Sailors with shackles

"....You'll see then. When I'm sent for ter go t' t' grating. I'll go. I won't throw a fit." His eyes narrowed. "I don't want to go, couse no sane man wants ter do that, but I'll do and go. N' you won't hear a peep out o' me." He talked bravely perhaps, but what would happen when his hands were tied and his back bared?

He turned quiet at Thompson's reasoning for coming and slowly nodded. "..I..." He bit his lip. "I thank you, George. Fer comin' 'ere. I was... am upset couse you didn' let me go, but maybe that's your duty as a marine.." He hesitated: "So, you should be f'rgiven." He glanced at Thompson's foot. "..That hurt?"

"Mebbe you will an' mebbe you won't." Thompson somehow wasn't surprised to hear that de Guarde had resigned himself to a flogging, but with his age, somehow the Marine doubted the captain would go that far. Maybe he'd only stop the lad's grog or something.

"Aye, was me duty, that. An' it aches a bit. Nothin' I can't live with - I've had worse." He grinned suddenly. "I ever tell you 'bout how I had a ball pulled out o' me after one fight we was in, years back?"

"A ball?" The boy should have been grateful for a change of topic, though unlike the marine he did not fancy Bolitho to make a kind decision. In his mind it was simple. Bolitho had felt ill against him. He disliked him and thought him a disgrace. This was one of the reasons he thought he might see the cat, even at his age. Another was simply, that the others, the whole crew, would want it too. If Bolitho 'favoured' him in any chance, form or choice, they might feel his decision was unjust. Why would a boy who had openly disobeyed be let go, when a man who has done nothing wrong had once been flogged? He thought it made no sense to believe he would be lucky. So rather than despair in hope, he had set his mind to strengthen its resolve for when it would be needed. He did not want to think how a flogging would feel. If he imagined it even for a moment, he could loose himself. Break altogether.

"Tell me." He whispered. A distraction such as that, would make moments pass more quickly. Thompson knew how to do that well, and he was grateful to the man for it even if he did not show it.

"Well, who do we have here." He heard all the commotion of boys and men going below to see how the shorn Fingers was feeling and decided to investigate. The way lead him past where a boy had been put in irons. He did not care for either of the boys that left the scene in distress. One was a damn blackguard and the other was just dirty ship's boy.

He did not even know exactly, why he had come below. He hated the service and loathed the fact that he once had been pressed. He had a dislike towards most things, even food which he claimed was deplorable.

"The same marine who's about the brat all the time." He eyed Thompson. "Hope you aren't surprised your own mess mates aren't here." This time he looked at the boy. "Wonder if you're goin' to be set an example of. Or if you'll be favoured, little former middie. Bloody trouble you are."

He looked at Thompson with a smirk: "You should not be here, he's been put in irons, can't make him comfortable there."

"Get lost." The former midshipman snapped, recognising the Tar for whom he was. "Ain't wantin' your company, so scram!" He had no doubt the man came only to be trouble, and to feed his curiosity and be entertained by what little misery he saw. He would have none of it. He glared at the seaman and shifted himself on the floor, his legs still forced in the same place by his shackles. It was uncomfortable, but bearable. "N' lay off t' marine. He's way better n' you."

"Big words o' command you're chirping there, pipsqueak." The seaman looked amused rather than intimidated, giving Thompson little attention since his initial address. "Forgetting you ain't in the place to give them anymore, though, eh?" He leaned against the side. He spied the boy's face for a reaction to what he had said.

"Rated able seaman." He looked thoughtful at that and then smirked. "Won't be the gunner's daughter for you." He rapped his knuckles against the wall. "Nah, you should be delighted ter get a captain's one. Really. The only thing you'll ever get remotely... captain."

He glanced at Thompson, only briefly. "That lobster's keepin' his mouth shut. Jus' as he should." He pushed away from the wall of wood, to stand upright again. "Could learn that from him. Would do you perfect good."

"You oughta get lost," Thompson said, straightening up . "You got no business here, anyhow." The sailor didn't look too friendly, but then, Thompson didn't expect anyone down here to be exactly friendly. He glanced down at his shirt. He really ought to head down to his own mess to change, but there was no way he was leaving this bad-tempered seaman here. Even with Ware around, he didn't want that.

"You oughta get lost." The Tar repeated just as Thompson had said it, though adding a mocking undertone to his words. "You oughta get lost. You got no business here." He arched a brow, playing a man surprised by such a statement. "You oughta heed that suggestion o' yours, lobster. He ain't one of you. And he's in irons. Not here ter be pleasantly chatted away." He had his back to the boy as he spoke. "You don't want the officers learn that you're makin' it pleasant for the boy? Don't know if they'd like to hear it."

He glanced at the boy, who looked ready to speak, and then back to the marine. "You can't stop him bein' punished, you know. Will you try? Couse that's only gonna get you in it too. Ain't worth it."

Ware stirred, frowning. "Reckon you oughta stow it an' shift off, mate."

It was one thing to let Thompson hang about. This Tar was another matter entirely.

Thompson narrowed his eyes at the Tar and folded his arms. "An' if I was jus' collectin' a mate's off-duty jacket for him, what the hell business is it of yourn, anyhow?"

Not that Thompson had any intention of taking Everett's jacket back if the boy still needed it - and he probably still needed it. His hair was still damp. And noticing that made Thompson realise that his own shirt and trousers were damp and rather uncomfortable. He was not leaving before this Tar, though, however uncomfortable he felt.

De Guarde sat silent, gazing up at the two marines. They both told the Tar of in one way or another. Cattling looked annoyed. He was not feeling persuaded to leave just yet, though he appeared very close to doing just that. "Take that coat then, n' leave, lobster. Don't like your lot scrammin' about ours."

"...You leave." De Guarde piped in, glaring at the Tar. "You ain't nothing but trouble." It made Cattling smirk at the boy and in response he said:" And you're jus' nothing." He held his hands up, glancing at Thompson and then at Ware: "First time I see lobsters babyin' someone."

"Shove off," Ware growled, fast growing annoyed. He lifted his musket slightly off the deck, thinking of reaching next for his bayonet if this Tar didn't take the hint.

"Ain't babyin' nobody an' nobody axed your 'pinion anyhow," Thompson said. "You'd best run along 'fore you'm missed." Bloody tars. Why couldn't they mind their own business?

Cattling noticed the musket and it's position being adjusted. His gaze followed the hand alertly, before turning towards Thompson. "...Watch yourself." He muttered darkly and took a step back. "...lobsterbacks. Else yer mind end up burnin' yourselves. Friendly advice." He was not dumb not to see he was outnumbered. A marine with a musket and bayonet, another marine, two to one, and one armed at least. He had had his fun. He could let it rest for now.

"..Would love to stay behind..." He said cockily. "But..I am indeed called. " This time, the visit could be short. There was plenty time enough for things. He turned about to leave.

Cattling left. It was a surprise to the young former middie that the Tar did not remain, to bother the lobsters about their business or what rather, was not it. He was also glad that he had gone, though he was partial to seeing him at the other end of the bayonet. But, he could not exactly say that, and both Ware and Thompson could have gotten themselves in the shackles if a fight broke out. This would have lengthened the list of those, meant for the cat.

Thompson, he observed, was still wet. He remained there probably with the intent of leaving only when the Tar did. That was kind of him, if that was the case. He however would need to change before he caught some awful disease that would make him turn up at the surgeon's. "..Could you collect summat strong t' drink?" He asked after the silence stretched a little. "...N',.. if'n you'll hear any talk of what was decided, I'd be grateful if you report back, if you would not mind." He hoped this was an indication enough that he willed him to go change while he still had a chance, and before the clothes had cooled him down so much that he would become a shivering mess, such as himself. he did reach for the borrowed jacket again. Maybe he could have a use of it just for a while longer. Though, it was getting warm enough now, just not comfortable. The latter he could not expect at all, the irons were not made for the comfort of the condemned. They were only made to keep them there. Make them think, a long while even.

He lifted his gaze to Ware and after a few moments of thought added: "...I's got a question. " It was said a bit out of curiosity and a bit out of need too. Cold water did work pretty fast with some parts of one's body. "s' any chance I can get ter t' Heads anytime soon?"

To the heads? Ware glance at Thompson. After how nasty the boy had been, not only to Ware but Thompson as well?

On the other hand, if it helped keep the boy quiet... Ware shrugged fractionally. "Maybe," he grumbled.

Thompson shrugged. "Whatever you choose, mate. Though if you want a hand, give me a minute to shift me rig an' I'll be right back up."

"I'll wait if either of you wants me to." Which he really needn't have said. The two marines would have had all right to decide any way they wished. He did feel somewhat hurt, thinking Thompson suggested he would have been a handful or even perhaps that he would have run. He did not mean to. There, and back.. and hopefully all the better feeling when he returned.

He shrugged again. "Should be all right, just bein' me. Need the keys though."

Whoops. He'd forgotten about that.

"Um.. who's got the keys?" Right, he did need his feet if he meant to walk his way to the Heads. He couldn't exactly detach them and come back later to reattach the pair.

"If you can wait a minute for me to change, I'll get 'em," Thompson said. Though why Ware hadn't got them already was anyone's guess. "S'pose the Corp'ral's got 'em?" No - it had been the Master-at-Arms who'd brought de Guarde below, hadn't it?

"Mebbe. Master-at-Arms was the one locked him up. Never said a thing 'bout leavin' keys."

He would be! "I'll go an' shift me rig an' get 'em. Be back in a minute." He tugged at his shirt, trying to shift it from where it was sticking to him, before turning to head down the companionway to the messdeck to find something dry to put on.

"A'right. Home he don't throw a fuss.. him." He spoke about master-at-arms of course. He wiggled his toes and looked up. There was nothing more but to wait and hope that Thompson would return with keys. Else, he would have to figure out a different way to relieve himself , of which he did not look forward to.

"A'right." Ware fell silent as Thompson headed off, wondering if it would be easier to just send for a bucket so De Guarde could piss into that. Instead of risking trouble by walking him forrard to the heads.