papillon24
Living in your heart
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2001
- Posts
- 14,172
Christine Delavage
It was the era of pirates and their adventures upon the high seas. The Atlantic was riddled with them looting and pillaging all along the coasts on both sides. That was no matter, for Christine Delavage was one of them and loved the life she had. Not only was she one among them, she led a crew of loyal men in this life. The seas had always claimed her heart. As the only daughter of a French Naval Officer, she grew up knowing the ins and outs of the ships. At the age of twelve she begged her father to take her with him on a short voyage to the Americas instead of leaving her with her aunt. From that day she was hooked and every time after the fact when her father left home she would beg to go along. When he did not she would run away and chase after in whatever vessel she could find, dressing in boys clothes.
After the third time her father agreed to add her to the crew. She was much happier in britches and vests than in gowns. She love the way the salt air felt.
When she was marrying age her father married her off to a captain, who in the end agreed to take her on his ship with him after much begging. Upon their first expedition together on the Laurent, he became cruel and abusive. Christine would have none of that. She had gained the trust of the crew who staged a mutiny, throwing him overboard. And with that they left the comfort of the French Navy to sail their own way. That was four years ago. The crew had stayed with her and loyal to a fault to her and in return she was fair and kind with them, but never overstepped her position.
Christine watched the ocean as her ship sat stranded off one off the small Caribbean Islands, slightly listing to one side. The main mast had snapped and was not floating beside the ship. Most of her crew had survived as well. They currently were scurrying about the lower deck making sure they would not sink any further and maybe be able to salvage the ship. Others were taking stock of powder that had not been damaged in the attack. The Laurent had fought well against the three Spanish light ships that had snuck up in a surprise attack. Everything was going in their direction till the mast fell after a large cannonball came roaring across the deck. The energy of the of the blast sent splinters flying and a few men overboard to avoid getting hit by the falling mast.
"Captian..." She turned to see the most loyal of her crew standing next to her. The crew had found him as a broken and battered teen a few years ago and broke him from the bond of slavery along the African coast. Now he stood at an impressive 6'5" and solid muscle stretching over ebony skin. "You need to sit back down. It has been three days since the attack and the wound on your led is still open."
Christine looked down at where a piece of the ship had sent a splinter into her leg. She knew it was bad. The wound itself still oozed a bit and she could feel the heat radiating around it. There had to be something to do. She would have the ship's doctor fix it but he was thrown overboard with the medicine bag and they were never able to recover him.
"I am fine Cisco. Go help with the rest of the crew. Have Garnier take inventory of the galley again. We might have to be here a while. Make sure there is water left in the barrels and hard tack sealed up tight. keep an eye on Montvillier. Make sure he has not dipped too far in the rum and put Remy in charge of a crew to start fishing that mast out of the waters. We need to salvage the sails and ropes if possible."
Cisco turned to follow through on his duties. He turned back with a concerned look. "I'll be fine. Go on"
Christine stepped back into her quarters which had been hastily assembled after the attack, wincing in disapproval as she put too much weight on her back leg. She looked around at her home.
A mid sized bed sat in the far right corner so that she could see the starts though the rear windows. A clothing cabinet was positioned along the neared wall next to the door. There was a decent sized table made of Mahogany she was quite fond of sitting in the middle of the room. Her maps had been roughly strewn about it and her beautiful sextant that her father had gifted her on her wedding day was still intact and set upon the maps.
She stepped in front of the broken mirror and straightened herself out a bit. Her eyes were deep blue. Her father had always said they were as blue as the Caribbean oceans. But over the last few years they had become emotionally hard. Her hair was dark, almost the color of jet. She would keep that mostly pulled back in a long braid to her waist. In time when she interacted with other captains she would tuck it up into the tri-corner hat she like to wear on occasion in order to mask the fact that she was a woman.
Dresses were no option here. She stuck with loose black breeches. Under the forest green vest her shirt was cream, but looked dingier from all the days at sea. At her side you would always find a sharp rapier and a pistol dangling from a belt. Both of which she was fast an accurate with.
She took her weapon belt off and set them on the end of the bed.
Christine limped her way over to the clothing cupboard. "Damn leg" she muttered to herself. She was surprised at how intact the thing had stayed, and more so the fact that it had stayed upright during the fight. Opening the double doors she peered in. There were not many sets of clothes, not much of anything except for more maps and books.
She knelt and removed a hidden panel withing the the bottom stand of the closet. From it she scooped up the one thing in the room that anyone could call womanly. A small box about the size of a brick. It has been encrusted with mother of pearl and silver. The box had been a gift from her mother when she was very young. Not much later her mother had passed along leaving her and her father along to fend for themselves.
Christine ran her fingers along the softness of the jewel encrusted box letting her fingers pause on a small silver latch before opening it. It always delighted her the small treasures she kept within the box. Most was fairly large jewels and pearls from their many raids on other ships. There were other things in the life of a pirate that were just as precious. She was hoping to find some medicines left from their time in that voodoo camp that might help her leg.
It was the era of pirates and their adventures upon the high seas. The Atlantic was riddled with them looting and pillaging all along the coasts on both sides. That was no matter, for Christine Delavage was one of them and loved the life she had. Not only was she one among them, she led a crew of loyal men in this life. The seas had always claimed her heart. As the only daughter of a French Naval Officer, she grew up knowing the ins and outs of the ships. At the age of twelve she begged her father to take her with him on a short voyage to the Americas instead of leaving her with her aunt. From that day she was hooked and every time after the fact when her father left home she would beg to go along. When he did not she would run away and chase after in whatever vessel she could find, dressing in boys clothes.
After the third time her father agreed to add her to the crew. She was much happier in britches and vests than in gowns. She love the way the salt air felt.
When she was marrying age her father married her off to a captain, who in the end agreed to take her on his ship with him after much begging. Upon their first expedition together on the Laurent, he became cruel and abusive. Christine would have none of that. She had gained the trust of the crew who staged a mutiny, throwing him overboard. And with that they left the comfort of the French Navy to sail their own way. That was four years ago. The crew had stayed with her and loyal to a fault to her and in return she was fair and kind with them, but never overstepped her position.
Christine watched the ocean as her ship sat stranded off one off the small Caribbean Islands, slightly listing to one side. The main mast had snapped and was not floating beside the ship. Most of her crew had survived as well. They currently were scurrying about the lower deck making sure they would not sink any further and maybe be able to salvage the ship. Others were taking stock of powder that had not been damaged in the attack. The Laurent had fought well against the three Spanish light ships that had snuck up in a surprise attack. Everything was going in their direction till the mast fell after a large cannonball came roaring across the deck. The energy of the of the blast sent splinters flying and a few men overboard to avoid getting hit by the falling mast.
"Captian..." She turned to see the most loyal of her crew standing next to her. The crew had found him as a broken and battered teen a few years ago and broke him from the bond of slavery along the African coast. Now he stood at an impressive 6'5" and solid muscle stretching over ebony skin. "You need to sit back down. It has been three days since the attack and the wound on your led is still open."
Christine looked down at where a piece of the ship had sent a splinter into her leg. She knew it was bad. The wound itself still oozed a bit and she could feel the heat radiating around it. There had to be something to do. She would have the ship's doctor fix it but he was thrown overboard with the medicine bag and they were never able to recover him.
"I am fine Cisco. Go help with the rest of the crew. Have Garnier take inventory of the galley again. We might have to be here a while. Make sure there is water left in the barrels and hard tack sealed up tight. keep an eye on Montvillier. Make sure he has not dipped too far in the rum and put Remy in charge of a crew to start fishing that mast out of the waters. We need to salvage the sails and ropes if possible."
Cisco turned to follow through on his duties. He turned back with a concerned look. "I'll be fine. Go on"
Christine stepped back into her quarters which had been hastily assembled after the attack, wincing in disapproval as she put too much weight on her back leg. She looked around at her home.
A mid sized bed sat in the far right corner so that she could see the starts though the rear windows. A clothing cabinet was positioned along the neared wall next to the door. There was a decent sized table made of Mahogany she was quite fond of sitting in the middle of the room. Her maps had been roughly strewn about it and her beautiful sextant that her father had gifted her on her wedding day was still intact and set upon the maps.
She stepped in front of the broken mirror and straightened herself out a bit. Her eyes were deep blue. Her father had always said they were as blue as the Caribbean oceans. But over the last few years they had become emotionally hard. Her hair was dark, almost the color of jet. She would keep that mostly pulled back in a long braid to her waist. In time when she interacted with other captains she would tuck it up into the tri-corner hat she like to wear on occasion in order to mask the fact that she was a woman.
Dresses were no option here. She stuck with loose black breeches. Under the forest green vest her shirt was cream, but looked dingier from all the days at sea. At her side you would always find a sharp rapier and a pistol dangling from a belt. Both of which she was fast an accurate with.
She took her weapon belt off and set them on the end of the bed.
Christine limped her way over to the clothing cupboard. "Damn leg" she muttered to herself. She was surprised at how intact the thing had stayed, and more so the fact that it had stayed upright during the fight. Opening the double doors she peered in. There were not many sets of clothes, not much of anything except for more maps and books.
She knelt and removed a hidden panel withing the the bottom stand of the closet. From it she scooped up the one thing in the room that anyone could call womanly. A small box about the size of a brick. It has been encrusted with mother of pearl and silver. The box had been a gift from her mother when she was very young. Not much later her mother had passed along leaving her and her father along to fend for themselves.
Christine ran her fingers along the softness of the jewel encrusted box letting her fingers pause on a small silver latch before opening it. It always delighted her the small treasures she kept within the box. Most was fairly large jewels and pearls from their many raids on other ships. There were other things in the life of a pirate that were just as precious. She was hoping to find some medicines left from their time in that voodoo camp that might help her leg.
