Sailors with shackles

"Sergeant. May I ask summat?" He wondered if the man was informed on a few things relating to his stay in the irons and wished to know of it if possible. He glanced at Ware. He hoped he did not need a bucket next time, though there was some consolation that it would be someone else, who would have to deal with it.

He'd turned to go, but turned back at the sound of the lad's voice. "What d'you want to know, lad?" he asked looking down at him.

"Sergeant. Do you... did t' captain tell how long I am to be here, an' wot' happens after I've served m' time in irons?.. I'm only askin' if you know." He lowered his gaze, hoping he sounded polite enough. He meant to be polite but perhaps he had come across badly to Quinn.

"I don't know, lad. Reckon he'll see you when he's good and ready."  All that fuss over nothing earlier, and now he'd have to wait till the captain wanted to see him. If he did. Quinn had no idea what was going to happen now, of course. The boy wasn't even his responsibility, apart from the fact he was in the irons.

"Thank you, sergeant." The boy nodded gratefully and leaned back. "Even so." He sighed. He would have to wait. How long and for what, he did not know, but he could hope the captain would decide in his favour. Somehow. "Thank you." He murmured again, not mentioning Thompson who had been there earlier and probably had gone off to clean his kit, or perhaps to find his tie buddy or just because he was free to go. Well, he could wait and perchance sleep on the jacket left behind from earlier.

Quinn nodded. "You shouldn't be here too long," he said, and made his way toward the sentry outside the Great Cabin, thankful that his rounds hadn't been too badly interrupted and that Ware hadn't been so stupid as to let de Guarde use the heads unaccompanied.