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hraeth-ethile · 2 years ago

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Mayford, Massachussetts is a city in Suffolk, County, just forty-five-minutes southeast of Quincy. It is situated inside of a deep, depressed marshland, and flanked by steep embankments as well as dark primeval forests. Mayford and its tall colonial architecture are, however, easily missed by the highway despite its densely-populated area. A very large sign with the city's seal and flag, atop the highway embankment that straddles the northern edge of the city, helps to bring attention to the historic but hidden location.

Originally an English artillery fort, it became an information post for the United Kingdom during the Revolutionary War, where couriers and military attaches could be hidden away in the highly-defensible and tucked-away marshy place. After a short but complex espionage and deception campaign led to colonial American forces acquiring the fort, it was quickly decided that the families of the military would be safest in the quiet and secret area, and barracks and houses were built to introduce them to a secure and private life.

After the war, the fort and its surrounding development were unified under a single township. The town was named Mayford, after the village in Surrey, England. Charles Babington Ridgewell, Mayford's then-newly elected mayor, chose the name to honour his wife's mother's family, who were all from Surrey. Between 1785 and 1801, the town enjoyed rapid growth, prosperity, and development. This is owed to its many and varied taverns and coaching inns, all of which brought in a large and constant travelling population of visitors and temporary residents. Some of these coaching inns were so successful, and became so large, that they had made more money on their own every month than the entire commonwealth did in the year 1810.

Leading up to just before the Civil War, Mayford intermittently competed with the prosperities of nearby Furnace Mill and Monmouthshire, but would, even after being sacked by religious zealots in 1871, always remain the busier and more prosperous of the three.

Today, Mayford is known as a time capsule for colonial American architecture. Only 3% of its original buildings have been lost, with most being lost during raids and looting in 1871. This is largely in part because the thick and wet marshland, and because the demands for stable and clean surroundings to meet the needs of constant tourism, has become the core focus of every campaigning mayor since Charles Ridgewell. In the city's attempts to maintain its buildings in the swampish and humid environment, it has preserved much of its entirety, and now the city retains a standing constitution that demands that each building be serviced and kept in premium condition. Costs for private homes and business are covered by the city of Mayford's municipal budget. Now, and since 1985, Mayford has been voted Cleanest City in the Nation, drawing in many seeking property and land in a city that guarantees all maintenance needs and costs be covered.

Mayford is considered to be a college town and residential resort, with many luxury homes and apartments always being constructed for Boston's wealthy and elite to hide quietly away. Many of the younger, more permanent residents go to the nearby Mill University, an extremely popular and widely-well-regarded accredited university that teaches many niche or rare career interests, such as undersea welding and experimental applied physics courses.

One of the city's original coaching inn's, Winn's Authority, has become one of the most successful bars in the world, bringing in $2,000,000 annually thanks to its original décor, rotating burlesque shows, and the massive central bar hosting its One-Hundred-and-One spirits menu.

#HEW #Hraeth Ethile #History #Architecture #Mayford #Massachusetts

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sleekervae · 2 years ago

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A Pirate's Life | Pirate Radio [2]

Masterlist

A/N: Hello, it's me :). I'm back with our wet nautical noodle from sea. Hope you all enjoy

"C'mon Sally, wake up," Felicity's voice fluttered through and interrupted Sally's deep sleep. She groaned with contempt, "You promised you'd help me make breakfast, now get up!" Felicity urged.

Sally scoffed and threw the quilt down, her eyes prying open to stare blankly at the rust-riddled ceiling of their bunk room. Felicity was already hopping around on one-socked foot as she hurriedly dressed herself.

"What day is it?" Sally croaked.

Felicity sighed, "Magnificent Monday,"

"Oh, fuck that," she turned over in her bunk and pulled the quilt up again.

Magnificent Monday was an event the lads put on every six months, giving 200 contest winners -- yes, 200 people -- an afternoon to spend and tour the tanker. Sally had been around for two of these Mondays already, and she dreaded them each time. A hoard of strangers running up and down the halls, ripping through their inventory of music, crowding the sound booths, and screaming so damn loudly Sally wanted to walk the bloody plank.

"Nope! C'mon!" Felicity tore the quilt away, much to Sally's chagrin.

"Oi!"

"You'd promise you'd help me!"

"Alright! Alright!" Sally finally sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "I'm up, already,"

The girls had been working all morning to fix up snacks for the contest winners. And sure enough, 11:30 on the nose, three large boats pulled up hauling demon-like hoards of screaming guys and girls. The lads of course were on pins and needles, egos at the ready to be stroked like their -- well, finish that sentence how you'd like.

While Felicity was finishing plating snack trays, Sally ventured out to the deck. She slid through the crowd, it was easy considering everyone's attention was pointed to Quentin as he welcomed them aboard.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our boat of bliss!" he shouted jovially amongst the high-pitched chaos. Carl and Kevin watched from the railing, the joviality rubbing off on Carl. This was probably the most exciting thing he'd taken part in for as long as he could remember, his eyes stayed glued to Quentin as he introduced the DJs out.

"And here are your guides for the day: the Count himself!"

And true to his nature, the Count sauntered out with a cigarette between his lips, followed by the ever suave "Gavin Cavanaugh! The legendary Simple Simon Swafford!"

Simon ran out with a clown horn, the honking lost amongst the cheering.

"The magnificent Doctor Dave! Mr. Bob Silman the Dawn Treader! And motor mouth: Midnight Mark!" the pitch of excitement raised an octave when Mark appeared, as though the cheering hadn't already reached its limit.

"Our man with the news, Mr. Subtle Sectionalist himself: John Mayford!" John blushed bashfully as he made eye contact with some girls, he took off his specs to wipe the fog away. Sally found it endearing.

"And last but not least," Quentin finally announced, "Angus Nutty Nutsford!"

Angus came jumping out like a clown from a pea-sized car, however much to his chagrin, and some of the other lads' amusement, the cheering immediately died down as soon as Angus appeared. Even as Simon and the Count tried to give him some applause and praise, nothing budged the sea of unimpressed fans.

Carl jumped when Sally suddenly spoke up from between him and Kevin, "Well, that's an unsurprising disappointment,"

"Where'd you come from?" he queried.

"South Shields. And you?" a playful grin sat on her face. Carl simpered quietly, drowned out however as the screaming started up once again as Quentin rolled off the day's itinerary.

The afternoon went just as Sally had expected; throngs of starry-eyed fans running up and down the halls and absolutely loosing their minds at watching the DJs at work. And of course the lads held nothing back when it came to showing off.

When Sally explained to Carl how chaotic these Mondays could be, he thought she was being dramatic. However, he found his ears hadn't stopped ringing through the whole of his and Simon's tour of the boat.

Despite the play and debauchery going on above, Sally still had to get the inventory ready for the late night and early morning shows. So, she continued to haul vinyls by the box load between the studios while the boys had the masses occupied elsewhere. However, she was none the wiser when two young men, one a pale ginger and the other a floppy-haired blonde, slipped into the studio, eyeing the place around before they inevitably focused in on Sally flipping through records.

The blonde, a tad more confident than his ginger counterpart, quickly checked his breath and smoothed out his hair before approaching her cooly.

"Excuse me, love! Are you lost?" he questioned. Sally paused momentarily, rolling her eyes before feigning innocence.

"I don't think so," she replied, batting her lashes sweetly, "This is the DJs' booths, right?"

"Well, sure!" the ginger interjected, "But the rest of the tour is over for this segment. The rest of the party is upstairs,"

"We can take you back, if you'd like?" the blonde grinned.

Sally gasped audibly, "Wait, wait -- do you guys work here?" she asked, "Like, actually?"

"Why, of course!" the ginger leaned against Harold's stereo set up. The poor lad would have a fit if he saw the sweaty knucklehead smothering over his equipment, "We know every inch of this boat!"

His blonde mate sauntered closer to Sally, his eyes fluttering low, "You know, we'd be happy to give you the private tour, if you're interested,"

Sally would've bursted out laughing if she wasn't having so much fun putting them on. And here, she thought the lads were shitty flirts...

"Oh my God! That would be great! Except, oh wait -- I don't need a tour because I've already worked a year on this fucking boat!" she revealed.

Both of them took on the classic deer-in-headlights face, the blonde eerily silent while the ginger sputtered out some sort of retort.

"Hold on -- you work on this boat?" his eyebrows popped up.

"Crazy, innit?" Sally simpered, "And you two ain't the first twats trying to get an easy lay on these tours, neither. Nice try, though," she noted the ginger was still leaning against the stereo, "Please, don't touch the equipment,"

The ginger scoffed bitterly, however his mate had a different idea. After all, he was a man and this girl, though harbouring a sour attitude and dressed in ragged slacks and fuzzy pull over, was very pretty.

"Well, then -- how about you give us the tour, instead?" he suggested, "You probably know all the best secret spots on this tin can, eh?"

Sally rolled her eyes, "You couldn't pay me enough," despite her exterior confidence, she didn't like the dark shadow in this lad's eyes. And he towered over her, and even if she screamed it was slim to none that anyone with any common sense would hear her and come to her rescue.

"Oh, c'mon lass. Don't be that way. We won't bite ya too hard," he assured.

Carl meanwhile slipped into the studio, at Gavin's request to fetch his fedora. However, neither the strange lads nor Sally noticed him slip in. But it didn't take a rocket scientist to see these boys were trying to gang up on her.

"I said no," she huffed, "Now buzz off or I'll have you thrown overboard,"

"Oh aye?" the ginger simpered, "You and what army, eh? It's just you and us in this sodded shit hole,"

Carl's mouth moved before he could think straight, "And me!" he called.

The three of them turned around, all of them equally surprised to see Carl standing there. However Sally couldn't hide the relief on her face when she met his gaze.

"And who are you? The janitor?" the blonde questioned.

"Reckon he's here to swab the deck," the ginger grumbled.

Now, Carl wasn't the best when it came to confrontation. He'd been that way all his life, whether it came to school ground bullies or fessing up to his mum about his illicit extra curriculars, confrontation and being confronted turned Carl into a babbling mess. Still time however was different; he held his head high, straightened out his posture to take on some thread of authority. Though he supposed these boys probably had a few years on him, anyhow.

"I-It doesn't matter who I am," he started shakily, "What's important is that my -- shipmate," he pointed to Sally, "Asked you to leave her alone. A-And you'll do bloody well to do as she asks,"

Despite her slim hopes, Sally hung her head, figuring she was doomed. She admired Carl's effort, but he was about as threatening as a beach ball.

The blonde almost began to laugh at the scrawnier boy, "You tryna make a funny? I'll snap you like a toothpick," he took a step forward, to which Carl immediately took two steps back.

"You come within five feet of me and I'll be out the door and telling Quentin about what you sods are trying to pull before you can even get your zippers down. He'll be more than happy to kick you off the boat,"

That however seemed to get their attention. And Carl did have a point; he was close enough to the door he could make a mad dash and find someone who would really mess up the lads' day. Sally awaited anxiously, her gaze flickering between the two lads and Carl.

The boys glanced to each other, as though sharing the same thought and started for the door, "Fair enough, mate. We don't want no trouble, eh?" the ginger assured.

"She's all yours," the blonde spat begrudgingly. They sauntered out without another word. It was then Carl's shoulders dropped and he could visibly relax. He'd never had the balls to stand up for himself in a fight, though he supposed standing up for his friend was a different story. He couldn't fight for shit and he wasn't very fast, but like hell he would've let those lunatics have their way with Sally.

He turned his attention to Sally, who continued to stay put on her spot, watching the door like a vicious hawk. Carl approached her cautiously and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. That took her out of her headspace immediately.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She nodded quickly, her anxious frown replaced with that fronted grin, "Yeah, I've dealt with worse,"

He wanted to smile and join her, but his chest ached a little at that. Sally had regaled him with a couple stories of her father's beligerance; those two sods were likely a walk in the park in comparison.

She then did something he didn't expect; Carl was nearly thrown off balance as Sally hugged him tightly. Her actions betrayed the content expression on her face, and he hugged her back.

"Thank you, Carl,"

The rest of the peanut gallery tour had gone off without a hitch, save for the fact that Mark had persuaded more than half of the young ladies to join him in his room for some nautical sexual saturnalia. Needless to say, Carl was overcome with disbelief and a spark of jealousy as he peeked past a confrontational, albeit impressed Quentin as he told Mark and the ladies it was time for them to leave.

Summer was just around the corner, though spring continued to cling on with its frigid ocean breezes. The lads were having a round of cards in the mess hall, trying to recover from their previous night of drunken debauchery on the town while Gavin was smack dab in his broadcast. Carl had taken instead to spend some time with Sally. They were sequestered in his room; leaving the door cracked open mind you so the lads passing by wouldn't get any ideas.

Carl was sat up against his pillow, legs crossed while he fiddled with his lighter. He was silent as he listened to Sally read aloud from Dune. Her typically harsh Northern accent was softened, dripping like sweet honey with a performative quality in her tone.

His eyes flitted over the pilling fabric hairs hanging from her jumper collar, picking out the golden highlights in her hair, and glossing over the cuts and scratches in her knuckles. She appeared so sweet, a side of her Carl imagined not many of the lads got to see. Sally was relaxed around him, she herself would admit it was easy to be so around Carl. Perhaps because they were so close in age she didn't feel so looked down upon like she did with the other men. Nobody on the boat had ever taken an interest in Sally's books and life the way that Carl had; she appreciated him immensely for it.

A predatory look filled the old woman's features. She lifted her right hand away from the box and poised the hand close to the side of Paul's neck. He saw a glint of metal there and started to turn toward it.

"Stop!" she snapped.

Using the Voice again! He swung his attention back to her face.

"I hold at your neck the gom jabbar," she said. "The gom jabbar, the high-handed enemy. It's a needle with a drop of poison on its tip. Ah-ah! Don't pull away or you'll feel that poison."

Paul tried to swallow in a dry throat. He could not take his attention from the seamed old face, the glistening eyes, the pale gums around silvery metal teeth that flashed as she spoke.

"A duke's son must know about poisons," she said. "It's the way of our times, eh? Musky, to be poisoned in your drink. Aumas, to be poisoned in your food. The quick ones and the slow ones and the ones in between. Here's a new one for you: the gom jabbar. It kills only animals."

Pride overcame Paul's fear. "You dare suggest a duke's son is an animal?" he demanded.

"Let us say I suggest you may be human,"

Carl simpered under his breath, though loud enough for Sally to take heed. She turned to him curiously, "What? You find maniacal old women with poison needles funny?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head, "I just -- you know, you get really into the story. It's more fun when you read it," he replied.

Sally fought hard to let her lips turn up in a smile, a fight she ultimately lost as she glared at him, "Well... gotta' find some way to make you pay attention, don't I?" she countered.

"You don't have to do much," he let slip.

She averted her eyes back to the page, desperately skimming for her lost spot and praying Carl wouldn't notice the red tinting her cheeks and nose. Carl meanwhile tried not to squirm in his seat, internally scolding himself. He hoped he hadn't sounded like a major sod when he spoke.

Sally finally found her place again and was about to start reading, when there was suddenly a soft knock at the door. Carl sat up and Sally scooted away as Simon peeked his head in, his smile reminiscent of the daft dwarf from Snow White.

"Hey guys!" he almost sang.

"Simon," Carl stood up to greet him, "What can we do for you?"

"Well, Carl... my mate... my best mate," Simon took him by the neck, "I've got some news! I don't know why I'm singing, I can't even -- the words are coming out in tune! I'm so happy!" he looked to Sally who was doing her best not to laugh, intrigued and elated nonetheless to see Simon so excited.

"If I were the Count right now, I would definitely use the F-word to describe the level of this good news!" he started singing again, and Carl began to laugh, "Oh, come hug me! Come hug me, lad!" and he pulled the younger boy in for a hug.

"What is it?" Carl finally asked.

The disbelief was still clear in Simon's eyes as he turned back to Sally, "I'm getting married! To a woman!" and how hard she tried not to let the smile sink from her face. Simon had met a woman? When? Where? How?

When Simon had gotten his faculties together and his singing under control, he had rushed up to the mess hall to announce his nuptials to the boys. Of course, they applauded him as soon as he had announced it, while Mark couldn't seem to give a flying you know what as he lit up his cigarette.

"And give her one for the Nutster!" Angus called out.

Simon, rightfully so, shook his head, " -- I-I won't,"

"Well, what's the lovely lady's name?" Gavin asked.

"Elenore. She's an American!" he boasted.

God help us, Sally thought to herself.

Quentin had appeared in the doorway as the hype had settled down, "Well, I hope you all appreciate what this means? From next Saturday there will, for the first time, be a woman living on the boat. No offence meant, ladies," he nodded to Sally and Felicity.

"Oh, none taken, Quentin," Sally grinned scornfully.

"Me neither. I'm actually quite excited about it," Felicity added.

"Now, hands off, you lesbian!" Angus scolded at her playfully. Sally kept her mouth shut as the lads made some smaller quips and jokes.

Quentin continued, "But Elenore, of course, will be totally exclusive to her lucky husband here. I hope you gentlemen can take it," and he sauntered off again.

"For my eyes only!" Simon bragged.

"May I just say --" the Count cut in, "now that Quentin has departed, one word which I believe is the only word that now matters? And that word is..." he stared at Simon with a mischievous glimmer in his eye.

Simon nodded calmly, blushing nearly as he spoke, "Matrimony,"

He was close, as the Count suddenly shouted "STAG!" garnering cheers and applause from the rest of the boys. Carl of course was intrigued, his mind spinning with all the options of drunken debauchery they may get into.

As the hype died down, everyone's attention turned back to Angus. He had poised his hands on his head, fingers splayed out as he rocked back and forth and made the most obscene noises. Everybody was perplexed nonetheless, and Sally began to laugh. It took a moment before Simon could register what it was Simon was trying to do.

"Oh, he's a stag!" he realized, "I thought he was having a seizure! He's okay. He's fine!"

#tom sturridge #young carl #pirate radio #the boat that rocked #the sandman #the sandman netflix #original character #original content #60s movies #film blog

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