I am told that i have an open, honest face. Those are the one's you have to watch out for, Mister Mowett says, when he's in a teasing mood.

On a ship in the king's navy, there's no room for secrets, save the ones the Captain keeps locked up in his cabin, documents and charts and whatever dispatches we find when we take an enemy ship. Otherwise, tis my duty to know every secret of this ship. I know where the sailors hide when the pressmen come, I know the crevices and holes they use to hold a bottle or two extra of rum.

The inside of even the largest ship is small, and there's no where else to go, is there? Crowded together, you can hardly walk more than an inch before you brush past someone. I know which midshipmen still cry for their mum when no one is looking. I know who gambled their prize money away on the last shore leave and who is saving it for his wife. I know who stands at the rail, ripping a letter up over and over as he throws the pieces to the waves, then walks away as if he doesn't care and never did.

On a ship, secrets can kill. You better keep your ears open for the murmur of discontent. For the people who linger where they shouldn't. You better be there the second someone has been pushed too far and a fight's about to start. You better know what the men are afraid of, who's getting ready to knife who, and if they think the Captain is steering them right. If you don't know these things, if you don't know your men to the bone, then you won't know who'll turn coward in a fight and who is looking to shoot you in the back and who is looking to protect you. If you don't know these things, you won't be able to keep control, and one day your men will decide it's time someone else had their hand on the wheel.

Aye, an open, honest face have I. I don't need my own secrets. I have the secrets of 200 souls to worry about without those.


Muse: Tom Pullings
Fandom: Master and Commander
Words: 371

It's hard to avoid this one, after all, my scar is obvious, innit? Got it from a Turk's sword, He almost carved out me eye, went across me nose, and into my cheek. The Doctor sewed me up, sweet as you please, and I have to admit, I like it. Before then, the natives of this one town we were staying in called me "The Maiden" because I had such a sweet face. It's hard to call a man a maiden when you can tell he had a staring contest with a sword blade and he didn't flinch. I'm told that the Captain stood over me himself, when I'd fallen, taken all comers, but I think that's a bit of me mate William shining me on.

I don't know what it says about me. I suppose it depends on perception, like everything else. Tis certainly the first thing you see, many's the eye I've watched trace the path of it, from the missing bit of eyebrow to the hook in the cheek. Some of them, their eyes flash a bit in admiration, some think me a fool. I've seen disgust, horror, attraction. The woman I married, she met my eyes squarely and wished me good day when we met, and held my gaze as I offered her my hand in assistance. I never saw her eyes trace that path...fingers, yes, but never her eyes, and maybe that's why I wed her.

It's a good scar. It is the scar that you can see so easily, you don't look for the ones you can't.


Tom Pullings
Master and Commander
263 words

Theatrical Muse

Hello, all.  Everything below this post is now Theatrical Muse.  :)  For now. 

Happy birthday,  twirlychelengk, you are, as always, a pleasure to see around, and i pray you have many, many fantastic years.

Tagged by William and Stephen.

Guilt	What is yours?	Explain yourself
Culinary:	roast beef	Because it's meat. And I like meat.
Literary:	Homer	I find him insufferable, but William loves him.
Audiovisual:	Walking in on William naked	Tis called a lock, Will.
Musical:	The Captain and Stephen	Because they played something that made me homesick last night
Celebrity:	Nelson	Because he kicks frog arse.

Now I tag:-

I have fled out here with Emily Mowett to allow William and his mother to argue in peace. I hate how they argue, vehemently, quietly, never a voice raised but his mother, for all that she is generally a sweet and good natured creature, will begin pulling out every poisonous barb in her arsenal, and William will slowly become colder and colder until you could swear if he ffelt any emotion at all it was only to hate his mother utterly. I take it that she has gotten wed while he was away, and now is pressing him to give up his hopes for Hannah and wed the most suitable woman he can find.

Emily sits with her sketching. She keeps peeking over her spectacles at me, so I know I'm slowly showing up on some corner of paper. "What do you think of him, then?" I ask her kindly. "Do you like your new father?"

She blinks at me absently. "He is..." she shrugs helplessly. "What he is?"

"Did you draw him?"

"Of course I did." she said, squirming. This was not the Emily I was used to. I'd know her for years...she was William's little pet, really, he spoiled his sister as much as possible, and in turn she'd always struck me as a dreamy, sweet creature who smiled a lot and loved everyone with a honest affection that took in their faults as well as their blessings.

"Let me see." I said, holding out my hand and smiling. "You know how I love your work..." and I did. She was surprisingly good. She opened her sketch book and I moved to sit next to her. The man she'd drawn was all hard edges, putting me more in mind of an formidable, unscalable mountain than a man. "He doesn't look easy to live with."

"He's not," she said sadly, and I realized she would probably take the first decent offer that came her way just to get out from under her stepfather's dominance. It was not unusual, few of us wed for love, but William had fought hard for her, knowing that most men would not understand his unpractical, silly, talented sister. I pursed my lips and went on to the next page, slowly, letting her stop me. "Ah, who's this, then, your sweetheart?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood. The young man on the next page was quite handsome, if plainly dressed.

She shrugged. "In a way. He's the baker's son...father had him sent away." She touched the edge of the paper gently. "He really liked me, but I was't going to do anything about it...mother would have died of the shock...but it did my heart good, knowing that I would see him." she sniffed, hard, and looked away, and I closed the book gently. In all of truth, genteel as the Mowett family was, they were quite poor. Emily could have done worse, perhaps...I sighed. It wasn't my place to say anything.

So, we took our places, myself with my log, and Emily with her sketchings, and waited for William to come out.

((I finished Ionian Mission last night and wanted to write this, it's about how Tom gets his scar, cut for spoilers.))

( A new journal entry )

There are a lot of things that go into my over all portrayal of Tom...part of that is the RPG relationships I have had with Tom, both as Mowett and as a OC named Gabrielle Winter. So, in case you want to know what will inform some of my choices, this post might be of use:

http://tselmende.livejournal.com/profile

Now to finish writing a story about Tom Pullings and a monkey.