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| Dinner; and other things too | |
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| Topic Started: 5 Apr 2007, 03:01 AM (191 Views) | |
| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:01 AM Post #1 |
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Samuel. His three Dutch sailors were quick-learners. They had been slow at it, at first, but before long they'd figured out what he was trying to teach them. It was difficult at times to keep his patience, for the Dutchmen were struggling to learn and speak English even as he was showing them the broader points of seamanship. There was, he realised, almost too much for them to learn at once, and that helped temper his impatience. As the afternoon waned, he allowed the Dutchmen to pursue their own leisure, pleased at how hard they had worked over the course of the day. They would turn out to be fine sailors, he was sure. He watched them idle about the foc's'le, their favourite gathering place, chattering quietly in their funny language. As long as they stayed out of the way of the rest of the crew, they'd do fine. Samuel lounged against the larboard rail, a plug of tobacco firmly lodged in his cheek. He was enjoying the fading warmth of the sun and thinking on what might await him ashore, once he was given his liberty. Rum and a visit to the nearest pleasure-house, same as all his past liberties. A sailor had to tend his needs, after all. One of the older crew appeared on deck, bawling out "Hands below fer dinner, make it sharpish now, move it!" The Scotsman glanced toward the foc's'le, lifting a hand to summon his Dutch sailors. It was hard to get used to not hearing the shrill notes of the boatswain's pipe constantly, regulating the day and activities of the ship's Company. It was an adjustment he was finding difficult to make, but he'd manage. He usually did. "C'mon, me lads, smells like there's a proper feast on fer us!" Samuel called out, taking care to spit out his tobacco over the side before venturing below. The three Dutchmen followed him eagerly, drawn by their own rumbling stomachs. A long table was set out, as Samuel discovered when he reached the middle gun deck, one that was already filling up with sailors. He'd have to claim four chairs for himself and his Dutchmen, and quickly. Beckoning the Dutchmen along, he found a suitable place along the larboard side of the table and had his three companions seated in short order. As long as he kept them close nearby, he could stave off any trouble that the rest of the crew might give them. |
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| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:03 AM Post #2 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Master Pwnage. The table was nearly full as the last stragglers hustled to the open seats. The atmosphere was rowdy and up beat. The crew loved time at the long table almost as much as women, almost. The cooks began hauling out huge pans filled with steaming hot fish, rat, and chicken meat, rising bread for once instead of hard tack, and lastly fruit, lots of fruit, Dante had traded a load of gold to get his hands on all of it. It was a delicacy seeing it rots fast on board, luckily this batch had yet to do so. Kemal stomped down the staircase carrying a drunkard who had passed out in his hammock. Tossing him in a seat next to on of the Dutchmen. “Make sure he doon die” Kemal said causally and moved to his seat near the head of the table. The food was all set out and the cooks had even taken a seat. Grumbling from the sailors stomaches could be heard. The crew shifted about anxiously, no one ate before Dante sat down, not out of order, just simple respect, he go the food for them, rather simple. All eyes began to drift towards Kemal who finally, visibly frustrated, got up and went to fetch the now late Captain. Now all they had to do was wait, and watch the steam float off the meat. One of the sailors across from Samuel noticed the new dutch sailors starting to get food. This wasn't good, if others noticed before Dante showed up, fights would start. Not because they're dutch, but it was a custom it's been like that for years. “psst! Brit, make em stop!” nudging his head toward the dutch, most of the crew had returned to idle talk and hadn't payed any attention to the foremost part of the table. Dante wasn't there, so no one care. “We doesn't eat yet, no'il the cap'n shows up.” |
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| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:03 AM Post #3 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Samuel. “Psst! Brit, make em stop! We doesn't eat yet, no'il the cap'n shows up.” Brit? Samuel bristled at the name but thought better of responding sourly to it. He was of no mind to fight off the entire crew for striking only one. Shrugging at the sailor's hissed command, he gave the nearest Dutchman a prod with his elbow. "Stan' off, mate, no sense gettin' on these lads' bad side, eh?" The young Dutchman nodded and rattled off some comment or other in his native tongue, whereupon his two companions immediately set down the biscuits they had been about to eat. Satisified, Samuel leaned back in his chair and looked around at the assembled crew. They were a rough lot, entirely untrustworthy to his eye as well. He'd not sleep easy any night he was aboard, he was sure. Perhaps it was just as well that he planned to hop ship from here as soon as he could. Taking his three Dutch sailors with him, of course. He'd taken responsiblity for the lads and it was only right that he take them along when he went ashore to find another merchant ship in need of handy sailors. For now, though, his mind was more concerned with an evening at liberty, and the soothing of his needs. Being that they were in a Dutch port, his three underlings were likely to find their way about far better than he, but why not let them? They were men too and deserving of time to themselves. |
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| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:04 AM Post #4 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Kisha Boswell. ((I went ahead and jumped in. Hope you two don't mind.)) "It's time to eat" As expected Kemal had fetched his captain when they were ready for him. Kisha knew she was an unwanted tagalong in the eyes of Kemal but even so she didn't let it get to her. His dislike and distrust of Kisha made it fair for her to dislike him as well. Kisha wagered that they'd be playing this game for a long while and she was more than on her toes. She followed Dante to the hall, one bare foot in front of the other and the bells strung along her ankle jingling softly with each step. The beams of the low cieling were less of a concern for the petite Kisha, who was easily dwarfed by most of the crew. She wasn't abnormally short, but it was fair to say she wasn't particularly tall either. Her eyes, dark and large, scanned the crew as she made her way through. She had a manner that made it seem as though she looked at everyone, and yet at absolutely no one. She was sleep like save for those eyes. They had a spark to them as wild as her hair. Still, Kisha was behaving passively- although that is not to be confused with being meek. Not a word or sound slipped past her lips and she sat where Dante motioned for her to. Once seated her hands fell to her lap, folded neatly on her skirt and her eyes fluttered toward Dante. She offered him a smile in thanks and to show that she wasn't afraid. She hadn't been with all of the crew at once before but she also knew the sway Dante had on them. Kisha had no expectations of trouble from the crew... except perhaps from the newcomers. Kisha's eyes fell on them easily. She had a good memory for faces and she knew which ones it was she should be troubled by- Samuel and his 'friends'. Even so Kisha left her smile where it had sprouted. For all they knew Kisha had always been there. Likely they were too busy with trying to learn their place on this ship to exchange much chatter about the captain's strange guest. Or at least that's what she hoped. Be that the case or not it would be shortlived and Kisha was fully aware of that. Now that they'd seen her they would most assuredly ask someone later. Well she hoped they'd ask later. A scene now was the last thing she wanted. Kisha sat and waited now just as everyone else. She didn't know what to expect honestly. Kisha wasn't warry of sailors, hell she spent a great deal of time with them in a more... professional setting.... Their ways were not strange to her but she was still a stranger here. She was on sacred ground, as it were, and staying there would be a delicate balance. At the moment, however, her biggest concern was Dante. She was safe so long as he wasn't questioned, but her presence could jeopardize that. She wasn't really scared though. Akward was the only word that could fully describe how Kisha felt now, but she would not show it. |
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| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:04 AM Post #5 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Master Pwnage. Kisha had taken her seat, as graceful as can be in Dante's eyes. Quickly standing in front of his. The crew, simultaneously following suite. Bowing his head the crew mimicked, making the sign of the cross “nel nome del figlio, di padre, un santo spirito...Ahem.” Dante sat first. Turning to Kisha quickly letting a small smile flash across his face. He was happy, and rightfully so. He had made a successful voyage – nearly – port was to be reached by sunrise. He had a beautiful girl by his side, maybe not to the extent he'd like, but he was not one to be greedy, he would live either way. The crew began to take their seats each one muttered a quick pray before lashing out at the bowls, and platters that lined the length of the table, the crew was hungry, the senior and elderly crew tended to sit more towards the head of the table, near Dante. Slightly more tame they offered Dante the food platters first. Accepting the platters and bowls as they rotated around his area of the table, filling Kisha's plate then his. The food was hot, and fresh. Save the fruit the rest was mostly bland, something the crew care little about. Dante began to worry, he wasn't aware of what Kisha liked or disliked, but seeing her plate was a heaping pile of food he reassured himself that she'd like something. Besides what ever she didn't eat...he would. Dante noticed Kisha's hand resting on her lap, out of site due to the table. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, nor draw any attention. Quickly resting his hand on top of hers for a moment he leaned over and whispered to her. “Just wanted to thank you for staying.” In an effort to make the movement look like a shuffle in his seat, Dante turned to Samuel who was seated a few bodies down the table, flanked by his Dutchmen. Quiet literally Dante saw them as Samuel's people. “How you like the food Mr. MacFarlane?” Dante smiled, knowing full well the food was most likely the best any man aboard had eating in months. “Hows about your friends ther? Hopin they like it too.” All the time Dante kept his hand on Kisha's, very much hoping she wouldn't object to the gesture. Then again he wouldn't want her lying, and pretending to not mind it just to please him. He felt like a child, hiding candy from his parents, right under their noses. He knew the crew couldn't see his hand, it was safely hidden under the table, but still he felt as if the whole crew was staring at it – clearly they weren't seeing most of them had their faces slammed into their plates trying to inhale as much food as they could. |
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| Brendan | 5 Apr 2007, 03:05 AM Post #6 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Originally posted by Samuel. “nel nome del figlio, di padre, un santo spirito...Ahem.” He'd never been the religious sort, but he decided it was wise to play along with the rest of the crew, so he mumbled along in whatever language that was. There was a scrape of chairs over the deck as the men resumed their seats, following the lead of their captain. Samuel suppressed a snort as he sat, eyeing the bowls and platters as they began circulationg around the table. Whatever was being served sure smelled good, and his ever-empty stomach gave a rumble. It was difficult to keep from dumping the entire contents of the first bowl to reach his hands onto his plate, but he managed it. A tankard of what he assumed to be rum appeared from seemingly nowhere in front of him and he turned his gaze sideways in time to catch the sly wink of the Dutchman sitting on his left. "Good lad," the topman said, lifting the vessel in a toast. He would have to take those lads with him when he left, without a doubt. They were turning out to be a decent lot. “How you like the food Mr. MacFarlane?Hows about your friends ther? Hopin they like it too.” Mister MacFarlane was it, now? That was a switch! Most times, the word "ruffian" or some other equally disparaging word came before his name. Mister was a term reserved for warrant officers, like that insufferable bastard Matheson. Samuel looked down the table toward the captain and offered a shrug, his default action to almost every question. "S'all right, better'n half a year old biscuit an' salt-pork." One of the Dutch sailors, the quickest learner of the three, nodded vigorously in agreement, saying "Is good!" around a mouthful. Samuel winced at the comment, but said nothing. His attention was more absorbed with the presence of a woman at the captain's side. It was bad luck for any female to be aboard a sailing ship, unless it was for satisfying a sailor's need for pleasure. That was probably the reason for her being aboard, the captain's private companion. Lucky blackguard. He hadn't overlooked the slight movement of the captain leaning toward the lass, nor had he missed the quick twitch of the man's lips as he whispered something to her. Truth be told, he didn't entirely trust the captain any more than he trusted the rest of the crew. The lot of them were disreputable scoundrels and he couldn't wait to cut himself free from them. As soon as he was ashore with his Dutch sailors, he told himself. Not a minute sooner, or else he might put all their necks at risk. As reckless as he could be, he didn't always act without thinking. Samuel considered his options upon reaching land, as he made short work of the pile of food on his plate. Sneaking off the ship should be easy enough, if things came to that. He'd managed the feat more than once before. The only difficulty would be avoiding the Siren's crew, for they had been bound for the same port as this ship. Samuel cast a surreptitious glance at the captain, who was apparently absorbed with the woman seated next to him. He didn't seem to be the careful type. Giving him the slip would be easy enough, the Scotsman decided. |
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