OOM

Sep. 1st, 2009 10:27 pm
politestpirate: (Determined)
A bit after this.

Somewhere in the back of Wellard's mind, there's an alarming drum beat and the mental shout of beat to quarters!

However, one must do things differently at Milliways than one would do on board ship.

Thus, there is a knocking at Finn's door, though in a couple moments, unless there's no protest to the contrary, Wellard will more than likely enter.

It is an acceptable habit, to the both of them.
politestpirate: (Building Calculations)
Somehow, (with perhaps bending the laws of narrative physics), it is possible to fit a griffin into the mostly-enclosed piloting station at the stern of the ship that Wellard's been working on for-

Well. Quite some time.

Even more impressive is the maneuvering so Elda can get into the panels underneath the magical equipment to do some final work- though this means Wellard is right at hand to play assistant.
politestpirate: (Default)
Sometime after this.

If Tom has seen fit to warn Wellard-

Wellard can think of a few other people to pass the warning on to. Namely, Finn. Which is why he has found himself outside of Finn's room after looking through the bar and lake area for his friend.
politestpirate: (Glancing)
One thing he certainly misses about the West Indies, is the climate. Wellard has mentioned this, often. It is a way of Not Complaining about the fall and winter weather in Scotland, with the rain, and then snow, and overall cold and gloom.

He has been Not Complaining about it since he's returned.

However, Wellard was not going to let said weather interrupt the ship building this year. Finn had put things away into storage for safe keeping while he was gone- A once-over check proved that the just-started ship had weathered the time well. Wellard lost no time in figuring out how to put up poles to support a system of sail-cloth to keep the snow off the project-

So, unless it was storming or just Too Cold, Period, to work outside, they could. He was not just going to sit inside this winter and draw plans.

(Besides, it is much easier to deal with certain issues- such as different worlds, different times, and relationships- while your hands are busy. It also helps you fall to sleep quickly at night, instead of letting your mind run around in circles over those topics.)

Finn thankfully does not ask questions. Wellard takes advantage of this, specially in the first couple weeks he is back, and he certainly is not up to talking about- well. Not so much the Locker and the events with the East India Company and Davy Jones, but about different things entirely. But Finn does not ask, and Wellard does not volunteer-

And there is the ship to thankfully focus on.

And the dratted Scottish fall and winter.
politestpirate: (Paths)
It has not started snowing- yet.

Fall in Scotland is dreary, cold and damp.

Finn was talking to another teenager in the bar, so Wellard had slipped out the back door. With any luck, they will be able to get that tarp-roof up over the work area, so they can keep working on the ship during the winter. Not like it can keep the cold away, but hopefully the snow off. There were a few last measurements to get before trying to get the proper supplies, so once outside, Wellard headed for the woods, towards the 'ship yard'.
politestpirate: (Endless Path)
To the right was the ocean, stretching to the horizon.

To the left was sand dunes, as far as he could see.

(The sky, blazing and blue, spread all around without a cloud to relieve the monotony.)

The only thing that could be kept track of, to follow, was the shore line winding its way out in front of him.

He lost track of how long it had been since he arrived here- there really was not any way to keep track of the time aside from the relentless crashing of the waves.

(Wellard glanced behind him, once, to see his footsteps washed away by the water, leaving no trace that he had ever been there. He did not look back again.)

There was not any place to go but forwards.

OOM: E13

Apr. 8th, 2007 07:53 pm
politestpirate: (Default)
It was still too cool and wet and muddy outside, so it was easy enough to ask the bar for a room just for the afternoon, that would be suitable for fighting in.

... After clarifying that it was for teaching fighting, she finally did give them a key to a room that was bare except for two chairs in one corner, with mats on the bare floor, and one mirrored wall.

This should work well, as Wellard and Duo enter.

OOM: Dream

Mar. 19th, 2007 09:59 pm
politestpirate: (Paths)
Wellard does not dream much. When he does, it is all bits and pieces, randomly, of places he has been to-

(The trip on board the Pearl did a lot to add to his mental atlas.)

Mixed with people he knows or has only met in passing.

Tonight, oddly enough, he seems to be back in Kent, walking past old hedgerows that seemed just as tall as when he had been 12, and passing through scattered groves of trees-

It takes a while, for Wellard to realize, that the trees have grown taller and more dense. It is now an old forest that the path moves through, empty and quiet, with the occasional lamppost lighting the shadows.

Wellard has never been here before, so even in the dream, there is a bit of confusion and apprehension as he keeps walking.
politestpirate: (Upset)
After this.

Wellard shoved himself back from the front door, biting back anything further to say. He had not been there- And Finn had left for whatever fate held for him on the Longest Road- Which Wellard had his own, morbid ideas about.

He said he would take care of Dari, for Finn- And because he had not been here when Finn was, he failed that.

Failed.

Jaw clenched, he turns on his heel and heads for the stairs.

Anywhere, just away.
politestpirate: (Basic)
From here.

Back to the bar, though with much less hurry than their exit. Somehow, the night seems colder, and even the light and warmth from the bar, when they enter, seems muffled and tired.

It is rather late.

Wellard holds the door open for Nita, and then wearily glances around inside before looking back to her.

"Are you alright?"
politestpirate: (Default)
With a head still prone to pounding, and dizziness that comes and goes, the best place for Wellard on board the Pearl is NOT up in the rigging.

Thankfully, sail mending is not too much a strain on the eyes, can be done while sitting, and safely down on deck. And it is something he can do while trying

("I'll remember.")

to puzzled out the blank spot in his memory, while trying to not worry too much.
politestpirate: (Tools)
It is one of the few mornings left in the season that the weather is actually co-operating and being nice for a change. Meaning, a good number of people were up early, and out on the Black Pearl to get a full day's work in- at least while the weather holds.

For the moment, though, the morning sun is breaking through the patches of fog and low clouds hanging around the lake. There are the sounds of voices, and a few snatches of songs being sung while working-

However, not everyone is here that has said they would be.
politestpirate: (Tools)
The sky is cool, grey, and occasionally misting, but that just means when you are working hard you can keep warm enough.

And there is certainly plenty of work to be done. The deck of the Black Pearl has been cleared off, with debris and pieces that are large enough to reuse stacked carefully. All over is the gleam of cut and exposed wood, the splintered edges cut and smoothed in preparation for patching sections. One mast has been cleared of charred and torn sails and rigging, the canvas and rope set in one area to work on before it can be sent back up.

One of the current priorities, however, is fixing the stern section of the ship, the back wall of the captain's cabin, that took some of the worse damage from the kraken-

Scottish autumn nights can start to get chilly, afterall.

Party thread style, slowtimes more than welcome.
politestpirate: (Default)
Elda is curious, outside often enough, and the Pearl is quite hard to miss.

Jack dealt with one sea monster recently, and did have a tendency to shoot at zombie undead monkeys when startled.

To forstall one outcome that could happen when taking in all of these factors, as soon as Wellard spotted Elda next in the bar, he grabbed her to head outside to the lake.

(There is also the much more important factor that two of his very good friends should meet, anyways.)

Thus, one former british midshipman and griffin, standing on the lakeside.
politestpirate: (Default)
[After this rather.]

Black outs are not too affecting, if one is rather used to candles and oil lamps, even still. Or when one was in bed already, having been busy working on getting some of the frame work for the hull done the day before-

So, a few things were missed, last evening.

But today, Wellard is heading back out to the small ship yard, to resume work-

...

That was hardly on the lake yesterday. He certainly knows that ship well enough, as he spent quite some time on board not too long ago. So, it is just a few moments later that Wellard is on the shore line closest to the Pearl, hands cupped around his mouth.

"Captain Sparrow!"
politestpirate: (Astrolabe)
East Indies. Indian and Pacific oceans, clear about on the other side of the world. Exotic locals only really pictured in most people's imagination if they grew up in the northern climes of England. There were certainly books and stories that mentioned such locations, with descriptions that ranged from the academic to the fantastic.

All such memories and dreams based on such stories are rather quickly going to be replaced by the real thing, now.

The water under the Black Pearl is brilliant blue and clear, leading to the bustling docks of Singapore. Dutch and Portuguese trading ships were moored next to the more exotic ones from China and other Asian kingdoms. The babble of strange languages filled the ears even from this distance, made all the more clearer as the Black Pearl slowly cruised into a free dock. The wind carried out to them the smells of the trading port itself, unfamiliar spices and scents thick on the sea breeze.

Singapore.
politestpirate: (White Wing Tern)
February 1794

When Henry was eight, and living in London, his parents took ill and died. First his father, and then a couple weeks later, his mother. Sickness or grief, or both, in the end it did not matter as Henry was left quite alone.

The housekeeper and he returned to a quiet house, still swathed in mourning from when his father died. The boy had gone to his room, while she went to speak to the solicitor who had accompanied them. It was only later, when Ms Dobbs went to check on Henry, did she find that he had taken the somber suit that he had worn only twice, along with the black armband he would have worn for the next year-

And ripped them both to shreds, tossing them into the fireplace. Quietly, he informed her that he would not wear them again.

---

[After This.]

Wellard headed to his room, one hand tightly clenched with the bit of knotted hemp cord-

pale white and blood red

wound around his fingers. His face was neutral, and too many thoughts whirling around in his head for any one to show. The Scarlet Pimpernel was set down on the small table in his room, and Elda's feather laid on top of it. Then, to the foot of his bed, to the sea chest. It held all the few belongings he had on board the Renown- all Wellard had in his life at sea, in the navy.

And plus one.

A pistol, carefully cleaned, oiled, wrapped and tucked near the bottom. A flint-lock pistol, with no shell or powder. Midshipmen did not carry guns in the normal course of their duties.

("I can't let you reach Kingston.")

But he had it, and Wellard tucked it into his waistband, and then exited his room, heading outside.

---

He was a sailor, it was not a skill he had ever learned. But the flint and steel on the pistol still worked, still sparked, and after much trial and error, it managed to light a small handful of dried pine needles, then twigs. Soon there was a small cup of fire burning in a nest of stones on the lakeside. Nursing burned and bruised fingers, Wellard watched it quietly for a few moments, to be sure the flames would not blow out just yet-

Before tossing the knotted and braided bracelet into the flames.

White and red-

Gold and burning


He stays, until the flames have died out, and nothing but a small handful of ashes remain. The stones are then nudged aside, to let the wind scatter those across the lake, before Wellard turns, to head back. Still silent.
politestpirate: (A Little Unwell)
For the most part, he has been following the advice given to him by Mary and Merriman. Thus- Wellard has been up in his room (with the occasional foray down to the bar for food he does not eat much of), resting. Not sleeping- or at least that has not gone well, but he still has a couple books that he had gotten a while ago that have not been read yet.
politestpirate: (Whipping Boy)
[After this], and even all the rest of his day]

It is a rather tired, mind-spinning midshipman that makes his way to his quarters finally, late at night. His stack of papers and notes get set down on the small desk carefully, even if his thoughts are so very much elsewhere.

Meeting new people will do that, particularly if they bring up ideas much rather left alone.
politestpirate: (Faint Smile)
Now that he has gotten better, Wellard has started going back outside again. He had found his long coat inside his sea-chest, its been needed as the weather turned away from winter and toward winter.

One can only read so much, particularly when the usual pattern of their life had been mostly work and action.
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