June 10; An Attempt to Study

(It's open - Tried to keep it short so I wouldn't bore anyone to death :/ hope it's alright)

A noon sky stretched overheard, dazzled and littered in bright sunlight and plump white clouds. Beneath it, wandered a young man with a dusty book unfolded in his nimble fingers and his eyes flitting from the yellowed pages along the upper deck and the quarterdeck which stood behind him in hopes of finding a part of the bulwark to curl against somewhere.

Pleasureably occupied with smoking his pipe, Sewell watched the young gentleman make his way across the deck below him. He looked as if he was searching for something, but Sewell saw no reason yet to inquire. Still, as he also every so often buried his nose in a book, the marine decided to keep an eye on him just in case. It wouldn't do to have one of the midshipmen come to grief.

A wind teased his dark curls as his eyes continued to search the quarter deck. There was no sitting in peace there for him as the sailors wandered along performing their duties. His attention returned to the quarterdeck and for a few moments, he contemplated whether or not to return to the safety of his berth. But with such fine weather, he came to a conclusion and timidly made his way up the stairs, eyes squinting as they stared upwards in the direction of the sun before they quickly returned to their spot on the page. Without paying much attention to his footing, Scudder lost his balance and caught himself against the rail and with reddening cheeks, he continued up the steps once again.

Ambrose had just finished reading one of his books – he was very much determined to finish it, seeing as he was feeling neither mind-bogglingly annoyed to prolong the process of reading nor was he feeling excruciatingly depressed or sick. He felt just right for a fine day’s noon. It wasn’t until he felt slightly nauseous that he left his books in the midshipmen berth, making his way to the deck where he soon saw the fellow midshipmen Clarence Scudder and a marine. He nodded to the two older gentlemen, saluting them both with his only arm (his right one having been amputated).

“Good day, gentlemen.” He managed to get out of himself, his stomach felt queasy and he felt like keeling over and throwing up into the beautiful sea.

((Hope I can join in the fun 8D!))

The moment he saw the midshipman slipping, Sew sprang to his feet, but before he could hurry forward, Scudder had already caught himself.

Leaning back against the capstan again, he tended to his pipe; he didn't want to embarrass the young gentleman by making it too obvious that he had seen his stumble. Only when he was satisfied that the pipe was packed to his liking, he said quietly, so that only the midshipman could hear him: "Eyes peeled, Mr. Scudder! You won't pass your exams if you break your neck first."

Then he gave his attention to the other midshipman who had just appeared on deck. "Mr. Hunt!" He nodded a friendly greeting. The lad did look slightly green, Sew noticed. To keep Hunt's mind off his stomach, Sew put on what he hoped was an inviting smile and asked, nodding at Scutter's books: "Come to take the air or to join Mr. Scudder in his pursuit of knowledge?"

Scudder’s head moved upwards in a swift jerk when he heard his name being addressed, he flashed a fleeting smile which was rather weak in its nature and far from joyous. “Y-yes, sir,” he managed. His chest rose a little out of nervousness, though he was admittedly quite grateful Mr. Sewell hadn’t spoken any louder for he would have been more mortified than he was at present. He tucked his book under an arm as Mr. Hunt greeted the two men; his brown eyes fell shyly towards the floor, uncertain of what he should say. Before he had decided to show himself on deck, Scudder had been engrossed in a fascinating book about botany before he decided it would be better to improve his French vocabulary, despite being relatively fluent in the language.

Ambrose heard the marine lieutenant speak; he recognised that the voice belonged to Mister Sewell. The boy (if one would call a seventeen year old that) smiled back, and also trying to put up a show that he was alright. He wasn’t exactly the sort that fared well with health as he was always sick. Ambrose was addressed with a question and thus answered in return, “I suppose a little bit of both,” Ambrose then said with a slight sigh, “Fine day to be out, it’s a shame I locked myself reading indoors, I should have done what Mister Scudder is doing.”

“And, pray tell, my dear friend Mister Scudder, what are you reading?” He then asked his fellow midshipmen, they weren’t really friends as they hadn’t talked much but Ambrose knew of Scudder’s timid-ness (which remind him of his father) but he still wished to engage Scudder in conversation, thinking it was for the best.

Pleased that his little ploy had worked and the two midshipmen were about to engage in conversation, Sew settled his back more comfortably against the wooden drum and drew at his pipe again.

As long as Mr. Scutter kept Mr. Hunt's mind of his queasiness and his mind on what he was doing, Sew was perfectly contend to fade into the background again and be ignored.

While he looked a perfect example of a studious soul, Mister Bailey, the midshipman, was in truth doing quite the opposite. Having slid a smaller piece of literature between the pages of what he termed the most boring piece of written work, since man had invented writing - this being an unfair description of the midshipman's studies - it was this other work that he was reading with greater delight.

He did not last long at remaining below deck. Since the light was still strong above, and there was a chance at spotting something more lively even in the sea, should he lean forward enough, he thought to make the short trip into the fresher air.

With the last few easy steps made, he came to the scene of a pair of midshipmen and a marine lieutenant not too far off.With his book tucked under his arm he crossed some of the distance. He gave a curt yet respectable nod of greeting to the marine officer.

Sew returned a friendly nod, then bestirred himself to open his mouth once again. "Come to join the study group, Mr. Bailey?"

The young gentlemen might as well help each other with their studies, Sew reckoned. That way at least they would have a chance to share their experiences, and practical knowledge was always better than read-up wisdom.

"Oh no sir." Study, when it actually meant what it was called, was not a very alluring thing to attempt. Bailey did not feel at all inclined to succumb to the general need of that dreadful occupation. "I am but many times the pages behind them." And so indicated himself as if his age was a good reason to suppose his claim correct.

"It would be unfair of me, should I hold them back. I will be quite delighted to study on my own until I am able to be on par with them." Speaking that with the innocent look on his face - thinking he would much rather continue reading his much more entertaining, though far less educational literature.

Sew felt pity as he recalled that Bailey was the youngest of the lot. It was more than likely that he often felt bared from the exploits and conversation of the more experienced midshipmen. "I'm sure Mr. Scutter and Mr. Hunt won't mind explaining their knowledge and answering your questions, Mr. Bailey."

He directed a prompting glance to the two other young men. "It will be a good practise before they are asked to do so before the examination board."

Being pleasant was essential, even if the lad felt far from the need for help from the other two midshipman. Actually, he did not want to discuss the boring topics he was certain the two older midshipman would begin on!

"I would not know what to ask them for fear that I might ask a question that they would condemn as silly." A fear he did not really have, but to play on the violin of distraught could certainly help in getting one's own. He tried his best to appear genuine in his statement, pleasant and friendly.

Uncertainty of what to say kept his eyes on the floor and his expression remained as still as stone as he did so. A thought of returning to the midshipmen’s berth crossed his mind, though he did not act upon it. When Mr. Hunt asked him a question, his head raised and hoping his words did not fail him, he answered, trying to sound as genial as he could, “I’m reading…” he then paused abruptly, breathing once again as if to calm himself, “Fr-French.” He pulled the book from beneath his arm and displayed it, a dull olive green cover with faded gold writing glistening in the sun’s shine.

Another midshipman had appeared and Scudder saw that it was Mr. Bailey. He watched him as he answered Mr. Sewell’s questions. Personally, he did not want to be a part of the proposed study group, the thought of it made him feel uncomfortable. “Th-there…” Scudder sighed, almost shocked he had spoken, “there’s nothing to fear… I assure you.”

Soon enough coming to join them was none other than Bailey, a fellow midshipman – younger than both Scudder and Ambrose. Ambrose always thought the other midshipmen lazy and himself the most hardworking (he was a bit of a workaholic), so he was quite glad to see two other midshipmen holding books. Ambrose had just finished reading a medical book. Ambrose was the sort who enjoyed reading and working, though he did enjoy battles (even if he had lost his right arm in one) and such a little more as they were ‘hands on’ learning.

Bailey and Sewell exchanged some words; meanwhile, Scudder spoke to him and told him he was reading a French book. Ah, French, a language that Ambrose knew from having learned it in school. Personally Ambrose preferred Greek, with he excelled since he was part Greek himself, and Latin. Scudder really did remind him of his father – minus the stammering. Before he could answer Scudder’s response, Mister Bailey spoken, "I would not know what to ask them for fear that I might ask a question that they would condemn as silly." and Scudder answered.

“Yes, I agree with my friend here. Bailey, you can ask us anything. Especially me, I’d be happy to answer any of your questions regardless of what they are.” He said with pride, by now he had forgotten his unsettled stomach, “May I see the book you were reading?” Ambrose began to make his way towards Mister Bailey, extending out his only hand.

Now all three midshipmen were talking, Sew once more retired to his unobtrusive stance at the capstan. Scudder had been shy as usualy, but at least he had spoken at all, and Hunt did look better.

Setting his pipe burning again, he resumed his quiet study of the ship.

Bailey kept a pleasant smile on his face even if he was inwardly scowling. He would want to do anything to avoid the need to study and here they were so helpful in offering the assistance of learning.

He clutched his book tighter, and answered: "Oh..It's just The young's officer's sheet anchor." Which it indeed was, the practical book of learning about rigging and practical seamanship. Only, it was not the only thing that he was holding, and between those pages the book of which the title and content he was less willing to share. "See?" He showed and tucked his book quickly again, resting it to his chest. "I would not want to take either of your time." He said glancing at Scudder as he said it. "Honest, it would be selfish of me, if I did!"

Ambrose noted the marine’s muteness – perhaps letting the midshipmen to speak amongst their own selves - and he was using his pipe, there was also Scudder’s sudden silence as well while Bailey addressed Ambrose’s offer and question. Ambrose was feeling only a tad bit ill but the conversation was keeping him busy.

Ambrose raised his eyebrows; the young midshipmen seemed to have clutched the book tighter and also did not take Ambrose’s offer in seeing the book. And thus began Ambrose session of insecure train of thoughts, he began to think that perhaps the boy didn’t want a one-armed young seventeen year old man touching his book. Ambrose was inwardly hurt but he tried to retain the aura of being as he was, happy. If anyone had half a brain they’d have realised his sudden sadness, his sombre air hung onto him like a cloud and it was clearly noticeable.

Ambrose didn’t pay much attention to Bailey as he spoke to Scudder, "Honest, it would be selfish of me, if I did!" Ambrose nodded as if to show he ‘understood’ Bailey but instead he dramatically rested himself against the capstan, staring off into the sea. Ambrose was known to be either overly joyful (as he was before) or unreasonably miserable seeing as the littlest things always put him into a sad mood.

The sudden change of mood startled the young midshipman and he arched a brow, gazing at Ambrose. He sought out his expression, trying to read the feelings behind it, his grip on the book relaxing some. "'Excuse me. I meant no disrespect." He spoke, not sure whether his denial of their assistance had somehow upset the older midshipman.

Confused as he was he did look about, but saw no other reason that might have angered or saddened the lad. "..What is wrong, if I may inquire?" He asked at last, feeling that he did not want to go guessing and second guessing but that he would be much rather having a straight, certain answer which he could properly react to.

Scudder was about to respond to Mr. Bailey’s comment when he suddenly recognised the sullen expression which marked itself upon Mr. Hunt’s face, which was gazing off towards the sea. Scudder knew that face too well. Before Mr. Hunt could answer Mr. Bailey’s question, Scudder intuitively interjected, “I-I believe, seasickness,” he glanced at Mr. Hunt’s face. He sometimes had melancholic feelings which were sparked from the most insignificant of things; in this case, Scudder could not tell what exactly had made Mr. Hunt feel miserable all of a sudden but he suspected mentioning it would only make matters worse.

Well, not quite what Sew had hoped for. Especially as they were standing in the middle of the quarterdeck, the worst place for either upset nerves or an upset stomach. Straightening and stretching his back, he said:

"Better go over to lee. Captain may be coming up soon."

Laying a friendly hand on Hunt's shoulder, who conveniently had ended up beside him, he led the young man over to the side railing. To distract him from whatever was eating him, Sew spurred himself into speech once more:

"Have you sailed these waters before, Mr. Hunt?" He knew that Hunt had lost his arm on the Athena, so there was some chance that this would provoke a more than monosyllabic answer.

Ambrose listened to Bailey speak and thought now that he had upset the boy thus making him feel a bit worse. How cruel he himself was being – or so he alone thought. However; thoughts of wishing to have his right arm back were suffocating, memories of losing his arm and the days he lay ill with his annoying fiancé haunted him. The younger boy seemed to want to know why Ambrose suddenly became solemn. It was very true that Ambrose was insecure in general but that fact that he has lost an arm had heightened it.

“I-I believe, seasickness,” Interpolated the one year older midshipman Mister Scudder. He could always count on the man for making up lies and backing him up, Ambrose would be happy to do the same. He knew that Scudder, like him, easily would fall prey to bitter feelings.

Ambrose felt like not talking at all, not speaking and also consequently this was why he hadn’t spoken thus far. He felt a kind arm on his shoulde; he felt a slight ray of hope. And then it came:

“Have you sailed these waters before, Mr. Hunt?” Ambrose had tendencies to randomly break into a fit of weeping at his ‘miserable life’; whereupon, this time round his reaction was that of anger. This wouldn’t surprise any of them as Ambrose was quite hot-headed and easily made irritated.

“And what are you suggesting, sir?” Ambrose grumbled still trying to retain all politeness – something he’d definitely did not show his VERY aggravating fiancé, “Sailing waters is exactly how I lost this bloody stump, sir!” He began pointing at his left arm in which was pinned to his uniform, amputated from the elbow and downwards. After his little outburst - sugar-coated in still trying to be civil - he was heaving heavily like an upset ape.

"Calm yourself. Lieutenant Sewell." He glanced at the marine officer to see if he had remembered his name well. ".. meant no ill will with his question." He on the other hand remained sounding kind and polite even if he felt he could refrain from doing so. "He might have seen your injury and perhaps wished to hear the story behind the heroic act, in which you have lost it." He was quite glad that his book did not gain any more attention, though drawn to see how the emotions would rise or fall at present.

"At best it would be polite to apologise, as I am certain our marine lieutenant had meant to ask whether you have been in these exact waters rather than suppose you a landlubber."

Into the middle of this conversation wandered Simon Fletcher, attracted by the gathering of so many of his messmates in one spot. He looked back and forth between the boy and the Marine lieutenant, taking in the shared look of unease on each face.

"What are you all doing?" he asked with such guiless curiosity which was either completely genuine or the work of a very skilled actor.

Sew had been rather taken aback by Hunts sharp answer. If the lad didn't learn to answer a simple and rather common question normaly, he would never make captain. And he didn't particularily care for Mr. Hunt's assumption that he didn't know at least some basics about all the persons on this ship. But his opponent was only a young midshipman, and Sew knew that it would be neither sensible nor to his credit if he took offense.

Still, he had been asked a direct question, and Sew had never yet refused to answer one. Ignoring the newcomer for a moment, he let his hand slip down. Still keeping his tone neutral and inflectionless, he answered: "I had meant to imply that you had more experience than the other midshipmen here."