July 24, 1809: The Morning after

"Thank you!"

Torrington stole one and nibbled at it, for the moment taking a break from rubbing his face with lemon. He had managed to smear the ink rather thoroughly over his face, including his nose and eyelids. Suddenly he remembered something else.

"Vickery, I hate to bring this up, but ... I think we were supposed to have some reports ready this morning."

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It took a moment until Freddie understood what Willoughby meant, but then he nodded emphatically.

"Ja! Yes! You want some? I can make it quickly!"

He grasped Pye's sleeve, ready to pull his frined out of the tent, since he seemed still rather shocked.

Vickery paused, a half-eaten apple fritter halfway to his mouth. "Reports, yes... Stack of papers on my desk somewhere. Hope I finished everything I was supposed to." He shrugged and put the rest of the fritter into his mouth.

The way he was feeling, he didn't much care if he hadn't - but had a feeling that his superiors would care, very much so.

"Yes, yes... I would delight.. in that tea." Willoughby did not put too much effort in forming a proper, grammatically correct sentence. He just wanted the tea and some more rest though he feared that that time was near run out.

"Thank you, Rottlander." He added with a grateful smile.

++

Pye blinked and nodded only now starting to move in the direction he was tugged. Whatever Freddie wanted, he would do. He eyed Torrington again. The man had his face blankened now. He really did not understand officers. They were odd and these three, the oddest! It made even less sense when he thought back of the 33rd.

"Oh God! I hope ..."

Suddenly the engineer hurried to his desk and looked fervently for his own records., hoping that the prankster had not had fun with his carefully penned report. His fingers were greasy from the fritters, and he unthinkingly licked them clean.

"I very much would prefer not to give our esteemed commander another reason for dressing me down!"

The last time still smarted.

---------

"Tea. Coming sofort! Only a minute!"

Freddie hastily exited the tent with Pye, remembering only outside to ask:

"Do you have Peggie?"

Vickery winced. "It does sting somewhat when the General gives a dressing-down, doesn't it?"

"Decidedly!", Torrington agreed. "He has made it into an art form – the effectivenes of which I greatly admire, but never again want to be the recipient of."

He finally found his report and checked the papers.

"Unmarked. Thank God."

He folded them back, then recalled that the general still would have reason to target him and reached for the lemon again.

"From a connoiseur's - not participant's, mind - point of view, it would be rather interesting to hear what he makes of this."

"I think I would rather not. Well, no. I would quite like to... from a safe distance away, preferably while invisible." He looked up. "At least the lemon juice seems somewhat efficacious, anyway."

"Invisible. Yes, that would be very sensible."

He squinted at the mirror and with great care tried to clean the area around his eye.

"Yes, fortunately. It is such an ... undignified state to be in! How does your head feel now? I'm sorry that you had to sleep on that rather uncomfortable chair."

"Better, I think. Well, somewhat, anyway. I think your coffee has done wonders - I feel I ought to apologise as I must have drunk several quarts of it." He held the tin plate towards Torrington with a look of deep contrition on his face.

Willoughby was sitting up on the bed now, running a hand through his hair to settle some of it back into form. The whiskers were mostly gone and his face smelled nicely of lemon, his fingers were cleanest he could remember them, though his head was still disagreeing as was his belly. He tried a little of the breakfast that Freddie brought and was for that reason quiet through the conversation.

Then at last he spoke again. "It is fortunate that lemons are so helpful... though it might be, that if you appeared with the face covered in that.. you might render the man speechless?... one could hope for it at least." He smiled faintly and pressed his forefinger against his left temple, rubbing it in a clockwise motion.

"What is the time anyway?" He added a little more quietly. "...and, gentlemen... I must apologise for this.. unforseen turn of events and for your..less than pleaseant headaches." Which was silly to say. When were headaches ever pleasant?

++

Pye nodded softly and held his chick up for inspection. "With me." He said. "Didn't.. they.. him, face.. on nose.. and cheeck Torrington, officer.. sir... he did... didn't he?"

"One never ought to apologise for a compliment - and you asking for a refill certainly was one."

Torrington still gladly accepted another fritter.

"There is some coffee left, by the way."

He bit into the treat, his usual disinterest in breakfast overcome by his sweet tooth.

"These are rather good. Uh, it is ... five minutes to seven. Unless you were the artist tonight, I don't see for what exactly you are apologizing."

---------

Freddie could only nod.

"There will not be any coffee left at all soon, if you leave the coffee-pot within my reach," Vickery pointed out, topping up his cup. "They are good, aren't they? I may have to request them more often - well, if Cotton can get all the ingredients together at once, that is."

"Since I do not know if I was or was not, I would like to appologise for that as well, just in case. And If I was not, then apologise for finding it entertaining." Willoughby answered hoping that the batman would arrive soon with tea. "..It raises curiosity in me as to what Captain Vickery would be adorned by, should the mysterious painter have found time to paint his face as well." He grinned boyishly. "I would fanthom a guess!" The given time made him decide that he could spare a little longer and get better used at being an officer now, even if the lowest of the comissioned sort.

"And what would your guess be?" Vickery enquired, breathing in the aroma of his third? fourth? cup of coffee.

"A target of course... you riflemen are known for being the accurate ones." Willoughby answered and grinned. "That maybe...and beside it a grasshopper and because I suspect he would be unable to keep you from moving, you'd have the grasshopper look more like something out of a nightmare!" He chuckled.

Vickery shook his head, groaned, and flicked a fragment of batter in Willoughby's direction.

Willoughby laughed and ducked then groaned and grumbled about sudden movements and an achy head. "Could be worse. Could be a wild chicken on there.. or a rabbit... think how dangerous meeting your men would be with that!" He said teasingly and grinned.

Deeming his face as clean as it was likely going to get, Torrington splashed some more water on and dried himself off. His usually pale skin ruddy from scrubbing, he rejoined the banter, sneakily appropriating another fritter.

"Rifle Captain shot in tragic case of mistaken identity instead of rabbit. General greatly disturbed over loss of brilliant officer, but gratulates hunter and artist!", he mournfully proclaimed and popped the fritter into his mouth.

Willoughby laughed softly. "Perhaps you should then feel rather fortunate, that the artist had not decided on painting your face in such manner. The loss would be too great for the army!" He hoped that the tea would arrive soon but was otherwise feeling as if his spirits were slowly returning. He was certainly amused and unusually relaxed. Perhaps the fact that he was no longer a mere trooper, a private, but rather an officer, attributed to that.

"It would stand for a creation of a hilarious though also quite terrible an obituary too."

"A 'brilliant officer'?" Vickery enquired, arching an eyebrow in amusement. "If you employ such flattery at home, you will have a string of girls dangling after you before you have been in Town two days. Oh, la, sir!" He grinned, shook his head - and immediately clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Oh dear... My equilibrium is not what I could wish," he managed after giving himself a moment to recover.

"Remind me to flatter only the persons I would not mind meeting in town, then - though that still would not spare you."

Without comment he pushed the willowbark tea towards Vickery.

"I must say, as much as I appreciate humour, I would prefer if we tried for heroic instead of hilarious, if an orbituary it must be."

--------

Freddie poked his head in again, checking whether it was safe to enter, before tiptoeing in and placing some of his bramble tea at Willoughby's ellbow. Just as silently, he tried to escape again before one of the officers realized he was there and made a new incomprehensible statement.

Willoughby accepted the mug and murmured quiet appreciation to the youth before turning his attention to the tea. A few sips confirmed the tea as being quite as tasteful as he remembered, and that it might wash away some of the taste that still lingered in his mouth.

"Heroic is in the eye of the beholder and the present... a foolish death can be done by anyone in whoever's company and sometimes it ends up being called heroic too."

Vickery's equilibrium certainly was not all that it should be. He lifted the cup Torrington had offered, but had barely sniffed at the contents before getting hastily to his feet and pushing his way out of the tent.

The sounds of retching could be heard a moment later.

"Well, then let us at least hope for a death that is open for interpretation, and not outright foolish. Oh my, it was perhaps not such a good idea to offer Vickery wine after that knock he recieved. Or perhaps ... it was not quite agreeing with you too, wasn't it? Perhaps we should refrain from buying all the remaining bottles."

He tactfully pretended not to hear the retching.
---

Freddie had hoped that he had managed his escape, but an interestingly coloured Captain Vickery hurrying out of the tent a moment later proofed him wrong.Unsure what to do, he shot another helpless glance at Cotton. This morning really proofed more stressful than fighting any number of French.

"I think the whole sense of having a hangover had not been agreeing with me, and I'd rather not blame the wine for it." Willoughby answered glancing at the flap of Torrington's tent, which had settled back in its position.

"Well....if it weren't for the poor feeling and the queasy stomach, he would have perfectly matched his surroundings now... green of the uniform and ..green all over too." He took another sip, hoping that the other officer would not feel so terribly for long.