Relaxing in the Crown

"Apologise fer usin' me coat as a mat earlier." Pye exclaimed with a grin, relishing his higher position and his success. "An' say that Zachary Pye's t' greatest rifleman you've ever known." This was only a tease, a playful taunt. "That he's better n' you're ever going t' be!" He winked with a laugh. "Or else I'll shove t' whole handful o' this down yer trousers and see how you like it!" He grinned, ear to ear, making that scar on his face twist a bit with the skin that pulled on it.

Burke scowled up at Pye. He had no interest in surrendering like that! But... mud down the trousers sounded like a discomfort he would really like to avoid.

"'M sorry fer wipin' my feet on ye," he muttered. Then, stuck his tongue out. "An' that's all 'm sayin'! Me mam raised no liars."

He grinned.

Vickery had been on his way to the library to find a book to read, and was rather surprised to come across two Riflemen rolling around, covered in mud.

"What in the world is going on here?"

Burke felt himself freeze for a moment, cursing under his breath. He shoved Pye off of him, and darted quickly to his feet. They must have been a right sight he was sure - rumpled and covered in mud.

"Sir," he said. "Um... we were just... about t' clean this up, so we were."

Vickery couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "Indeed. Carry on, then."

"Yessir," Burke said with a salute. "Will do, sir."

He grabbed Pye by the shoulders, shoving the lad in the direction of the bucket. There had to be a mop or something that they could find.

Pye stumbled bewildered. First he had been one moment pinning Burke down, about to complain about his comment, the next moment on the ground, not seeing who or what happened to be there, though recognising the voice, and the third moment shoved up and towards the bucket, with first mild protest.

"Oi! Daft thing." He still had a handful of mud. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Vickery was not looking he quickly proceeded to slap it onto Burke's trousers. Not really down em, but that'd do well enough. He stuck his tongue back at him. "Ain't a liar sayin' I'm better." Was whispered then.

Burke stared in dismay at the mud splattered on his trousers, and glared at Pye. Little brat knew full well that he wouldn't retaliate in front of the Captain!

"Whatever ye need to tell yerself, lad," Burke hissed back, poking Pye in the ribs. "Won't matter much either way iff'n we leave the mess like this. We'll both be in trouble."

Now, where was the broom closet?

Pye smirked at Burke, before obtaining the look of pure innocence. "Woops." He whispered then indicated the direction where he remembered some of the cleaning supplies to be. "Be lucky 'twasn't cow dung, what was flung about here." He suggested with a small chuckle.

"It'd have smelled somethin' awful." Now they needed to clean the filth of the floor, they were making a further mess where they walked, their footsteps somewhat muddy as well as there being small parts of the filth coming off of their clothes.

"Might be better we'n go barefoot."

Vickery sighed. "Pye. There was no call for that." The words were spoken mildly enough.

It had to have been Pye, because Burke's trousers had been relatively clean before that, and there was no earthly reason for him to have got mud down there if it wasn't for Pye.

"Sir?" No sense pretending that it was not his fault. Captain Vickery was not daft and it would be quite unfair as if he dared treat him, like he was. "We'll clean it up right 'way sir." Though they could do with a change of clothes before they were to attempt such a feat. Dripping mud all over the floor would not do, especially as it would make their efforts rather fruitless.

"Do we have a permission ter get ourselves out o' these muddy clothes first, sir?" He asked tugging at his coat. He touched his hair and wondered if he looked as dirty as his fellow rifleman.

"Go on and shift into clean clothes, then," Vickery said. "And once you've done that, get this place cleaned up. I will be checking later."

"Aye, sir," Burke said. Mud squelched as he moved, and the thought of clean clothes sounded marvelous. A sheepish, grateful smile stole its way onto his face. "Thank ye, sir. We'll have everythin' cleaned up in a flash."

"I ain't seen a soldier yet can clean anythin' decent," a lilting voice drawled. The voice belonged to a worn-faced redcoat who was propped against the frame of the door leading to the kitchen. "Soldiers ain't nothin' but lubberly, so they are."

"..Ain't true,..." Pye arched a brow at the new arrival. He followed Burke's example of course, but this new arrival wasn't at all having a positive opinion of them lot. "Could clean it though, if yer not havin' faith in us ter do it well." He suggested rather innocently however. If the man wanted to say they were incapable, he could set an example of how it was to be done. And in that, he would of course take the load of work off of their own soldiers. Perfect!

A slow grin turned up the corner of McIntyre's mouth. "Oh aye, I could, sure. Hate to show you lads up, though."

"S' real kind o' you. But really. If you insist. We's willin' ter let ye." Pye answered with a small grin. "Can't say no, ter our elders." That was not very nice, even if true." Would be right impolite, that." He concluded, his grin remaining on his face, fairly polite.

Cheeky beggar, this one.

"So's cheekin' your betters," McIntyre commented lightly. All the same, he pushed away from the doorjamb and nodded toward the mops. "Those ain't any use 'til you're near to finished," he went on. "Fetch you some bristle-brushes. Then we'll see."

"Cheekin' sir?" The boy kept on smiling even if the mops were at last revealed to him. "Don't know there are any bristle-brushes 'bout here." He nudged Burke as if meaning to shove him into this closet. He then peered inside himself. "Mm...Mebbe, this would do." With that he pulled out a bucket full of all sorts and sizes of brushes. "Atleast some of' em."

Those would suit, McIntyre judged after looking them over. "If your officer don't mind, anyways."

"Don't think he'd mind what we use as long as t' place gets cleaned up. That is... we's got to change firs' an then start cleanin'." He indicated the state of his uniform and that of Burke. "Though....s' a problem there. We try ter go ter change.. we leave more mud 'bout. We don't ..we leave mud where we clean."

"Might be best t' just get t' work at cleanin'," Burke said, feeling embarrassed under McIntyre's watchful eye. They'd been caught behaving very childishly, and every second was likely making it worse.

"We can wipe a fair portion o' mud off us, so's t' not drip, and then change after," he added. "We'll like as not just get more dirty cleanin' anyway."

Soldiers, McIntyre thought, shaking his head. Never mind he was one now himself.

"Don't they teach you nothin'?" He asked. "Coats off, sleeves and trousers rolled up." The Irishman shook his head again, sliding all too easily back into his old seagoing mindset. "Swabbin' in full kit's for lubbers, so it is!"

"Oh," Burke said, cheeks flushing. "Thanks."

It made sense, actually, as he thought on it. But, really, it was not as though there were floors to wash on the march! He moved to pull off his jacket, gesturing with his head for Pye to do the same. Best to get all of it over with, he figured.

This one seemed sharp enough, but he had his reservations about the youngster. A bit too much cheek for his liking. If he still had his shoulder knot, he'd give the lad something to think on!

"S'all right," McIntyre said. "There's few enough soldiers know what's what, after all."