The Day After

"We c'n do it topside, if you'd like. Don't s'pose you'll want to do it at me mess-table. An'... why d'you want it kept such a secret that you'm goin' to write f'r me givin' you a tot?" He asked the question curiously. There was no shame in paying with your grog ration for something, and de Guarde seemed to want to make it into something shameful.

Mister Yates wouldn't be too happy about it, but Mister Yates didn't have to know... unless De Guarde got himself stinking drunk and did something insanely stupid, of course.

"..Your mess table?.. t' marine's one? I wouldn' mind ter do it there.. if ye own don't." He shrugged. A table would be a fine place to write and be comfortable about it, and he considered the option seriously. The marines were less sworn to speak with the naval officers also.

"'couse of Mr. Yates. He'd want ter stop yer." He answered with a small shrug. The midshipman had done it before and might have wanted to do his best to turn his misery to worst. Taking away that promise of tot, was one way to go about it.

"Don't want that ter happen."

"One tot. Fair payment f'r summat. An' the officers don't come visitin' so often as all that, anyways. Just... don't drink y'rself stupid, will you? It won't help either of us if'n you do. An' the others won't mind, neither." He was pretty sure of that. The Terpsy's Marine detachment were all good lads, after all.

"I'll keep myself out of sight and trouble when I do drink." He nodded, for he also did not wish to be caught drunk. It would mean to meet the cat, and his shoulders and back wished for anything but that. He himself would have loathed to be taken and stripped of his shirt before all others to receive perhaps even a taste of the lash. Too terrible and scary a thought that seemed.

"We meet in yer mess then. 's as fine a place as any.. n' it has a table, which'll sure serve me better. Ye think on what you want to write then. Alright? So we don't finish t' letter n' ye already send it n' then remember all those things yer wanted to write yet. "

"All right, then. You seen which table's mine, didn't you?"

There was a lot he could say - it had been six years, after all - but he wasn't sure how much he should say. Wouldn't it be a surprise for his mum and Annie, to get a letter, though.

"Thank you, f'r offerin', lad," he said, feeling a little shy. "It's real nice of you."

"Aye. If it's t' one ye've been workin' at.. then I' remember."

There weren't many men that said thanks, even less to him. It wasn't that he yerned for someone to do so, but it was a surprise when it happened. And so he found himself blinking a couple of times at Thompson, unsure of what to say. It hadn't seemed that much to him. Writing that is. Or offering. It was what he could do, though probably he would have rather not spoilt others with his skill. If he thought back, he couldn't even remember anymore how it came to be that they even talked of letters and when had he decided to offer.

"'s ... allright. It... really is Thompson. 's alright." Embarrassed at doing something that had another respond positively to it.

"Folks like me don't get schoolin' or that. An' you, you've allus bin able to write. You can't understand what it's like, to have the chance to tell your folks things." He grinned. "And... we should probably shift ourselves. Folks'll be wonderin' where I've got to."

"..you'd have wanted ter be schooled?" He asked as he began to stand, the brass plate and wet cloth still in hand. " Learn to read n' write even?" He dusted his slops, frowning at where the dark stain of a palm remained. The sailor thought it mighty amusing at the time, but now he just looked dirty. So much different than when he was a good little middie. Prim and proper.

"Who wouldn't? Couldn't even sign me name in the muster book when I come aboard, y'know." He grinned up at the lad, before putting the lid back on the tin and picking it and his mug up. He scrambled to his feet.

"Don't worry about them slops, lad. You'll get a chance to wash 'em. We do washday on Fridays, ev'ry week."

"Hmm.." He had his tot per two days and still wondered about the marine's enthusiasm about writing. "Hope it'll go out....if I am what i was made ter be, don't mean I need ter be as dirty as them." He stretched a hand out and then the other, a leg followed by the second and rubbed his palms against his shoulders.

"An educated marine private..." He murmured mildly amused."...Come. Before we're to be missed." At that he decided to postpone his decisions, suggestions, offers and thoughts. No need to make haste before he knew what he needed and where he really stood.

"Here - you ain't goin' off with me crossbelt plate, neither. I need that." He grinned. The lad had probably forgotten he was still holding it.

"Might not have any learnin' like y'r own fine self, but it don't mean I'm daft enough to let you go off with me stuff." The tone was mild, and Thompson's eyes were dancing with silent laughter. "Though you'll get yourself enough kit to be able to join us on p'rade, at this rate, lad. What with tryin' me stock, an' all."

"Maybe I'd like that better than ter be in some messy ol'... stuff." He smiles, taking a step back though, with the crossbelt plate now behind his back. If it weren't de Guarde, it could've just been any child's play.

"'s got to start somewhere.. don't I?" He slipped the brass plate under his shirt (at the back), feeling it cold against his skin, but tucked to stand clear of his hands at the rim of his slops. He then held both of his hands up. " Ah, seems It's gone now. 'pologies!" And there and then he held the most innocent a look of any midshipman, perhaps comparable even to that of Fletcher.

"C'mon, give it here. I need it more'n you do right now." He held his hand out, hoping the lad was merely playing a game with him.

"Naw.. 's mine now. Yer don't need it." He smiled and then made a few steps back as of ready to run if the marine began coming too close. " n' I like it." He said as if indeed lying claim on the artifact in question. His eyes mirrored amusement, and there atleast was no malice in them, as neither was it in his voice.

(and now this middie needs the hammock. *hides his shiny brass plate* :3 Night!)

"I do need it. Ain't going to keep me crossbelts fastened without it, am I? An' I don't fancy gettin' the rough edge of Corp'l Johnson's tongue, thank'ee very much."

He wondered if it would be possible to tickle the lad into giving it up, supposing he could get close enough to try.

(OOC - night!)

"Oh, but I heard that yer corporal is on t' prize ship. Can't be yellin' at ye all t' way from there." He took another step back , thinking himself triumphant. "Or seein' yer without it! Don't have t' eyes of a hawk, does he?"

His hands were held free to the front of him and ready to aid him in scampering under things, if he needed to do so. "Yer can just tie it up with some rope. There's a plenty of that on board!"

(Will be right back!)

"He'll see it right enough. Now give it back, do." Thompson was not of a mind to go chasing de Guarde all over the ship for it... though that would certainly get the sailors thinking of him in a different light than the middy who liked topping it the high horse over them.

He took a step forwards. "C'mon, I need it."

" n' I like it." He answered, thinking that the brass plate had atleast gotten a warmer feel now, thanks to his skin. Either so, or his skin had gotten cooler against it. "Yer t' earn it." He said and a grin was on his face. Sleepy earlier perhaps, but rather animated and even grinning now.

"..'r..maybe not. Like it too much ter give it back." Like a pup that was bowing on his front legs to invite his playmate to a game of chase and tumble, the image of the former middie was almost no different. Though he wouldn't bend down, else his bum would protest and he'd be found crying instead of laughing.

"You little terror," Thompson said, grinning. "Too dark down here for a chase anyways. An' I am not runnin' about carryin' a lantern. Who knows what'll happen?"

He did have the rest of the watch off, which was something, at least. He took another step.

"Ye'd fall of course. I suggest that you spare yourself such an embarrassment and admit defeat." He placed his left hand to his back, and held the other near as if he were expecting a sword to be given in return. Even his words were better spoken, a caricature of a gentleman of highest class.

"I shall have good care given to ..my prize. I can assure you." By the looks of it he was getting over confident, even allowing the marine a step closer when earlier he had mirrored Thompson's with his own.

One more step and he'd be close enough...

"You do any damage to it an' I'll shake ye so hard y'r teeth'll rattle," he said, though the threat was belied by the grin on his face. Well, if the lad wanted a chase, he'd get one, sure.

"Why would I damage something so precious? Nay, I'd be daft. n' have ter go n' snatch more from t' other marines!" He smirked and then turned around ready to dash. He wasn't quite sure where he intended to run and whether running past the sailors and other men would be wise, but even a scamper into the marine's berth, and under those tables could be done. It did feel like fun.

"C'm here, you scamp!" He lunged forward, ready to grab the boy.

He squealed in delight and pushed forward, trying to avoid the hands that reached for him. "Nay!" He cried out, laughing.

"You young limb!" de Guarde had darted back a bit, staying out of his reach. "Just you wait till I get my hands on you!" He moved forward.