4 June; A romp on deck

"Won't," Terry said, though he wasn't sure what to do with his own hand now. He grinned. "Almost - though don't reckon they haves half so much fun as us're doin'."

"Course they don't," Fingers stated. "They's officers."

He wished he could be rid of this stupid sling so he could use his other hand properly. It was awful awkward trying to mimic the grown sailors' chosen dance with only one working hand!

Terry giggled. Well, how could officers have as much fun as the foremast hands, when they never went skylarking? Even the very idea of officers skylarking... it was ridiculous.

"Try doin' a hornpipe, Fingers," he suggested after another moment, watching Oxley demonstrating one for de Guarde. "Don' need two hands for that'n, after all."

A hornpipe. All right then. Fingers released his mate's hand, sketched a bow, and set into a rough approximation of a hornpipe. It was difficult, he found, to keep his balance perfectly with one arm essentially bound across his chest, but it was fun to try.

Terry giggled. "Looks much better'n whatever we was doin' a moment ago," he said.

Dancing like that with his mate had been... strange. He had some vague idea that that was how boys danced with girls, back on land.

"Ya two's better'n t'em dere," Thom Boyles pointed out from where he lounged against a nearby gun carriage. "No sense 'tween t'em!"

Fingers paused and glanced up at the big petty officer. "They ain't so bad, is they?"

Terry paused and looked up at the petty officer. His skin was certainly very black. He wondered idly if it could grow paler if the man scrubbed long enough... though he would certainly never be able to ask him.

He recovered himself with a slight start. "'Course they ain't," he added, loyally backing his friend up, hoping that his belated input would get put down to something other than a stupid thought about nothing very much.

Boyles shrugged. "T'ey gots t'eir good points, I s'pose. Fer foretop lads."

"Foretop lads're jus' fine," Fingers stated, unwilling to let what he saw a slight go uncontested. "I's gonna be a foretop m'self some day!"

"Me too," Terry asserted loyally. The foretop wasn't a bad place to work, really. Well, it wasn't a bad place to go during the dogwatches or other free time, anyway. "Cob Chase's nice," he added.

Cob Chase. There was a daft one and no mistake. Boyles glanced toward the topman, who was now capering in a circle with Dyer and Bill Taylor, and shook his head.

"Dere's better lads in t'maintop," he said with a slow smile. "Nat'rally. Jus' got ta get ta know t'em. Like t'at 'un."

He nodded toward a sailor in a striped waistcoat, who was watching the dancers and tapping one foot in time to the music.

Terry shrugged, then turned to see who it was that the petty officer had pointed out. He saw the striped waistcoat and froze.

It couldn't be... It looked like one of the two sailors Terry had seen that night... And he couldn't say anything - he'd been told not to by the Captain himself. Why, oh why hadn't he ignored what had happened that night, or just not said anything?

His smile was forced as he turned back. "Rather be in the foretop, me, I fink," he said, though he wasn't feeling anything like as cheerful now as he had been a moment ago.

Boyles shrugged. "Awrigh', I s'pose. If ya t'inks on joinin' a better crew, jus' ya come an' fin' me. I'll fin' ya a place."

This was ignored by Fingers, whose eyes had narrowed a bit. "Wozzat?" He asked. "S'on'y Jonny Seward there, innit?"

Terry grinned up at Mister Boyles, though the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Fingers had obviously cottoned on to the fact that something was wrong. "I know it is. I don't fink 'e likes me much, though. Give me a shove the other day, he done." That wasn't the whole story, of course, but he wasn't allowed to give that - and anyway, he had pushed Terry.

"He done wot?" Something in Boyles' expression hardened. "Dat'll not do. Seward!"

Terry blinked. He hadn't meant that at all! He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. "I never meant to complain, honest - 'e didn't 'urt me or nuffin'." Well. It hadn't hurt - a shove was just a shove, and he didn't want Seward to even notice him, not now, not after the other night and everything. "'S all right, honest, Mister Boyles."

The petty officer didn't seem to have heard him. "Seward. Wot's t'is I'm hearin' 'bout ya shovin' ship's boys about?"

Seward glanced dismissively at the two boys before shrugging. "What about it then? He were in the way."

Damn. Seward hadn't given Terry a chance to move... and it wasn't as though Terry had deliberately set out to get him in trouble or anything.

Though of course, Seward would think he had.

Damn.

He tried again. "Wasn't complainin' 'bout it, Mister Boyles, honest."

"How many times I tole ya, Seward?" Boyles asked, folding his thick arms across his chest. "Ya can't be shovin' nobody 'round. Boys or ot'erwise."

The topman scoffed. "He were in the way, Boyles. A little nudge aside was all I done."

"Dat's all it ever is wit' ya. T'is the last time I tell ya. Nex' it'll be the bo'sun dealin' wit' ya."

He was being ignored. Well, nothing unusual there.

He hadn't meant to make a fuss or to get anyone in trouble - and Seward was awfully likely to think that he'd done it deliberately, with the intention of getting the topman in trouble, which he hadn't at all.

He renewed his vow to stay out of the man's way if possible, and held his breath, waiting to see what would happen now.

Seward curled his lip. "Nice of you."

"Jus' lettin' ya know." Boyles shrugged. "Shove off now. An' 'member. I hear of anyt'ing else like t'is, ya'll regret it."

The maintopman snorted and wandered off, all but oozing resentment. There would be more trouble from him, Boyles knew, and it would end at the grating. He had been only half-serious when he'd pointed Seward out as an example of 'better lads'.

" 'Side from dat'un," he said placidly, "t'ere ain't a bad lad in t'maintop."

"Why ain't you lads havin' a dance?" Branning wanted to know, adjusting his off-watch cap as he came ambling up.

Skylarking. It was about time they'd started it off. Tide Evans stayed out of the way, content to watch the lads have their fun. He lounged back against the rail, a fresh pinch of dip in his lip and his newly-cleaned headscarf tied over his hair.

"Bein' sticks in the mud, I'll wager," the quartermaster teased.

During the dance with Oxley, the pair had strayed closer and closer towards the assembly of men. It was then that De Guarde noticed Button looking rather miserable. Curious as to what the reason for this would be - when they were skylarking after all - he excused himself briefly though invited Tom to come along - and moved of towards the men. He blinked a couple of times, seeing the dark skinned Boyles. He'd known no amount of scrubbing would make that man any lighter. But then, he never saw the likes of him get sunburnt.

Only a moment later did he remember that he had seen Seward part from the group. Did he hurt Button? He arched a brow torn between inquiring or avoiding either of the two parties.

Well a second later he was scampering in the direction of the surly creature called Seward.

After that uppity git Boyles had dismissed him, Jonny Seward had rejoined his mates and their discussion about the girls they'd met in Oporto. If he had been in any mood to skylark with the others, he wasn't now.

"Hey," Jimmy Squeak said abruptly. "What's that'n want?"

Seward turned to see that snot-faced bastard De Guarde coming toward them. "Shove off now, boy," he snarled, before the lad had a chance to get to a stop. "Smartly!"

De Guarde blinked, far from expecting such a violent reaction. He pushed his lower lip up and a bit forward, and stopped. He did not turn about however, thinking his pride and his face before others would be too wounded, should he allow that man to send him on his way without so much as a small retaliation. He had enough distance to bolt, should that be necessary though.

"You don't own t' deck 'ere." He said in a rather confident voice. "..ain't an officer neither so.. shove it."