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Disclaimer: It's been a while! Three reasons:
1) Busy working and traveling last week.
2) Ended up writing ahead a bit because there were a few events I wanted to commit to paper while they were fresh. The actual events of this story are significantly further along than what's written here so far; I've basically been playing catch-up since day one. We live our adventures faster than I can write and edit them!
3) This part got looooong, which meant it took a lot longer to reformat for reddit and edit. It's so long because it's the reason I wanted to do this in the first place (Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny were childhood idols of mine!) and this section has some important things that come into major play later. It's also long because of my boys Rook and Lloyd, who are two of the most awesome tulpa I know. Love you guys! Don't forget to disinfect yourselves thoroughly.
Also, actual disclaimer: we are in a brothel in this bit. Sexy times are mentioned. Genitalia are referred to. Unspeakable acts are implied. Nothing on-screen, per se! But still.
(Story in comments for length reasons.)
Disclaimer: Most of these are just write-'em-and-run, but this segment went through a series of re-dos. (Three and a half drafts!) Stéphane is rather particular about it and additionally quite self-important, to the point where if the entire adventure ends up being about him and his mild obsession with Eleanor Guthrie, he will be entirely pleased with himself. Of course, as Stéphane is the main character of my heart, I am inclined to let him do as he wishes.
Oh, yes, and let this disclaimer also serve regular disclaimer purposes -- this segment mildly steamy! Not explicit, really, but rather implicating. You're welcome, San. And he's making me split this dalliance into two parts so he can have more time with it, so you haven't seen the last of these particular story thread. I think the second part is going to be much shorter, though.
"How many women are on your ship?"
Eleanor traced a finger across Stéphane's bare chest and tilted her head up at him. Stéphane smirked. "Is this the point in our dalliance where you attempt to extract information from me about my crew?"
Eleanor couldn't decide whether to be annoyed he was not cooperating with the attempt or pleased that he was willing to forego pretending this liaison was anything beyond cheap sexual sustenance and intelligence gathering. "I have entered into agreement with you and your captain, despite never having even met your captain. I think that entitles me to some knowledge of the people with whom I am dealing."
"You were willing to deal with us without having investigated us beforehand," said Stéphane.
Normally, she would have required more verification from such a strange group. The reason for her hurry was the rush to conclude their dealings and obtain that cargo before Captain Flint returned in the company of the British Navy. With the Urca's treasure out of the picture, the wealth provided by the Wavefucker's cargo could prove key in maintaining power in the new Nassau. Not that Stéphane needed to know any of this. "I am a fair broker and Nassau is a free port."
"We would not have come here if that were not the case."
Eleanor perched her head on her hand. "You and your crewmates seem to know a great deal about Nassau. Who gave you this information?" she asked.
"Sailing around the world, you hear things," said Stéphane. Yet another non-answer.
"Your cargo reeks of trade from the East Indies, but do you really expect me to believe you sailed here expressly for the purpose of selling goods from the other side of the globe?"
Stéphane frowned slightly. "Would that be believable in the slightest?" He was asking because he genuinely did not know, having only sailed the length of time necessary to appear on the horizon and arrive in Nassau. Before that, his travels had been restricted primarily to the European continent.
"That you had intercepted a ship which had traveled that way, yes. That you had done so yourselves--"
A thought occurred to Eleanor. It was such a ridiculous idea she nearly discarded it, but when she thought it over a second time, it made a certain sense.
On the other hand, it made absolutely no sense, because if it were true, why would they have ever come to Nassau?
It couldn't be. Or could it? Everything about these strangers was crazy. If anything, it might be the least crazy thing about them. "Stéphane. Is… Is your cargo legitimate!?"
He mistook her meaning. "I am wounded, Eleanor. After what we've shared, you truly think that we would sell you fake goods and spoil all chance at ever working with you again?" Also potentially spoiling all chance at spending time with her again, but that was a more personal concern and not an element of Stéphane's actual duties.
Eleanor scoffed. "Actually, I do, but I doubt you would get any forgeries past Mr. Frasier, and I'm assuming you want me to pay you." They wouldn't be the first crew to attempt to con a new fence, and they wouldn't be the last. Frasier was probably verifying the cargo's authenticity with a very careful eye at this very moment and Eleanor had all faith in his ability to discern if this was the case today. "I am asking you if your cargo was, in fact, obtained through legitimate means."
To the best of Stéphane's knowledge, all the cargo had been popped into existence when the ship was, using something Evelyn called "nanofactories." Whether this could be termed legitimate or not was anyone's guess. It certainly wasn't a legitimate method of creating goods relative to the technology level present in this time period. "That depends on what you feel is legitimate."
Eleanor sat up. "Another fucking riddle. If you don't start giving me straight answers, I swear to you I will rescind our agreement and dump all of your cargo in the bay and you will never be welcome in Nassau again."
Given that the cargo hadn't even existed twelve hours ago and that the entire crew of the Wavefucker came from a realm of infinite plenty, having their cargo dumped into the bay was, at worst, a mild inconvenience and not a situation of any real concern. Being banned from Nassau, on the other hand, was entirely antithetical to their purposes.
Stéphane took a deep breath. "The reason I don't have answers for you is I don't know.You'd be much better off asking Evelyn or Will about this."
"You are a quartermaster on your ship."
"Half a quartermaster, with the title of trademaster. You've met Lisbeth. Would you have signed off on any contract with such a singularly disagreeable woman?"
Eleanor might have, actually, because she could sympathize with a woman filling such an important role on a crew, and doing so competently. Eleanor could also understand how that same competency might be threatening to any man filling the same role as Eleanor did, and certainly Lisbeth's lack of tact and diplomacy would not help in brokering any agreements. Perhaps that was the reason the Wavefucker found itself in Nassau?
The fact remained most pirate quartermasters were not primarily concerned with managing cargo and stocks. They were typically responsible for leading boarding assaults from the quarter deck onto other ships. "If you only handle contracts and trade, who is it that leads your men when you board another ship?" She half expected Stéphane to not have an answer for that, either, which would confirm some of her suspicions about the composition of the Wavefucker's crew.
As luck would have it, he did have an answer, because they had all spent several days talking over who would handle various responsibilities among the crew. "The Masters of Arms, Lucrezia and Warren."
"Is every major post on your ship split by a man and a woman?"
Stéphane gave a short laugh when he realized that, despite the crew's rather lopsided gender ratio, everyone Eleanor had dealt with so far had come in a perfectly matched male-female set. "You would have to ask Will--"
"-- And Evelyn," Eleanor sighed in disgust. "Perhaps I should have invited them to my bed."
At that, Stéphane laughed heartily. "I don't-- Oh!" he exclaimed, shaking his head to clear the idea.
"What? Why is that so funny?" she asked.
"Would you have them both at the same time?" Stéphane's eyes twinkled. "You do know they're siblings?"
Eleanor felt a thrilling rush of surprise and amusement rise to her face, that particular joy experienced when you find out an unexpected secret about someone. It came from a place so distant from the sorrow or recent events that, when it arrived, it caused those events to slip from Eleanor's mind. In that moment, she ceased to be the grieving daughter grasping at straws with which to build a new house to keep away the coming wolves and became merely a brilliant young women in bed with a momentary lover. She gasped with mirth. "They look nothing alike! He's so tall."
"And yet, they are." Stéphane ran his hand down the center of Eleanor's torso. "I assure you, when it comes to experiencing whatever pleasures this room has to offer, I am a far better choice of partner." He backed up this assertion with ample proof, and Eleanor did not think of any of her many problems for the remainder of the afternoon.
Disclaimer: Weird story bit again! Which will come together and make sense, I promise. And look, it's the captain! Everyone say hi to the Captain.
Upon finding herself in a completely unfamiliar bit of forest, Brittany's first reaction was not fear but wonder. She was not hurt, restrained, or otherwise in any seeming danger, so she took the situation entirely at face value and thought to herself how pretty the trees were. It was so green and magical everywhere she looked, with rays of golden sunlight poking through the trees and birds calling all around her. How had she come here? She wasn't sure. She checked her head for injury, feeling for any bumps or contusions, but everything seemed fine.
Upon further examination, she concluded the word that best described this area was jungle, not forest. It had the feel of something tropical. She had been to Hawaii once when she was younger, and while this was not quite as beautiful, it had the same type of greenery and growth that you just didn't find in regular forests.
Plant assessment complete, she set about looking for signs of civilization. There were no visible structures in the immediate area, but after turning in place a few times, she noticed a dirt path through the trees nearby. Once there, she looked for clues as to which direction to go. The path sloped the tiniest bit uphill one way and downhill the other, so she chose to head downhill, scant a difference as it seemed.
This, it turned out, was very good logic. The path joined a dirt road and she continued steadily along in the same direction until the trees cleared and she discovered an entire town laid out before her. Her pace quickened to a run of joy and excitement as her stomach began to rumble.
As she neared the town, she slowed down. She was filled with amazement. It looked like one of those places you saw in tourist brochures -- a fishing village accessible only by boat which had escaped the myriad terrors of modernization. The sort of place people went for vacation to get away from all the hassle of modern life and then returned to report that it had been just like stepping through a time machine. Since the surrounding area was some sort of jungle, perhaps South America?
For a moment, Brittany wondered if she had fallen out of a plane, which might explain the memory loss and the location. She was wearing hospital scrubs and her Ocean Park ID and it was hard to imagine that she had boarded a plane in such attire. Maybe it had been an emergency? She hoped everyone else on the plane was okay. If there was any plane wreckage, the people in town could probably help her locate it, and maybe help the other survivors. Unless it was a zombie outbreak. In that case, maybe this remote town was some hidden enclave of safety, and the plane had crashed en route, and there were zombies following the smell of her fresh, living brains towards an ample food source: the town! (As terrifying as she found The Walking Dead, it was a lot of fun to watch.)
An outbreak would seem to be a reasonable explanation, though. Not a zombie outbreak, but the regular, pandemic sort. In that case, she might be infected and spread the infection to the town. She slowed to a walk. Memory loss could be a symptom of infection. Her presence here could wipe out the last vestiges of human life on the planet.
Brittany decided to stop, sat down on a rock by the road, and began to weigh the pros and cons.
She was beginning to wish she had a piece of paper to write her pros and cons down when the sound of hooves drew her away from her introspection. A man on horseback appeared from the direction she had come. He drew up beside her.
"Don't get too close!" she warned. "I might be contagious!"
Instead of dissuading him and she had hoped, her words caused the man to dismount from his horse. "Are you in need of help, child?"
His simple black clothes and tricorne hat made her wonder if he was Amish, but he didn't have a beard, and Amish men were supposed to have beards. He might be Mennonite. They weren't required to be bearded. "I'm okay, I think, but I can't remember how I got here. Is there a pandemic virus?"
"A virus?" The world alarmed the man somewhat, but he didn't move away from her or make any signs he was preparing to flee.
"Maybe one that causes memory loss?"
The man looked her over. "Do you have any sores?"
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I feel fine, too--"
It suddenly occurred to Brittany that if the only symptom of the virus was a bit of short-term memory loss (because she still remembered who she was and everything in her life up to a point that felt like this morning) that maybe it wasn't deadly, and she had simply been on some sort of aid mission when she had gotten infected and wandered off into the jungle by mistake. Such a virus would put the world into a temporary state of confusion, but in a much larger sense, maybe everything was still okay.
Brittany smiled, finally feeling some confidence in her own logic. "Ah, I got it. Is there a Red Cross station somewhere near here?"
"There is a small church back that way, and I am its priest. There is no one there now. I'm headed into Nassau."
Brittany looked at the small town with its collection of wooden building. "Where am I exactly?"
"New Providence Island."
Brittany looked back and forth between the man and his horse and the town. New Providence Island? Nassau?
"I'm Pastor Lambrick," the man said.
"Oh! I am so silly! I'm Brittany Dobler. Nurse Dobler! Or Nurse Brittany!" She extended her hand out in greeting. Pastor Lambrick looked at the hand, momentarily taken aback, then reached out to return the gesture.
As soon as he reached, Brittany jerked her hand back. "Oh, right! I wouldn't want to get you sick if I'm contagious!" The pastor stared at her. "I probably wandered off from town, right? So I should probably wander back. You're going that way?"
"Yes. I… I'll walk with you?"
"That would be so great! Can't have me wandering off again, can we?" She laughed, and Lambrick nervously laughed with her. Who this woman was and why she was so happy to be here, Lambrick did not know, but at least she seemed to be a follower of the cross. He felt obliged to help her. Brittany grinned. "Well, all right then! To Nassau!"
With all the commotion and excitement on-shore, it was easy to forget that the bulk of the Wavefucker's crew remained where they had been since the start of the adventure: on board the ship. The most notable figure aboard was, of course, the captain. James Norrington sat with his chair on the poop deck and his feet resting on the ship's railing, enjoying the sea air and the feeling of being aboard a ship again. He never felt quite so at home as he did when sailing. He loved the cabin he had built for himself and Evelyn on their private island, but this was where he truly belonged.
He heard footsteps approach behind him, followed by a familiar voice. "Dad."
Lucius took up a position next to the man he called his father. He had a rag in his hands which he was using the wipe away some of the oil and grease that stained his fingers. His shirt tails billowed in the wind.
"Pull up a seat," offered James.
Though Lucius addressed James as father, they didn't have a father-son relationship, having only recently reconnected after a long period of estrangement. "I wanted to report that the gun tracks are oiled and ready. We shouldn't have any more problems with the targeting." The problem of which he spoke was nothing more than a small delay in repositioning the guns, caused by the grease drying a little too quickly in the friction of the tracks. The minute they had begun to test the system -- turning their eight little guns on eight different harbor ships -- Lucius had decided the system was too slow. The guns had to swivel as quickly as a ship might travel past them in his opinion, which meant from one far angle to another in eight seconds.
James, of course, had told him ten to fifteen seconds was fine, because there no one else anywhere in the ocean who could lay claim to swiveling cannons, but Lucius was a perfectionist. Everything about this ship he had engineered with deadly intent. It was not merely designed to strike fear into the seven seas, it was meant to stand against an entire navy if necessary. Only that was an accomplishment worthy of Lucius's considerable talent.
James turned towards his somewhat-son. They looked absolutely nothing alike. Neither was sure if this was a blessing or a curse. "Did you want leave to go ashore?" James asked.
"Absolutely not," said Lucius. "I want to know how much longer we'll be here." He was eager to put his cannons to the test in real battle. Merely pointing them at other ships in harbor with closed gun ports was not enough proof of concept.
James hummed and looked back at Nassau. It reminded him of Tortuga in many ways. He was never quite able to decide if he truly hated that place. He had been there at a low point in his life, but compared to the low points that followed, Tortuga was almost a highlight. It had been the first true appearance of the Magnificently Maverick James Norrington, and if not for that, he wouldn't have found himself on the Wavefucker today. Captain of the finest, craziest pirate vessel imaginable. "We'll sail when your mother is done."
"Step-mother," corrected Lucius, mostly out of habit. He considered Evelyn close enough to a mother at this point to address her as one, but the actual word "mother" he felt belonged to another, so Evelyn was his "mum."
"Your mum," murmured James, as if he could read Lucius's mind. It was entirely possible he could, but in this case he was simply recalling Lucius's preference. "Thank you for the report."
Lucius didn't leave immediately. "Do you think I should go ashore?"
"No," said James. "Absolutely not. Put some more grease on the gun port hinges. After everything you've done with the guns, it would be a shame if something as simple as a port malfunction prevented you from using them."
Lucius wondered if he was supposed to salute his captain and decided against it. Even if he was supposed to, he wasn't the type of person to salute anyone. "Yes, captain."
"Aye, Lucius. Aye, captain."
"Aye, captain."
James sighed and settled back down in his chair. Hopefully his crew wasn't getting into too much trouble. He didn't fancy going ashore to rescue them.
Disclaimer: Two of my favorite people together! This is my favorite part so far.
Despite having some rather important other plans to attend to, the arrival of these strangers had not escaped the Durfresne's attention and he found the time to visit the beach where the strangers were offloading their cargo. He watched from the shade of the tents that lines the beach as the massive oarsman (who was now genuinely famous throughout all of Nassau) rowed rafts of goods to and from the ship, pausing on the beach between each trip to confer with the tiny figure of the girl with the lace parasol and dress. She would issue him instructions and he would be off again to grab the next set of goods. Dufresne was timing the oarsman's trips and so far had found no noticeable delay or slowdown in performance. The man rowed with as much ease as he had earlier in the day and seemed never to tire, though he was drenched in a heavy layer of sweat at this point.
With eyes fixed firmly on the oarsman's steadily receding figure, Dufresne did not notice the girl's approach until her parasol appeared near the rim of his glasses, well within his peripheral vision. At first he did not think she was coming towards him, but a quick glance left and right confirmed there was no one else nearby.
The girl walked forward with steady purpose until she was standing but a few feet in front of him. She stopped, parasol resting on her shoulder. Her cold gaze remained fixed upon his face. She didn't speak.
The silence began to get uncomfortable. "Can I help you?" Dufresne asked at last.
Lisbeth considered all the many thing she might say to him. Details about his history, things no one else could ever know, information that might be used to cow him into fearful submission. The others were playing a game, to be sure, but she was not here for games. She knew the reason she had joined the crew (boredom, apparent vacation), and her function in this place (keeping track of their cargo), but she was not yet certain what exactly to do about her inclusion in the chosen scenario. "Did you notice?" she finally asked. She has a soft, almost whispery voice.
Dufresne blinked a few times. He had been watching rather intently, but he wasn't sure to what her question referred.
"When your face changed."
A long pause. "… My face changed?"
Lisbeth sighed and released him from her icy stare. "I don't suppose you would. There aren't many mirrors here. It seems nobody else did, either." She tiled her head to the side. "I have a mirror, if you want to look. It will be arriving with the next cargo transfer."
Dufresne looked towards her ship, where the cargo raft was already half-full of more goods for transport. The crew aboard her ship worked with remarkable efficiency and he said as much.
"Hm," she sniffed disdainfully. "They are acceptable. That one is my husband." She pointed in the direction of the raft.
The people aboard the ship were nothing but distant smudges of movement. "I don't know who you're pointing at," he admitted.
"The ferryman, who else?"
It seemed a crazy assertion, given the size disparity between the giant man and this tiny parasol-wielding girl, but crazy adequately summed up all of Dufresne's recent experiences, from the circumstances of his appointment as quartermaster to his ejection from the Walrus's crew. He had taken careful stock of his life in the past two days and had decided it all stemmed from the moment Billy Bones talked him into boarding the Andromache. Every single moment since then had been an exercise in escalating insanity, which meant the occasion of his ripping another man's throat out with his teeth was the sanest thing in recent memory.
Dufresne and Lisbeth stood, quietly watching the raft fill with goods. The oarsman pushed off from the ship and began to row back.
"Why not bring your ship closer to shore?" asked Dufresne.
"We intend to set sail soon, and the Captain doesn't wish to."
He was somewhat surprised that she answered him so plainly. She didn't seem friendly, really, but she wasn't totally unfriendly, either, and she was certainly beautiful. There were prettier girls on Nassau, but she had a sort of aloofness to her. It was not a quality typically found in pretty girls in Nassau, who usually depended upon a certain degree of accessibility to men for their long-term survival on the island, unless they happened to be Eleanor Guthrie, in which case all bets were off.
Dufresne ventured another question. "Why did you come here?"
She shrugged. "I was not given the choice of ports, only the choice of whether or not to do the ship's accounts."
It made sense given her repeating conferences with the oarsman, but it was still surprising to know the crew of the ship trusted such a small girl with such an important task. "You are an accountant?"
"They call me the stockmaster. I manage the stocks." That was an ambiguous answer and it gave Dufrense doubts, but Lisbeth seemed to realize this and added, "I handle the numbers."
The cargo raft was halfway to shore now. Dufresne feared the girl would run off in a moment and leave him, and for some reason he did not want her to, even if she was married. He had turned into something of a pariah in the past few days and it was a comfort to have someone talk to him without ire or apparent pretense. "I was a ship's accountant. My crew had the best margins of any ship in Nassau."
Lisbeth reached into the pouch at her side and produced a sheath of paper, which she offered him. "I am sure you did, before I arrived here."
The numbers on the pages she offered were impeccable, written crisply and well-organized. To an accountant, the pages were a thing of beauty far beyond the girl's physical attributes. "They removed me from their crew," he admitted as he studied her accounting.
"That is surely their loss."
Of course Dufresne felt that way, but it was refreshing to hear someone else say it for a change. "Why are you showing me this?"
Lisbeth tilted her head again. "Do people in Nassau typically admire accounting ledgers?" Dufresne shook his head in the negative. "Then, I did so because you are one of the few who would appreciate my work." She held her hand out and Dufresne returned the papers.
"I don't suppose you need a second accountant," he half-joked.
Lisbeth pulled her lips into a thin frown. It was answer enough. It hadn't been a real question, anyway. Dufresne had already committed himself to a course of action and he intended to see it out. If anything, this reminder that he was unlikely to ever be fully appreciated by another pirate crew had steeled him in his resolve and determined him towards vengeance on Captain Flint and Flint's allies.
The oarsman was almost back to shore now and Lisbeth turned away to leave. Eager for one more moment, however brief, Dufresne called out, "Who are you?"
She paused and looked back. "I am Lisbeth."
"I'm Dufresne."
"I know," she said. "Never forget who you are. It may save your life some day." With that cryptic message, she was gone.
If Dufresne had remained on the beach, he could have watched her supervise the last bit of cargo being transferred before stepping onto the raft with her husband and returning to her ship, but he turned away. For all that the strangers had entranced the general populace of Nassau, they held little interest for him. It had been but a momentary distraction from the work still to come.
As she drifted back towards the ship on the cargo raft, Lisbeth scanned the shore. "Poor Mr. Dufresne," she said.
"Who?" asked Harry.
"No one of consequence."
Harry paused in his work. "What's that thing Ev likes to say? People who are of no consequence are the most important people in the world?"
Lisbeth sniffed. "Only when they are characters on television shows, darling."
Harry thought a moment. "Yeh. Yer probably right. And movies. Don't forget movies."
"Of course not." Lisbeth fell silent, listening to the sounds of wood creaking beneath her feet and the slosh of the water against the raft's side. She quietly hoped Mr. Dufresne could avoid the awful fate that seemed in store for him. Then the moment passed. Whether he lived or died was no concern of hers. He was but a character in a story and would get exactly the end he deserved either way.
Disclaimer: We cheat. We cheat hard.
In the tavern below, Lucrezia and Trowa sipped at their drinks. At the precise moment Stéphane entwined himself with Eleanor, Lucrezia smiled knowingly. "It would seem our plans are working well."
Trowa shrugged. "We have an advantage."
"We always have an advantage," said Lucrezia, "even when we do not." They clinked their cups together.
A familiar voice cut in: "Isn't it a little early for day drinking?"
Lucrezia laughed. "I'd guess it's about four!"
Trowa nodded at the newcomer and greeted him: "Tom."
Tom Paris looked at what passed for a seat in the tavern and decided to learn against the bar instead. He was dressed primarily in brown leather, but his outfit was slightly more Renaissance Faire than pirate, and he resolved to fix that the first chance he had. (In his defense, given what everyone else around him was wearing, it had been really difficult to gauge appropriate attire for this trip.) "How do people tell time around here? Stick-in-the-ground things?"
"Sundials?" supplied Lucrezia. She did not think that to be the answer, but it seemed to be the word Tom was looking for.
"I believe they have clocks," said Trowa.
There were joined by another familiar face: Allan A'Dale, the crew's designated marksman, dressed in woodsy green cloth and a hood. Also slightly off in his clothing style, but intentionally so. Though he had been instructed several times by the captain to forego use of his longbow and pick up a rifle, he was wearing his bow over his shoulder and attracting quite a few confused stares as a result. "It's the 1700s, not ancient Greece," said Allan.
"You're one to talk, Mr. Year Twelve Hundred," said Tom.
"Eleven-hundred-ninety, actually, and we did use sticks in the ground to tell time." Allan grinned cheekily, and it wasn't clear if he was joking at their expense or speaking the truth. Sometimes, with him, there was no difference. "So, what do we make of it?"
The all took a moment to look around, as if there might be some clue in the environs that would inform their answers to that question.
"We are getting a lot of people staring at us," said Tom. He tipped his head at Lucrezia. "And it's not just on account of your ass."
"Which is an entirely fine ass," said Allan.
Lucrezia smiled. She was well aware the revered qualities of her own ass and did not feel compelled to comment on it. "We didn't exactly choose to play this one by the book."
"There was a book? I wish someone had told me. I could have read it," groaned Tom. "At least you look somewhat normal, T." Trowa sipped his drink without comment.
"The problem is, not enough of us have facial hair!" said Allan. "And none of you look like you've lived without bathing regularly. Or eating regularly."
"There are some things you don't compromise on," observed Lucrezia.
"So you're suggesting we stop bathing and shaving and maybe skip a few meals?" asked Tom.
Allan perked up. "It wouldn't hurt! I mean, when was the last time I had a bath?" He did look rather more unkempt than usual.
Tom winced. "I can't believe I sat next to you on the boat."
Seemingly without prompt, Trowa looked towards the stairs leading up to Eleanor Guthrie's offices and straightened, and Lucrezia did the same. Lisbeth was coming downstairs, accompanied by Frasier. She locked eyes with Trowa and gave a slight nod, indicating a deal had been reached, and continued an ongoing, inaudible conversation with Frasier. The appraiser seemed to be hanging off her every word with great interest, nodding seriously as she spoke.
"She really is something, isn't she?" said Tom when he saw where Lucrezia and Trowa were looking.
"I'm glad she's on our side," said Allan, signaling a passing barmaid for a drink.
"Wasn't Stéphane with her?" asked Tom.
Lucrezia smiled. So far, so good.
Across the way, Jack Rackham seethed into his soup bowl and bristled. "Not a single visitor. Do they not know this is a brothel?"
Beside him, Max studied the front doors with a sort of bored attention. "We have many customers here," she pointed out, and it was true, because there was no place better for talking about rumors than a whorehouse. There were men and women seated at almost every table and a few were even upstairs.
Jack waved his hand dismissively at the customers. "Not them," he said.
"They are paying customers," Max chided him. "Customers who have information which will benefit us both."
One of the girls passed by with a tray of dirty dishes and Jack grabbed at her apron. "Any news?"
The girl shot Jack an annoyed look. "Not since the last five times you asked!" she snapped, and continued on her way.
"What do we pay those girls for?" Jack huffed.
"For fucking, and for cleaning, and for putting money in our pockets," said Max, thoroughly annoyed at this point. Jack, clever and determined as he could be, was also prone to whining. "If you want to know more about these strangers, you are welcome to go walk across the way." She made a walking motion with her fingers.
"Into Eleanor Guthrie's fucking tavern?" he answered. "You go! No, better yet, send a few of the girls. That should get their attention!"
Max sighed and rolled her eyes. "I have a business to run," she said, intending to walk away on that note, but then it finally happened. Three entirely unfamiliar men walked in, and the babble of the room quickly hushed.
They had all the marks of the strangers: close-cropped clean hair, clean shaves, and weird clothing. Two were blondes, one small and scrawny wearing a patterned green jacket and black-lens eyeglasses, the other taller and broader with clear lenses in a pressed white shirt and tan pants. The third had brown hair and was dressed in a red coat with gold filigree and black trim. Somehow, he had managed to locate a coat even more ostentatious than the rest of his crew.
Max snapped her fingers at the girl with the apron as she emerged from the kitchen area. "Go, go!" Max hissed, and the girl hastened to greet the visitors. Everyone in earshot strained to listen to the exchange of words.
"H-hello," stammered the girl, executing a move vaguely reminiscent of a curtsy, as the man in red looked like he had to be some sort of king. "W-welcome to--"
"Hey, so, where are the boy whores?" asked the king, rather loudly.
The girl in the apron paled. "I--"
"I don't want a boy whore," whined the scrawny man with the dark spectacles.
"Neither do I," said the other.
"Fine, fine. Do you have any hermaphrodites?" asked the king.
Max gathered her skirts and rushed to salvage the situation. When she curtsied, it was a motion that could almost be mistaken for the real thing. "I am sorry, we have only girls here."
The Red King considered that. "Eh, I'll make do with a woman." He threw his arms out and addressed the entirety of the room. "Ladies of the flesh! I, Rook the Red, have come to bring you the greatest joys a woman can ever know with a man! I have come to teach you all the art of pleasure!"
The bigger blonde covered his face with his hands and audibly groaned.
"I just want a regular hooker," said the scrawny man. "A pretty one."
Max was not so easily shocked and awed as the rest of the people of Nassau and didn't miss a beat. "Come, sit, have some food and drink." She directed them to the nearest vacant table. "Fetch something nice for our guests," she said to the girl in the apron. The poor girl was still so shocked she didn't immediately move. "Now."
The strangers took their seats and Max returned to Jack's side. She signaled the girls waiting on the balcony with a flick of her wrist. There would be food, drink, and women at the table, and their secrets would thusly become known. "Happy now?"
Jack wondered how much that red coat was worth and if it was additionally worth the danger of wearing something so expensive around people who could not even dream of affording such a garment. He ran a finger along the rim of his soup bowl. "You've got to give them credit, they certainly know how to put on a show."
"It makes one wonder what they are hiding," said Max. She was no longer bored.
Disclaimer: At this point it's probably worth noting (and it's a very late warning) that if you aren't caught up on Black Sails or don't watch it, this entire tulpafic is rather spoilery.
"And when am I to meet this captain of yours?"
Eleanor Guthrie smacked her palm against the table in mild annoyance. She had been sent not one but two quartermasters, which meant having Frasier at her side gave her no advantage of numbers, and these garishly-dressed strangers were quickly turning into something of a frustrating enigma rather than the distraction from regular events that she so desperately craved..
"The captain prefers not to step onto land at present," said Stéphane. He had the mannerisms of a very satisfied cat toying with its prey, which made him the warm and cuddly one on his side of the table. Lisbeth, for all that she looked pale and frail and dressed in the manner of a delicate china doll, was a veritable ball of seething anger in a dress.
"Well, I'm certainly not getting on his fucking ship."
Lisbeth, not for the first time in this negotiation, exhaled sharply through her nose in displeasure.
Eleanor didn't miss a beat. "I'm not the one who named it Wavefucker."
Lisbeth snorted again, more derisively this time, her nostrils flaring in anger, but in this instance her anger seemed less directed at Eleanor and more towards whoever had in fact christened the ship.
"In the meantime, I'm sure we can reach a satisfactory agreement," said Stéphane. He and Frasier exchanged a glance.
"I believe we can," said Frasier.
"Perhaps if Mr. Frasier and I spoke alone for a bit?"
At that, both Eleanor and Lisbeth were incensed. The idea of two men taking over to hash things out because they suspected "the women" couldn't deal with it was offensive to Eleanor and Lisbeth on a very primal level.
"I don't fucking think so," said Eleanor. "I am in charge of business here."
Lisbeth's response to Stéphane was shorter but no less acerbic: "No."
"Then might I suggest I take a moment with Miss Guthrie and leave Frasier and Lis to negotiate the cargo value? Theirs is the more learned opinion on the matter, after all." It was true that Lisbeth seemed to know as much about the value of various items as Frasier did, and perhaps more.
Eleanor registered a moment of internal shock as she realized her counterpart's self-assured feline smirk was less to do with trade negotiations and more to do with her. He was old enough to be her father! Her father…
Eleanor abruptly stood. "This discussion has gone on long enough. I have other matters to attend to. Mr. Frasier, I trust you will find an equitable arrangement." Stéphane stood, but Eleanor did not give him further opportunity. "Good-bye, Mr. Narcisse. You may see yourself downstairs." She hastily exited through the back door to the balcony.
Outside, Eleanor closed her eyes and let the breeze from the ocean wash over her. Her mind's eye pictured for a moment her father and her eyes snapped back open. She closed her fingers around the balcony railing.
The door behind her opened. Stéphane had not followed her order and had instead followed her in a more literal sense. "Your presence is not welcome here, return downstairs at once."
"I believe I have offended you," said Stéphane.
"Your presence now does even greater offense."
"Your choice of clothing," said Stéphane, closing the door behind him, "is not merely intended to inspire a sense of dread during negotiations, is it?"
She wanted to kill him for even daring to speak about her outfit given what he was wearing. "It's no fucking business of yours."
"You've lost someone." She did not answer, because any answer she gave would be giving him too much information. "Close to you? Recently?"
Eleanor's hands tightened around the railing. Her father's corpse lay at that very moment waiting for burial and would have been buried already if had she not demanded the coffin-maker provide something better than the usual lopsided box for her father. "But I 'aven't any wood fer tha--" the coffin-maker tried to object, and Eleanor had screamed at him: "I don't care if you have to use your floorboards, you door, your dinner table, you *will make my father a serviceable box to be buried in and not one of these lopsided crates you call coffins!"* (It was a commonly known fact that the coffin-maker in Nassau had been sacked from several ships for his deficiencies in the skill department, but grief-stricken as she was, Eleanor was not about to pull one of the more competent carpenters away from the fort repairs for her father's sake.)
Even though Eleanor responded to his inquiries with only silence, Stéphane continued to speak. It was a risk, given Eleanor's state, but great risks usually entailed great rewards in Stéphane's experience, especially where women were concerned. "I suspect I am one of the only people on this island who doesn't know who it is you've lost."
At that, Eleanor lost it. She whirled towards Stéphane and shouted angrily at him: "It was my father, all right! My fucking father!" Certainly her voice carried to the street below, but just as certainly the people on that same street knew better than to even pretend that they had heard anything from the undisputed queen of trade in Nassau.
Stéphane did not flinch in the face of this outburst. He waited just long enough for silence to clear the ringing from both their ears and then said, "I lost my son."
For a moment, Eleanor felt a pang, but she quickly covered it with more anger. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Am I supposed to care?"
Stéphane waited again, possessing strength of nerve to face her without backing down of showing the slightest fear. Partly because he didn't know any better (Eleanor was as much a mystery to him as he was to her), but mostly because he was used to dealing with monarchs who could, if it actually came down to it, do off with his head, and that kind of risky lifestyle tended to harden a person against the imminent threats and danger posed by political power plays. Finally, he said, "What if I told you I don't care if your father is dead? Would it be a relief?"
Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears.
He knew he had her, but he pressed the point as he stepped nearer to her, enjoying the rush of adrenaline he felt in toying with someone who might possess the authority to have him beheaded. "What if I was the one person on this island who doesn't see your grief?" He was near enough now that they could hear each other's breaths. Stéphane brushed a loose lock of hair that had fallen from her bun to her shoulder with his finger, testing for the limits of what she would allow, prepared for either eventuality.
She grabbed him and pulled him towards her and he found there were no limits at all.
Discaimer: Things begin to take an unexpected turn...
The crew of the Wavefucker arrived in sets of three, four, and five, and every single one of them rowed in the same dinghy by the massive oarsman who appeared to never tire. The first group to reach the shore in Harry's ferry was a group of two men and two women. They were, in the order they exited the dinghy: Lucrezia Noin, the Master-at-Arms, Trowa Barton, the Master of the Hounds, and Stéphane Narcisse and Lisbeth, who divided the tasks of the quartermaster between them. Stéphane handled matters of trade and Lisbeth matters of stocks, so they were self-titled as the trademaster and stockmaster respectively. (Neither fulfilled the boarding party role of leading attacks from the quarterdeck, as most other pirate quartermasters did.)
Of the four, only Trowa looked like he might have fit in on Nassau. He had opted for a loose white shirt and tight brown britches and boots. Lucrezia was wearing a smart black tailored and tailed waistcoat with white pants that gave her a crisp look rather suited to a member of the landed gentry. The saber at her side was plainer: an unornamented, economical choice of blade intended purely for battle. For his part, Stéphane was wearing a feathered hat, but it was a single quail feather rather than a collection of ostrich plumes, and with a reasonably-sized hat brim. He had chosen a long brown coat of fine but fairly simple style, but beneath it lay a splendidly-embroidered grey vest. Lastly, Lisbeth wore a pearl-colored dress with lace trim and collar to complement the lace parasol that accompanied her.
For both Stéphane and Lisbeth, this was considered dressing down for the occasion. As ridiculous as they looked in comparison to the clothing worn by the common people of Nassau who gawped at their arrival, their garments seemed truly reasonable in comparison to the outrageous outfits Will and Evelyn had been seen in on the beach a scant half hour earlier.
As Stéphane and Harry helped Lisbeth down from the dinghy, she frowned at the sight of Nassau: the beach, the buildings, the lingering crowd. She intended to spend as little time in this dirty place as possible.
"You sure yer all right?" asked Harry, returning Lisbeth's parasol to her hand.
"We'll protect her," promised Lucrezia.
"I can protect myself," said Lisbeth coldly. Despite her apparent surety, she resembled nothing so much as a finely-weighted feather in a dress.
"Aye," said Harry. "Just, be careful." He hesitated a moment, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. It was quite a sight, Harry towering over Lisbeth and dwarfing her in every possible regard, but kissing her as gently and tenderly as a butterfly kisses a flower. She turned and gave him a short, businesslike peck in return.
Stéphane offered Lisbeth his arm. "Shall we?"
Lucrezia rested a hand on her saber and gestured for them to proceed. It was time for their adventure to begin.
Emma regained consciousness with a startled gasp and threw her arms into the air, unsure at first if she was falling, drowning, or spinning. As she drew a second breath, the world around her yo-yoed in and out of focus until it reached equilibrium and her dizziness and disorientation began to fade. She took a third breath and her mind became clear again.
She was outside, it was daytime, and the air smelled funny.
It wasn't just that the air was fresh, or tinged with the faint bite of ocean salt, but that it had a quality of thick wholeness wholly unlike the air she was used to breathing. It seemed to fill every single nook and cranny of her lungs in a way air never had before. The air wasn't the only thing different. The ground beneath her fingers felt thick and moist, and the buildings around her were like something out of a western movie: wooden, and none rising above two stories.
She was sitting at the side of a dirt roadway worn bare by the passage of a great many feet rather than large vehicles. Seagulls called overhead and a faint breeze tugged at her hospital gown. Emma hastily pulled the thin fabric down across her legs for modesty and shivered. The hospital. She had been in the hospital.
Wherever she was now, it was clearly not the hospital. In fact, it didn't even seem like Los Angeles, but the city was the movie capital of the world, and her first conclusion was that she must have ended up on a movie set somehow.
The street was seemingly deserted, but she could hear people somewhere nearby. Emma began to shuffle down the street, keeping one hand against the nearest building to steady herself and the other firmly clenched onto the back of her gown. Had she been undergoing an examination? Where were her clothes? Everything seemed foggy up to this moment.
"Hello?" she called again. A door opened on the street in front of her. A man with skin burnt red by the sun and messy blonde hair emerged from the building and looked in her direction. Emma's eyes were still having trouble focusing and she squinted at him, trying to make out his face.
"Wot 'ave we 'ere?" said the man.
"Can you help me? I'm lost."
"Where'd you come from?"
"Ocean Park Hospital."
"An 'ospital?" repeated the man, sounding oddly incredulous.
Emma leaned more heavily against the building as a wave of nausea swept across her. "Where am I?"
"Yer in Nassau."
The nausea passed and Emma's vision cleared. She was finally able to make out the stranger's face in some detail. While his blurry countenance might have been mistaken for handsome, his actual features were anything but. His face was hardened and weathered and he had a large scar down one cheek. He also appeared to be missing an arm.
Prosthetics, she realized. And makeup. She was on a movie set replicating Nassau in some age-old era. "Is there a doctor?"
That question gave the man pause. "'Ere, come inside. I'll go fetch 'im."
Some instinct in Emma's gut gave her pause. Even if the ugly appearance was merely the result of movie makeup magic, she did not trust this stranger. "Can you just go get him? Please?"
"Well… a'ight." The man reached back into the building for something. A crutch, it turned out. Emma had noticed the missing arm, but missed the missing foot. "Be right back." Gripping his crutch tightly with his sole remaining hand, the man lumbered off. Emma sank down against the building and closed her eyes.
It was odd. Pretending an arm was gone was a fine trick for the movies, but a missing foot? That was somewhat outside the scope of likely possibility. He could have lost his foot to cancer, but a set of appendages as disparate as an arm and a leg were unlikely to have been taken out by a single cancer. A combat veteran, then, or someone who had been in a car accident. Emma felt bad for distrusting him. He could be an American hero who had no employment prospects besides appearing in the background of a movie, and she judged him based solely on his unattractive skin and facial scarring.
Emma closed her eyes. The doctor would be here soon, and she would be back where she belonged among her friends and family.
Disclaimer: There's rather a distinct lack of actual nautical knowledge at work here. Your humble scribe knows only the most basic information about the operation of ships. This is a fun adventure scenario fueled by imagination and thirst for adventure, not a treatise on proper sailing! Most of the people involved are only pretend pirates, after all.
Eleanor Guthrie sat in her office with her hands spread wide across her desk, waiting. To her right, the appraiser Frasier sat against the wall, silent but menacing in the half-shadow afforded that side of the room this time of day, and two of her own guards stood in corners of the room. Enough security to display strength without seeming scared. Everything was precisely as she wanted it. A single chair sat opposite hers at the desk.
Hendricks (her new right-hand man since the unfortunate demise of O'Malley) appeared in the doorway. "They're on the street now, ma'am. One's a woman." He was a man of few words, which Eleanor appreciated, and smart enough to know when something was important enough to tell her, which she appreciated even more. Message delivered, he vanished back into the hall.
"A woman?" mused Frasier. Eleanor drummed her fingers on the desk, as much out of annoyance as to indicate that Frasier should be silent.
The usual din of the tavern dropped a notch as the strangers arrived and Eleanor readied herself. Another woman was unexpected, but changed nothing. Perhaps the outsiders thought a woman would weaken her resistance or elicit some sympathy. Clearly, their knowledge of Nassau was highly limited if they thought any sort of antics would affect Eleanor's judgment.
She listened carefully as several sets of footsteps traversed the stairs and counted the moments. Three, two, one, and they were in her doorway.
It had been obvious from a distance that the outsiders wore dress which was eccentric (to put it kindly), but it had not been clear exactly how eccentric until this moment. A short woman clad nearly head to toe in royal blue trimmed in silver, dressed in a manner rather befitting a 17th century lord, and her taller male companion dressed identically in black-trimmed purple. Both wore the most ridiculous hats Eleanor had ever seen, with brims almost as wide as parasols and giant white feathers. Only once their hats had cleared the doorway did their third companion become visible: the massive, muscled oarsman whose form had been unmistakable from the beach.
Eleanor stood in greeting and maintained her steely gaze, though she rather suspected Frasier had lost some edge to his composure at the spectacle before them. "Welcome to Nassau."
"So you're in charge here?" asked the man in purple. He was, all things considered, not bad-looking, but he was slightly too clean-looking for Nassau. His goatee was entirely too well-trimmed, and there wasn't a single scar or blemish on his face. It was as if all the scars you would expect to find on a seaman had ended up on the face of his companion, the massive oarsman, and a few of the blemishes had ended up on the face of the otherwise average-looking woman.
"I am." Eleanor gestured to the sole unoccupied chair. "Sit."
The woman spoke next: "No, thanks. We'll stand." Aside from being rather short, the woman in blue was rather unremarkable. She had breasts a size or two too big for her stature and blue eyes that glinted under the shadowy brim of her hat.
"Sit," repeated Eleanor, making clear as she sat back down that this was not an optional request.
The outsiders balked at the chair and exchanged glances. "You can have it," said the man.
"No, that isn't fair," said the woman. "We need two chairs."
Eleanor flicked her wrist and a second chair was brought from the corner. The single chair ruse had been intended to sort out which member of this expedition was in charge, but it had not produced a definitive answer. No matter. "I am Eleanor Guthrie. What is your business on Nassau?"
The woman in blue cleared her throat. "We greet you on behalf of Captain James Norrington of the Wavefucker and his crew. We've come to you to offload goods for trade and resupply our ship."
Eleanor's eyebrow's shot up. There was, of course, a plot currently in play to turn Nassau into a fully legitimate trading operation which would render the outsider's intentions rather moot, but their interest in selling illicit goods was not the reason for Eleanor's sudden concern. "Did you say the Wave… Fucker?"
"That's our ship," said the purple man, and seemed quite proud of it. (Eleanor, who was known to use the word fuck more liberally than almost anyone, did not disapprove.)
"And who exactly are you?" It occurred to Eleanor that this pair of unusual people were not sailors themselves, but financial investors in a pirate expedition. It seemed somewhat ludicrous. While Eleanor herself funded several of the ships in Nassau, bored nobles with more money than sense (common and fashion) were hardly the same thing.
"Will Gardner and Evelyn Norrington."
"And that's Harry."
"Pleasure," quipped the oarsman, in a cheerful tone that seemed out of place in a man so big.
"If you aren't captains" -- and Eleanor noticed that the woman bore the same surname, no doubt for the most obvious reason -- "then under what authority would you purport to make a deal with me?"
They spoke in an even one-two rhythm when they answered, their sentences flowing freely one after the other with supernatural ease.
"Captain doesn't like to deal with these things," said Evelyn.
Will followed: "He sends us to."
"I'm the first officer."
"And I'm the first mate."
"And legal counsel," Evelyn prompted to Will.
Will shrugged, as if his position as legal counsel were hardly worth noting. "Harry's the muscle."
"Yarr," said Harry.
Will reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I have a list from our quartermaster of the items we're looking to sell or trade."
Frasier, who had been lulled into a sort of shocked silence for the duration of this exchange, rose from the bench and joined Eleanor as she opened the letter. It folded out to contract length and was written in small, precise handwriting, carefully categorized, with suggested values for sale and resale. Eleanor scanned the list, swallowed her excitement, and handed the paper to Frasier. "This cargo would have to be verified, but if you are carrying what you say, I think we can do business." Beside her, Frasier stroked his chin in assessment. Whoever these strangers were, despite their strange outfits, when Eleanor and Frasier looked at the newcomers they both saw the same thing: gold.
If they could not have both the treasure of the Urca and colonial legitimacy, they could at least secure for themselves a significant further financial advantage in these last few days of piracy. They would fleece these strangers for as much money as there was to be had.
Disclaimer: There's rather a distinct lack of actual nautical knowledge at work here. Your humble scribe knows only the most basic information about the operation of ships. This is a fun adventure scenario fueled by imagination and thirst for adventure, not a treatise on proper sailing! Most of the people involved are only pretend pirates, after all.
If Jack Rackham had been on shore at the moment of arrival, he would have appreciated the value of such an entrance, but at the exact moment these events were occurring, he was halfway between shore and the Colonial Dawn.
A few minutes earlier, when the strangers' dinghy had entered the water, Jack had been weighing his options trying to decide on the precise best course of action for him and his crew, more than half of whom were still on the beach. The sighting of such a strange ship might present a unique opportunity to head to sea and pursue the Urca de Lima without too many questions asked, but that would require finishing the loading of supplies and possibly calling back a number of the crew earlier than they liked for a reason he was not able to share with them. The men already knew they were soon shipping out, but they valued their last hours spent in the company of Max's girls (once he had thought them his girls but he no longer suffered under that particular delusion) and would be less than happy to give that up, particularly when the arrival of this strange ship had probably sparked a wave of juicy town gossip.
Then, as the dinghy rowed past the Colonial Dawn and Jack observed its strange occupants, he decided that he himself wanted to be apprised of that same town gossip because there was a non-zero chance that the ship in question was in fact here because of some knowledge of the Urca's treasure, and that? That Jack really needed to know. If the rumor had spread to other ships at sea, he intended to be appraised of exactly what the rumor said, how much truth it contained, and how many other captains might have heard some news of it themselves.
Finally, Jack had to admit to himself that he was well and truly curious. Who were these potential pirates, with their beautifully-carved ship, blue sails, fancy clothes, and absolute monster of an oarsman? Despite putting four men to row his own dingy, the strangers touched ashore first by a mile and Jack squinted at them from the water, wishing he hadn't left the spyglass in Featherstone's hand back on board.
When Jack finally reached the shore, the remaining sailors and townsfolk on the beach gave his dinghy at most half a glance, recognized his familiar countenance, and subsequently discarded all thought of him in favor of their own discussion. Hurt as he was by the locals' eager dismissal of his own arrival, Jack dashed towards a huddled group of gossipers. He found them sorting out their description of events, trying to decide the particulars of the visitors. A mere ten minutes in and there already seemed to be a failure of memory.
"He was as big as a horse!"
"He weren't that big, it was mostly that he was broad, and all muscly."
"Like a horse."
"But he weren't tall as a horse!"
"Pardon me, gentlemen," Jack broke in, "but did they say anything in particular? Who they were, where they were from?"
Blank faces. "They's only said that's their boat," said an old man, pointing at the dinghy. "The big man, he pulled it up like it was nothing."
"He weren't half as weird as the other two," said a woman. "With them hats, and the girl bein' dressed the same as the man!"
That piqued Jack's interest. "They had a girl among them?" He thought of Anne and felt a pang of regret.
"Aye, a short one. They gone up the way to Guthrie's."
Curiosity gave way to faint panic. If the strangers did have some designs on the Urca de Lima, that would be a fine place to start. He could only hope that Eleanor Guthrie would deliver the bad news of the treasure's supposed loss in such a profoundly convincing way that the strangers decided the best way to drown their sorrow was knee-deep in sympathetic pussy.
"I think I'll go have a look," said Jack to the crowd, offering an excuse to a group of people who were so thoroughly uninterested in him that no excuse was needed. The bickering over minor details of the stranger's arrival resumed as Jack sauntered away in a carefully-measured, unsuspicious pace. He went just far enough to lose sight of the group before breaking into a run. He had to talk to Max -- and fast.
Disclaimer: There's rather a distinct lack of actual nautical knowledge at work here. Your humble scribe knows only the most basic information about the operation of ships. This is a fun adventure scenario fueled by imagination and thirst for adventure, not a treatise on proper sailing! Most of the people involved are only pretend pirates, after all.
Amid the bustle and clamor of the port of Nassau, there was little that could raise much excitement where the comings and goings of ships were concerned. Most ships in the area were known to the watchful eyes that scanned the horizons for arrivals, and any ships who were not were well advised to make an inauspicious entrance if they wished to conduct trade. There was enough trouble to be had once ashore without raising hackles in the town prior to arrival.
When James Flint sailed into the bay aboard the Spanish Man O' War captured in pursuit of the treasure of the Urca de Lima, so unexpected was its sighting that it drew almost the entirety of the town to the beach to see the mighty Spanish war ship drop anchor. There had not been such a commotion over a ship's arrival since the last attempted incursion by the British Navy some years before.
That ship had been most assiduously announced by its display of the trademark Spanish armada sails: a blood red cross emblazoned upon each of the mainsails. There was no mistaking a Spanish ship. In comparison, ships of other navies and merchant companies were not so easily identified. At large distance their sails were largely nondescript, and only upon closer approach did the flags flown above those sails become discernible. Now that the mess between Captains Flint and Vane had seen itself to a form of temporary conclusion, the people of Nassau had begun to return to their regular lives, inasmuch as they could. A nervous sense lingered over the town, a jittery tension and worry that, at any moment, the peace that had settled over the port might once again break out in disaster. Minds were torn between the hope that the worst of it had ended and the looming fear that this was not the case.
Those fears would endure, no doubt, for as long as the fort lay damaged. In a place overtaken by pirates and prostitutes, the fort provided the closest thing to stability, and Nassau teetered precariously without it.
Even so damaged, the ramparts of the fort provided the best view of the surrounding waters, and the lookouts posted there flicked their attention between the repair efforts and the far horizon, enduring the din of construction below. At first, that same construction had seemed a novelty, offering a more interesting audio experience than the wind and birds that had characterized watch duty in the past. The novelty wore off quickly. The irregular pounding of hammers was of little concern to the builders, who were engrossed by the tasks required of their work, but it soon overwhelmed the patience of anyone with the misfortune to be on watch. Men who had once lamented the sheer boredom of scanning for ships swore never again to forsake the peace and quiet of their former watch shifts.
The fort's status made that same watch all the more critical for the defense of the island. If the dreaded and feared British Navy should arrive…
A speck appeared on the far horizon. It went unnoticed for a long minute after it came into view, and when the current pair of watchmen did see it, it was close enough to make out several facts:
The ship was alone.
The ship was not Spanish.
The ship was also not British, or Dutch, or Portuguese, or French, or of any other familiar origin. In fact, it looked like no ship that had ever been seen at Nassau before.
The first watchman passed the spyglass to his younger companion, not sure if he could trust what his own eyes saw. Only after the boy confirmed that it was, in fact, not some trick of the light or visual impairment did the elder watchman accept his initial assessment.
The ship's sails were blue. From bow to stern, every sail pale blue, a shade darker than the sky. The exact details of its flag were not visible at this distance, but the one other color being flown was unmistakably black. "I'll be damned," said the watchman, and sent the boy down to town to alert those who currently held authority, in the hopes they would know what to make of it.
By the time the ship had pulled into view of the naked eye, a sizable crowd had gathered on the beach, and everyone who owned a spyglass had it in hand. Those ships in the bay who were known quantities in Nassau and in any state of readiness were beginning to stir into action, some with intent to defend their unscrupulous hovel, and others in readiness to run should the approaching vessel prove a threat. Still more ships were scrambling to pull enough crew off the beach to reach a status where they might consider either. Largely, though, the captains and their vessels currently anchored in the bay waited to see what would happen to the intended first responders before doing anything, and quietly suspected this blue-sail ship was all for show and not much else. Surely they would have heard of such a vessel previously if it were of any real notability.
Before any of the bay's resident vessels could truly act upon their instincts, the unknown vessel dropped its sails and came to a drifting rest, far outside the reach of any cannons, and a dinghy detached from the vessel's rear. There was a sense of relief. Whatever this unknown ship's intention, it was not immediately hostile.
The dinghy had gone to water quite a distance from the shore and its incremental progress allowed the curious onlookers ample time to study the parent ship. It was roughly medium-size for a frigate, perhaps a little bit bigger than the average, and curiously made and detailed. The wood was silvery in color, with cobalt blue accents of indeterminate origin (the most common guess being paint -- incorrect, of course). A single line of cobalt-colored gun ports declared the ship to have some degree of battle capability, but the number of ports -- eight -- seemed ridiculously low for a ship of its size, particularly one flying the black. Those with the keenest eyesight, strong spyglasses, or sitting aboard other ships in the bay were additionally able to identify the masthead as a beautifully-carved cobalt horse riding from silvery waves.
The sole remaining bit of cloth blowing in the wind was the ship's flag. Black, with a blue and white ring of waves in the middle and a white sword to one side.
A number of onlookers, taking all of this information into consideration, concluded that this ship was nothing more than a piece of elaborate show with more cargo space than power -- not a pirate, but prey masquerading as one. (The captain of the Colonial Dawn, on the other hand, thought to himself, that ship has style, and appreciated the showmanship behind it with a degree of envy.)
The ship's skiff -- more reasonably bleached wood in color rather than cobalt and silver -- held in it three people. Two were seated towards the rear while the third manned the oars. The largest of the three was the oarsman. He was massive. Clad in blue and white striped shirt and blue bandanna, he performed his job with ease and power, propelling the skiff forward at a fair clip, despite the fact his job would normally have been performed by two or four men. He seemed the size of two men at least, dwarfing both of his companions, even with their ridiculous cavalier hats. The first companion wore a coat and hat of matching purple color and the second (and smallest member of the group by far) was dressed nearly identically, but in blue.
On the beach, Eleanor Guthrie made the decision that, whoever these people were, they must be forced to come to her on her own turf, at the seat of her power -- not here on the beach where they might be so bold as to view her as an equal. Instructions given, she and the other members of the Consortium left the beach, and thus were not present to witness the dinghy's arrival.
The oarsman seemed to grow even bigger as the skiff arrived, and he rowed up onto the sand of the nearshore before jumping out and singlehandedly hauling the skiff and its passengers through the swash. The crowd shuffled back at the full realization of the oarsman's size, save for a few large men who held their ground and then doubted their own wisdom in posturing before such staggered breadth of muscle. The oarsman was as ugly as he was big, his face marked with scars from fighting. Only once the dinghy reached the swash did the two remaining passengers disembark, walking behind the dinghy as the oarsman dragged it onto dry sand. The water never splashed past their ankles.
Their attire was even more outlandish up close, with ornate trim along every garment edge and beautiful ostrich feathers in their hats, but the most surprising revelation had nothing to do with their clothing. The figure clad in blue, with boots and britches miniature replicas of the man in purple's, was in fact a woman of short stature with long brown hair bound in a braid behind her back.
The crowd on the beach viewed the trio with no small degree of confusion. Murmurs of indecision rippled back and forth between them. No words were exchanged between the crowd and the strangers. They considered one another.
An old man with crooked teeth shoved a dark-haired little boy in front of him. "Tell 'em," he croaked brusquely.
"Come with me," said the boy. Miss Guthrie had instructed him to say several more words, but under the circumstances, those three were all the boy could manage.
"Our presence is requested," quipped the woman to the man in purple, who rolled his eyes and smiled. They stepped around the dinghy -- which the oarsman had dragged so far up the sand it was practically on the town street -- and proceeded after their escort with the oarsman.
Someone in the crowd finally found the strength to speak, calling out:
"Aren't you worried leavin' your boat here? With no one watchin'?"
The oarsman turned towards the crowd and cracked his knuckles. "Nah," he said. "It's just a dinghy." With that, the strangers entered town.
The saga begins, I guess. Super non-action stuff in here, sorry. Hope it was worth the hype though.
"Soon" as I've said.
This story will revolve primarily around mock-fictional representations of the Redditulpas community. Namely, the people inside of it. It's being done as both an inside joke and also as a fun activity for myself and for others to (hopefully) be entertained by it.
I apologize for debilitating for so long, and I'm also sorry if this was a bit overhyped. Gotta start somewhere though.
"It's the best of times and the worst of times. Sadly, one of us has to draw the short straw."
Avethos laughed at his own joke as he loaded his revolver. The stagnant air in the damp cement basement made him stop. It seemed to suck all the merriment out of your lungs but Avethos smiled in spite of his surroundings. It made for the perfect makeshift cell.
He closed the revolver and looked down the sights. He'd had this gun for ages and it was almost as old as he was. More importantly, it had claimed every life Avethos had taken. And now, it would claim another.
He pointed the gun at the corner. Behind him was the door to the stairs out of the dungeon. The cement room had no windows, the only light came from a light bulb on the ceiling. This room had held everything from petty thieves who had entered the wrong house to mob bosses who had stepped on too many toes. And the corner was a sad looking woman, slumped over. The only thing keeping her face from eating concrete was her wrists which had been shackled to the walls either side of her. Her arms formed an uncomfortable V. Had she been standing, she would have been the shape of Christ. But there was nothing Christ-like about this hell of a cement grave.
Avethos walked up to the woman.
"So, how are we gonna do this. You can either stay the hell away from my territory, or. . . "
He paused, as if to mull over this train of thought. Then he had one hand holding her chin up, the other hand pressing the gun to her temple, his face nose to nose with hers.
"Or you become another stain on the wall and I go after everyone in your operation and everyone you love. Is that what you want, doll face? You want them all to die?"
Haley, her expression full of rage, her hair a tangled mess, her clothes dirty and torn, spat in his face.
Avethos reeled back and wiped his face with his hand, revealing a face of rage. He spun the revolver around and held it from the barrel. He pulled his hand back and brought the butt of the gun across her jaw. He body swung slightly from the impact but she remained silent.
"You bitch!"
He brought his face above her head and screamed.
"I'm gonna make you pay for that, you little whore!"
At that moment, she sprung up and smashed her head into his chin, sending him backwards, landing on his back. He waited a beat and stood. He composed himself and walked to the door. He open the door, washing the room in light and spoke, venom dripping from every word.
"Maybe I'll just let you rot."
He aimed his gun at the light bulb and fired, sending glass and cement fragments to rain down on the room. He turned and closed the door behind him, encasing the room with darkness.
In the pitch black darkness, Haley smiled. Her hand bent over her shackles and pulled out a slim bobby pin from her sleeve and slipped it into the lock on the shackle on her wrist. She let out a short, quiet laugh.
And set to work.
Participation will be done completely in the comment section. I will post each story post as they are finished, and to choose an option, simply leave a comment reply with your choice underneath the story post.
When the majority has voted, I wil post the next story decision in reply to the relevant story post or oldest comment if I otherwise can't
There will be time intervals between each post so people can all get a fair shot of voting.
If you have comments, questions, concerns, suggestions, feel free to a coment in the thread that isn't replying to the story post in question.
We will begin shortly.
This post will be here to lay down some ground rules and a bit of extra information surrounding the game itself.
We'll begin tomorrow, Friday, at around 2 PM EST.
Some game rules and features:
-Waterfall's tulpa Skye shall be the protagonist.
-I'll be posting as frequently as I can. Each post will have a small interval of time for everyone to vote on the next story decision which will be presented at the end of each post. Majority will decide the final decision.
-Majority will rule in all things.
-If I have to take a break from posting, I'll say so, but voting will not close until the next post.
-At any time any user can "Save" the game. Saving will put a mark on the story post that was saved on. If the majority votes to Reload, we will rewind to the relevant saved post. To save, simply put the word "Save" at the end of your post.
-You will only be allowed two saves at any given time, despite that anyone can save. If someone saves while two saves are already in place, the oldest save will be overwritten by the new save. Save wisely, and don't be a douche.
-Reloads can be done at any time, but will need at least a few votes in order to enact. Again, majority rules.
-Don't mention t7cb's rats.
-Different parts of the story will have new threads.
-Feel free to boop your fellow man.
-Also feel free to suggest stuff for the next post if you'd like to. Loiter in the post section all you want as long as you make a decision first.
And that's about it. Be there or be square. (I sure hope I can keep up. :u)
What we'll do is a "choose your own adventure" style of story, or Visual Novel, or RPG, or whatever have you. Things will probably get whacky, stupid, violent, gorey, psychotic, happy, kawaii, desu~, uguu~, and overall wonderful.
The first thing I'd like to do however is pick a protagonist, which, is going to be of your Tulpas. Now I'm just going to say off the bat that I would probably have an easier time writing if I knew your Tulpa a bit better.
That doesn't mean that you have less of a chance of getting picked though, it just means that the quality will probably be a bit poorer if you don't know your personality or the like. So just be warned. :P
With that out of the way, if you'd like to be picked to be apart of our first adventure, go ahead and sign up below. I'll wait for a couple of days for everyone to get situated and then pick someone at random. And then the fun-times shall begin. Or something.
So, go ahead and let me know if you'd like to be apart of this if you're interested.
As hosted by Drumi.


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Parents who want to both hear and see their baby will naturally opt for a video monitor. Video monitors are particularly great for those with older babies learning to stand in their cribs or toddlers transitioning to a bed who'd much rather play than sleep. They're also a good pick for parents who need to keep tabs on more than one child, as many video monitors will allow the parent unit to toggle between multiple cameras.
The baby monitor market is really exploding with new high-quality options that use a wifi camera connected to an app on your smart phone. The Nanit smart baby monitor is a new addition to this market, and we're really excited about it! We got our hands on this baby monitor for testing in mid-2018. Out of the box, the system is really well designed and made with high-quality components. The camera itself looks sleek and modern, similar to the Lollipop baby monitor. Like the other wifi baby monitors on this list, the Nanit streams high definition (HD) digital video and digital audio right to an app on your phone, and the app is available for Android and Apple devices, including phones and tablets. It does this by connecting to your home's wifi and streaming video right through your existing router. In our testing, we found that if you're at home the video streaming is very fast (low latency) and high clarity. And if your internet goes down, it will still work as long as you're still connected to your home wifi. On a 4G LTE connection, the video is a bit choppy from time to time but we found that a common theme with any wifi-based camera system. Let's first talk about some of the features. First, there is an awesome digital zoom feature right from your app - you pinch the screen just like with anything else and get a clearer view of your baby. Second, it has temperature and humidity sensors so you can keep track of nursery conditions. We compared the temperature and humidity readings to our hygrometer and it was very accurate. Third, we loved the wall-mount because it gives you a really nice overhead vantage point on your baby, unlike some of the standing cameras that sit on a nearby surface - this has a much better view. Note that if you want to mount it on a nearby surface like a dresser or changing table, you can buy a separate Nanit table mount. Fourth, it includes the wall mounting hardware and the cord hiding strips to keep the wires out of baby's view and reach. Fifth, the camera quality was excellent in both day and night vision conditions. Finally, there are some other nifty features, like the ability to receive alerts for sound or motion, to have audio running in the background of your phone (which is great for nighttime), a nightlight that you can control right from the app, and encrypted communication. So that's all excellent, and when you combine it with the monthly subscription ($10/month) for Nanit Insights, it's a great package that not only monitors but also can track your baby's sleep habits (including videos). A 1-month trial is included for this service so you can check it out and see if you want to consider - we suspect that most parents will be content with just the real-time monitoring without any habit tracking. In our testing, everything worked really well, and we were consistently impressed by the streaming video and sensors. The biggest drawback for this monitor is the price - it's about $250, which is up at the top of the price range for this entire list. We'll let you figure out whether it's worth the cost for your specific needs. Update: we have now been using this Nanit baby monitor for just over 3 months, and we continue to be very happy with it, it seems to be not only high quality but also reliable (so far!). Interested? you can check out the Nanit Baby Monitor here!
Security is one reason Stanislav personally uses an RF monitor (like our pick) with his own daughter. He added that even that is not completely secure—"there are absolutely ways to break into a signal with radio frequency," he said. But, noting that you have to be physically close to the house, and have the motive and ability to do it, he says it's "a very small risk to your average parent." In addition to the actual risks of a Wi-Fi monitor, there's a perception that they're vulnerable—this suspicious tone comes up often in many conversations with parents about monitors, with statements like "we've all heard the horror stories"2 coloring the whole discussion and suggesting, to us, that most people are really put off by the vulnerability.
With a 1,000-foot range and DECT technology, the VTech Safe & Sound Digital Audio relays sound with excellent clarity. Two-way communication offers a way to calm a baby when he or she is waking up or trying to fall asleep. It also includes a night light for late-night feedings. The digital display indicates signal strength and power/battery life. This monitor offers a full range of alarms when your baby wakes — audio, indicator lights, and vibration.
Wi-fi baby monitors are the latest innovation in high-tech baby gear, and they're super convenient. A baby monitor with wi-fi allows you to connect anywhere that has Internet service or Bluetooth capability, and the monitor can often be controlled remotely using a smartphone or computer. This functionality makes the wi-fi baby monitor great for travelling (unless you're heading to a remote location). Safety tip: No matter what connection you use, be sure that it's a secure connection in order to prevent your monitor from being hacked.
The most important thing to look for in all kinds of baby monitors is audio quality. Regardless of whether you want a video-based baby monitor or not, you need clear audio so you can hear your baby properly. You'll also want one with sound activation so that you don't have to listen to white noise 90% of the time. With sound activation, you'll only hear the noises from your baby's room when there's something important to hear.
Another Summer Infant baby monitor option, not quite as great as most others on this list, but definitely a trusted and reliable model and one of the best baby monitors available on the market this year. In our testing, one of the first things we noticed about this baby monitor was the sleek mobile-phone-size touch-screen reminiscent of the older iPhones. What's nice about this form factor is that it slips easily into your pocket like a mobile phone. Many of the others need to be clipped to your belt or waist, as they are quite a bit too thick or large for the pocket. The actual video display is modestly sized, coming in at 3.5" diagonal viewing area. This is the same size as the Infant Optics model. And it has some great features. It has remote pan (side-to-side adjust), tilt (up/down adjust), and zooming capability. Two-way audio communication so you can hear baby, and talk back to baby (maybe sing a lullaby, or whisper something to help soothe your baby). The system is also expandable to up to 4 cameras. Each additional camera is about $99, and you can place them in various locations around the home and toggle between them with the video unit. In our tests, the battery lasted about 4-5 hours when off the charger (and being used), and charged back to full capacity in only a couple hours. We didn't think the picture quality was as good as most other options on this list, nor was the sound. We also hooked it up to multiple cameras and used the "scan" feature which rotated through the various cameras once every 8 seconds. In our opinion, it took a bit too long to switch to a particular camera. It was also pretty loud when we remotely adjusted the pan/tilt of the camera. Also, it's worth noting that the pan feature doesn't seem to work when it's zoomed in. So overall, you're getting a good form factor, a reliable camera, but not the best image quality. For about $150, we think you could do better with one of our higher-rated options!
Baby monitors are just one way to keep track of your little one. For newborns, the Snoo Smart Sleeper is a bed that gently rocks your baby for better sleep, and connects to an app on your phone that lets you receive alerts when your little one needs attention. The Owlet Smart Sock 2, meanwhile, is a connected pulse oximeter that allows you to check on your baby's vitals any time through an app, and will notify you automatically if there's a problem. The Sproutling from Fisher Price is a motion and heart rate sensor that straps to the back of your baby's calf and collects data while he or she sleeps.
We wanted to recommend a less expensive video monitor, but at any price notably lower than our pick, every product we tried had such serious problems—usually, poor video quality and ongoing connection issues—that we feel a higher end audio-only monitor offers a much better value for a limited budget. The VTech DM221 audio monitor is the best choice in the category—it's consistently a best seller at multiple retailers, with strong reviews (four out five stars over 4,703 reviews on Amazon) and similarly high ratings at Walmart, Target, and BuyBuy Baby.
A big screen, a camera that zooms and a built-in nightlight make the In View monitor a great pick when you're on a budget. The monitor also offers all the standard features: low-battery and out-of-range indicators, sound-activated lights and rechargeable batteries for the handheld monitor. Use the camera as a tabletop or mounted on the wall. And if you plan on having a big family, the monitor works with up to four cameras.

subset: commoncrawl


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- Marca Huan Monitor
* Este producto viene desde Estados Unidos
Huan Monitor 3.2 Inch LCD Video Baby Monitori¼¿Wireless Security Infant Monitori¼¿Night Visioni¼¿Voice Activationi¼¿Temperature Time Showingi¼¿with Music and 2 Way Talk talkback system
* LARGE LCD DISPLAY: High contrast 3.2inch digital monitor
* TWO WAY TALKING_Two way audio between the camera and monitor so you can talk to your baby via the talk back system.With 8 built-in lullabies to help you comfort baby and enable them to fall asleep.Keep an eye on baby all night long with the automatic night vision feature
* TEMPERATURE MONITORING:Let you know the temperature of baby room.
* LONG BATTERY LIFE:Up to 20 hours of battery life means there's no need to charge the battery for the monitor during the night (when in Vox mode)
* IR NIGHT VISION & LULLABIES: The automatic IR night vision (effective range:5m) let you keep an eye on you baby without any worries day and night. Lullabies can comfort baby and enable them to fall asleep.
* Remember to read our specifications; Thank you very much for the interest in our product, We hope you have an excellent day - Group Imppera.
* PRODUCT WEIGHT: 0.95 lb
* PRODUCT HEIGHT: 7.11 in
* PRODUCT LENGTH: 18.54 in
* PRODUCT WIDTH: 1 in
1. DELIVERY TIME: Being an international shipment, your product will be subject to a customs inspection in the country of destination, which could cause your product does not arrive on the date given by the platform.
2. COST SENT & CUSTOMS TAXES - Rates vary according to the country of destination: (For Mexico) Our company will be responsible for shipping costs if your product does not weigh more than 8kg, In case your product exceeds this figure (8kg) The carrier company where the shipment will be made in this case DHL will charge you for value, for the additional weight that your product has; The nationalization costs I have customs taxes; They are fully assumed by our company. (For Brazil) These values ¿¿will be calculated by Mercado Libre at the time you decide to make the purchase; the costs vary according to the destination city.
3. REGISTERED DATA, SHIPPING ADDRESS AND PURCHASE INVOICE: (If the information in your Free Market profile is not correct, verify this information before making the purchase; According to the Free Market policies, we can not make changes in the information (Keep in mind that the data that was recorded, are those that will be reflected in the invoice).
4. WARRANTY: The warranty only covers manufacturing defects; If your item has a defect, it must be informed within 5 days after receipt of your product (If you do not report within this time, the warranty will not be effective).
5. NO CHANGES: If you want to buy a specific size or color different from the one you see published, check by means of the questions if we have availability; Once the purchase is made, send us a confirmation message; informing us the desired specifications; in case the size you ordered does not fit properly; Please note that, as an international seller, we can not make changes.
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Monitor P/bebés Huan, Pantalla De 3.2 In, Activado Por Voz
Información sobre el vendedor
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Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:46:21 AM by Barbara Adnet. Patio. Take your time to choose your flagstone pavers. A lot of garden centres and builders yards will have them on display for you to view. Choose something that will compliment your existing style and features. You don't want to spend a lot of money on the 'in thing' only to discover it has gone out of fashion in a few years time!
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:46:04 AM. Patio By Annick Regnard. When the warm summer months are coming to a close and you start to see the leaves turn and drift to the ground, it is time to start preparing your patio furniture for winter storage. While it is always difficult to close up that umbrella and acknowledge that it is your last dinner on the patio for the season, a little planning can make sure you will be able to enjoy your patio furniture set for many years to come.
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:46:00 AM. Patio By Gaston Lemaigre. The patio needs to be large enough to accommodate the correct size of table with room for chairs to be pulled out and for people to move around easily when others are seated. A guide is to allow 1m width for the table, 500mm width on either side of the table for each chair when not pushed under the table, 300mm between chairs down the side of the table, and 700mm width to pull each chair out and sit down comfortably.
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:45:57 AM. Patio By Gaston Lemaigre. Another very important point of consideration in any patio design is where to place your patio. Patios really can go anywhere in the garden and more and more people are moving away from the traditional positioning of a patio, which is usually adjoining your house. Consider sunlight. Will the position you have chosen for your patio get the sun? Does that position get a breeze compared to other parts of your garden? Will you have to cross wet grass to get to your patio? Will your patio position be overlooked by your neighbours? Finally, how far is your patio from the kitchen if you intend to carry food and drinks to it? Make sure all these points are considered before choosing a location.
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:45:53 AM. Patio By Annick Regnard. Stay up to date with the latest styles and designs so that your patio does not grow out of style. Check out the various magazines or online photos of various patios and see which one you like best. Don't be afraid to experiment! Remember it is your patio and you might as well make it the way you like so you can truly enjoy it
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:45:49 AM. Patio By Annick Regnard. Patio designs incorporating built-in seating with pergolas and outdoor fireplaces look very chic and transform the patio into an outdoor room. It is also a great way to make use of all available space in a very small garden. This solution is convenient if you don't want to shuffle around with garden furniture. However, the position of the seating is fixed and restricts how you can use the patio. The space is less flexible as seating cannot be varied to turn a dining area into a lounging area.
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:45:44 AM. Patio By Barbara Adnet. Growing plants: there are many of us who find ourselves with homes that have no gardens, but who still endeavor to grow some domestic plants. And whilst there are some indoors plants that can be grown, these don't tend to provide the 'image' we yearn for: which in most cases can only be provided by outdoors plants, grown with natural light and integrated to the natural surroundings. In the absence of a garden, the patio would be the ideal place to grow such plants. A patio tends to be semi-enclosed, meaning that the plants will get natural light and be growing in a natural setting (save for the fact that they may have to be potted). And the most beautiful thing here is the fact that using the patio to grow such plants wouldn't make it unsuitable for other purposes. If anything, it is one of the things you may need to do, in rehabilitating it to make it suitable for other purposes such as relaxing.
Published at Sunday, July 01st 2018, 05:29:46 AM. Patio By Annick Regnard. Iron patio furniture makes a patio look great. Iron patio furniture is the best type of patio furniture because it is very durable and lasts for a very long time. It is also very affordable as well as very sturdy. A person has quite a few options when it comes to wrought iron patio furniture.
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A 95-year-old man has broken world record for the over-95s 200m at the British Masters Championships.
He completed the record breaking lap in 55.48 seconds before taking a well-earned nap.
Dr Charles Eugster took up competitive running only last year and has already broken five records.
In the past he has already won 40 gold medals in Rowing and joined a body building club at 87.
Watch Martin's report find out more.