Allhands and bodies too, aft - 1st June

Hmm. Was the lad that eager to resume his duties, after everything that had happened that day? Farley shrugged noncommittally.

"Set yourself down there, lad," he said, pointing toward the table. "And let's have a look at you."

It almost sounded like sit. He was about to complain when he realised Farley had said, set, not sit. He did not mean to make him even more uncomfortable and he felt a fool even to want to protest. Protest is what got him in trouble in the first place. Dutifully he nodded and got onto the table with a silent wince and a gritting of his teeth. He knew enough to pull his slops down to expose the extent of the damage that the boy's cat caused. His slops needed a washing, being as they now carried marks of blood on them.

He braced himself, but hoped that the man might be gentle rather than cruel towards his injury.

While the boy got himself settled, Farley busied himself pouring a measure of laudanum and preparing the vinegar wash for the lad's buttocks.

"Have a swallow of this, first," he directed, holding out the small glass.

De Guarde looked at the small glass and reached to it. He shuffled to the side, propped himself on his elbow so that he could more easily drink it. Even in that he had to prop himself somewhat higher before the glass was brought to his lips and tipped . He recognised the taste and looked grateful. Mister Farley would not let him go without this. "...Thank you." He murmured and held the empty glass back to him.

He shifted back onto his belly, only squirmed enough that he settled himself more comfortably and then lay there motionless, hands bent at his sides. His palms were pressed flat against the table, ready to curl into fists if comfort was needed.

"Good lad." Farley set the empty glass aside and filled his hands with a clean linen square that had been freshly soaked with the vinegar wash. "This will be unpleasant," he warned, before beginning the unhappy work of cleaning the still-bleeding stripes.

His fist soon inched up to his lips, and was clamped there by the set of teeth. He did not utter a sound, though the tensing of his muscles and the slightly jerky movement of his body at times clearly indicated he felt the discomfort. His toes curled up and he willed for the laudanum to take the pain away and lul him into a state in which he would feel sleepy and unfeeling.

He did feel tense already, with Farley tending to his rear end, but knew that this was for the best. It would prevent his injuries from getting infected and help them heal. "...could ye..clean all o'..them cat scratches?" He asked ina tiny, rather submissive, timid voice.

Farley nodded slightly. "Certainly." He could do no less than that, anyway.

The boy winced and bit down on his knuckle then relaxed again. He rested his chin on the hard surface then turned his head sideways, resting his cheek there instead. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. He tensed again and shifted, then relaxed again. "...how long'um I...ter be 'ere, sir?" He murmured, drawing out the last word just a little bit. The lad was exhausted even if he had found time to sleep peacefully on the floor before being brought on deck.

This was a question Farley mulled over a moment. "Until the laudanum wears off, perhaps," he said presently. "Then you may return to your mess."

The boy nodded, feeling somewhat distraught. On one hand he wished to return soon, on the other he would be just as glad to remain in the sickbay and never poke his nose out into the world above.

He arched his back trying to see, for the first time, how bad the injury looked. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, nearly missing the momento. He looked back. He studied Farley and what he was doing. "...messy." He said, almost sounding as if this was mumbled in humour.

Messy. It was, at that. Farley worked steadily, not sparing the poor lad. "Aye. And may it be a firmer lesson to you!"

"...It is." he said after a while, with a sigh. He lowered his gaze. He did not think even Farley understood or would care. It made him feel so alone. He was humiliated infront of them all. A boy's cat, bared before the crew, he could not think what could be worse.

He lowered himself again. "Am I goin' ter full duty..today?" It was a stupid question to ask. he was not ready to climb a mast for danger of falling off of it. He winced again and tensed. He pulled up a bit before he knew better. At that point he stopped. He looked ashamed, and dropped back in his spot, perfect as before.

"No." Certainly not!

"Tomorrow?" He asked then hesitated with a quieter voice:" .....will I be ready.. fer.. duty at all?" He did not look forward to trying to climb into a hammock. He knew how much it usually hurt. He could try sleeping on the floor, or on one of the sea chests. He knew already which he would choose. His and Chase's of course. Better not to intrude on other people's property.

Farley sighed and dabbed gently at the freshly cleaned stripes. "Perhaps. It will be some days yet before you will be fit for full duty."

"I see." He nodded. He did not expect anything different though he did not know what sort of treatment he could expect. Laudanum? More of it? How much of it? He knew how long a doze lasted, which was not something to be proud of. "I'm tired.." He murmured. It was a fact, not a complaint.

The best he could do now was offer a linen pad for cushioning. There was no way to adequately bandage a wounded backside. Farley set about this task.

"Sleep is a remarkable balm," the surgeon commented.

The boy nodded sleepily. He was resting his cheek against the hard surface again, a hand curled under it from one side but it soon squirmed down to it's place to lie along side to him. His eyes were closed by that point. The laudanum was making him feel less of the pain, but it also made it harder to concentrate. Which was a pleasant sort of feeling anyway.

He was not worried about his thighs, which got some of the lash. Farley would see to those wounds as well. He could sleep nicely now and nobody would disturb him."Sleep's a nice..." He mumbled and struggled to finish that thought. Or perhaps he was just debating whether to bother saying it, or leaving it at that.

"Just so," Farley said quietly, turning away to clean up his work space. It was probably for the boy take some rest now, while he could.

De Guarde mmphed something in reply and then he was finally asleep.

Thompson had changed into his drill jacket as soon as he could get it out of his sea-chest. A few moments after that, he knocked on the door of the sickbay, before putting his head round it.

"How's he doin' sir?" he asked, seeing the small figure apparently asleep, while the surgeon cleared up.

"Hmm?" Farley glanced up. "Ah. He'll patch up nicely, have no fear. He is merely sleeping now."

Well, that was good, anyway. Thompson just hoped he'd learn from his experience, at least.

"Can I... Can I see him, sir?"

The boy stirred, but did not wake. It was not so much as a twitch of his fingers on his left hand. Sleep was peaceful and without dreams, laudanum making sure though that it was relatively painless and possible. He could be grateful to the surgeon for his care, which so different than when he was caned, allowed him relief from pain as well as sleep.

"Certainly." Farley nodded before turning back toward his instruments.