4 June; Boys at Work

"Hoi!" Terry said, startled, putting his hands up to try to stop Fingers snatching his hat. He stepped forward to try to snatch Fingers' hat in turn - why was his friend wearing a hat, anyway? - and tripped over the basin of water that he'd just put down, overturning it and sending water all over the deck and landing on all fours in the puddle.

Damn it all!

There was a stifled giggle that came around the corner. It was silenced rather quickly and the owner of the sound withdrew just a step. He could not see from there as well as he did before, and honest he was not eevesdropping. He just happened to come about when he heard them talk and only chose to pause and wait rather than go the other way. Curiosity had not killed Emily, it would not kill him!

Silly Button. He'd made quite a funny spectacle of himself, tripping like that! The deck wouldn't need much washing, so it seemed.

His wild grab was half-blocked by Button's hands, but he succeeded in getting a hold of the hat. Just enough of a grip to let him snatch the wool cap off his mate's head when Button suddenly stumbled forward.

The basin of water Button had tripped over was now overturned, spilling its contents over the deck. Fingers grinned and danced out of his mate's immediate reach. He waved the purloined hat cheerfully and, on hearing the short-lived giggle from nearby, uttered a laugh himself.

Crap! He scrambled up - he was soaked through and was going to have to change his trousers before returning to see if Mister Leat had anything else for him to do. And it wasn't as though his other trousers were any better than these were now, apart from being dry.

And Fingers was waving his hat around. He reached for it, ignoring the spreading patch of water on the deck outside the wardroom door.

Much longer and somebody would slip in that puddle of water. Not that Button needed much more tripping. His trousers were clearly wet! De Guarde leaned forward carefully to see what the stomping sound meant. Ah, and there was Button, hopping after Fingers and his hat like it was made out of gold.

It was comical, and the boy was trying to contain his amusement. This show was worth the awkward stance. Now, he could do nothing but wait and see what more would transpire from this!

Far from being obliging and keeping within Button's reach, Fingers moved again, staying just out of range. He had to be careful of that patch of water though.

"Can trade 'em," he offered, dragging off his own misshapen lump of a hat and revealing his remaining uneven curls. "Yers fits better!"

"Gerrout of it," Terry said, considering throwing himself at the younger boy and simply wrestling his hat away. "Whyn't you arx someone t'knit you a new 'at, you want a proper one so bad?"

The other boy's hair wasn't nearly as bad as he feared it was. Well, not in the poor light of belowdecks, it wasn't, anyway.

"Don't wanna!" Fingers dodged back around his mate, giggling, and failed to see the overturned basin before his bare feet collided with it. He squeaked in surprise, then he was sprawled on the deck, the hat gone from his hand. Whatever amusement he'd been showing an instant before was gone now.

It hurts!

Terry snatched at his hat as Fingers went sprawling, then realised that his friend had hurt himself, and turned to see what the matter was, pulling his hat back on as he did so.

"Fingers? You all right" he asked, concerned, seeing the other boy sprawling on the deck.

Come now boys, couldn't they run about somewhere where he could see better? It was dark enough without them going about in the wrong direction. He leaned forward again. Ah. He saw that bit of short moppy hair he was told about. The curls cut short, moss which lost it's home, and possibly a whole mouse family who was without a curly house!

He was about to step forward or else his laudanum doze could well lurch him there, when he heard a loud thump and something wooly and soft came flying his way. Wasn't Button's hat. That one had been already snatched up by the lad himself.

"Ah." He blinked in surprise then peered at the two boys. Haha. The curlyhead fell too! Sprawled himself good and long! Hm. Well... He studied the hat sceptically wondering if it had any fleas in it, momentarily, before he decided that the whole ship would have probably had them, were they any in there.

"Ow!" It was the clearest thought he could put into words. That stupid basin! Fingers bit down on his lip, hard, and flexed his hands. Or tried to. His left wrist was afire with pain and attempting to move it made it worse. But it wasn't possible! He hadn't hit the deck that hard!

He shuffled to his knees, both hats forgotten, and managed somehow to get back to his feet. An attempt at a grin was on his face. "Deck's wet," he said weakly, taking care to keep his injured wrist from moving, while doing his best to act as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, I know," Terry replied, sobering up a little. "You sure you's all right there?" he asked, coming a little closer. It wasn't like Fingers to get up like that, not from a silly slip. Usually he'd be right back up on his feet, laughing and carrying on right where he'd been interrupted by the fall.

Oh, great. All they needed just then was for someone to get seriously hurt. He was clumsy, but was he quite as unlucky too? De Guarde held the hat in hand, peering at the pair thoughtfully. He tried to guess whether the lad was only pretending to be hurt and would, with a given moment, enact his 'revenge' on the older boy. It did not however appear as if he was. If he was wrong, that Fingers was one damn good actor.

He stepped forward however, wanting to see for himself. That, and because laudanum had set common sense in one corner that he could not reach. "...ey'.. you broke that?" He paused. "...or's jus' bruised?" He spoke quite as nonchallant as if he was actually supposed to be there in the first place.

That was a good question. Fingers curled his little hands into loose fists, ignoring the stabbing pain in his left wrist and shrugged. "Might've knocked me hand a bit," he confessed, glancing from Button to De Guarde, who had appeared from the shadows. "S'wet there, innit?"

As if that excused his clumsiness. He'd rarely felt more stupid in his life. What was the gunner going to say about this? Or... he suppressed a shiver. The sawbones. This meant he'd have to see the surgeon. Damn. He scuffed his toes at part of the puddle of damp on the deck beams and dithered. He didn't want to see the surgeon, because he was naturally fearful of the man, but he couldn't report to the gunner like this either.

"Knocked your hand?" Terry asked, looking at de Guarde. He'd thought he'd heard something in the shadows there, but hadn't taken any notice of it. And of course it was wet there - though it wouldn't have been if Fingers hadn't gone for his hat. "How bad izzit?"

The sawbones had seemed all right... but it wasn't as though Terry had needed to go and see him for any treatment or anything.

"Don' you go makin' it worse if it's bust'." He braved up to take another step closer and then to avoid the puddle on the floor, before kneeling at Finger's side. That hair was certainly shortened, that was no lie. It did not look so bad, but it did diminish the mane the lad once had.

"Could you show'us?" He thought the sawbones to be the best address, if there was an injury that a simple wave and pat would not heal.

Fingers opened his left hand and tried not to wince. "Dunno," he replied. "Ain't bleedin' or nuffin though."

"So? Don't need to be bleedin' to not be right, does it?" Terry pointed out in concern. The basin and wet patch on the deck were forgotten in the face of this disaster, as were Terry's wet trousers.

Bush was in the process of leaving the wardroom when he began to hear voices outside. Opening the door, he stepped out--and nearly lost his balance as his foot slipped in a large puddle of water.

"What in blazes..." he muttered, then his eyes alighted on the boys nearby, as well as the tub laying on the deck. It did not take much thought to surmise what had transpired. Much more loudly, he exclaimed, "What in blazes is going on here?"

Terry gulped audibly at the sound of the First Lieutenant's voice. He sounded... he sounded furious.

He glanced at Fingers but stepped forward and knuckled his forehead nervously before clasping his hands together to try to stop them shaking.

"I... I tripped, sir, c... comin' out o' the wardroom, s... sir," he muttered, unable to look up at the imposing figure of the officer.

Fingers swallowed hard and quickly hid his injured hand behind his back. Suddenly the situation was much worse than it had been a second before. Even the sight of the first luff nearly slipping on the spilled water didn't strike the boy as funny. All he wanted to do was bolt - but he couldn't, not yet.

"Tripped? Indeed," Bush remarked, eyeing Button. Perhaps that was true, but then... "That does not explain what your companion was doing here, however. I suppose he was helping you clean up?" he added, shooting a glare at Fingers.

Terry gulped again, and seized the offered suggestion as the best explanation either of them could come up with. "Y... yes, sir."

Hell, Fingers thought. If he was supposed to be helping clean up, he'd have to make a show of it. He managed an abbreviated nod and hoped like hell he could pull off pretending to swab up the spilled water without having to use his left hand.

And if Fingers really had hurt his hand, he wouldn't be able to help, not properly. Damn. That wasn't going to be good - and what would Mister Hennock do to him, if he couldn't work?