A Good Bit of Scrubbin'

"Behave," Thompson said, seeing what de Guarde was about. He'd succeeded in untucking the boy's shirt by now. "If you want me to tear this'n off you, jus' keep all-on doin' what you'm doin'. I never seen anyone create so, over a bit of water an' a scrub, never."

Preddie howled in surprise and sprang away, clutching at his shoulder where the vile boy had bitten him. Another seaman whipped off his neckcloth and, balling it up, shoved it roughly into De Guarde's mouth.

"You got two seconds to stop your fightin'!" Tide barked. "Or it's the irons!"

"'Ere, Danny, you ever seen anythin' like it?" Terry whispered loudly to the boy next to him, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of four... no, five, grown men getting the clothes off one boy, just for a wash.

"Bite him back!" Fingers burst out, all but dancing with excitement. This was a lot more fun than getting washed himself.

De Guarde responded to the shout with a muffled: "Mmmph!" He held onto his shirt as tight as before, and tried to curl his legs, pressing them together tight as if that would make the fabric stick. He was not squirming any longer. It was clear he wanted that cloth out of his mouth but at the same time did not want to let go of his shirt.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. The cloth had a terrible taste in his mouth! It made him choke, almost too! He was not exactly fighting now. It did not mean he was willingly having himself be stripped down, but he was not causing harm to any of the men pulling at his clothes. His shirt was untucked. He pressed his elbows tight to his sides. "Hmph." Not fighting, but not giving in either. Was that a good loop hole?

“Sure I ain’t,” Danny answered in an awed whisper. Matthew was mad if he thought this would ever work.

"Cob, you get his shirt off, I'll get his trousers." Thompson turned to the rigid boy. "The sooner this is over, the sooner you can get dried and dressed again. God only knows what Mister Leat an' the others must be thinkin' by now." He reached for the buttons of de Guarde's trousers, determined to get this over with as little fuss as possible.

Tide shifted his grip on the boy, letting Chase forcefully peel off the checked shirt. It was no easy task and a seam gave way a little in the effort.

"Sooner he's dried and dressed, sooner he's confined," the Master-at-Arms snarled darkly.

Even Terry was going to submit quietly after this display. How de Guarde could think putting up such a struggle was worth it, he had no idea.

Fingers stole a glance at Mister Colburn, who was simply shaking his head slowly, as if he was not at all surprised by what he was seeing.

"What'll they do wiv him afters?" The boy asked in an undertone, settling himself somewhat upon taking note of the dark look on the Master-at-Arms' face.

His efforts were in vain. The shirt could not forever remain on him, and with a tear and tug it was finally over his eyes confining the army for a few moments. He felt a pair of hands on the buttons of his trousers. And pushed his feet against the ground so that his back was arched. He saw his error too late. Instead of keeping the fabric pinned to the floor, he had managed to make it so much easier to pull it off his hips. His cheeks were burning due to the effort at the fight, and even in embarrassment and not a little bit of shame.

"MHhh!" His shirt was over his head now and of his arms and hands. Those flew down to catch onto the fabric of his trousers, but those were already going further down.

"Dunno. Can't be good, though, not after that sort of fuss," Terry replied, equally quietly.

The sailors expected the boys to make a fuss - that was why there was an audience, of course. But a fight like that... The boys were going to remember today's events for a long time after this, that was for sure.

Thompson unfastened the boy's trouser buttons with little ceremony, swiftly pulling them down and rolling them up to lay them aside. "Right. Looks like we'll be doin' this the hard way unless you start behavin' yourself sharpish," he said, looking down at the boy.

Finally. Tide rocked back on his heels, letting Frank Butcher take over the task of pinning De Guarde's arm down.

"Keep your grips, boys," he told the others as he retrieved the brush and gave it another dunk in the bucket. Then, smiling grimly, he set to work scrubbing at the boy's pale-skinned torso.

The boy twisted, or tried to. He tried squirming, but they kept him nicely and firmly pinned down. He mmphed again and probably what Thompson would have gotten as reply would have been, that he did not intend to behave at all. But, gagged as he was he could only give a sound of protect, and not a word.

The soft brush felt at first like it would tickle. That alone had made the boy squirm more violently. Even later he tried to purse his lips over the gag, 'hmphing' again angriyl. Humiliating! Right infront of everyone! He'd get Thompson for that, and then he would get Chase and Preddie and all the damned Tars who were here. Well, even if that would not really happen in his near future, thinking it felt better.

The scrubbing was quickly becoming uncomfortable and the lad made that very well known. His cheeks still burnt a soft hue of red and he bucked and pushed against the ground yet again, glaring at Evans.

"If you didn't go creatin' such a scene, it wouldn't be so bad for you," Thompson told the boy, keeping hold of him in case he tried to do anything else stupid.

The chest was done, on to the arms. Tide worked steadily, uncaring if the brisk rasp of the bristles bothered the boy. He had brought this entirely upon himself. Arms were done now and he ducked the brush again.

"Keep his head still," he said to Preddie, who nodded and put his fingers into De Guarde's hair. Not gripping enough to hurt, but enough to dissuade him from jerking his head in any direction.

There was a benefit of being first. That very same brush would be used on all of the boys. The water itself would be used on them as well. By being first, Mathew was really getting all of that clean and fresh, or as clean as fresh as it could get. It did not seem to register with the lad though. He shut his eyes tightly as the brush moved to his face. He did attempt a jerk or two, but a good hold of his hair convinced him to remain more motionless.

He snorted and coughed and choked on the gag. An idea was born, and just after the first choking he was yet again rasping as if unable to breathe.

Oxley wasn't exactly looking forward to his own wash, but there was no way he was going to kick up the sort of fuss de Guarde had been making. To have five grown men dump you on the deck and strip you... that was the height of indignity.

It was fun to watch, though.

"Is he chokin'?" Butcher asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

Tide glanced at the boy's face. "Maybe. Take that gag out, willyer?" He didn't wait for Butcher to obey; he was nearly finished with the lad's face. If De Guarde thought this was bad, wait 'til they started in on his hair.

De Guarde was not enjoying the scrubdown at all. The sounds of his choking were met with little concern, though at least Butcher made an effort to reach for his gag. He could not see that. The damn brush was in the way. Squinting his eyes he shook his head left and right, best he could.

THe gag was being pulled out, the fingers coming close to his mouth. Too close. He paused and then risked a painful revelation of how tight his hair might be held onto, as he jerked his head up, full force. He chomped down on the fingers or tried to. What did that bring him? Nothing really. "Lhew gho!" His hair was still tied in a tight queue, but probably it would soon come out of it. He doubted they' would want to skip anything.

Butcher's howl when De Guarde bit him was the last straw for Tide.

"Get him up!" The quartermaster barked. "You two lads on that pump, get workin'!"

A good blast of fresh sea-water had best take the fight out of his fool, or else Tide would turn him straight over to the Master-at-Arms for sorting out. The seamen assigned to operate the wash-pump grinned and set to work with a will, while Mister Colburn took charge of the hose.

"He'm worse'n a wild cat when he'm roused," Thompson said, scowling at the water jet caught him as well as de Guarde. It wasn't as though he'd expected to remain dry once he'd got involved, but the reality of getting a soaking was damned unpleasant.

"If you don't start behavin' yourself right soon, Mathew lad, you'm goin' to like it even less than you do at the moment," he said. "Now, behave yourself an' this'll be over afore you know it. You don't..." He left the sentence hanging.

Terry shivered in sympathy as de Guarde was hauled to his feet and the hose was turned on him.

Now... if he was careful about it, he might be able to sneak away and hide somewhere while the men's attention was taken up with de Guarde. Hopefully.

He took a careful step to the side, and then another.

When the water-jet was turned on De Guarde, Fingers winced in sympathy. That couldn't be any fun. Especially not stark naked.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Terry Button sidling away with particular care. He nearly grinned. It was a prime moment to effect an escape. Mister Colburn was distracted and it didn't look like the sawbones was paying them any mind, either. Perfect time.

He took a cautious half-step back, trying to ignore the powerful itch on the crown of his head. He dared not scratch it, lest he draw attention to himself.