Poster: Eric Westmoreland
Post # 28
Note: This SL.. containing these characters of Duncan, Jon and Eric will
contain rough language, situations, ideas and may not be for those
of delicate constitution.
Tracking down the Scourge: Tarifa
It was a distance from Tunis to where Jon was holding out, or so rumors
leaked that Duncan got wind of. Wind he shared with Eric since they were
such close buddies. It was said, keep your friends close and your
enemies even closer. They were short of being bed buddies if that were
held to. One got the idea. It was time for Eric to test out his new ho
as they set sail down the Mediterranean Sea heading for the village of
Tarifia on the coast of Spain. It was a blizzard kind of day but
that didn't stop Duncan, one who felt he was above even nature. Above
Death. The small rebellion of a sailor found his death not by the
storm and the rest complied to take their chances with nature than
the Black Doom. He was in his oilskin, fur lined cloak at the rail
watching the snow swirl down in a vertigo effect. They had the nautical
instruments to find their way blindly through any weather.
To be at sea again. No matter the weather. He had his hands gripped
firmly around the helm of his Putain D'eau, even their destination
couldn't spoil his good humor. Although, some would say that
Westmoreland's good mood brought ill to any in his path. Lucky for
'any', they kept to the sea on the way to seek out what truths there may
be regarding the Scourge. One could hope the bastid had slipped from
whatever dock he was ported at and became the late night snack for a
shark or two. Hope, he'd cling to it for now just as tightly as he held
to his water whore.
The weather had taken an usual turn with normally warm weather turning
to cold and snow. Jonathan stood at the window of the tavern watching
while the villagers and sailors muttered behind him about ill-omens and
evil signs. He looked into the reflective surface of the pane and
watched them, then looked out toward the ocean. It was dark and
dangerous, white-caps churning the service as if trying to flee
something. Taking a drink, he turned away and made for his office. If
the signs were true, and the winds truly ill, his comfortable life was
about to change. And maybe it was past time.
Oh, Duncan was enjoying every minute in looking forward to this moment.
Such a moment as Eric and Jon meeting up was enough to give him goose
bumps. The treachery of it like a masterpiece showcase. It was why it
would not be put off for the weather. Once the coordinates showed they
reached their destination the ship slowed as it made its way into
the port. Luckily the snow had left off some that visibility was
bearable. One could see the lights shining through the lighter snow.
They anchored taking a dinghy in, leaving the ship to rock in the
choppier water as well the dinghy having water splash over the sides.
Still he pushed onward until the pier was reached. The men could wait
for him in the vicinity for when he was ready to depart. While he waited
on Eric he paced the board walk in search of the pubs. It could be any
one of them as that much information had not been given by the time it
filtered through. It was the Dancing Moon that caught his eye and a
wicked grin to spread. Wouldn't it be just like the Scourge?
It wouldn't take long for Eric to join Duncan, riding the bobbing
dinghy, moving with the motion, standing at the bow in the power
position. He jumped to the wood planking as they scraped alongside the
pier, and strode forward to join Duncan. He jerked the collar of his
coat up around his ears and nodded his readiness to proceed. "Do we
just sniff until our nostrils hairs singe from the foul odor of
Unluckily for the two, the young Sergeant in charge of the Watch decided
to be brave. They didn't usually bother any of the sailors that came
into port but with the foul weather, he was nervous. Or perhaps,
unluckily for the Watch. He spoke in Spanish first, demanding to know
their business in the village. Shaking in his boots, he put on a good
show. His men weren't very impressed. They were too busy trying to look
as menacing as the two men. And was that the sound of laughter
coming from somewhere close?
"Be along lad or you'll be having a stain of piss on your pants and
staring up at the snow filled sky with unseeing eyes. See that man's
face?" Which Duncan motioned to Eric who had all the
scars like the moon itself. "That is the only warning you will get
and your monkeys too." Which they might catch the eyes of Death
itself that was passed over them by Doom. "Your choice as otherwise
we will come and go like ships in the night." The blades tucked
away at his wrists were sharp and ready and if the man made
the wrong choice, the new fallen snow would be stained red this night.
"Don't be so irritable, Old Man." Eric chuckled, smacking a
hand to Duncan's shoulder. "Come on lads, it's too damn cold to be
lingering out here. We're wanting a drink, and a large set of tits to
nuzzle our noses between...no different than the lot of you." He
flicked a coin toward the Sergeant. "There now, that should buy you
a round or two...with a tankard or a lass, whichever be your
preference." All the while, he was pushing his way forward toward
them, and along the boards with his hand flat at the junction of
Duncan's shoulders. "Bloody ass cold, what kind of weather do you
boys keep here?"
For a moment, the Sergeant hesitated but he caught the coin quick
enough. "Just obey the laws of the town and there'll be no
trouble." Though with his thick accent, it didn't come out that
clearly. He and his men backed up, then parted to let the two men walk
between. It was nearly time for their shift to be over anyway. Another
sound of laughter, and the door of The Dancing Moon tavern closed, with
a loud click. The wind picked up, blowing snow in a whirl around the two
men. There'd be tales in the village about the soldiers facing two of
Satan's minions that night!
"Aye, you're lucky he's in a good mood tonight." With a
certain glance to Eric as he was kind of hoping to slit some throats
this night but there was another matter at hand to appease his
thirst. He could move fast as he caught the door near as it closed and
swung it open again. Place was open for business whether it was or not
or if the fact the proprietor was indeed one Jon Stirling. He was in,
free hand ready with a dagger if need be and the door held for Eric as
Duncan scanned the interior.
The time for slitting throats would be their's soon enough and Eric
really didn't feel like wearing splatters of blood on his clothing this
early in the evening. He glanced up briefly to the sign swinging over
the door, then he made use of Duncan's - good manners - to enter the
establishment. The proprietor kept the place clean and warm, a plus on a
night like tonight. Next they would test the women and the wine...the
true test of a tavern's merit.
There was as of yet, no sign of the proprietor, but a pretty,
well-endowed lass, met them at the door. She gave them a saucy smile and
look over, then spoke, in passable English. Maybe a lucky guess on her
part. "Good evening and welcome. What would such handsome gentleman
like on such a cold, icy night to warm themselves?" Jon watched
from behind a two way mirror, smiling to himself. The clues were all
there for the two to catch. Now to see if they'd still had the smarts.
And they would find the wine to be excellent. He had good teachers, even
if they'd like to split him open from stem to stern.
Language was no barrier in what Duncan brought to mind in what he'd do
to this lass should he decide later and she willing. If not willing he
would become convincing unless another caught his eye more. Cold nights
warranted a warm body slick beside his. Her speech had him grin, man
with all his teeth still and white. "If you're on the menu, I'll
have an extra helping. On another matter, I'd like to meet the
proprietor." Not knowing Jon actually ran the tavern but inhabited
one. Although the mirror caught his attention a moment with a look to
follow and shift over Eric. Jon would have the upper hand in a tavern he
confiscated but that still wouldn't stop these two. If it were him he'd
be well prepared for the day his enemy showed up.
Let Duncan talk, Eric enjoyed the view a moment, then slipped the entire
length of his forefinger in his mouth, drawing it out slick with saliva.
He walked past the woman, but he paused to slip his wet finger in the
cleavage exposed to them and then, once more placed his finger in his
mouth, his path directly to the mirror. That same finger he pressed to
the glass, his finger touched his reflection without a space between.
That caused the man to smile, but it lacked any amusement. Instead, he
turned his head to the side, sucked in deeply through his sinuses then
turned to look once more to the reflecting window, spitting that thick,
slimy blob right where a face might be. He smiled again, winked
and turned to walk away. No matter who was behind that window, Eric
didn't take kindly to being spied on. "A red wine, Lass, dry and
oaky." He called to the woman, taking a seat nearer the opening of
the bar so anyone coming out, would be directly in his view.
"Senor Saxton is in his office. He eeeeeeee!" She let out a
squeal and looked at Eric, laughing before continuing. "He might
not be in tonight. Business, si?" She knew Jonathan was in there
watching, and he had warned her how dangerous the men were. There were
other women, as pretty and as buxom, but only Conseula spoke English
well. "The best wine we have, Senor." She winked at Eric then
looked at Doom. "And for you, Senor?" Beyond the mirror, Jon
watched the two enter and scowled. He hadn't thought they would be so
quick to track him down. And like most, he reacted out of instinct when
Eric spit. He jerked back then cursed, and cursed again when the girl
slipped and said he was in, when he had told her to say the opposite.
From there he went into the office while the tender took care of the
drinks and another lass the mirror. Sitting at his desk, he waited. If
they didn't come in, he might go out. After all, they were all old
'friends', even if they had left him to fend for himself.
The slow draw of his eyes went down over the curve of her bust before
lifting and slipping a gold coin between them. "It is a matter of
business for this Senor Saxton." Words a good hint to get the man
out here or they would be going in after him. "An ale on your
return or sent over." Taking up a seat at the table, one close
enough to the mirror without any other tables in the way and where they
have a view of the hall. One that would make it easy to stand, pick
up a chair and throw it through it at the two-way mirror it
as his patience was wearing thin. Something that happened quite often
with Duncan. Jon had not been treated any different than they all
treated each other. He was just on the wrong end of the stick at that
time. Chalk it up to his youth and inexperience. Perhaps that changed.
Damn but if Eric wouldn't enjoy Jon at the wrong end of the stick,
literally! The boy needed a beating, often, and by Westmoreland's hand.
"Just get the man, and quit with the stalling. He knows we're here,
we know he is...you just said he was in his office. I'll take my wine,
and no more delay. I've had my fill of delays." He waved her away
with the back of his hand, finished with her for now.
She stepped back, giving a flick of her hair over her shoulder before
swaying back to the bar. A whispered word to the tender had him cuffing
the boy who cleaned the table upside the head and sending him to the
office. A moment later the drinks were brought to the two men, the woman
leaning to give the men a better look. The door to the office opened as
she straightened and walked away and a moment later, 'Senor
Saxton," appeared, his confident stride carrying him from door to
table. "I see time hasn't dulled the blade of your
impatience." He stopped himself from giving a mocking bow, just,
and motioned back toward the office. "Do you prefer privacy?"
There was no fear on his part about those in his employ speaking to
anyone. Some had disappeared for such indiscretion.
"Life is too short to dally, Scourge." Being he seemed to like
that moniker. He was up taking his drink in hand. Obviously the privacy
preferred than interrupted again and more delays. Jon was taking the
risk. But then risk was their way of life. "Have some food brought
back too, may as well make a meal of it."
When things began to happen, Eric began to enjoy his life. The scurrying
of a lad. The exposed mounds of a woman. The click of an opening door.
The retreat of the wench. Eric leaned to the side, slipping free the
dagger from his boot and resting it flat against the length of his
thigh. When Jon-Boy showed himself, Eric stood, using the backs of his
legs to move the chair away behind him. He dipped his little finger into
the wine to test it, brought it to his lips. No ill taste of poison or
powdered sleep, he lifted the glass by the stem, tipping it to the
Scourge and then taking a long drink of the deep red liquid. He pointed
his dagger tip the man's way as the glass lowered. "And I see
time hasn't sharpened the blade of your wits, Stirling. Let's talk,
boy-o ... lead the way."
He snapped out an order, not looking to see who was close and knowing it
would be obeyed. "I'm always open to business." He did bow
slightly now, though his eyes narrowed at Eric. Poisons? Sleeping
powders? Too common! But it was the blade that had a brow lift, not his
testing of the drink.. "I'd say surely you wouldn't attack an
unarmed man, but we both know better, don't we, old man?" And as
dangerous as it was, he turned his back on the two and headed for the
office. Of course, there were a few quiet clicks from the rest of the
rooms. Unreliable flintlocks might be, but there were several pistols
aimed at the men.
He bore the holes of a bullet or two but he also wore a special made
mail that now it would only leave a few bruises or two. The show was
about to begin and he was going to be more the audience than taking
part. The curtain had not gone down forever as he followed the young
Soft they may be, but the pirate knew the sound of a cocked flintlock,
as intimate with the soft click and hiss as he could be with a lover's
kiss. The sound of the advantage Jon had just gained almost enraged Eric
enough to take the lead of bullets. Not only would Eric attack an
unarmed man, but he'd attack from the back without a second thought.
Just to know the arrogant ass flip-flop-squirmed on the floor with
Westmoreland's dagger buried deep between the blades of too proud
And well did this arrogant ass know it. He felt that prickle between his
shoulder blades as he walked to the door and pulled it open. He left the
door hang open, knowing they'd insist he go through first anyway. He
went straight to the desk, sitting on the edge instead of behind it.
There was a table inside as well, clear of any papers, apparently used
for meetings of this type. "Drinks are there. Food will be here
shortly." He motioned toward the table then to comfortable chairs
placed in front of the desk. "Your choice of seats, of
course." A slight smirk appeared. "I expected you two much
sooner then this." His voice still held the same arrogance but now
he was interested in why they were there.
Duncan had his tankard in hand as he cut through in front of Eric then
left the man to follow Jon while he checked out the room. He sniffed
much like a wolf would of its new environment, craning his neck forward
as he passed around the desk Jon positioned himself on. "What's
that foul smell?" Which could be anything and nothing at all as he
rounded the desk and headed for the table. A chair drawn had the scrape
of legs to almost echo in such small confines but soon stilled as his
weight settled there.
Dagger in hand, Eric didn't sit, but took up a lean against the wall,
tapping the tip lightly to the boards behind him. "Smells a bit
like a pansy-ass business man, rotting away in a trap he created for
himself." The tap just a little louder behind him to indicate the
tavern. "And since I had such joyous dreams of your flesh melting
from your bones in the heat of an island's sun, sooner was delightfully
delayed...and then reality came crashing in...you are here...playing at
proprietorship...and Doom felt he should shatter my hopes completely and
seek you out." He brought up his blade, turned it so he could check
out his teeth in the reflection, then used his fingernail to probe at
what looked to be a pepper seed between two.
Leather, food, the faint hint of a woman's perfume. But at Doom's
comment, Jon just smiled without humor and watched him. "Trap? I
have all the benefits of being a proper tavern owner, and a ship waiting
in a hidden cove, to enjoy other, more enjoyable pursuits, when I
choose." If pressed, he might admit he was growing tired of it all
but damned if he'd let either of them see it. "So sorry to destroy
your dreams, old man. But I've heard a great deal of discussion about
the two of you. And one ship. You certainly have trouble holding on to
them, don't you?" The door opened after a brief knock and several
of the women brought in the food, and plenty of it. There was plenty of
studying the two newcomers, smiles and teasing looks before they were
That was the very information he wanted to hear, volunteered. Jon had a
ship. He could be of use unless Eric rather skin him alive. Slowly.
Painfully. The trade off would be worth it. "Nice little padded
trap you have made for yourself. Next you'll be settling down and having
a family," like demons spawning everywhere came the visual.
"Seems the discussions you've heard were not based on facts."
Amused? Certainly. Propping his feet up on the seat next to his as he
took a long drink of the ale to quench his thirst. Anything else was
left unsaid with the troop of women coming in with food and some teasing
allowing a few gropes that would appease him presently.
Westmoreland smiled into that reflection, could have been to check for
any further debris, could have been a scowl with Jon's words. He lowered
the weapon as the man continued to tell of all he had. Perhaps the trap
was not so much what Jon assumed and more so that both Doom and
Blackbeard knew the young man had a ship...took the bait, the heavy
metal teeth clamped down sharp and firm. Inexperienced braggart. As the
last woman headed out the door, Eric spun on a heel and slapped a
hand to the cheek of her arse, giving it a squeeze following the swat.
"I'll agree with your other enjoyable pursuits, Jon-Boy." With
the sole of his boot he aided the door to close behind the women,
leaving the men in privacy to talk, then returned to his previous
position, the food though teasing his senses, was not his main focus
Or maybe not so inexperienced. There was more than one ship, though not
here. He had learned too well that dealing with these two would likely
mean the losing of a single ship. And if there was a proposition
that would entice him away from this ... padded trap ... well, he might
be looking for it. While sailing solo had some merits, there was
something to be said in being part of a trio that caused fully armed
ships to flee. He snorted out a laugh at the mention of the family,
knowing full well they probably had a few brats running around
somewhere. "Ah, then I'll have to make sure the teller of tales are
made to understand their mistakes, won't I?" He made his way to the
table and sat, but didn't bother with the food. "So, what exactly
has brought you to the jewel in the crown of Spain's possessions?"
Dry and with some humor. He would hold off baiting Eric. For now.
Doom didn't acknowledge brats left behind or he'd probably see to their
demise. He was eyeing Jon then Eric in turn as he decided to have
something to eat. Picking up a drumstick of some bird, he started right
in tearing the meat off the bone. He enjoyed what he ate and didn't
worry on manners nor sounds that came with it. He gave a shrug to the
comment on making his informants more aware as it was no concern of his.
He rather enjoyed the fact they had not reported that there were two
ships over one and such made a huge difference. He also didn't volunteer
any correction at this point either. "Raping Spain," came in
And there Jon had it. Eric chuckled hearing Doom's explanation and
pointed the blade now toward the man he neither trusted nor liked, but
made the most of any enterprise between them because ... well .. it
worked in Eric's best interest. "If your dick hasn't softened so
much in the comforts of Spain's crown that you can't manage to plug her
a time or two more. Don't mistake my stand in this, Stirling. I had no
wish to have to watch you dangle that worm of yours about in your
pitiful attempts. But, seems Doom here likes the idea of you poking
about to find a hole that you might use, and who knows, you just might
get lucky this time? I think he favors the smell of you...must be you've
the scent of pussy."
"Oh, I have no doubt you'd rather see me dead but I've missed your
wit and charm and though I'm sure I'd prefer not to see you try to do
the same with your wrinkled cock around some lovely golden treasure, I'm
more than willing to do my share. I happen to know the crown avoids the
area of the islands because of the Barbary pirates, but they do send
gold to their subjects. And plenty of it." He leaned back in the
chair and looked at the two men. "There's a catch though, isn't
there? " There always was.
"Are we talking your preference for blonds, Jon?" Just to
throw the monkey wrench out. "There's a lot to say when one gets
defensive of their cock. Perhaps you two could have a cock fight and see
who the winner is." Certainly he was fueling the fire but it would
be hard not to between the two. Fueling was fun, sometimes it got bloody
fun. "One ship alone would not get far with the Barbary pirates,
two has one chance in hell but three can intercept and make well their
bounty. A bounty best hid away on a discovery I made many years ago of a
virgin island I keep as my Maiden."
One notch, the bloody pirate just gained one notch in Eric's opinion of
him. Westmoreland stared at him a moment more, a slight twitch at the
corner of his lips as the younger man insulted him. Yet again. But well
done even if Eric would never give over that fact to the man. "The
catch is, this time, you won't be enjoying your vacation on an island if
you screw...and screw up, aye, boy? Mount your whore and make her ready
for the ride of her life. I mean to do the same ... tonight by way of
that blonde that just left, the days to follow by what gold we manage to
relieve the crown of. You two can continue to chew the fat over facts
and figures. The only figure I'm interested in at present is that
plump arsed one, last in line." He licked his lips, passed the back
of his hand over the same path and turned to reach for the door latch.
"I won't screw up." He had enough of deserted islands to last
him a lifetime. If it came to that, he'd make sure one of the two killed
him outright. He smirked as Eric started to reach for the door.
"Can't fault your taste in women. Even if not all of them find you
to their tastes." He saluted the retreating pirate with his glass
as he left, eyes shifting to Doom.
He'd made plans with the brunette of the lot. She would serve him well
this night. He was up to rip off the other drumstick. "We sail as
soon as you can be ready." They obviously were. "Say goodbye
to this place." For once they set sail as pirates again, their home
would be out on the sea and a certain island he would be introducing
them to. One not so much virgin for the complex that he was building
there. Like old times, time before the last encounter the three of them
had before. Eric would remember his slave colony that had been so
productive. Duncan just pointed the drumstick at Jon before heading out
to get his greasy fingers on that brunette, leaving her a night she'll
"I'll be ready before the two of you are finished for the
night." He waited until they left then pushed to his feet. The
tender would get the deed back to the place, and his daughter back as
well. And he'd be bluidy well glad to be rid of it all. He grinned as he
headed back out into the common room. Only a few hours more and he'd be
doing what he did best.