<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Reia-Weston_003.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Weston "Wes" Beauchamp (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=300519.msg14739202#msg14739202)<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Linguist/Historian<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Top Deck<br/><strong>Time &amp; Date</strong>: Day 1 | Early Morning<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Rosette de Courtenay, Lifa Canary, Open<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Obliviousness, Overwhelmed<br/><hr/><br/><em>The Esperanza</em>was a handsome ship, a frigate that looked well taken care of and newer than the damned naval ship that had brought him here in the first place; for the first time in over a year, Wes felt a bit of hope. As he made his way onto the clean deck, his meager cargo was brought aboard by some rather questionable deckhands and taken down into the depths under the top deck. Aside from the three chests full of books and papers and the one smaller chest dedicated to his clothing that had just been taken away, Wes kept on his person a large leather satchel that held his most important papers. He also had a smaller leather saddle bag, one that had belonged to his father, that held his personal papers and what little money he had left. In his hand were three long rolls of yellowing paper and some loose sheets of parchment that he kept glancing at as he made his way to a corner of the deck.<br/><br/>Wes’ glasses kept slipping off his nose and he absentmindedly pushed then up as he found an alcove to hide in. His mind focused on what he read, his graphite smudging as he made notes on the parchment, he did not pay attention to the goings on around him. The language of the ancient writing he had come across was fascinating in its own right and he wanted nothing more than to solve it and understand it. He would need the books in the heaviest of the chests, but hopefully he would be properly set up in some rooms soon.<br/><br/>A bit of music filtered by and he blinked a bit in confusion before glancing up.<br/><br/>Across the deck a dark skinned woman was playing an instrument, a bawdry sounding tune he didn't recognize. Others had joined the chaos on the deck since he had hidden himself away and as he took in the sort of<em>people</em>he would have to socialize with, he began to question his decision of joining the crew of<em>The Esperanza</em>.<br/><br/>Last night when he had spoken with Mr. Scott, he had convinced both himself and the First Mate that he was the most logical choice. Fortunately Mr. Scott had seen some benefit of having a gentleman onboard and had told him to be at the docks early in the morning. After a rather uneventful start to his day, he was ready to meet with the captain and see about getting his cabin opened up. But he did not recognize any man that could be classed as captain, non of the men and women he saw were of the kind that one would not associate with the captaining for a ship of the<em>The Esperanza</em>’s caliber.<br/><br/>A loud whooshing in the air caught his attention and he saw a blade fly straight into the mast, embedding itself rather deeply. Moments later a beautiful woman walked down onto the deck and started a rousing speech that quickly had most of the souls on board shouting their agreement.<em>Ah, so it seems the captain is a woman.</em>It was an odd sight and one that played with Wes’ view of the proper order of the world. Even as part of him struggled to believe that a mere woman could<em>captain</em>a ship, his mother's strong voice echoed in his head and he had to shake his head. If she had even a hint of what he was thinking, she would have boxed his ears mightily. Bastard son of an Earl or not.<br/><br/>Wes waited for the crowd to die down as deckhands scurried to work and he gathered his things. It was a bit of work to make his way to where the red headed captain was, the deck still bustling with activity as the frigate started to pull away from port. His first trip across the deep waters of the Atlantic had taught him how to properly walk on a surface that was constantly in motion. Even so, he stumbled a bit, his arms automatically clutching all his papers to his body.<br/><br/>“Ah, Captain de Courtenay, finally.” Wes pushed his way to right in front of the woman and gave her a quick smile and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Mr. Scott hinted at your needing a scholar when I spoke with him last night. I need to know what my accommodations are to be and how soon I can get to work.”<br/><br/>He didn't glance at the other people the captain had been speaking to, for him they were inconsequential and therefore beneath his notice.<br/><br/>Wes was dressed as was proper for a young man of his age; although slightly worn from a year's worth of travel, his garments were well made and of the fashion that had been seen in London just last fall. His coat was a deep brown velvet with wide open collars and it sat long to right past his knees. His waistcoat was gold and black, fitted tightly to his torso, and the silk shirt underneath and the cravat made from the same cream color. The sleeves of his blouse peeked past the wrists, the frills still fluffed and well maintained. The silk stockings he wore had seen better days, but they were clean and unstained, the leather shoes adorning his feet shining against the pale fabric. Wes no longer wore a wig, his had been stolen early in his foray out into the world, but his tricorne sat proudly on his head covering his shockingly short hair.<br/><br/>“I would rather get settled in as soon as possible, Captain de Courtenay. I have plenty that needs to be done.” His accent was cultured, his voice soft and somewhat impatient - a man used to getting what he wanted without even having to ask for it. Wes stuck out from the crowd on the ship like a trollop would in presenting herself to the King, the slight reddening of his cheeks giving away that he was well aware of the fact.