The Sleaziest Sleaze of the Seven Seas

Mon, 24 Jul 2006 17:37:36 GMT

Translator's Note: It has been recently concluded by researchers that the mysterious disappearence of the piratess Anne-Marie de la Plume in June of 1643 ended in her murder on 17 July of that same year. Thus this journal concludes.

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 14:40:39 GMT

(Translator's Note: The last reliable sighting of the pirate sloop La Belle Dame was reported on the third of June, 1643. The vessel then went missing. Prior to that date, the following set of communications were send via a series of picture postcards.)

Chere Traductrice,
By necessity I write to you from an undisclosed location. Could you possibly keep me up-to-date with Knight situation? I have a vested interest in his welfare.

Love,
Anne-Marie

* * *

Dear Bimbo,
Oh, we're not doing this again, are we? I told you how I feel about meta-gaming. Also, it's not a very undisclosed location when you send me a postcard with "Greetings from Sunny St. Kitts" on it.

In answer to your question, Knight's under house arrest. I'm having to use the kid for info. Don't go back to Erasmus; apparently, Hell's using it as a vacation spot again, and you're better off out of it.

With strained tolerance,
Lynette

* * *

Chere Lynette,
Ah, poor James! How he managed to weasel his way out of prison, I can only guess. Suicide attempt? But no, they would have doubled his guard in that case, and St. Erasmus has . . . how many guards again? Are they up to an even dozen yet? My guess is he that slept too near an open window and gave himself a little cough. It would be just like him, although at his age I am naturally most concerned about his health. I should be most upset if he died of lung failure before his day in court.

If it concerns you, I am using a remailing service. Enclosed please find fifty pieces-of-eight. Use for bribes. Tell me when his trial starts.

Anne-Marie

* * *

Dear Captainess,
Paying some street-urchin named Dominic a dollar to run down to the souvenir shop and steal you a postcard does not qualify as a remailing service. I don't know how you expect me to bribe anyone, as you yourself should know how difficult it is to remain in contact with the seventeenth century from a goodly distance in the future. Besides, you don't have to bribe the kid to talk smack about his daddy these days. You have yet to tell me what vested interest you have in Knight, other than seeing him swing.

Rollin',
Lynette

PS: Despite their dubious legality, the coins you send have been sold to a professional numismatist in order to fund my upcoming roadtrip.

PPS: I have no way of knowing how many guards. They're mostly NPCs anyway.

* * *

Chere Lynette,
Aren't we all interested in seeing justice done?

Yours,
Anne-Marie

* * *

Dear Cupcake,
I get enough of that seeing-justice-done crap from the kid. What are you plotting over there?

More than a little worried,
Lynette

* * *
Anne,
You still haven't replied to my last message, unless that clipping from 'Le Messager Nautique' detailing the sacking of Port-des-Arbres was meant to answer my question. Actually . . . Port-des-Arbres doesn't even exist in your version of reality, does it? Because I'm pretty sure that's part of the Erins landscape. Port-des-Arbres is just north of Serenidad in the Wreath Islands. That's Aquitainean waters. You're not supposed to be there.

Um. Y'all haven't sailed through any really big rock formations here lately, have you?

. . . hullo?

REALLY worried now,
Lynette

Thu, 25 May 2006 15:36:10 GMT

[Editor's Note: we return you now to 1643, already in progress.]

Bonjour! Allô! Mon dieu, it is so good to be back from . . . where ever the hell we just were!

If I get back to La Belle, I am nailing my feet to the deck!

Wed, 08 Feb 2006 19:22:47 GMT

[Translator's Note: Due to circumstances beyond our control (namely, that f1sh is an idiot), the entire population of His Majesty's Island of Saint Erasmus has been sent forward in time to the year 1862, where they are now established in the Californian town of San Erasmo and have no memories of any prior existences. Sounds like a plot device to me, but hell, I'm just the translator. Until further notice, this journal shall chronicle the life of Angry Beaver, a native princess of the Acjachemen nation of California. Any gross inaccuracies and/or offensive stereotyping to follow are completely intentional, as the translator wishes it to be known that she was originally hired to translate French and isn't getting paid enough to compensate for transtemporal wormholes.]

Mon, 30 Jan 2006 17:19:40 GMT

Well, well, well. Guess who has been pardoned?

La Plume Rouge is back, mes jolis. And I need a new crew to help with all the backlogged killing I must get around to.

Tue, 24 Jan 2006 19:07:16 GMT

Dear jack_graves,

PWND.

<3,
Anne-Marie

PS: I am still going to kill you for putting me in jail.

Thu, 19 Jan 2006 07:10:27 GMT

Still in prison. Still bored. Doing memes.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Anne-Marie's boobs!

Some hotels in Las Vegas have Anne-Marie's boobs floating in their swimming pools!
Anne-Marie's boobs are 984 feet tall.
The first American zoo was built in 1794, and contained only Anne-Marie's boobs!
In the 1600s, tobacco was frequently prescribed to treat headaches, bad breath and Anne-Marie's boobs.
Plato believed that the souls of melancholy people would be reincarnated into Anne-Marie's boobs.
The Vikings believed that the Northern lights were caused by Anne-Marie's boobs as they rode out to collect warriors slain in battle!
Anne-Marie's boobs can drink over 25 gallons of water at a time.
68 percent of all UFO sightings are by Anne-Marie's boobs!
The deepest part of Anne-Marie's boobs is over 35,000 feet deep.
Anne-Marie's boobs can live for up to a week without a head.

Merci beaucoup, Gilbert, for the lovely new pair of trousers!

Sat, 14 Jan 2006 05:13:20 GMT

All my nail varnish has peeled off, and nobody around here seems to wear my shade. Have they stopped producing Revlon's "Love That Pink" or what?

V. bored. Amusing self by hurling things at guards. It never hurts to keep in practice. How much longer will I be kept here? I have implicated Knight fifty times by now! It's not as if I can hand over my log.

Wish Mayhew would stop whistling over his paperwork. It is very unnerving.

Sat, 31 Dec 2005 08:11:11 GMT

Still in jail. SSDD.

Rumours abound that pirates attacked the pathetic English governor's midnight ball. Le sigh! I wish I still had a social life.

Sat, 24 Dec 2005 17:02:37 GMT

Damn, but they are making some sturdy governor's daughters these days.

Back in prison, although with some small hope: tight-ass captain of town guard appears to be corrupted and wants Knight hanged almost as badly as I do. Negotiations are ongoing.

Prospect of eyepatch much easier to accept if I regard it as one more accessory.

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 07:37:11 GMT

He shot me! That bastard Mornaix shot an unarmed woman!

Praise God they let me keep the armour-plated brigandine Corsican corset in prison. Otherwise I would have been a gone goose.

V. hungry. Tore off both sleeves for bandages. Serge trousers = icky. Hair = oily. Possible infection in wounds. May require medical attention.

No longer the prettiest.

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 08:27:57 GMT

Say what you will for evisceration, there is still something so satisfying about strangling a man with your bare hands.

Knight is no more. One thing to cross off my "to-do" list.

This eyepatch is very unattractive, though.

Sat, 03 Dec 2005 03:44:26 GMT

(Translator's Note: the following incomplete letter was found on a torn sheet of St. Erasmus fortress stationery. In the original, all the i's are dotted with little circles.)

Cher David,

By the time this letter is found, I will be gone, either to that great Tortuga in the heavens, or else, once more, on the run from St. Erasmus's laughably incompetent guard. I hope you are keeping well and that the weather on your godforsaken spit of an island continues fine. I write to plead only this: Foolish beloved, I beg you, give up that mawkish milkmaid Eliza Moore! she is now the hussy of the traitor Mornaix, about whom the less said, the better, except that you and I both know it will only ever be a cover marriage since Mornaix is as gay as Mardi Gras, and I know for a fact that Eliza Moore dyes her hair, as if that will ever distract from her puffy baseball-glove of a face, but ciel! It is not to be, and so forget her.

I yearn to be with you even now, but time and legalities seem destined to forever separate us. My heart, my soul, and other portions of my anatomy burn for you with a fire more potent than the flames of Hell or Islam. I can only hope we shall meet again when our crossed stars are more fortuitously aligned and/or when my statute of limitations expires. For now I shall cover with kisses this cold unfeeling page until I may rain them upon your naked throbbing

(Translator's note: Letter ends here.)

Fri, 11 Nov 2005 03:17:39 GMT

Escape attempts: 3
Attempts to bribe guards with "treasure map": 3
Attempts to lure jailor with sexual favours: 8
Blows to the head from pompous Aldermen: 1
Dead Italians: several
Conversations with complete idiots: Numerous

I cannot go out like this. I will not allow it. Not without a fight or at least a tumultuous midnight rendezvous. And be damned if I'm snogging Knight.

Sat, 01 Oct 2005 06:43:31 GMT

So far, so good. Hussy and traitor neatly paired off, thus putting Walsh back on market. All goes according to plan (re: divide, conquer, "console"). Now remains only the small matter of not being hanged. Have been approached by two likely Italians and a gullible jailor. I swear, they might as well hang the keys on a dog's collar and let it sleep outside my cell.

On downside, have been kissed by village idiot. Need a good exfoliant to remove taint of English slobber.

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 03:45:34 GMT

It is so good to know that being a prisoner is no interference with one's social life. For example, my boot and Knight's ass scheduled a meeting only this afternoon.

Still not hanged. Still the prettiest.

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 04:54:56 GMT

Scaffold went up this morning.

I am so fucked.

Sat, 17 Sep 2005 07:48:05 GMT

I am having one of those 'too many victims, not enough time' days. Ever had one of those? Are they not a kick in the head? If I kill the wrong one first, word is bound to spread to the others.

Perhaps if I could draw them all together in one place, in a large group, on some innocent-seeming premise . . .

Thu, 15 Sep 2005 03:32:33 GMT

If I ever see that bitch again while my hands are free, I will cut her throat.

No matter. David will soon figure her out for the whore she is.

On the plus side, raw egg thrown by Mudd boy yesterday has done wonders for hair. Also, have lost two pounds on prison food diet and am (if possible) trimmer than ever. Unlike E, who looks like a prize sow.

Mon, 05 Sep 2005 04:15:23 GMT

Have hummed all the songs I know.

Final decision: cut out K's tongue, then sink the Hunt, sparing cute quartermaster if at all possible. If not possible then no sweat, as can pick up another in Tortuga.

Suspect connection between smell of chamberpot and foul-tasting drinking water. Wish the Geneva convention would hurry up and invent itself.

Sun, 04 Sep 2005 06:06:32 GMT

Have not yet decided what I shall do first upon escaping jail. Am torn between gouging out K's eyes and sending the Hunt to the bottom of the sea. Except for perhaps their v. attractive quartermaster. I could use another quartermaster now that ours is dead. Of course, I was the one who shot him.

Note to self: in future, have replacements trained and ready before randomly killing subordinates.

Have cigarettes but am not permitted fire. English bastards.

Tue, 30 Aug 2005 07:51:36 GMT

(Editor's note: the following series of notes were smuggled out in a papaya.)

Imprisoned in St. Erasmus jail. So far unharmed. Despite all my best efforts, the guards have expressed no interest in violating me. Tell Sebastian that I told him raiding Martinique was a bad idea. Please send help and eyeliner.

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 17:23:15 GMT

Despite what you may hear, La Belle Dame does NOT raid ports for pastries.

Tue, 26 Jul 2005 17:55:50 GMT

Have encountered unexpected stowaway problem. One of those woman-dressed-as-man-follows-true-love-to-sea things--v. tiresome. So far have kept the crew off her, though I may throw her to them if she keeps up this heartfelt sighing business. I have asked her lover's ship, but all she says is "Starbucks." I can find no record of a ship by this name.

Back down to fighting weight of nine-and-a-half stone. Still the prettiest.

Tue, 19 Jul 2005 08:07:48 GMT

Translator's Note: The following message was found on the back of a picture postcard.

Have gained half a pound from chocolate binge. Minor sunburn yesterday on beach. Complexion in turmoil. Hair beyond redemption. Eyes puffy from weeping. Pedro no consolation.

Still and all, the boys brought me that merdeux Samuelson's head this morning. So sweet of them! They always know just how to cheer me up.