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Post by Brighid Murphy on Mar 22, 2017 14:54:35 GMT
Brighid smiled and lifted her tankard in a toast before taking a long swallow. Afterwards, setting the half-empty tankard down, she asked "Have you had word of Sauveterre? Is he in port? I've not heard of him for a while."
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Post by Luiz Carvalho da Silva on Mar 22, 2017 15:34:41 GMT
Fresh from the fence, Luiz arrived at the town square with his handful of crewmen, brow furrowed in consternation at the news of the mystery bounty on the heads of the officers of the Defiance. His eyes scanned the crowds, wary of any brave or foolish enough to attempt to collect on it in the open streets, one of his hands caressing the brazilwood stocks of one of his flintlock pistols like a wild dog baring its teeth.
He spotted Frances in a nearby shop, conversing with the priest...if he could still be called such. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, fearing a wolf in sheep's clothing. After all, the priest had already turned his frock on God. Why not his new pirate brethren? It is a far shorter leap from pirate to bounty hunter than from priest to pirate.
The grip around his pistol tightened and he thumbed the hammer back, subtlety catching Frances' attention and motioning to the pistol and back to the the priest with inquisitive eyes. It would not be the first priest he had shot. Bandeirantes had ensured for decades that the Jesuits were a dying order in Brazil, an obstacle between them and native slaves, one that had been removed with extreme prejudice.
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Post by Frances Harte on Mar 22, 2017 16:13:55 GMT
Between Ricardo's warning and Luiz's lurking, Frances realised it was time to wrap this up. She gave the quartermaster a stern look in reply to his silent question and turned once more to the shopkeeper. "Well, then. A pleasure, as always," she offered him with a smile, waving the journal.
She started towards the entrance of the shop, stopping just short of the priest. "What you're looking for, you won't find here," she told him, motioning at his giant tome of... most likely a biography of some Catholic saint or some such. "But you might on the Defiance. Ask for Frances," she added with a wink, and left.
She collected Ricardo and Juan, and approached Luiz and his men, scanning the crowd to steer clear of any Rivas' men. "Anything?" she asked Luiz as she stuffed the journal into her coat, glancing at him with a bit of a squint due to the sun.
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Post by Luiz Carvalho da Silva on Mar 22, 2017 16:21:42 GMT
Luiz responded to the cutting glance with an exaggerated sigh, lowering the hammer of his pistol somewhat begrudgingly.
"Best we not linger on the streets," Luiz replied, talking as he walked. "Sounds as if we got the attention of someone in St. Augustine, someone with means. Renard just dealt with a middleman that left three days ago on a sloop, but agreed to dig into the matter of his employer further for a bit of coin. How about you?"
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Post by Frances Harte on Mar 22, 2017 16:40:04 GMT
Frances followed his lead, raising an eyebrow at the news. "St. Augustine? The fuck do they want with us?" she asked, probably referring to the Spanish crown. "Nothing. My friend was not in the shop today. We could go look for him at his place, but he's just as likely to be anywhere," she said, gesturing at the crowd.
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Post by The Drunk Bard on Mar 22, 2017 16:50:57 GMT
Brighid smiled and lifted her tankard in a toast before taking a long swallow. Afterwards, setting the half-empty tankard down, she asked "Have you had word of Sauveterre? Is he in port? I've not heard of him for a while." "Captain Sauveterre is out a thousand miles east," Peter said. "He has a flotilla now, four ships, his the largest. One of my...friends in the French Navy wrote me not long ago. They may be recalling him for promotion to rear admiral to fight the English." He shrugged. "His fleet wont be getting any smaller."
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Post by The Drunk Bard on Mar 22, 2017 16:57:20 GMT
Frances followed his lead, raising an eyebrow at the news. "St. Augustine? The fuck do they want with us?" she asked, probably referring to the Spanish crown. "Nothing. My friend was not in the shop today. We could go look for him at his place, but he's just as likely to be anywhere," she said, gesturing at the crowd. The dozen crewmen head towards a tavern they have frequented in the past, one run by a Genoese ex-pirate named Alfonse d'Otranta. The place isn't busy this time of day, even during festival, and the one armed innkeeper greets them with a friendly smile and friendlier looking ladies as they walk in. "Benvenuto! So good to see again!" He continued in his broken English. "My dear Frances, too long it has been, and Quartermaster, I feel neglected these last months! I hope they have been profitable for you both! Please, please, food and drink! Sit, sit!" Frances, from the deck they are on, can see the high masts of La Tempestad in the harbor, the only ship as large as Defiance to be found. Crewmen are disembarking in a unhurried and mostly jovial manner. Only a desperate pirate would deliberately start trouble on Roatan. Squinting, she even makes out the conspicuous frame of Miguel Rivas, his short body squat but heavily muscled; he had frequently carried a plank for the ship's hull for repairs two or three men usually cooperated on.
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Post by Brighid Murphy on Mar 22, 2017 18:26:41 GMT
Brighid smiled and lifted her tankard in a toast before taking a long swallow. Afterwards, setting the half-empty tankard down, she asked "Have you had word of Sauveterre? Is he in port? I've not heard of him for a while." "Captain Sauveterre is out a thousand miles east," Peter said. "He has a flotilla now, four ships, his the largest. One of my...friends in the French Navy wrote me not long ago. They may be recalling him for promotion to rear admiral to fight the English." He shrugged. "His fleet wont be getting any smaller." "Damn him," she said quietly. "Damn him. That bastard needs to feel cold steel in his bowels." Fury twisted her expression for a moment. "I want him dead, feckin' murderer." She drained her tankard and slammed it back onto the table. "Give me another. Ugh, that's the worse news I've had in a while. I need to get stinkin' drunk."
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Post by Frances Harte on Mar 22, 2017 18:37:45 GMT
"Alfonse," greeted Frances with a warm smile, even if this tavern would not have been her first, second, nor third choice on this particular day. "Can't complain," she said, approaching the bar and generously leaving some coin on it. "We're not here today, though. But keep the drinks coming," she added before leading others to one of the tables in the back.
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Post by Luiz Carvalho da Silva on Mar 22, 2017 18:54:02 GMT
Frances followed his lead, raising an eyebrow at the news. "St. Augustine? The fuck do they want with us?" she asked, probably referring to the Spanish crown. "Nothing. My friend was not in the shop today. We could go look for him at his place, but he's just as likely to be anywhere," she said, gesturing at the crowd. "Our heads apparently," Luiz deadpanned, as they entered the tavern, offering a nod to Alfonse as they took seats in the back.. "Doubt the Crown would bother with all the anonymity and middle men. Likely a private benefactor, a merchant if I was wagering on it. Some shipping magnate or other that didn't accept a lost ship as an expected risk in his line of work and took umbrage."
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Post by Frances Harte on Mar 22, 2017 19:48:09 GMT
"Are they not insured, generally?" asked Frances, taking a seat where she could keep an eye on the door.
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Post by The Drunk Bard on Mar 22, 2017 20:20:48 GMT
"Captain Sauveterre is out a thousand miles east," Peter said. "He has a flotilla now, four ships, his the largest. One of my...friends in the French Navy wrote me not long ago. They may be recalling him for promotion to rear admiral to fight the English." He shrugged. "His fleet wont be getting any smaller." "Damn him," she said quietly. "Damn him. That bastard needs to feel cold steel in his bowels." Fury twisted her expression for a moment. "I want him dead, feckin' murderer." She drained her tankard and slammed it back onto the table. "Give me another. Ugh, that's the worse news I've had in a while. I need to get stinkin' drunk." "That I can help with," Peter promised. He hands her another drink and takes a seat nearby while Molly sees to some other guests. A musician begins playing an old tune on his strings, one of loss and revenge. "Sauveterre isn't going to die quietly," he noted. "Nor is one ship going to threaten the French navy. He could come back on a seventy-four gunner. It'd turn anything outside Lady Marie's battleship to matchsticks." He studied her a moment. "You'd need allies."
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Post by The Drunk Bard on Mar 22, 2017 20:29:02 GMT
"Are they not insured, generally?" asked Frances, taking a seat where she could keep an eye on the door. The back room of the tavern is well fortified for a simple building; thick walls of oak from the hulls of destroyed vessels and two latches on the door. A pretty young native girl in her early twenties delivers their drinks, while three of the crew, heavily armed since the bounty, stay to the side of the door in case of intruders. Outside the pair hears some arguing but it only lasts a moment before the usual normal clamor resumes. Alfonse enters after a few minutes. "Gaspar's men warned them boys on the Tempest," he said. "Ain't no hunting fellow pirates on Roatan while he owns the warehouses."
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Post by Brighid Murphy on Mar 22, 2017 20:41:04 GMT
"That I can help with," Peter promised. He hands her another drink and takes a seat nearby while Molly sees to some other guests. A musician begins playing an old tune on his strings, one of loss and revenge. "Sauveterre isn't going to die quietly," he noted. "Nor is one ship going to threaten the French navy. He could come back on a seventy-four gunner. It'd turn anything outside Lady Marie's battleship to matchsticks." He studied her a moment. "You'd need allies." "I'm aware of that. I've always worked alone, before, but Sauveterre is the kind of man who makes enemies. But if I cannot defeat him by strength, I'll do it by guile. Even if it takes me ten more years to do it." She clung to the tankard as if it were a lifeline. She had wept for her father, years ago, but instead her sorrow had turned to raging hatred for his killer. She fed her hatred any time she thought of the French captain.
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Post by Father Alvito on Mar 22, 2017 20:43:31 GMT
"Alas... A couple minutes earlier and I'd have gotten that book for myself. " Alvito said, still smiling. He heard the sound of a door opening behind him but chose to ignore it. It probably was nothing, just another customer. "But once again, God proves to be my side, for I do believe I've got something much more valuable."
"He who walks with the wise, becomes wise. Proverbs 13:20." The priest recited from the Bible, wagging his pointing finger to the sky. "It's relieving to find someone who shares my interest in books. I look forward to paying a visit to your ship and taking a look at your, what I suppose is, a fabulous collection of volumes, Mrs. France." He said, giving a small bow and turning to leave the shop. As he did so, Alvito was faced with a sweaty male figure, to whom he said. "Good evening, sir. May the grace of god bless your day."
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