22 May, First dog Watch - later in the evening

They've gotten most the the injured taken care of, the ship itself prepared and ready. The starboard watch had been given their time of leisure which had the young Tar skipping onto the deck, to rest by the railing. He had been too busy to head for the sick bay though the longer his head ached, the more he was sure it was a wise idea for it. He grunted and looked at his his sleeve. He'd wanted to fetch his bottle, stashed neatly. It would certainly ease the ache, but with all the hectic going abouts, he thought the time might not yet be ripe for it. He still had a distinctive smell on him. Trying to scrub it off, it would not come, till he had a fine bath, a thorough one though. Atleast his clothes were now clean and spotless, and his hair had dried up.

The boys had found an excuse to head below. The breeze was a relief and so had the former Midshipman close his eyes in the small bit of bliss found at that time.

The Master-at-Arms - now in a fresh uniform - came onto deck. He had his rattan is his hand as ususal. His jet-black hair was worn in a long braid that seemed to be alive - like a snake down on his back. He was tall, slim and quite attractive, but there was an unpleasant aura around him. Somehow he breathed out malice.

He saw a young boy who looked somehow weird. Something seemed not quite right around him.

"Sailor! When did you last clean yourself?" He asked on his tremendous bass.

He jumped and cursed himself for it, for with the action there seemed to have been a whole broadside of cannons discharged in his head. He pressed a hand to his temple, and straightened himself, his eyes lifting to look at the man.

For a moment he did nothing but stare at him, not recognizing him as one of the Terpsies. It took him another moment before he replied, hastly at the sight of the rattan.

"I have.. I mean, just recently."

He shifted from his left to his right foot. The new master-at-arms. The late one was dead. Of course. ".. Just today but..it's been the battle. We've gone through the sewers. Didn't right .." And he turned quiet. He hadn't been asked for a whole explanation did he now. He straightened a little more, his face dark, but for the reason of his headache.

"Less words, but one sir, would do, lad." He said sarcastically, putting his rattan under the boy's chin. "Your name?"
Now his voice was like velvet. Black velvet. Those who knew Claggart knew very well: it's better when he's shouting your head off. When he pretends to be nice, run...
... If you can.

"..Buckles...err... De Guarde." There was some more confidence in that voice.

"Sir." He added shortly after a pause.

The rattan felt uncomfortable under his chin. He wasn't sure about the voice. Was it kind? Why did it feel as if there was more to it than that. It was unnerving. He didn't know the man and he felt nothing like Terpsy's officers. Perhaps he was too quick to be judging, and his mind was still too hyped due to the battle that ended in their favour.

He tried to lower his gaze and move his chin from the rattan for his own comfort.

"Much better. And what are you doing here? You don't look like a guard, or you're a very bad one."

A sweet voice. Maybe too sweet. You can't know if he's mocking.

He felt something. Something he should know more of. He felt an opportunity - if this boy has something to hide - and who doesn't . Claggart could make him an offer he can't refuse.

"..I.. it's my free time sir. We are permitted on deck.. when.." Wasn't good to lecture a man on the do's and don'ts of a sailor. But he looked safe, kind enough. He bit his lip. He could be right in the impression, or else..

" We can be 'ere, sir." He said with a small hint of defiance. He wished he could have been left to his own devices and that bottle he meant to drink later. Couldn't demand it though, not unless he was mad.

"Of course you can, m'lad. But I feel you want to be somewhere else."

Somewhere very far. Why does he look so... afraid? He was right, of course, but he didn't know Claggart yet. It must be something else.

"Your rank?"

Of course he knew. He saw from his clothes, but the boy looked as if he deserved better.

As if the man knew he was not at his rank by choice, but perhaps he was mistaken in insinuating it. Mr. Claggart was new and could not have spoken to any. Not that others might be so eager to speak of petty things such as this. Perhaps the lieutenants might mention, or perhaps not at all. He'd have flattered himself to believe that he was a topic of one's conversation. Especially when it was just common talk and no more.

"..I'm a Tar, sir. Able seaman." Was it not obvious. He wore the slops of a sailor, the shirt of one,
nothing to distinguish himself as a midshipman. Couldn't be more. He refrained from saying more, almost stubbornly. He studied the man , tried to read his intentions, his nature.

"Not a ship boy? This in uncommon."

The boy seemed too young for an able seaman. Although he didn't hear anyting, he came now to discover things. There are so many secrets on a ship...

The youth shrugged. "I'um able..." His eyes met Claggart's. Perhaps he needn't worry about the man. "did yer need summat, sir?" He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. He knew to keep his civilities and was glad his mouth hadn't betrayed him as it did when last he spoke with that celebrity Doctor.

No, he didn't actually need anything, except he was bored and wanted some fun. "Fun" was something Claggart interpreted very differently from others.

"Maybe someone who irons my shirts. Can you iron well? I don't like burned holes."

He somehow knew the boy will feel this humiliating.

"I don't iron, sir." He said more abruptly and sharply than he had meant to. He bit his lip, but did not drop his gaze as perhaps he should have.

"Yer can ask a steward fer that... or summat. " He supplied, though perhaps did not sound as helpful. He was trying to keep himself calm, as befitted his present station.

"Resisting orders, are we, m'lad?" he asked on a suspiciously velvety voice, and his violet eyes promosed nothing good.

"I must suspect you are a flogging-lover weirdo." He tapped him playfully with his rattan. His smile was like a tiger's, but he still wasn't angry, just... showing his claws for a moment.

"..No sir." He took a step back and regretted it. "I did not.." It felt familiar. "I've just... suggested who might be.. better fitting." He straightened out to seem more confident than he felt. He glanced over his shoulder as if hoping for a lieutenant to call for him , or a midshipman needing assistance. Then he turned and was facing Claggart again.

"It was.. for your own benefit, sir." He added quickly. He did not like the man, and the dislike was only beginning to grow.

"Well, if you are so worrying about my clothes, we should find something what fits better to your... talent, young man."

He saw how the boy wanted to flee. Not a wise thing, little one; where can you flee on a ship?

"So you don't like flogging, lad... am I right?"

He didn't feel comfortable being asked the sort of question. His hand dropped to his sleeve, which he began to tug absentmindedly. Had he been asked that question a few weeks ago, at the time of his first arrival, he probably would have preached about the importance of flogging and how all sailors did something to deserve it, but being in the very same shoes brought on a different sort of thinking.

He did spare a few moments of thought though, before he answered. "..N..no sir. It is...perhaps a ..necessary evil but.. only for a man deserving. And ..even , even then to be used scarcely , not frequently, sir."

"Well, then, just be nice and you'll see no harm... if you are wise enough."

Wisdom was not soemthing you'd expect from a sailor, and especially not from a boy this young.
He had a different view about flogging; one must be cruel to keep order.

"You know, sometimes... the lash is necessary to break the impressed men."

"..Perhaps. But I wasn't pressed, sir." He paused for a moment before continuing. "...N'.. I shall do m' duty as befits a.... Tar, so as follow orders given by officers or those with t' power to give 'em." He rubbed his head and winced.

" ....T' lash , sir. Ain't necessary for mos' o' t' Tars 'ere. They'um good n' behaved..I'll assure yer. They'll do their duty as ordered.. no need ter be floggin' them no." He shook his head and regretted it. He steadied himself again touching his temple.

" 's not popular t' flog men here, sir. You'll see with them officers." He eyed the rattan briefly, before his gaze was once again on the man.

"Oh, I see. So everyone here is a good guy, eh? That's very nice, m'lad. A perfect ship it seems."

His voice was still mellifluous and yet filled with sarcasm.

"How many impressed men have you? I always said it be a bad way to get sailors, for they never will be true... but yet, his majesty needs men. Thank to these demmed French."

"Yes , sir. It's a good ship." But for a few details, like his rating. That was an awful thing on the ship. As was the corporal - but only in his view -.

"The Tars n' marines are good.." He murmured noting the sarcasm, and willing to fight it with an honest description of Terpsy.

"We have some. A portion of impressed and some volunteers, sir. But neither is better than the other sir. Well.. for the most part. They must've learnt quickly here. ..not the usual way of course. Not on other ships."

"It's good to hear. I've meet so much impressed troublemakers earlier. If here be none, then it's really an example of a ship."

He smiled, this time seriously. He was sure there were troublemakers - almost sure he was talking to one. But time will show it. Everyone has dirty secrets - including Claggart - and he was good in finding them.

"How long have you been there?" He asked in an almost-friendly way. Like one who just wants to know his new ship better.

"I've not been long on Terpsy ,.. er, Terpsichore sir. Less than... few months." Perhaps it would have been good if he checked his calendar again. For now he could consider the man's curiosity as a friendly sort of chatter. Perhaps he was one of those men that the marine had told him off. A good sort, albeit inquisitive.

" I've come from ..His Majesty's Ship Confidence, you might have seen her in action today." He shrugged. "...How was.. your ship sir, Defiance, is it?"

"It wasn't so peaceful as yours... neither so perfect. We had many impressed men, and most of them had the silly idea they have rights. Rights! Again something from those damned French. Why would these rogues from the harbors have rights?"

Well, it was mostly true. It weren't the gentlemen who got impressed.

"...Because.. sir, with Rights they may become to feel more loyal to the ship that..treats them with less than disgust and contempt." Was it really the young upstart of a middie that spoke in such a way. The one who claimed all sailors were evil, all of those pressed men needed nought but the lash and was the lash too little, a noose would barely suffice?

"..it..it isn't much they ask for. " He was speaking from the rank of a Tar, though perhaps he was forgetting that and once again speaking as if he were a midshipman, where his opinion could actually matter, a little. He'd even said they, when he should've said we, so concentrated he was on what he was trying to tell.

"Not like the French ideas, mind you, those are far fetched... but they aren't solely animals either."