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Arrival; English Navy, later open
Topic Started: Mar 4 2011, 03:59 PM (1,457 Views)
Miles Rowan Crawford
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[align=center]Date: 1th of May 1719
Place: Ile de la Gonave
[/align]

HMS Rose arrived to the island at dawn, and after making a circle and looking if the area was really abandoned, they sailed into the bay the captain knew well and anchored there, close to the coast.

Miles sent a squad to investigate the island before they'd make a camp, and right now, he was standing on the quarterdeck. They were first. Well, of course, Le Phénix might be a bit late due to her repairs.

They could begin to work on the camouflage after breakfast. They brought mosot of the necessary materials, and what the mised they could get on the island - there was a lot of wood.
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Mortimer Quinn
Unregistered

Traveling all day, looking at the horizon, following the routine, to adjust the sails to the capricious changes of the wind and then to complete stop, created almost a chaos on board, or, at least, this seemed to Mortimer.

His mind was exaggerating it because the ship had a well-trained crew.

"Hands on deck!"
He checked on the forecastle if the anchor was well fixed, called for some sailors to store a jib which was still half hanging and approached Mr. Winston by the bayboats, just in the moment when those touched water.

"Slow! I make you responsible of them. You have to treat them like ladies!" he smiled.

Something brushed his leg, he looked down and his heart missed a beat.

"Ah!"
Stumbling almost on a bad rolled rope he looked horrified to the little cat.

"Someone takes this thing away from here! It's not its place!" He walked away, a bit ashamed to have screamed almost like a woman and all because of a feline, when he stepped into Sinclair.

Wonderful, sure he had seen me too.
"Have you the list of the next watch?"
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Marina Costa
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Governess, Kingston
Civilian Admin
Marina was at her place on the topgallant yard, as they had received the order to take out the sails. Later the yards and the masts would go down too, in order to be replaced with others of different dimensions.

She liked the moment when she could see, from that height, both the sea and the land. Instead of church towers, this time there were palm forests there… Ile de la Gonave was an uninhabited island, as far as she had learnt from Mr. Quinn.

Being up there, in the rigging, had always given her a feeling of freedom, as if she was one of the seagulls around… Only that if she was a seagull, she would have flown towards other seas… the ones having witnessed her birth, and her family’s! One was feeling free on the sea... but still not as much on a British Navy vessel as on "Colomba" of her childhood...

But an annoyed scream turned her attention to the deck:

"Someone takes this thing away from here! It's not its place!" the first lieutenant had said, and Ned, who had obeyed the order „All hands on deck!” hurried to take Midori from there.

How had the little rascal got to the main deck? Marina couldn’t understand this, even if in those two weeks the kitten had grown with about two inches, becoming more daring and curious to explore everything. Anyway, she was grateful to Ned for taking care of her…
[align=center]Posted Image
[size0]Quoted theme song || Biography|| Plot Page[/align]
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Gareth Sinclair
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Gareth had been expecting the island to be more... well... exciting. It was a little disappointing to see nothing but palms and sand on that island where they desteny should change - hopefully.
Until now he had been bored to tears in the caribbean seas, that had been said to be so exciting.
The most exciting thing he had experienced happened... right now, when after a squeak of fear, the first lieutenant fled into one direction, a tri-coloured small kitten into the other one, tail all bristled in fear, until the cabin boy caught the small creature and presed it protectively to his chest.
It was extremely hard for Gareth not to chuckle, but then, Mr Quinn was, at least nominally, his superior. And so he reported dutifully, when he was asked that, yes, he had the list of the next watch and that all men were well and ready for service.
"And did you notice, that in the lat time, we had a problem with the damn rats?"
he added conversationally.
"Ask the quartermaster, they are ruining more and more of our victuals...."
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Mortimer Quinn
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Sinclair knew at least how to behave before a superior though, at the moment, he didn't felt like one at all.

"And did you notice, that in the lat time, we had a problem with the damn rats?"
...or maybe not, was he mocking him? He had to show who was the first lieutenant after all. Putting himself tense he stared at Sinclair with a First Lieutenant glance.

"Ask the quartermaster, they are ruining more and more of our victuals...."

He didn't need to ask, the problem was general and well known on all ships. To hold the rats under control was a duty of the crew and those sleepy hair balls called cats.

"Maybe there is a conspiracy between cats and rats, you could find a solution, like keep the cats where they belong, hungry, and chase what they have to chase."

He observed the cabin boy, who disappeared under deck with the kitty in his arms. "I'm sure there are more efficient animals for this type of work." he whispered more for himself than for the lieutenant.

A pity that rats can't see ghosts. By cats I'm not sure.

"Or we can use them as training: 'how to throw living beings over board...'" he didn't specified if with living beings he meant rats, cats or the crew in general. "Or, if we get really bored, sign the rats as pirate and start to treat them like them." he made a little pause where he gifted Sinclair a rogue smile. "Be imaginative... Let me know the results of your imagination. Next week I wish to see a recapitulation of rats population on this ship and I hope they had not time to increase in number in the meantime."

His look wandered briefly to the captain, approving his presence on the quarterdeck. Seems we have all under control, except animals.
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NPC

Civilian
[align=center] Posted Image
GRIGORIY MESHCHERYAKOV[/align]


Grigory Meshcheryakov had been forced into the navy and was only now getting really used to the strict discipline and mentality that was required of a navy man. Back when he had been sailing on a merchant ship he had been more friendly with his fellow sailing mates and that camaraderie had been necessary to overcome the fear that always lay over the merchants on these waters like a thick blanket. The change in ship had not only meant he had to get used to being part of the armed forces of a foreign country to him. He also had to build up new friendships and all that. So far he had been on good terms with the ship boy Martin. But he was a foreigner with a strange name to most people on board. Thank god no one knew he was a Jew.
Grigory was helping some other sailors prepare the anchor to be lowered. The first lieutenant had been walking around the deck correcting the sailors before he had suddenly given a girlish scream because a small cat had brushed its tail across his leg. Grigory couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself as he muttered:
How typical… No wonder they need capable men in the Navy” He commented to himself in Russian as he continued his work.


[align=center]This post has been written by MASCHA[/align]
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Gareth Sinclair
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Gareth couldn't help but grinned.
"A conspiracy? A bit far fetched, but not completely impossible."
he replied eloquently and listened with amusement to Quinns suggestions how to put the cats and/or rats to some better use. It was visible that he didn't like cats. Well, not that this was a real problem, but obviously, the first lieuteant was a bit skittish by now.
When he demanded an idea from Gareth, how to get the rat problem under control, a well-known sisyphus task on every vessel, the secod lieutenat laughed and shook his head.
"My suggestion? Give the rats boatswains. Every single rat who would get assigned to somebody like Prescott would be off the ship before you could say "cat"!!"
Snorting in disdain, Gareth wrinkled his nose.
"T'is a shame if you ask me..."
he grumbled, straightening up a bit, so he could look over the first lieutenant and shoot a black look towards the area of the main deck where Prescott was shouting at his men.
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Mortimer Quinn
Unregistered

He followed Sinclair's glare. Prescott had a bad reputation but even men like him were needed sometimes, or that is what the Navy says.

"Did you reported it into the log?" it wouldn't help much and still, the procedure must be followed.

"We will take care that he doesn't overuse his favourtite pastime."

As the Rose was anchored and in its best shape, Mortimer was eager to meet Le Phénix and Fate's Hand.

"Said between us, I wish I could send him as gift to our 'friends' on Le Phénix." his sympathy for frenchmen was near the one he felt for Prescott. Then, not forgetting his work he shouted to McMillan, who was an experienced sailor and not far away from the problem.
"McMillan, check the flemish horse on the mizzen topsail yard." it was not necessary to tell him to be careful.
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Gareth Sinclair
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Gareth wrinkled his nose once more.
"What could I have reported?"
he asked back scornfully.
"March 15th, Prescott is a bastard. March, 16th, Prescott is still a bastard. March 17th..."
He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair, tousled by the wind.
"It is enough to know that he is and to take everything he says about a sailor with more than a grain of salt. Nonwithstanding this, I have to say that I would be more worried, if he were in a higher position, or if the men in higher positions would think like he does."
Gareth cocked his head, visibly thinking hard.
"Or doesn't. That is ertainly in the eye of the beholder."

Having spoken his mind about the boatswain, he nodded to the other lieutenant and turned around.
Even though it wasn't officially his watch, he could see that there was a lot to be supervised and controlled. Lat, but not least, said boatswain and his rattan...
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Mortimer Quinn
Unregistered

"March 15th, Prescott is a bastard. March, 16th, Prescott is still a bastard. March 17th..."
He couldn't hide a smile at that comment and understood second lieutenant point of view completely.

A pity that the navy works differently and accepts people like Prescott, but if we look at the articles which speaks only of punishment and death, ...

After being sure that McMillan was fixing the flemish horse, he turned to Sinclair.

"I hope we will have time to take a bath in this wonderful water." the esmerald shades of the water called him directly to jump into it. "At least, before we have to change our clothes into something that is less english."
He looked Sinclair from feets to head, amused with the idea to see Gareth Sinclair, the englishman, in another outfit than the uniform.
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Gareth Sinclair
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Gareth raised an eyebrow.
Bathing was surely a nice idea, but...
"We should let Prescott take a bath first then."
he suggested dryly and smirked, when the first lieutenant threw him an incredulous glance.
"Sharks, lieutenant... we use him to scare them away first."
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Marion Greenwood
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It was so hard to keep his eyes open. The activity was low aboard the ship as well as the candle light. Even the air itself was warm and still. If Marion didn't know any better he would say the air was sleeping too, as any sensible person at this time of the morning. He could hear the lanyards slapping in a rhythmic pattern against the mast as the weight changed from left to right, and back again trying its damnedest to put him to sleep.

It was his turn for the firewatch as the ship approached inch by inch to the island. It was certain that there was a purpose to make harbor at this island, but only god seemed to know why and God, himself, was a mysterious thing to even attempt to understand. Even when you thought you knew the answers you discovered for your question related to something else entirely. Marion had never heard of this little speck in the waters, learning of its existance only by the maps that lay spread across his working space. With the next roll of the tides, he was certain his drink would spill and ruin the more important of papers there.

Lifting his mug in a desperate attept to both stay awake and save a spillage, the map furled back to its learned state...a rolled long piece of parchment, yellowed with the sun and salt and moist air of the ship. Had he not been prepared the snap of the stiff papers might have shocked him.

The sun was rising and dawn was too slowly approaching as Marion placed his mug back to the table able a long draw of the liquid inside. He yawned, each ear sounded as if the sea herself was flooding in as he sucked in air and then released it with the maw of a lion. It was then he heard the call for all hands.
~Great.~ He mused to himself silently as he stood. Now he would be yawning right into the Captain's face, he thought undelightedly. Heavy footsteps took him to the deck, by way of the brief hallway and short staircase. By the time, he reached the open air, Marion could see the sun's sliverous interloping into the nights abode.

As the young cabinboy escorted the cat off the deck, Marion had to hold back a laugh at the thought of such a man of authority bothered by a mere mousecatcher. He turned quickly to make way for the boy following the ordders of removing the cat, holding the slat door open for them both.
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Marina Costa
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Governess, Kingston
Civilian Admin
Once the „Rose” reached the anchoring ground, the anchor had been dropped, the sails furled, the yards squared, the ship was looking nice and ready for the next workload. And Marina knew that it would come, but first of all she expected breakfast. And most other men did, too. However, the boatswain had piped all hands on deck, and now the tasks for the day were being given.

A bell stroke eight times that very moment. The morning watch was over. Marina descended from the rigging, blinking into the Caribbean sun as she tried to collect her thoughts. The hilly island in front of her, right in the middle of the two claws of Hispaniola, as she had seen on Mr. Greenwood’s maps, looked alluring. She was so sorry that she hadn’t been among the ones sent to search the island for wood and what else was necessary. Yes, she knew she was needed on board, like many others…

”Good morning, Sir!” she greeted the sailing master, one of her mentors, who happened to have remained close to the railing. ”This morning seems nice and good for any work. Even the flying fishes seem to enjoy it!”

They could, they didn't have boatswains to give them tasks to do...
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[size0]Quoted theme song || Biography|| Plot Page[/align]
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Marion Greenwood
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Marion tried to stay grumpy and present his tiredness as a reason to head to sleep but the young topman Martin was just entirely too chipper for everything to weigh him down. A reluctant but forthcoming grin hid in the background of his face. It was there anyone could see it.
"It would be a better morning if I could head to my bunk." There he finally got his grumpiness out and in the open as another stretched yawn passed through his body and into his very soul.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be that way. You're right. The sun is out, the compass is correct....and...we're not lost. You're right. The morning does seem nice. Why are you so awake?" He laughed a little as his attitude began weening away.
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Mortimer Quinn
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"Sharks, lieutenant... we use him to scare them away first." said Sinclair. Mortimer laughed as he didn't expect jokes from a man like him but then, was it a joke?

"You really want to poison sharks with him?" if they were prevateers he would go with Sinclair, take Prescott and throw him in the water. But their uniform banned such a behavior and the fun related with it.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on something else.
"Have you ever seen the Fate's Hand? Do you know them?"
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