25th May - Lieutenants in the tavern

Leat was vaguely aware that things had gone somewhat awry just as the portuguese man pushed aside Cartwright and was taking determined steps towards him. Leat took a step back to adopt a more defensive stance.

"Now look here -"

He unfortunately did not get any further, as the bearded man immediately fetched him a severe blow to the eye which sent to poor lieutenant reeling back into the wall of the house with a resounding thump.

"Here! You can't go doin' that to our offisher!" Oxley's indignation over-rode his ability to speak without slurring. Cartwright had been pushed aside and was now sitting in the middle of the street, looking rather bemused. Grattan and McEwen were holding each other up and McEwen seemed to be trying to hide the bottle of wine he was carrying - probably too late, and certainly not managing to conceal it very well.

Oxley bit his lip. What with two Navy officers there, he didn't want to draw attention to himself - but then, Mister Cartwright looked like he needed a hand up. He approached, but hung back diffidently, unwilling to push in and annoy the two Naval officers. He really didn't want the rough side of Mister Bush's tongue if he could help it - even if the First Luff was on the wong side of sober, he could probably still come up with a few choice things to say.

He couldn't help gasping as the big black-bearded Portuguese man swung at Mister Leat, connecting with his eye. "Hey!" That was going to be a lovely shiner the next day...

"Now see here!" Cartwright burst out, righting himself somehow in time to see Mister Leat catch a very solid-looking punch to the eye. This was quite enough. He looked around and spotted, again, the group of libertymen. Some of the men had begun to approach, however hesitantly.

"Marines!" It was the only thing his wine-sodden mind could come up with for a solution to the present trouble. That the Marines in the group might be equally as drunk as the officers never occurred to him.

It almost made De Guarde stand back just to see Mister Leat be given a thorough thumping. If he had not had even the slightest of pride in his own ship, he might have turned and scurried off, or moved to a place where he would be kept out of the officer's vision, but could see it far better than from where he stood at that moment. But he had that little bit of pride and was moving in the right direction.

Cartwright was down too, he noted. Poor thing landed on his bum and did not know when he had managed it. He looked to the side at the visibly drunk Oxley and felt a pang of envy that the boy could have intoxicated himself so. Although this was far from useful at the moment, he would have liked to have shared the pleasure of it.

"Oxley. Get y'self together." He snapped at the boy and turned trying to obtain similar authority against the big marines. " You lot 'get that man away from Mister Leat." The only sober man, boy far and wide, excellent, he thought bitterly.

Best days were those spent on land in a tavern, with a lass under one arm, and a mug of drink in the other. When that had been accomplished and it was time to stroll through the streets in search of another tavern, one would go indeed, with a heavy heart, to abandon the pretty company.

Drink made a man speak all the languages of the world, or atleast, it made them believe they did. He grinned and hummed himself a tune, muttering words in gaelic with no care for the world. He had been lagging behind Oxley's group only as he had decided to tell a filthy thief what he thought of his tricks of trade. Well, he might have picked the wrong man to teach even, oh well.

"oh..cad é seo?!" He had said, rather muffled up even so. He had heard more than saw the thud of the naval officer. He acted rather than think what to do, shoving the little Tar out of the way, as he advanced at the bearded man. The bastard would pay. Only, why was he so far away?! And hey, there was one marine hiding an unfinished bottle of wine or some drink. Which made the man pause only for a moment to see if his first inspection was correct.

"How dare you, sir!" Bush shouted at the Portuguese man, furious that he had attacked Leat. He attempted to take a more aggressive stance, though considering he was still struggling to keep himself upright, Bush did not think he would be able to provide much assistance in that respect.

Thankfully he too saw the group approaching, and was glad to hear Cartwright calling for them.

"Yes, Marines!"

That had been Mister Cartwright's voice calling for the Marines. Oxley trotted up, a little unsteadily, and managed a salute though it wasn't as smart as usual. "Sh... sir?" he said, feeling awkward at talking to an officer sitting on the ground. Officers weren't supposed to end up sitting on the ground. He wasn't sure how he could help - and he was far more sober than Grattan and McEwen, who were practically holding each other up, though they made an effort to straighten up when they saw the officers looking their way.

Having slid to the ground Leat moaned, clutching a hand over his smarting eye. How the world spun! The first thought that came into his head was that he must rise to defend himself, for he was certain that the bearded brute would come down on him again - if only he could find which way he had to go to get up. There was a lot of shouting and scuffling, and it wasn't helping him think.

Gunn was no longer staring at the bottle of wine, still containing some of the liquid. He heard the call and saw no response to the order from neither McEwen, nor Grattan. What did they think they were doing, clinging to each other like a pair of wenches whose lost their skirts? Were they daft? Himself drunk, he did not seem to notice that a similar state was bestowed to the pair, and his approached the two, annoyed at their inactivity.

"Oi, he's callin' yush. Give'un a freagra. Ya amadán!" He shoved his arm at the two, thinking to dislodge them and have them snap to some form of attention. Only, the moment the strength of his nudge met with the pair, it had them both go up with their feet and down with their bottoms. Gunn stared as two marines seemed to disappear from view in a matter of a second. What monkeying around was that? He heard the clang of the bottle and blinked, then looked down at the floor and the pair of men sprawled there.

"Oopshee." He looked bemused. "Wot' done there?"

Leat groaned again. The street suddenly seemed to be filled with people, and a lot of the lolliping about in bright red making an awful lot of noise. Christ, what was happening?

"Help Mister Leat, damn your... eyes," Cartwright managed, the last word coming out more as a wheeze, for he had been heaving himself back to his feet while he spoke. He'd help the sea officer himself, if he could only get across the few feet between them.

"Help Mister Leat!" Gunn exclaimed after Cartwright had given his order, but upon a quick glance he abandoned the pair of marines, which looked too drunk to be of use. Not that he faired all that much better, but he could stand and had not yet the problem of finding out where up and where down was. Gunn did step forward then. He had got close and was reaching towards the besotted lieutenant thinking to, with little logic in the action, first hoist the man up before any retaliation was to take place.

"Up, sir." He grinned and brought both hands behind the lieutenant, under his arms, doing as he suggested. He lifted the man fast and near higher than was good to stand on his feet. In this though he was behind Mister Leat and had him in the way of the culprit.

The next thing Leat was aware of was that he had been grabbed and hauled upwards at an alarming turn of speed and without any apparent reference to a final destination or point of contact as he went up and up, the world spinning faster and faster out of control so that it was a nauseating blur. He stopped himself from being sick, though, as whoever it was that had lifted him held him steady and the spinning world was just beginning to right itself again...

However, Gunn had not only succeeded in hauling Leat up off the floor but also to present the lieutenant front-on to the Portuguese man with his arms effectively pinned to his sides. Not one to pass up such a God-sent target, the bearded man closed up and kneed the would-be redheaded nightingale visciously in the groin.

A white-hot pain seared across Leat's vision, blinding him. He let out a short, stunned gurgle - then doubled over like a rag doll, dropped onto all fours and vomitted noisily onto the ground.

"Here, you can't go..." Oxley got out as Gunn hauled Mister Leat off the ground, only to break off with a sympathetic wince as the big Portuguese man kneed him right down there, hard. The Lieutenant dropped to the ground, curling up and moaning in agony. "Now, that jusht ain't on!"

Mister Cartwright was on his feet again, though Oxley hadn't seen how he'd got up, and the drummer gave up with a shrug, turning to offer his own officer a supporting hand. Or shoulder; the officer draped one arm around his neck, making the lad blink and stagger slightly under the extra weight.

Now that wasn't right at all, striking an officer, their officer, a man in that region! Not right at all, what Gunn was concerned! Drunk or not, this was a bloody unfair thing to do.

He looked at the poor, curled up man. He could feel pity for poor Mister Leat. The dark eye there, and now something that must hurt so much more. He was not aware that it was actually his very own fault, by hauling and presenting the lieutenant to the other man so openly, that the lieutenant got the knee there. With a great handful of curses all in slurred Irish, he advanced towards the Portuguese man. He had to step around Mister Leat for that, and luckily did not knock his foot into his side, as he did so. Quite surprising that was, considering his affected state.

He reached for the collar of the attacker's neck, meaning to bodily lift him up by that. His free hand had gone back to strike him too. Across the nose would have been preferable, but if his aim wasn't as true, the chin was just as close.

Once on his feet, Cartwright felt a moment of unsteadiness that obliged him to lean a little more heavily than he liked on the drummer - precisely which drummer it was, he couldn't say. But that was something to make sense of later.

"Good lad," he said to the Marine holding the Portuguese fellow by the collar. This had all gone far enough. Mustering enough balance to stand steadily upright, Cartwright moved with deliberate purpose toward the pair. His goal of taking a swing himself, however, was doomed to failure when his shoe caught on a loose stone in the street. Thus, the punch he had begun to throw missed the intended target and instead glanced off the Portuguee's ear.

The natural momentum of the swing overwhelmed his equilibrium and he stumbled, but managed to catch himself by grabbing hold of the bearded man's shirt.

Having seen the man accost Leat yet again--this time in a most ungentlemanly manner--and seeing that Cartwright had tried valiantly to retaliate but had fallen against his opponent in the process, Bush felt it his duty to try and do something. Nevermind that he was completely unsteady on his feet and only dimly aware of his surroundings.

"Come on, then!" he shouted, advancing on the Portuguese man.

In response, the man pried Cartwright off of himself and promptly shoved the Marine lieutenant backwards. Bush had no time to react as Cartwright collided with him, and the force of the collision sent both of them tumbling to the ground.

Enough was enough. Gunn had seen his officer be shoved into the other lieutenant, who was just as drunk as the first. Well, this was certainly why officers were not meant to get drunk.

James adjusted his hold and then lifted the Portuguese man up some and half carried him back till he struck the wall with his back. Here he was lifted a little more so that his feet did not touch the ground at all even if turning to try standing on the tips of his toes, and a fist came across the bearded man's face.

The first punch come in full contact with the side of his face. Another followed, Gunn watched as the man's head bounced off the wall behind him. "You just don't hit our officers." The marine was able to say in English, before he continued in his own tongue. Though he probably said similar things, all but himself would have probably not understood.

Another fist came to the man's head and then one to his belly. The big marine ignored the attempts to dislodge him. Enough was enough.

No sooner had Mister Cartwright's arm landed across his shoulders than it was gone, leaving Oxley concentrating on his own balance for a moment. He wasn't drunk, but he was at that tipsy stage where holding onto walls or people was a good idea, if not yet a necessity.

He looked up to see that Gunn had the Portuguese civilian responsible for pushing Mister Cartwright and seemed to be punching five kinds of crap out of him. "Goo' man," he said, and made his way across to where Mister Cartwright and Mister Bush were tangled up on the ground. He looked down, and reached for the wall to balance himself.

"Here, shirsh, that ain't a goo' place for a kip," he said. "Wanna... wanna hand up?"

There was a scream and the woman who had been up at the window ran out from her house into the street, a dressing gown over her shift from modesty, and ran at Gunn and pulled at his arm, pleading in distressed Portuguese for him to let go of her husband - who had meant no harm, no real harm, but just got angry too easily oh, and please, please not to hit him anymore like that, or he'd be killed!

By now several of the onlookers were moving in, angry that a whole mob of British men were attacking a single Portuguese husband who was trying to defend his poor wife from their lascivious intentions.

"Sir, I would think it prudent to urge that we leave immediately." De Guarde had moved close to the curled up lieutenant, kneeling at his side. "There's a crowd gathering.. and they aren't lookin' at all pleased." He had watched earlier, admittedly but could he have acted any sooner?

"Please, sir." He spoke and offered his hand to Mister Leat, to help him stand. He feared retaliation and looked to Mister Bush, who would be greatly pressed to come to his feet and come with them as well. It was debatable whom he feared more, but at the moment perhaps their drunken state could make them harmless as kittens? Kittens or not, they needed be taken away and as quickly as it was possible else a public lynching could as well be a course the civilians would take next with them.

"Tommy stop starin' at them and help lieutant Cartwright up and off Mister Bush. He's smotherin' him!" He glanced at the drunken marines that were also with them and scowled. "..s' anybody at all sober 'ere?"

"Off with ya, bean! Don't know what you yappin' about." He shook his arm onto which she latched, shaking her perhaps like a rag doll and thinking her as much the annoyance. "Bain as!" He was blind for the crowd gathering, his primary goal was simply to teach the bearded man a prime lesson of manners. He swung his arm away shoving the woman from him, while his other still gripped strongly onto the man's neck. It had shifted its hold there, once it found the collar slipping.

Leat coughed and retched pathetically, vomit dribbled down his chin, but at least he had stopped being actively sick. He'd rolled onto his side and closed his eyes with a groan, wishing that he could simply curl up and die, if only to put an end to this noise and pain. His head was splitting.

Someone was kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulder and shouting his name in his ear. He cracked open his eyes and saw a blurry face looking down at him, but God knew if he could recognise who it was.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only a moan came out.

"Kip?" What the hell was the boy's meaning? Did he want to take a nap, here? Cartwright tugged his limbs free of Mister Bush's, not quite sure how they had ended up atop each other, and struggled to his feet.

"We'd best... go," he added, blearily observing the situation. "Quickly!"