To offer an apology

(OOC - Morning of Saturday 20th May, during the trip to operate on Doctor Crozier)

Oxley had been relieved as duty drummer and had stayed around on the weather deck to watch the boat being lowered. He'd heard about what had happened to Doctor Crozier and what Doctor Maturin, one of the passengers they were taking north to Oporto, wanted to do. As he turned away to head back down below, he caught sight of a small figure in sailors' slops, who appeared to have been watching as well.

His first instinct was to head below before he was seen, but he couldn't. He hadn't seen the lad really since yesterday, and he couldn't let it go on much longer, or they'd both end up hating each other. The other boy probably already hated him, anyway.

"Hey!" he called, before he could talk himself out of it. "Could I... could I have a word with you, quick-like? Please."

The little boat was away, on its way safely towards land where the operation could begin. He'd observed it before and wondered of the well being of the doctor and whether they might succeed. Keeping the little boat in sight, he heard a voice call.

For a moment he'd thought that the drummer boy was addressing someone else. He couldn't find reason that it would be him, after all, they were still at odd ends with each other. Still he found himself glancing in his direction, looking as much without caring as he possibly could.

He blinked for he saw that Oxley did look in his direction."....What ...do y' want?" He asked somewhat sharply, his mind still on those slops and his humiliation. Still he found himself softening his voice some.".....Aye. Where to?" He wasn't afraid, and that he willingly showed the other boy.

"Up for'rard, a bit. If you don't mind." There was no way that Oxley wanted to be out of sight while in this boy's company, until he knew which way the wind was blowing.

The fact that de Guarde seemed willing to talk, even for a bit, was encouraging. He headed towards the fo'c'sle, where they could have a bit of privacy yet still be seen by the sailors and Marines who were topside.

The drum made it a bit awkward and he unclipped it, setting it down before turning to look at de Guarde. This whole situation was more than a bit awkward, and now he found he wasn't quite sure how to say it. He sighed, and decided just to spit it out. "I... I'm sorry. 'Bout yesterday, an' all," he said, wondering suddenly why he was bothering. He carried on anyway. "I... said summat that upset you, an' I'm sorry for it." He didn't quite dare hold his hand out just yet; it was still bandaged up and if de Guarde decided to take exception to him, he didn't need to risk having it twisted worse.

With a slight nod he had followed the drummer. He hadn't let it show, yet he was as pleased that a slightly more visible place was chosen as the marine seemed.

He listened and studied the boy carefully. What he said was well in need to connect with how the boy felt and his eyes, the look on his face could be a chosen telltale signs. He'd glanced briefly down to the youth's hands. Another of the signs that could betray or support a claim a man made as he had learnt. Both that and the posture, though harder to read.

"Ye'm... sorry?" Well, he hadn't expected that. Perhaps he thought that the marine boy would call him in for an argument or an arrangement where at his terms things could be dealt with, out of people's sight. He wasn't quite sure why he thought that, but he was wrong anyways.

"Wos' you told to say it?" It was asked as much as to prolong time and mask his surprise, as it was in earnest of wishing to know it wasn't just an order followed. The later would've surely made the apology worth nill.

"No. I jus' got to thinkin', like I said." Had he said? He couldn't remember. But between them both, Mister Cartwright and Foley had got him thinking about things, and he wanted their good opinions. Especially Mister Cartwright's. But he wasn't doing this just for them. He had been thinking about de Guarde, and he felt sorry for him, a bit, even though he felt it was the boy's own fault he had no friends among the other lads. Though maybe it was just that he didn't know how to be a friend, a thought completely foreign to the young Marine.

"Look, I... if you're wantin' another fight, I ain't goin' to oblige you. Not after the last time. All I wanted was to say I'm sorry for... well, I could've said things mebbe a bit better, that's all. And if you don't want to accept that, I'm sorry for that too, and I'll go."

"I... " He looked again at the boy, his pale blue eyes serious and intent. "...don't want another fight. " Certainly not right now and he didn't fancy one later either. He was easily reminded why. He dropped his gaze to the bandaged hand. His doing, he recalled.

"Yer.... surprised me." He admitted, rather reluctantly and visibly unwillingly. It was as if admitting to a weakness. What could he say? Settle the score of insults but not bring up the slops and be sure that those would be repaid in equal manner. He hesitated again, which in a way was a good sign. Were he convinced that he wanted nothing to do with Oxley, and worse, not want to forgive him or accept his apology, he'd have said it much sooner.

He fidgeted. Lifting his gaze up again, he tugged at the sleeve indecisively. "If yer mean it." Though his voice clearly showed that he believed it as such, though rather shyly, "..then... thank you." He looked away again. He could have left it at that. But..

"And..." He began.

And. In a way, that was going to be harder to apologise for. "An' I'm sorry about the... about stringin' your slops up, an' all." It hurt to say that, almost, but he was going to apologise properly. "I just... I just got real angry at what you said 'bout me uniform..." And that sounded as though he was making excuses, which he wasn't, but he needed to say it. He was proud of his uniform, proud of what it meant. He'd practically run away from home to join the Marines because of the uniform, after all.

"It... it wasn't meant for anythin' but a bit of a joke, an' I'm real sorry it got out of hand. I never meant to go that far, and I'm sorry." And how many times could he say 'sorry'? And de Guarde hadn't said it once, yet.

He rubbed at his wrist a little. He'd tried, anyway. Maybe the Lieutenant would see it, maybe he wouldn't, but Oxley knew he'd tried to make things right, even if he and de Guarde were the only people who knew it, ever.

The uniform. Yes, he'd insulted the boy about it, but only as he knew how much it meant to Oxley, how much it could mean to a marine. It was nearly a way to answer the words that upset him. He almost hadn't wanted to hear about the slops and that was a thing he felt he couldn't right forgive so soon. He'd been humiliated, yes also taught something about the sailors, which was a good thing, but still , humiliated.

He heard the boy out, and only once he was quiet again, and after some time passed, did he speak again. "...And .. I meant.." He shrugged very faintly and looked at Oxley as if to prove he was not afraid to look him in the eye, and thus to show that he had nothing to hide.

" I'm sorry." He whispered so lightly, that even he had trouble hearing himself. But he did not leave it at that. He could, he could feel he was justified to be quiet, since all that happened to him. "..I'm sorry for wot' I said to you..'bout ye n' yer' uniform n'all. ..I was upset... n'" An excuse and yet not , also. "..I..." He wanted to say something more, but first he looked at Oxley as if seeking out, on his face, something amused, triumphant, mean.

Oxley blinked at de Guarde's words. He'd been hoping that he was right to apologise to the younger boy, and had wanted to receive an apology in turn, though he hadn't really expected one. When he heard the words, he couldn't quite take it in. And then de Guarde said it again and explained, and Oxley just felt relieved. Relieved that he had been right to come and talk to the boy, though it had cost him a lot to do it.

"Thanks," he said, smiling at de Guarde. It was only a small smile but it was genuine.

"..." He shuffled his feet a little and nodded. It was odd not to see malice in Oxley's eyes but comforting. ".. T' slops thing...is not forgotten." But he didn't want to sound mean, just honest.

"The...rest I... I forgive you for." He held his hand out to the marine boy, palm open. He didn't mean to hurt him, and he wanted that to be clear. He was shy, unused to such a situation, which was far too clear. But he did think of his marine friend and that gave him courage, some of it.

"N'....." But he did not finish again. He wanted to say he hoped he was forgiven yet doubted it. He did ..and very oddly, hoped to be forgiven too.

Oxley nodded. "I... I forgive you," he said, and stuck his hand out to shake de Guarde's before he could talk himself out of it. Even if de Guarde couldn't forget about the slops thing, Oxley was glad enough that his apology for the rest had been accepted.

This was one of the strangest situations Oxley had ever found himself in. Apologising to someone else of his own choice, and hoping that they would accept it...

"I know I say things, sometimes, that I oughtn't say," he said slowly. "But I honestly never meant to upset you. Really and truly I didn't."

De Guarde took Oxley's hand. He could have twisted it, had his revenge, but didn't. He hadn't even thought of it. Why did he feel relief though? Because he wasn't told no, as he'd expected? Because it showed Oxley trusted his word? He shook it, properly but not overly strong.

" I..." He remembered Thompson's words and wondered if he could call that marine as his teacher, as the main, for even the other men were slowly breaking in through that shell of 'wisdom' that he'd picked at his old ship.

"...when ye'um upset.. 's.. normal t' say things ye don't quite mean or say it worse... n'...I do say it too.."

"I thought you ter be ..trouble, when ye came that night.. n' I was.. was distressed." He shook his head slowly. "you said t' things that I wos'...am.. sensitive 'bout...Like.. like you with t' uniform. Jus' t' right... er.. wrongest thing." He tried to smile. It wasn't Oxley's fault that the lieutenant gave him hell. He would've wanted to blame it all on him, but they were both the guilty party. And both had a matching black eye. Ironic and somewhat amusing.

"You... Don't take this the wrong way, please. Like I said, I don't want another fight. But you oughtn't to always think the worst of folks. Try... try thinkin' the best of 'em instead. You might be surprised what'll happen."

And that night Oxley hadn't been upset, not till later. He sighed. "I... Well, sometimes I can be a bit blunt and say things without thinkin', and that's what I done that night. I'm tryin' to think first, but it ain't easy to do. An' I never meant to say things on purpose to upset you, I swear I di'n't."

He grinned suddenly. "I ran away from home to join the Marines 'cause of the uniform they had, see. 'S why I'm so proud of it."

He might've taken it as an insult the other day but this time he'd just nodded faintly, and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. What that indicated was hard to discern. Not without words, which came later:

"..I wos'..taught ter think so. N' well, here on Terpsy I might be proven wrong, but before.. all spoke right in that way!..yer know. N' for some it holds true even here.." He flushed red, for he felt he'd been too open in speaking his mind. It was nice to hear Oxley admit to his flaws and not act as a preecher. Made them at the same level, even if one had been of a greater age than the other.

He was surprised to hear the last. " s' .. a smart uniform. " The smile inched up his face, till it remained in fairly honest position. " I'um ...do like how it looks n'all.. very smart!" He relaxed his shoulders a bit, feeling that he needn't worry about a fight for it was more than clear one wouldn't happen.

"I ain't perfec', nor's anybody, but most of the folks I've met are nice enough, though there's always one or two who ain't. But most of the folks on Terpsy are nice enough if you give 'em a chance to show it. I... I wish Terpsy'd bin your first ship an' you could've started out prop'ly, like... like I done."

He grinned. "Have you bin up aloft when you ain't on duty up there, yet?" he asked, as a thought came to mind suddenly.

He was starting to believe it might've been a better thing indeed, starting in Terpsy. For one, he knew he wouldn't have gotten in so much trouble, and Kinsella and Chandos, though one of quicker temper and both elder, were puppies in their temperament as compared to Mr. Hollow. In a positive way, that!

"I'um near got up there once.. jus' when I came. Been late t' see t' cap'n n'all cos of it." He flushed, remembering what an error of judgment it was! He did get away with it lightly, him and that middie both did! But it was right foolish still.

"But... up like that, since. No, not yet." He shook his head and looked curiously at the boy. Why had they not been born with the ability to read minds. He'd certainly benefited from it.

(OK, popped back up to bring my parcel upstairs...)

"No? Come on, then - I've got to take this below first," he said, indicating his drum. "And get out of me jacket. Can't go skylarkin' in full uniform, after all. Can't move me head right, for one thing, what with this damned stock and all." He picked the drum up and grinned at the younger boy. "That's if you want to, of course," he said, a trace of doubt appearing on his face.

".. aye, stock's not very useful fer that." He paused, surprised that Oxley was offering, and even more stunned that he found himself agreeing. "I'd like ter. Well I'd want ter, fer certain." He at last matched the other boy's grin. He loved the heights and climbing, of which both the tops could offer.

(will be a bit slow, cooking, but still here! )

"All right, then. D'you want to wait here till I get back, or come with me to put this away?" He clipped the drum back onto his crossbelt, so that he had a hand free. "I wish drums weren't so awkward, that's what," he said, adjusting the hang of it a little.

"I'll come." He decided. He'd been to the marine berth before and it was better than standing up on deck and looking like he had no purpose whatsoever. He glanced at the drum and wondered aloud:" ..is it heavy then? Or jus' all 'bulky' ..that wot' botherin' ye with it?"

"It's just the size of it. See, it's only a wooden shell with calf-skin and rope, ain't nothin' inside it. So it ain't that it's heavy. Just difficult with the size of it. I dunno how the infantry drummers manage, on the march. Bumps your leg a bit till you get into the way of walkin' with it." He was walking with a bit of a swing every time he moved his left leg, and was holding the rim of the drum with his left hand. "Have to carry it up the companionways, though it's easy enough to take back down, clipped on like this." He glanced at the other boy. "You don't fancy bein' a drummer yourself, then?" he said, smiling.

"Didn' mind t' stock.. I bet I could bear that one too." He rose to the challenge and grinned, observing the manner in which the red coated boy walked. "Mus' be even more awkward with a storm comin' in. "

He hadn't ever thought about what he wanted to be, 'cept that he fancied the smart uniforms of the marines, thought them rather amazing and the drummers, well he'd even thought those a mystery a bit, with how they made the drum sound. Could he ask about that?

"Don't tend to do much with them, with a storm comin' in. Can't clear for action in a storm, not prop'ly, after all. So we usually just tidy things away, make sure they ain't goin' to go rollin' around on the deck for folks to trip over, or damage - Crown property they is, really - and wait for the storm to pass." He snorted a little at the thought of his drum belonging to the King. Sure, he'd never be able to beat it properly, would he?

He led the way below and turned towards the Marines' messdeck. He unclipped the drum from his crossbelt before slipping the cord over a hook set into the mainmast, which allowed the drum to rest on the deck but prevented it from sliding around with the motion of the ship.

He slipped his crossbelt off and unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a sailor's striped shirt. He stowed his things in his seachest before pulling his stock off and dropping it unceremoniously on top before he closed the lid. "Whoever invented them blasted things never had to wear 'em," he said, rubbing his neck. he grinned suddenly. "Come on, let's go up to the maintop, then," he said, moving towards the companionway.

"Ye'um sharin' yer sticks with t' other drummer?" He asked as he watched the lad put away his drum and his coat. He was surprised to see him wear a sailor's shirt under the coat, though imagined that it wasn't that out of the ordinary really.

Following suit quickly, he couldn't contain his excitement. He liked to climb, there was no secret to it, and though he should've felt hostile towards Oxley, him offering something as appealing did raise him some in Mathew's book. His apology earlier had already secured him higher than before also.

"You don't go up often, do ye? T' marines n'all.." Certainly not like Tars, he reckoned. "Why'd ye go for a drummer or wos' it what they gave ye t' do?" He was asking again, and he had an urge to mentally smack himself. What an impression was he giving Oxley? Of a stupid boy, who couldn't have kept his mouth shut? That was one thing for sure. But it felt as if, when learning that there was an opportunity and that he would not be given a cold shoulder or a fist to reckon with, a shout or a smack, he had the urge to ask when able. As if catching up for all that time that he couldn't do that properly.

"You do like askin' questions, don't you?" Oxley said, still grinning. "No, I don't share me sticks with the others. And I go aloft more than some of the others, but not as often as you Tars - or the other lads. Though some of the other Marines are sharpshooters and go up to the tops in battle, to fire down from there. Folks like that Thompson you're so friendly with." He wasn't criticising the friendship, even though he didn't really understand it.

He swung himself into the shrouds before giving a half-shrug. "Me mum an' dad was dockyard workers in Portsmouth, an' I used to see the Marines allus marchin' around. And most the time, there'd be a younger one with 'em, carryin' a drum and beating the pace. Sometimes they'd have a fifer and all. They all had real smart uniforms and things. And I didn't really want to end up being a ship's boy and growing up to be a sailor without a uniform. And I didn't want to end up workin' in the dockyard like me dad, neither, 'cause of he didn't have uniform. So I slipped out the house one mornin' to go and find me some Marines to join. Was too young to be a Marine like them, with a musket, but bein' a drummer's real important, like. We're the ones who beat for the officers' dinner, and beat to Quarters and all stuff like that."