be bondage, and there was, and it was good."

    Then Cap'n Kinglsy "Long Beard" Alboin says,

    three pieces of eight, spanish silver, is the price of a man, a lass could fetch three times as much, if she be prudent, her weight in gold, if she has influential relatives. However bondage? Pirates above all else, even pirate wenches, love their freedom. Lest ye art carrying more than a blunderbuss, I would suspect one of your edumication should see the tail of the dragon that haunts these quarters.

    Take my first officer, for instance. She was indentured at the age of eight, to a most vile minister of the cloth. I found her, in a cell, not much like the one's we have down there. Of course I was in the next cell, over. My crime was but a mere misunderstanding, whilst her crime was that of lopping off the head of her "guardian from sin". I had been using the bile from the bottom of me gutt to rust the lower hinge of me cell, for quite some time, when they threw her into the cell next to me. They chained her to the stones, nothing but straw to call a bunk, weavel laced hard tack for a hardy meal mixed with a bit of dog meat gravy, did they feed her, rancid water to wash it down. She has never told me what her guadian did to her, and I shant ask, yet be it known, he deserved his fate -- I would of lopped off a different part of his anatomy, by what I gather her tears told me.

    I completed my task, jarring the cell door hinge ajar, and took out the blue coat turn screw as he waddled down the ladder well. Took his keys, release my neighbor, and we managed to escape before the garrison awoke for their morning colors. We found an old Ketch in the harbor, stole her away, made good our escape, and for three long weeks, we sailed the briney depths. I taught her the ropes of sailing, mind you, on this her maiden voyage. Litterally I spent hours instructing her the eight knots every sailor should know, standing and running rigging. How to sail by the stars, judge noon on an octant, and other most worthy skills that could take her as far as she needed to git to. She learned how to caulk beams, careen the hull, and mend sails.

    We alighted on the isle of Tortuga, and through a most trustworthy loyal aquaintence of mine, traded half the ship's fare for some shot, powder, arms and rum. Indigo and cotton, did we trade. The buccaneer we traded with, took a fancy to my first mate. She was not impressed, and told him so. He would not listen, so she cleared his ears out with a lead ball from a brand new pistole'. Deaf dead he be now. For the only sounds he hears are the accusations his deamons scream in his hellish abode.

    Fearing his brethren, we stowed our newly gotten provisions as fast as our callused mitts could move, and set sail as far as our leakey Ketch could take us. We briefly made port at Crab Island, replenished our water barrels, and headed sou by south east. We stayed clear of the trade routes, and rationed our meals, to a might bit meager setting. Ye may be thinking, "oh such an impossiblity for two hands to sail a small vessel in the open seas." Aye, ye may think ye art right to think along those lines. Freedom, guided us, my friend. Not wanting to be in bondage or held prisoner never more, backed our brace.

    We divided our watch in hours of four. She at the wheel, whilst I plied the rigging. Then I at the wheel, whilst she caulked the leaks. On the dog watch we ate separate, then I would take my ease aloft in the rigging, whilst she slept standing at the helm. We struck our course and remained far afield of green waters, no sight did we gander upon land, till we did make the coast of Teirra de Fuego.

    I hatched a plan, and devised a plot, in me pea-picken skull. We then an there, agreed to go on the account, to take a larger vessel, and free her hands held in the brig or clasped in iron. To force them to go on account, or be awarded their last breath. The loyal crew, be danged as they be hanged on our yard arms.

    *scratches me beard*
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 03:32 PM.
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    *stuffs a pipe, strikes a match, swallers a tankard of ale whole, dreggs ant'all.*

    *cough, sneezes, spits an scratches me beard. Lights me pipe*


    My First Mate, the one who slapped me, ye see, speaks ne're a word, which hath been tha'way abaft our escape. She speaks with her eyes, fists, powder an ball. Takes pride in her accuracy, she does. Me thinks she loves augerin holes, I does. So, I learnt her the gentle hobby of cannonade fire. That'a'way she can take her pleasure augerin big holes in big ships. Our little Ketch t'were only an eight gunner, six twelve pounders, one long eight pounder and one thirty two pounder. We practiced and practiced with all manner of shot. We gave Oceanus hell that week, blowing holes through the swells. She learnt her timing on the ship's rolls, learnt her aim by the feel of the ship's pitch. She got good, an I knew I was done schoolin, when I'd laid eyes on somthin I'd ne'er seen till -- she smile'd. She done got her pride back, I suspect. Me thinks she found her purpose in this cruel life. I dunno, but she's been hard to live with ever since. Not in a bad way, mind you, but her love of blowing things up has put a dent in our stores of powder. Do you know how long it takes to sift ye powder, to keep it from the clump? Huh? Correct, a long boring dangerous time, and no sooner do I or me gunner's mate gits the job done and she takes the cask, makes several charges, and blows half of em gone before four bells a'noon, whilst I spend half the noon swabbing the deck clean of loosen't fine powder.

    *shakes me head, fills me tankard, swills her down, cough, spits, an drags a hit from me pipe*

    Whar was I? hmm?

    Oh, yeah,

    yeah, way down sou' two hunnert seventy leagues from the Horn. Me plan was so complex it was simple. His friggin Magisty's ships are ordered to protect dem fat whalin vessels over in the Mare de Pacifica. A task given to most experience Cap'ns of His friggin Royal Fleet.

    *scratches beard, not knowing if I want to spill certain beans .. decides to kick the pail over*


    Every lucky Sam's now an then, comes along a Captain who has more brass cannon shot, then chimes in his bell rack. He attempts the Horn, the Horn dont love'em nor his crew no more, and the Horn spits him out, like a barrister spits out his poor wife's cookin. His ship is a'battered an a'torn, his riggin is a'fray, his tackle is a'jumble, his Midshipmen are a'cryin, his crew a'rollin cannon balls, those that are left, that is, and those that still have some of their fingers, bein that some of dem fingers still be a'frozen to the Mizzen's Yard Stays, his supper be a'lyin on d'deck, his brandy a'spillin on his charts, and his bowels a'be incontinent, he be havin to sat a'stride his cover'd jardine till his innards be empty.

    "Aaaaand that is when we will take the Cap'n an crew, albiet with their pants down, my first mate," I says to her.

    Another first a'happen'd. She roared with laughter. first time I had actually heard her voice. I think me ears touched from the smile I did give in reciprocity.

    She took off ina giddy dance, inspecting every piece of cannon on the ship. She paid special attention to the thirty two pounder. I think she adopted it, to tell ye the truth of the matter. She seemed to be pettin it, more as much as inspect it. Me thinks she named it, but I can not tell thee his b'chosen title. Sometimes I still catch her sleeping on the confounded artillery piece. Women'folk! Has it in her cabin, an you will not believe what I went through to install it there. Makes a dandy aft gun, though. would take a brave idiot to try to sneak up a'stern of our rudder, mind you.

    So, she set off to ready our cannons, and I set to the task of readying our arms, pistoles, block'n tackle. Within twain a'fortnight, we'd be ready to spring our trap.

    *fills me tankard, puffs on me pipe, scratches, belches, coughs an spits*

    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 03:45 PM.
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    Arrr whars was I in me tale of me first mate, urrrrrgh *takes a swig arf some vile an wicked grogg, *hic -- brurrrrrpah* wipes
    me beard*


    Thar we were, inspectin our ship, knowing she be needing a sound careening to clean dem flamin barnacles off'n her hull,
    jus'n case, for we needed her speed to answer the helm when called upon. We spied this spit of land, not land really but a tiny
    sand pile in the middle of Oceanus. Only thirteen coconut trees could we count a'top this miserable place. Aye, miserable or no
    we would await hightide, run our ship ashore, hove her down an careen 'er durin low tide till she went afloat agin. We lower'd the short long boat, line a'fixed the stern, then plow'd ashore o' the sandy beach leeside of this tiny islette. Shallow drafted her on a long easy slope, we did. We affixed her top main by line to a rock. Heeved to and laid her over on'r starboard side.
    I swung out the swing seat, an grabbed me brick and adze. Went overboard to start me labor.

    My first mate, began to unburden us with non essential debri that begins to accumulate aboard a ship, somehows. These empty crates, torn hammocks an sails, dead lines, rotten food, broken tackle, barrels, bottles &c, she tossed o'er the side, in a nice plump
    pile aside the rocks on the beach.

    After a few inches on the sundial, me first mate walks around the prow along the beach, and throws a rock at me to get my attention. "ow" such accuracy she has. So's I look around and see's her pointing at the little copse of coconut trees with her cutlass, an she's making drinking signs. I make a two sign, and I hollars, "bring me two". She gave me the thumbs up, signage, an took off up the beach in the direction of those coconuts. I went back to choppin and scrapin, scrapin an choppin,
    an I was just finnishing up the port garboard planks, thinking about re-riggin for the starboard side, an then after that, perhaps
    a fresh coat of paint, fill with crushed glass, would do our ship a world of good, when I heard a scream and a shot ring out.

    "Oh my Sea Gods, me first mate killed a coconut tree!!" I thinks to meself. I unharness meself, dropped into the water, pushed
    my way up to shore, an run to the other side of this little isle, an lo what mine eyes behelt? Me First Mate, standing aloft with
    her boot on the neck of this poor wretched soul, who be inhaling more sand than he was a spittin out, you see, pointing her pistol straight at his earhole.

    *shivers*


    *takes a gulp of me drink, lights me pipe, takes a long pull o'me tankard, smokes me pipe afire, hits it long*

    *wipes me beard, scratches me belly, slaps a mosquito, belches and blinks*


    Concerned for me First Mate, I look at her, raise my shoulders, hands outstretched, an ask, "pourquoi?" for she was toppless
    all the way from her sash to her shoulders.

    "I'll tell ye why, Monsieur..," the wretch said, spittin out sand as she pushed his face deeper in the isle. "Batton down that hatch, Scurv, or I'll reload her pistol an let her shoot you again." "It's not loaded?" "Nay, lad, yet her cutlass is always loaded, so stow
    away yer talkin, I'll hear her side first before we kill you." Looking at her for an explanation, she first withdrew her cutlass,
    laid it upon the cheek of this young fellow, then handed me her kit and pistol. I quickly re-loaded her pistol, as she signed to me,
    what had a'happened.

    "So?, ye had climbed up the coconut tree, chopped down a few for our drinks, slid down and decided to take a swim, yes?" I says, she nodded. "Then ye had just unbloused, when ye heard .. what in the tree? 'ooh la la?", she nodded.

    "Nay sir, I said 'Oh Mon *spits sand, cuz she was really pushing hard with her boot on his face* Dieu!"

    "Oh mon dieu, and ooh la la, are the same thing," I says to 'im. "So," I asks her, "then startled that someone
    was watching you, you pulled out your pistol and shot at him, yes?"

    She nodded, cept he says, "no sir, she did not shoot at me, she shot me, if not by providence, she would have killed me!"

    "Providence be hanged, my poor Scurv, if'n she wanted you kill't, ye'd be dead."

    I turned to her and asked,"So? you shot him?, aimed that fast and fired?" She just smiled this big
    ol' smile. I laughed at her smile.

    "Well, best go put your blouse back on, I'll watch him with your pistol, then we'll head back to the
    ship, an finnish our work there."

    As she went to clothe herself, I allowed the Scurv to aright hisself, and stand up.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 03:58 PM.
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    *finds an onion bottle of pursser's rum, eats the cork, spitsit out, pours a drought in me flaggon, takes a swig, stuffs me pipe, lights it afire, puffs till glowin red*

    *cough, hocks a spit, spits, scratches and continues me tale*

    Whars was I?

    Oh aye, so's, there I was, aiming her pistol at this young man.

    "Indeed she shot you good, in the cheek none the less," I says, to 'im, I says, "So? who be the one I have the pleasure of holting a loaded flintlock pistol on?" I says.

    He brings his hand up to his cheek, feeling the bloody furrow her bullet made. "She did shoot me good, sir. I'll have a scar thanks to her." then he says, flourishing a bow, in answer, "You are in the company of Remy Teio formerly les maître de la voile of the French Corsair Rose de Secours, et her Capitaine?, Jaques Chiasson, marooned, as you can see on this miserable sand hill de paradis, parched, hungry and in dire need of but a spoonful of victuals to ease ma plight." He says.

    "So?", I says, "You are a frenchie then?," I says, with a flourish of me pistol.

    His eyes raised, his lips stuttered, "Nn nn No sir, I am Acadian, I spit on the Frenches. *he spits* They are dogs, immoral cess rats, incapable of proper grace et apitoiement."

    "What is the difference between the french and the acadians? They both lie and deceive?" I emphazied.

    He says, "Acadians are brave, courageous, daring, skillful and brave, the French are cowards and run when they should fight."

    "My First Mate is French," I says, amused to see his confusion.

    He glances over to where My First Mate was dressing, "Well, if she's French, she sure is the most beau ...", I cock the hammer back
    on my pistol, a noise he most quite assuredly recognized, for he quickly looked at me wide eyed, not knowin to s*** or git. "Nn nn No sir, I meant no disrespect, I .. I .." he stammered.

    "Dont worry about it, just dont get no "immoral" thoughts in yer pea-pickin skull, about nothin about me first mate. So? What is a, how did you say it? a maaitrah dee la voil?" I asksed.

    Me First Mate, who had just walked up, and I am sure heard the whole conversation, tapped me on the shoulder, and made signs,
    like pulling on rope, fluffin out sheets, licked her finger and checking the wind, type signs. "Oh!" I says, "A Sailing Master's Mate,
    is that correct, Remee?"

    "Oui, monsieur, I was the ship's sailing master's mate, et a very good one too. Why I could get four knots from a two knot wind," he
    boasted.

    "Pish, my old granny could do the same with a good old fashion flatulent," I smiled, he laughed.

    "C'mon, Remy Teio, we'll feed you, put you to work, then take you off this spit of sand, should you wish it," I offered.

    "Merci sir, much thanks, I am obliged and forever in your debt, but do you not want to know, why I am marooned here?" he asked.

    "Nope, dont care, you see? a man's business is his business, a man's history is not my concern. My only concern is that you do your
    duty, or I will shoot you. An I dun wanna to shoot you, so you will do your duty, because I despise doing what I dun wanna do, oui?" I says, pointing the pistol at his tackle.

    "Oui, sir, then may I know whom it is I am serving under?", he asked.

    "Aye, ye may. She is my First Mate, you direct her as Lieutenant an do whatever she points at. Ye may refer to me as, aye aye Cap'n," I says.

    "Aye aye, Capitaine," he says.

    "Cap'n."

    "Capitaine"

    "CAP'nnnnn." I emphasize.

    "CAP'itaine." he says, with that thick acadian accent.

    "urrrrgh, very well, Capitaine, to you." I says.

    "Et, the crew?" he asks.

    "You're it," I says.

    "O.O" he says.

    *coughs, hacks, hocks, spits.*

    *stuffs me pipe, lights it afire, takes a long loong looooong pull of'n me flaggon of that righteous rum*

    *wipes me beard*

    *puffs on me pipe, summores.*
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 04:18 PM.
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    *attends ye old jardines, performs me ablutions, scrapes me ivories, hacks, hocks, spits*

    *locates me pipe an tankard, chomps on some hardtack, fills me tankard with coffee, washes down me chew*

    *belches, sneezes, spits*

    *lights me pipe, draws on 'er 'ard, takes another swigg of me coffee, reflects*

    "Whar was I, before I was rudely interrupted by that roach on the bulkhead?"


    Aye, I remember.

    So!, there we were, the three of us, amblin'd down to the beach. It seemed I an me first mate had found a crew -- Of one, aye,
    yet still a crew none the less. Many a thought roiled through me tiny mind. Questions of how to bring our new sailing master into
    our scheme, how we would need to feed this young rougue to bring 'im back up to strength. Should I paint the hull first, then roll
    her over to the other side, or hove her over, careen her starboard planks, then start the painting? Can we find enough glass to crush
    to add to the paint, an perhaps that would belay the dreaded teredo worm from eating into me ship's hull. 'The dutch seem to value
    this method, an tis worth a try,' I says to meself in me head. With two, the careenin will go faster, so's will the painting party.

    A thought hit me then. 'I wonders if me first mate fancies poor young Remy Teio. Tis the first time I'd seen her miss on purpose. She
    does seem to be keeping a tight eye on 'im,' I had observed. "Aye, a real squintin kindof tight eye," I says aloud.

    "Beg pardon, sir?"

    "Cap'n!"

    "Aye, Capitaine sir, beg pardon? did you say something?" he asks.

    "Nah, twas nuthin, Teio me mate, twas just an observation I was observing," I answers.

    "Ah," he says, then he up't and asked the question, "Are you two married?" -- *chank* "Ow" he yelps. Me first mate went and
    smacked him on top of his head with the broadside of her cutlass. He turned around, rubbed his headbone a bit, and saw the
    'You ask too many questions' look, me first mate was a'givin him. Then she, shoved the tote sack of coconuts into his arms, an
    took off over the breaker dunes towards our ship.

    Remy watched till she disappeared, then looked at me, "What did I do wrong, mon Capitaine?"

    "Ye dint notice?" I mused.

    "Nay, Capitaine, I must of missed it."

    "Well, if you are going to serve on my crew, ye better develope a better weather eye, for sure as we live to fight, thar will be squalls
    over the horizon, for you, me lad."

    "errm, aye aye, Capitaine. I dun not know what you mean, but aye aye sir."

    "Cap'n!"

    "Oui, Capitaine."

    We crested the breaker dune, seeing that me first mate was already aboard her. I heard her rumblin around below deck, then out
    shoots this small cask over the prow an onto the sandy beach.

    "Me thinks that's the salt pork cask," I says to Remy.

    Which Remy replies, "Is that your ship, Capitaine? Oh she's almost a fine beauty, she is. A french bomber ketch, designed to bombard coastal ports."

    "That is our ship, me first mate and me's," I says, as I observe me first mate, leap over the gunwale, running line in hand, landing in
    the water with a soft splash. She be barefooted, an by the looks of it, she put on a clean blouse, her newer breeches, her best
    bright red sash, sporting three pistols, and methinks she brushed her hair, for I b'spot long black locks giving way to the wind.
    An all the while toten a market wallet over her shoulder heading for the cask she threw over earlier. "Aye, Remy, she is a fine beautiful ship. Solid curves to her planks, a firm bow, an a sleek tight stern. Stole her good, me first mate an I. Aye a fine vessel to ply the seas in, she is, all seventy five feet o'her. Her brightwork is all brass, her stays are solid, an she rides the waves like a
    dream, me lad. Hard to steer, however. She'll run windward alright, but getting her to come about has it's dificulties. Tis why we
    alighted on this small spit of sand, to careen her hull, an give her some new paint. Me hopes are that if'n I get the barnacles off'n
    her hull, she'll answer the helm more to the better."

    "The French always had a hard time, steering their design, because of the twin mortars abaft the prow. We Acadians figured out
    that if we fatten up the mizzen voil .. er sheet, erm how you say mizzen staysail an run extra jibs, then she will answer quite well,
    mon Capitaine," he says. "Does she still have her mortars aboard?"

    "Nay, lad, that must of been the first thing the Brittish did, after they captured her. They both were sitting on the dock, by the time
    me first an I, ran up to steal her. The yard hands gave complaint, but a b'cudgeled skull belays further complaint, you see. We had to
    get gone, and dint have the time to put them back on," I 'splains to 'im. "We had fortune on our side, though. Her holds were full,
    an her guns still in place. We took off, made sail, ending up on Tortuga. We traded cloth and indigo for powder, shot, rum
    and provisions, an've been running ever since," I says to him, leaving out the part where Giselle shot her lurking admirerer. "But hey
    Remy Teio? looks as if me first has a'gathered some victuals. Come, let us make some shelter an fire, and partake, before I put you
    to your tasks and duties."

    "Aye Aye, Capitaine," he says.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 04:24 PM.
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    *Looks down to the bottom of me empty tankard.* "Arrrrr, me thinks a Sou'by'Sou wind hath confiscated me ale?" =/
    "WENCH!, another round, if'n ye be pleased? urrrrgh? thar be no tavern wench. Avast, a shilling a day is good pay, so why be thar no
    wenches in this 'ere tavern?" *gits up off me fat arse, walks around the bar, drenches me tankard in ale, downs it. Decides getting
    back up, doth not appeal to me, so's I grabs the cask, fills me pocket with tobacco, snatches a whole ham hock off'n the fire spit, returns
    to me mess et sets me wise gotten gain on the tableboard.*

    *spits ona foul roach, scratches me beard, scratches me tailbone, plunks me arse back on the bench.*

    *fills me pipe, alights the darn weed with'n a lit match cord, puffs puff puffs till a harsh hit be inhaled, an dreams of better days,
    simple ways, an delightful lays*

    "Whar was I in me tale? Hmmm?" *fills me tankard, downs it, fills it back up, awaits the effects ... ahhhh, loves beer I do I do I do*


    Geselle, me first mate, set to makin our victuals. She had found a board, laid it upon the sand, then opened up the cask of salt pork,
    an using her scanx .. erm her sail knife ... she proceeded to cut the ham into such thin strips, you'd think ye could see through them.
    She then cutout a hunk of porkfat, two inch square, an laid it besides the thinly cut bacon.

    I had scrounged around till I found enough dry fire wood to make a nice smokeless fire. Dint need no signals, ye know? Took some tinder, sparked it afire with flint'n'steel, and set to it the wood found.

    Remy rummaged through the pile of discarded ship's gear, an found an old jib sail, we no longer thought was useful. He done took this
    scrap of sail cloth an fashioned a most fine lean-to for shelter agin the sun, over our little camp site.

    I sat down tending the fire, yet as I found out, me mess duties were not over, ipso facto, Geselle's glare. She searched through her
    market wallet, found and threw to me, one jar of nutmeg, one onion bottle of rum, and six limes. 'The nutmeg an limes twer part of the
    provisions we absconded with from Tortuga, the rum, of course twas the Captain's rum. His friggin Majety's Admiralty, as you know, allow their sailsmen two rations of rum a day. This rum is the Pursor's rum, or Pusser's Rum. Quite strong, deadly strong to be exact.
    We, me first and me, cut the spirit down as best we can. Hence forth to wit, twas why I was sitting there with it, an a sack of coconuts, spice and limes.

    Ole' Remy?, why after he done finished with the shelter half, he was told, by one finger point, whar's to sit, and wait. He would no sooner, make a move to help with something, then she would place her fingers on the hilt of one of her pistols, and he would stay
    sitted, wide eyed, on his arse, in the sand, legs crossed, elbows on his knees, and in worry bout getting shot agin. Course now, I saw
    this, an would smile, an twould receive a glare for me humor, of from that certain glare, I knew I needed to re-busy meself to me
    mess duties of making some rum stewage for us all. First Mates, I aint never.

    Geselle went and done took our large hardy iron frying skillet, placed it upon the fire, and threw in that fat back square, she had cut earlier. The sound of sizzlin bacon, perked all our ears up. When the smell hit Remy's nose? why his belly a'groaned so loud, you'd
    think a powder horn had blowd up in his innards. Geselle smiled a tiny smile at that. I noticed and smiled a tiny smile at her tiny
    smile. She notices me smile and glares a "dont let on" glare towards me. I blink twice at her, one of the signals we used in the cells
    to keep the turn keys in the dark that we were communicating to each one towards the other. Two blinks meant, "I understand, will
    comply with your request."

    Yeppers, there, Geselle me first matey, was hit by Cupid's vengeful shaft. Poor Remy, he had no clue as to what would befall 'im. I
    knew, and was surprisingly happy. The heart wants what the heart wants. I was happy because me first mate was feeling alive agin.
    She had had such a hard beginning, always being told what to do, abused in ways I can only imagine. But, now, well now she owns
    her own life. She's be master of her own destiny. Cupid? well tis a good thing he dun dint fly his'n arrow my way. I mean, I dint want
    Remy as my winger, for I do not swim that'away.
    "Haahahahahaa" For me first mate? ye may ask? well, now ye see, that is complicated, she an me.

    So, I went to me tasks of splitting open dem flamin coconuts. I'd take cutlass, chop off the top, chop off the bottom, then chop down the side. Usin that long thick blade, I'd pry the hard husk off'n the nut. then once't I had gotton all six of them done, I'd chop the top
    of the nut off exposing the milk et meat, set them in the sand besides me, ye see? I'd pour out a small bit of the milk to give the rum
    some room to breathe, then add some nutmeg, a tot or three of rum, usually four tots to the coconut, quarter the limes, squeeze two
    in, let two float. Did all six that'aways.

    Whilst I was playin keeper of the tavern, me first mate had pulled out three pewter plates, she found in the Captain's great cabin.
    Laid them aside the fire, then once't the fat back had sizzled to a goodly portion of hot grease, she laid in three thick hard tack bisquits, an they began to sizzle an soak up the grease. She then pulled out a small jar of green olives, that agin must
    of come from that old Captain's quarters. then agin, as I think abou' it, the first Captain of our ship was a frenchie, mayhaps,
    thar be some brandy stashed away in sorted secret lair, me thinks at the time, for if'n thar be olives, surely thar be brandy. aye?

    Anyways, she pours a most fair portion of them olives on one plate, a tad on another, and a tad on the third. She then laid up a heapin
    portion of that thinly sliced ham on the first plate, and meager stacks on plate two and three. I be guessin at the time
    to whom the fair a'portioned plate belonged to, and whoms the famine possessed plates belonged to. Geselle, me fine first mate, then
    snatches up one hot grease soaked hard tack bisquit after another, as quick as you please, and tumps them down on their designated
    plates. One Two Three. Remy and I were both amazed, and gave her a resounding "Well done." in unison. She smiled at the
    complements, though she tried to hide it with an "of course" expression on her face.

    I handed her two of the drinks I had made, which she sniffed of course, one bein stronger than t'other. She look at me, with this odd,
    kindof, "you get me" kindof look, an handed Remy the stronger of the two, as to which I handed her two more, so's she could have her
    two and Remy hisn's. She sniffed and handed him the other stronger of the two, then handed him the bountiful plate, and me the plate
    of famine, and she took the other sparce plate, for herself.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 08-01-2013 at 11:53 PM.
    Dog of War grrrrr

  8. #8
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    *shakes me empty tankard* "Arrrr, thar must be a hole in the bottom of me cup."
    *holds me cup aloft, inspects the bottom.* "I dont see no hole, hmmmm.*
    *fill me tankard up with ale, and downs the brew faster than I filled her up.*
    *shakes me empty tankard, agin.* "See? thars a hole in me cup. No sooner do I fill'r up? and the ale is all gone."
    *peers down deep into me cup* "Thars a mystery to me tankard. The hole in the bottom only shows up when full, yet closes when
    empty." =\

    "Whar was I?" *fills me pipe an tankard, yadda yadda, puff puff, guzzle guzzle, puff and guzzle* Oh yes, bout ready to eat ..


    Remy began to protest, that he had the larger portion of our fare. "Capitaine, Lieutenon', I must protest. You have given me the lion's
    share of this meal, and and I can not accept not havin an equal portion. Here m
    ademoiselle Lieutenon, at least take half my
    olives, hmmm?" he says.

    Geselle looked at me with an expression that said, and I quote, "say something to this skurv before I knock him down and
    force feed him his lunch! but be nice about it, dont give nothing you know away. got it?" unquote. I blinked twice.

    "Nay, nay Remy, me lad," I harrumphed. "Ye are now part of this crew, and this is thy first meal with us, so .... " I looked at Geselle,
    and got a keep going wink of approval ..."... so therefore your first meal should be a hardy meal, because we sure as sugar cane is
    rum on a stick, will work you harder than you have ever worked in your life, and therefore need as much grub in thy gutt as you
    can stand, on account of the hours you will be worked and so on and so forth, hence this is the word of your Cap'n," I says with as
    much seriousness on my face as I could muster.

    He looked at me, then at Geselle, then at me again, and saw our resolve. "Oui mon Capitaine, mon Lieutenon', by your word, I accept
    your hospitality," he says. "Merci Mademoiselle Lieutenon, merci mon Capitaine." We both nodded an ascent of welcome to 'im.

    "Aye then, that being settled, are there any more stalls before we get to a'eatin this fine grub?" I asks, oh I should not have asked.

    "Aye, Capitaine, grace, shall we not say grace?" he says. Geselle almost had an olive to her mouth, then put it back down on her
    plate and agin looked to me to say something. Tis a tough job being Captain.

    I made to stand, though I did not, for I dint want to spray sand all over everwhere, so sat there and hurrummphed a captainly
    hurrumph, .. "As Captain of this yet to be name vessel of the briney deep, it behooves me to designate a grace sayer, though I
    do not meself practice superst... any faiths, I am tolerant of those who do. So I Captain Longbeard, so designate you Sailing Master
    Remy Teio as the ship's grace sayer, forthwith by the word of the Captain, be it so." That brought a smile on ole' Remy's face, and
    an inaudible hidden chuckle from me first mate. "Begin at thy leisure Sailing Master ."

    Geselle bowed her head a tad, though I could see her gaze was afixed on Remy. Remy bowed his head, and paused, like in reflection.
    One hast to understand, see, that young Remy, as we later found out, was cast away for saving his ship. He had signed on as sails
    mate on a French Corsair out of Nova Scotia. Her Captain was seeking Brittish booty, kindof like we were. They had sailed down
    into these waters, months ago. Remy, being a rigger was aloft on the mainstays. The sailing Master had ordered full sails, yet Remy,
    who had the advantage of the heights could see a hidden shoal, bearing one quarter off the larboard bow. The ship was heeling to
    port an had too much wind in her top'sl. Remy, the quick thinker that he is, reeved the top'sl to take the wind out of her, a'righting
    the vessel enough to miss the shoals. Since no one else was witness to the hidden shoals, and instead of callin out of which he
    thought it prudent to just act, he was deemed to have disobeyed orders. The sailing master of that ship, being a'cursed of self-
    prominance, wanted the Captain to hang the lad. The Captain seeing the matter for what it was, but needing to satisfy his sails
    master, sent forth a summary judgment of 12 lashes. The Bos'n strapped poor Remy the alloted strokes, then rubb salt and vinegar in his wounds, not so much as extra punishment, but tis a common belief that salt an vinegar stays infections.

    After two days of painful healing, they then laid him in a dory with only a stale keg of fresh water, and two days on short
    rations, to "think on how best to obey orders, should he live", an towed the small craft behind the ship. During a night watch, he severed the tow rope, and drifted off into the night. He had no oars to direct his little boat, giving into the mercy of the sea.
    He drifted with the current for three days, until he ran ashore an hoved to the windward side of this tiny isle, we were on. He lived off of coconuts, yams and raw fish for two months, collecting rainwater in his keg, ingeniously using palm fronds as funnels. By the time we found 'im, it had not rained for three days, and he had thought his situation dire, his death die cast.

    I say all this so you can better understand this next statement, in me story.

    We, me first and me, we felt it when he prayed ...

    "Béni soit ce repas en Son nom ne nous prions. Amen", he said, crossing hisself when't he was done.

    In english: Blessed be this meal in His name we pray. Amen. Geselle crossed herself.

    "Mighty fine sermon, Remy me lad," I says. "Now, let us grub down. That ship wont paint itself."

    All nodded their ascent, and we began to grub down in silence. Well, almost silence, for I will tell ye all, the gazes me First was
    casting over at Remy, spoke volumns. She was besmitten with young Remy. She watched his every move, his every bite of the meal
    she had prepared. She looked on with approval, when he would chew an olive with savor, then spit the pit out in his hand, not in the fire. She watch him devour her cookin, and took pride in herself that she could do something good. I would smile at the sight of this,
    and she would squint at me for my humor. If I was a swearing man, I'd take oath that woman could see out'n her ears.

    All in all, though sparce on my account, the meal was actually tastey. Hardtack soaked in bacon fat, yum yum. The four slices of
    salted pork, most gratifying. The two olives? I just plunked dem down in me drinks for added flavor, and with me plate all scraped
    clean, I proceeded to desert. Rum al la coconut flaggon. I downed the first one before I realized I had her to me mouth. The second
    one I relished with delight. Sippin on it, as the play unfolded before me.

    Geselle, hardly ate a bite. As a matter of fact, I think she only ate one olive. She was so preoccupied with her guest, it never occured
    to her to eat. She watched Remy, scour his plate with the last bit of his hardtack. He no sooner swallowed his last bite, when Geselle
    jumped up, scraped her meal onto his plate, olive and all, then rummaged through her market wallet. She came out with a small
    bottle of seaweed tincture, a bottle of brandy, {I knew it!!}, a bottle of vinegar, two very clean cotton cloths, a needle and some
    silk tailor's thread.


    Remy made to protest, but Geselle would have not of that. She took one of his coconut drinks, shoved it in his hand, and pushed it
    up to his lips, forcing him to gulp it down. Of to which he complied. She then motioned him to eat what was on his plate, then made
    a fist to express to him, she was serious and did not need any lip from him, and that if he did not hurry up, she would knock him flat.
    He complied. He scarfed whilst she threaded the needle with the silk thread.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-31-2013 at 04:45 PM.
    Dog of War grrrrr

  9. #9
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    "Oh tankard oh tankard so faaaaiiiirrrrr, why for art thou empty so empty and baaaaarrrreee?" *fills me empty tankard*
    "Oh tankard oh tankard so faaaaiiiirrrrr," *drains me tankard in me gullet* "why for art thou empty so empty and baaaaaarrree?"

    "Rejoins me story, now Whar was I?" *fills me tankard full with the finest of brew, me pipe with the finest of tobacco, me head with
    the finest of visions, me heart with the finest of life's pleasures, me soul with the finest of virtues, me gullet with the finest of ale.*


    Remy did not know what to expect. After he had downed his first rummy coconut, and ate all the grub Geselle had given him, he sat
    on his haunches, awaiting his trial. That is what it looked like. Geselle was the judge jury and executionor, and Remy her prey. The thing is, his bullet wound had bust open, and was bleeding down his cheek. My First Mate, through all her roughness really has the
    most kindest heart you would ever encounter. She had figured, since she shot 'im, she should be the one to patch 'im up.

    She finished threading her needle, bout the same time Remy re-cleaned his plate. She took the plate and poured some brandy innit.
    Laid the needle and thread in the brandy to soak. Took one of the clean white cotton cloths and soaked it with some brandy. Me? well
    I was concerned that so much brandy was going to waste. In any event, Geselle knelt down next to Remy, brandy soaked cotton wad
    in hand, grabbed Remy by the head, and mushed his head an ears upon her bosums, to holt him a'steady. Remy went wide eyed
    then. He looked to me for help, as if I could do anything. All I did was raise me coconut and toast today's toast. "To me shipmates
    and me ship,.." of to which Remy and Geselle responded, though Geselle did in silence, ..."may we and she always find safe harbor."

    Geselle laid her cotton swab in her lap, took holt of one of her rummy coconuts raised it high, and swaller'd long. Remy raised his
    rummy coconut, as high as he could, then drank a tot under the bosums of Geselle, for she had Remy in quite the headlock, let me
    tell thee all. Back to the surgery. Geselle grab aholt tighter on Remy's headbone, tilted and expose his cheek to the sun, so's she
    could get a better look. She took her brandy drenched cotton swab and daubed and dabbed, rubbed, pinched, dabbed some more.
    Scraped, wiped, pulled open his wound, and daubed and dabbed it clean. Then she poured a little brandy in the wound, for a good
    washin down. Remy, for his credit, winced and grunted, but did not call out. I knowd he was in pain, yet a man doth not show it more
    than he utterly has to.

    To the second phase, Geselle, once satisfied, she done got all the sand and dried blood cleared, she took the little bottle of seaweed
    tincture, flipped off the top with one thumb, then poured it directly into the gape of his wound. She sat the bottle down and quickly
    grabbed the tailor's needle. Working with cunning and skill, she sewed up Remy's face. Daubing every now and then to clear the
    bleeding. She would pinch the gape closed, insert the needle through both sides, then pull till closed. Her stitchin was darn well
    perfect, considering the rawness of the surgeon's table, a bosum on a beach. She tied off her thread, then bit it clear. She examined
    her handiwork a bit, then took the bottle of vinegar, soaked the second cotton rag with the vinegar, then she gently applied the swab softly on Remy's cheek. Oh toadstools that must of stang, for Remy tensed up, and would've jumped up had he not been so hard pressed agin Geselle.

    The vinegar would soak agin the wound, makin it cinch up when it dried. The wound would be sealed, and all but for a scar, Remy
    would be no worse for wear. When Geselle thought the rag soaked long enough, she remove the swab and inspected her doctorin.
    Remy was just gazin into her eyes, then Geselle looked into his, and for a moment I thought they were goin to kiss. Nope. Geselle
    hopped up, tumpin Remy on his arse, then she slapped him on the back of the head, hard. Remy let out a yelp. Geselle then snatched
    up her remaining rummy coconut, drank her down, chewed on the lime a bit, and threw the coconut into the fire. Then she tucked all
    her medicals in her market wallet, threw that over her shoulder and stormed off back to the ship.

    "What did I do wrong?" Remy asked me.

    "You dint notice?" I says.

    "No, no Capitaine, again I did not notice," he says. "You are correct, I need to gain a better weather eye about myself."

    "How did that feel?" I asks.

    "Oh, mon Capitaine, like being between heaven's pillows," he says with a smile.

    "No, no, monsieur Teio, I meant thy cheek, the stitchin up, looked painful," I stated.

    "Oh? oui, it was painful, spécialement the vinegar press. I though my face was on fire. I felt that kind of pain before, but that tale
    is for another day, by your leave." he says.

    "I give it," I says. "Like 'heaven's pillows'?" I roiled with laughter, which caught on, and Remy joined me in mirth. 'Bout that time
    two shots rang out from the bow, and two bullets hit the sands besides me and Remy. We both looked up at the ship, and me First
    Mate, standing on the bow was reloading her pistols. "Well?," I says, "Time for us to get to painting that ship. It seems playtime is
    over."

    "Oui, aye aye, Capitaine, the tide will roll in soon," he says and we both got up off'n our arses, and headed to the ship's hull. A few
    feet away, Geselle's coconut, the one she threw in the fire? blew up, sending hot ash and coals all over to whars we were a'sittin.
    We hurried our pace.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 07-29-2013 at 10:16 PM.
    Dog of War grrrrr

  10. #10
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    *dead asleep, snoring*
    ~sounds like tree trunks breaking~
    *snores so loud, I wakes meself up. Pulls me pistols out thinkin a boar hog has found me secret stash of hardtack*
    Duh Arrrr? Avast! who goes there?
    *awaits the fog of the eyes to clear* *see's no thing, nor no one*
    Arrgh, I loathe waking up sober, I do.
    *drags me arse up an over to the Inn's big warsh tubbs use to hot soak the bedclothes*
    *grabbs a bar of lye soap, lays me pistols' harness and powder kit on a hook, me three cornered hat on them, boots on the deck, falls
    into the nearest possing tub*
    *floats 'n soaks, me weary bones in some clean barely hot water. Falls back asleep.*

    *early this morn, three laundry wenches enter the warshroom. With their baskets on their hips, hair in buns, ready for their day,
    all a gossipin about how menfolk taint no good.*

    "... an then I says to 'im I says, 'whats innit for me? I says. 'e says, 'a shilling an 3 pence'. I looks down, an points to 'ees pizzle an says, to 'im I says, 'with THAT little parsnip? Hoi gov'na ye couldn't even stopper a bottle wit that lazy cork. no thankyou,' I says,
    to 'im," the older matron of the flock said.

    *then they all went to gigglin an'a cacklin like a coop of guiney hens*

    *I's open one bloodshot eye, a'spyin the three maids hove my way.*

    "I'll give ye three belles a silver coin each for two buckets of hot water, three more if'n ye fetch me some coffee an grub," I says
    from the shadows of me tub. A'startled an a'frighten, dropping their baskets the two younger maids went an hid behind the
    wood pile.

    The Matron Beatrice, whom I effectionately call Trissie, recognizing my voice, setting her basket down, putting both fists
    on her hips, began to giv'me the what for.

    "Mister Alboin!"

    "Cap'n"

    "Pish, Cap'n Alboin, what the hellefyr are ye doin sprawled out in my possing tub with all yer flamin clothes on? Did ye get drunk an fall in agin?"

    "Nay Trissie lass, I'd gotten sober, an then fell into thy possing tub," I says to her.

    "On purpose?" she says a bit purturbed.

    "Aye, on purpose," I says to her, explainin "I dun realized I needed a bath an I needed to warsh me fine frippery, so I deduced a
    thought to think what better place to save time, do both, an that t'would be thy possing tub."

    "Ye duh-duced, did ye?" she rants. "Whilst ye was sober? Lawd 'elp us all Kinglsy when ye art sober." she says, smiling at her own
    humor. "Why not did ye not use the bath house. That is what it is for, hence the word 'bath' in the words 'bath house'."

    "For because they only change the water in them tubs once't a week. Ye change yer waters everyday, tis why not Triss ol'girl,"
    I explains. "So? may I be blessed with a couple of buckets of hot water, some coffee and a platter of grub to break me fast? I've got
    solid coin, I do."

    "Well Cap'n, we wont be a'bathin ye, nor will we warsh thy fine fibbery, but aye, for some solid coin, I'll fetch some hot water for ye,
    an my helpers will fetch t'other," she says. The other two maids where a whisperin to each other all a'tither about sumtin. Trissie
    turns around to listen to the chatter of them other maids, and says to 'em, "Enough of that talk, now go up to the kitchen and fetch
    some grub and coffee back down here for the Cap'n. -- Go!"

    "What twas that all about?," I says whilst the maids where a trottin up the ladder well a gigglin all the way up to the kitchen.

    Trissie turns her back to me, goes over to the huge copper basin, which holds the hot water, fills up a bucket full, walks over to me,
    holds the bucket over me head, looks down, smiles an says, "Aw, nuffin really, just talk about large yamms, wine barrels an
    virile corks, tis all," she says, pouring the bucket of hot water over'n me headbone an down me front.


    "Yow ! that is hot, thankye Triss ol girl, thankye," I says whilst takin me bar of soap and scrubbin me parts that need a scrubbin.
    Last edited by King Alboin; 08-02-2013 at 09:13 PM.
    Dog of War grrrrr

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