10th June: The misplaced

"I've learned from the best." Saint-Hilaire may have been tired, but also hungry. Curiously he observed at Prayon disappeared again. He straightened himself very slowly, not to pull at his skin and cause greater injury or pain.

The table was certainly set well. He felt very fortunate for having the other officer not only as a brother officer, but also as a friend. Patiently he waited for the other to return the second time.

He watched the sergeant leave with the bottle and studied Prayon questionably. "Am I to ask?" He smiled and shifted studying the plate before him. "Would you mind if we begin just now?" He asked. "And continue with our conversation during the meal?" He did wait for permission, but looked ready to begin any second, and then to enjoy his meal and his company and the turn of events.

Then he needed to say his farewells to the 86th. He did not believe that many would have noticed him gone. Those who had visited him perhaps, but others who had found him might not insomuch as wonder.

Grinning, Bastien set out two glasses and struggled to open the corked wine-bottle.

"That was part of our booze gone. But you can be certain that no one has heard anything more than me practicing another silly joke on you now ..."

Having finally managed to extract the cork, he decanted the wine into a milk-pot and pulled off the cloth that covered the topmost platter, draping it over his arm.

"Voilá, monsieur, our first course of the evening is: a genteel nibble of hard tack, slightly roasted, with a small morsel of very delicate green stuff I can't identify."

With a grand gesture Bastien presented a platter for Etienne's inspection.

"Most delighted about this." Saint-Hilaire clapped his hands as if excited about the meal even if it was far from the sort that lords would have at their table.

He ate fast. Hungry he was perhaps, his body needing the nutrition, and the Portuguese had also not been kindest in feeding him, however could have indeed been worse. The first place went empty surprisingly fast, and the younger officer grinned sheepishly at Prayon. He inclined his head and spoke as if his table manners needed not be put into question. "...a lovely first course, If I can say so. Send my compliments to the cheff. And.. may I ask...if we may proceed to the next course. I'm famished." Which was not very far from the truth.

"We would not want any of these to become cold, nor stale." He glanced at the other plates hopefully.

Bastien put on the most stilted, overblown manners he could manage and took the cover off a deep bowl.

"As soup, the chef has done us the honour of sending up this. He calls it 'the best the kitchen has to offer', which promises well, considering the quality of the establishment were dining in tonight!"

Sitting down as if he was dining at some royal table, he asked:

"Tell me, dear Saint-Hilaire, what do you think of the weather here in Portugal? Wouldn't you say that it is rather cold for this time of year?"

"I would say, that I would much prefer if it remained cool, yet without rain. Should it grow as hot as I would believe it can, we might all suffer from thirst and the sun, having our brains cooked not raw or medium, but rather well done," He answered and took some of the soup. He ate it with such gestures well becoming of an officer.

What hindered him was of course the injury of his back and that of his arm, so that his other needed to play the whole role of serving him. That his thigh was also in discomfort did not help, but he asked then as he gazed at the glass.

"May I inquire.. or request , as such, or better yet, may I ask you whether I can receive something for drink, with preferably a rather strong amount of alcohol?"

Bastien looked rather embarrassed by this small glitch in his performance and indicated the milkpot-decanter.

"I beg pardon. Would some of the heavy local wine suit for starters or would you prefer to skip it and go with the more mature stuff right from the start. There's one bottle of rather good brandy and one of ... strong brandy left."

He asked the question very playful, as if the answer didn't matter in the least, but his eyes were concerned, and he studied Etienne's rather stiff posture rather closely.

"I'll go with whatever you are eager to part with." Saint-Hilaire answered smiling, though just. Having not gotten his new dose to relieve pain, it was very eagerly returning to make itself known. Sitting was not comfortable, but he would not have gone to bed rather than sit at a dinner, even if ...well he just would not.

"Don't look at me that way." He said and scowled. "I'm not going to drop dead right infront of you." He shook his head. "I'll wait till you leave and I'm comfortably in bed for that. I do have some class, contrary to popular belief!"

"No. If you insist on dropping dead, I would politely ask that you do it right in the middle of the parade ground, where everyone can see you, while I'm not there and preferably under the Colonel's eyes. I can't risk having him think that I talked you to death."

Bastien filled Etienne's glass with wine and placed one of the brandy bottles next to it. On Etienne's accusation, he had opened his eyes wide, overplaying his concern to a satirical degree, shaking out a pillow and offering it to Etienne, wrapping a blanket around him and generally making himself unbearable, but when he had quieted down again, he still wasn't able to completly hide the trace of concern in his eyes.

"On second thoughts ... Don't do that either. I'm supposed to keep you company, so if you drop dead while I'm away, he wouldn't like it either. Dereliction of duty and all that. So perhaps you could do me the very great favour of only dropping dead after he has pronounced you fit and healthy again? And for the record: Popular believe knows without doubt that you have the highest class. Nobody without it is ever seen dining in my company."

"You're dreadful. First you give me so many restrictions on when and where I may drop dead, and then you wrap me much like a babe. I ought not expect that your next step would be to hand feed me, correct?" He took the glass of wine and drank from it. A few gulps and the glass was left near empty. He placed it down and then glanced at the brandy bottle.

"...Dearest Bastien. Are you not aware, that were I to drop dead when I was fit and healthy, it would either mean I have not been fit and healthy.. or...well if I were shot, then perhaps.. but I could certainly not die, just because." He shook his head and chuckled faintly.

"I cannot be more unsurprised to see you flatter me.. simultaneously with flattering yourself." He emptied the glass and filled it then with some brandy from the bottle. This he drank fairly quickly.

"You've atleast acquired someone who has taste in drink." He smiled. "Makes me near hope that we can repeat this dining together even if you are now.. quite unfairly, my superior."

Bastien looked very uncomfortable for a second; he opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. Then he poured them both a large measure of brandy.

"I should of course asure you that this will only be a temporary measure, but selfish as I am, I will of course do my utmost to make you appear in the worst possible light so that future promotion for you will be very hard to obtain and only possible through impressing your superiors by perfectly and willingly doing large amounts of paperwork."

"In other words. You want me to do a lot of paperwork for you, while you make sure that I do not get promoted, so that I can continue willingly doing a lot of paperwork for you thinking that I might indeed get promoted for it." Saint-Hilaire spoke, though sounded amused.

"....You are quite cruel, Prayon. You know that I have always loathed the paperwork, even if I admittedly, I have not ever been bad at it, nor slow. But it is the past time I would have most loved to avoid in this war. Ironic, is it not? I'd rather go out there and battle the enemy, than battle some paper."

He sipped brandy. He looked content as the warm sensation began to spread. He still felt stiff and painful of course, but it would soon be replaced by being positively drunk. As long as he did not fail to drink more of course, and eat little.

"No, it's not ironic, it just proofs that we are true heroes. We prefer enemies who have a chance at defending themselves against us!"

Bastien refilled Etienne's glass; his own was largely untouched still.

"I expect you, of course, to do justice to the next course as well. I won't have it said that I made the chef prepare something as splendid as this for nothing."

"I promise to eat everything that you and your chef had prepared for me." Saint-Hilaire chuckled and took the glass to drink from it. Leaving it half empty this time he gazed in the direction of the next plate that would offer them another decent meal.

"As long as there isn't a prank that is played with a dish, in which case I will take my claim back and have you eat it all." He added just to be safe and Prayon would not take his plate, place it on the ground, add grass, a few chunks of mud, sprinkle it with stones and then ask that he makes true with his promise.

" Do you think we will be kings, once the war is over? Or atleast own a palace, some land with it, perhaps be named the rulers of a small bit of country?" He smiled raising his glass. The fact he did not drink to excess and was not a drinker in general showed, mixed with his weakened state, he was more easily brought under the influence of it. But as it allowed for a good mood, for less pain, it was anything but problematic.

"Certainly. Although I guess I will beg the Emperor to grant me another country ... I find Portugal not entirely to my taste. My kingdom will probably cover one of the nicer lands closer to home. Or several, I don't mind."

Bastien said this in a very serious tone, although he had to fight down laughter himself. The thought of him ruling anything was indeed something most people would find very comical, especially those who had been unfortunate enough to be the recipients of one of his usual diatribes about paperwork.

He served out what appeared to be the usual stew, made classy by the addition of some herb leaves and a rather incongruous flower.

"This stew contains more different pieces of meat than I can remember, so it must be very delicious indeed."

"No Portugal. I agree. It is a terrible place with the worst sort of subjects. You would have wanted a whole army, just to keep safe here." He chuckled and imagined Bastien in a setting where people would follow more than his orders of a lieutenant. Where he would be dressed in lavish dress and have all the ladies he would have liked at his disposal, of course many drawn by his charm, but just as many by his position.

"Your country though.. it might as well become the most paper efficient land. And no, I will tell you now, that you need not invite me to do your paperwork then. If you are willing to invite me to enjoy the life perhaps, but such work I shall gladly leave others to have the privilege of doing."

He observed as the stew was poured, then waited until Prayon had its own plate or bowl full of stew before he sunk his spoon into it. It smelled nice, it had an unfamiliar number of meats, but insofar it looked quite promising. He did not doubt that their cook had made his best effort with what he was given. He took the first mouthful of it, chewed out the meat and smiled fondly. "Compliments to the sheff." He murmured drinking more from his glass.

"If he can make something out of near nothing.. he's a worthy man to inquire on, once the land of rule is got." He chuckled again. " Though if I gain possession of something similar,.. I have my first dibs on him." He ate some more of the stew, enjoying the warm liquid that entered his body, the pleasant taste and texture that the stew had.

The more he drank, the more at ease he felt. It was nice. He raised his glass. "To our victory and land, to a prosperous year and that the British run as if their soles were on fire, all back to their homeland." He downed the glass and inquired on getting some more.

"..half a blind side, half an excuse not to see what's going on on that side." He found that surprisingly amusing. "All that might hurt more is my neck. It is not exactly easy to turn all the way around one direction just to see!" He gazed at Bastien. "Wonder if I could get a glass eye, some ridiculous colour. Certainly not my own." He chuckled. "Imagine that. I'd be the only man who could choose what other colour to have his eye! Nobody with them both nature given can do that!"

Bastien refilled the glasses.

"You could even have one with an Imperial eagle for parades and such! Another eye for everyday of the week ... or every mood."

He sipped a bit of the strong brandy.

"Hmm..., naturally I would have begged the Emperor to grant you a nice little country of your own, so that I may give pompous state dinners to receive foreign dignitaries. But now that you enumerate the manifold disadvantages of this scheme, I'm afraid I will have to withhold my recommendation, which will of course make it utterly impossible for you to ever be granted even a square acre of land and will it make necessary to seek a good position when we have romped the British dogs, at which point I, as your most devoted friend, will of course be happy to offer you a prestigious position in my then to be formed royal government. I think you will do very well as Prime Minister. I will leave all real work to you and only enjoy my royal prerogatives."

He grinned saucyly. With him, it was always hard to say whether he was drunk or not. Half the time he appeared to be. But he had not finished his second glass yet, and when some kick to one of the table's legs nearly send the bottle tumbling over, he caught it before it could fall.

"Curse me for betraying my dislikes, for who else would delight in forcing them to me if not for you of all men!" He did chuckle though and thus betrayed that he had not been angered by it. Rather he was amused, as much as he was about the strange idea that they had started, a future which was far less probable than they imagined. Yes, they would win, of course. The great French nation would be victorious with the other nations that fought alongside with them. Napoleon would have shown his prowess of battle and they would return home with more distinction than when they had left.

But to have a kingdom, a land of their own so great as a country, this he did not think quite as easy to acquire. "What if you allow me to be your personal assistant in choosing just the finest of women to grace your court. Perhaps in testing them so that we know they are neither spies, nor bores?" He chuckled again and drank from his glass. He was getting drunk, but he liked it and the pain was being eased due to drink, so it brightened his mood considerably too.

"Or perhaps I am to test your beds, your homes before you go and see them, or live in them? Would you be able to trust such an important task to just about anyone? When you know my taste and my attention to detail is as great as is long your list of women that you have charmed?" He winked and took another gulp of the drink, offering his glass playfully to the other man.

"I have many talents, my dear friend. Let them not be wasted on paper and quill!"

Bastien affected a very tempted expression.

"You certainly have a point there. Although ..."

He looked at Etienne as direful as he could, which, given his his histrionic abilities, was considerable.

"I have a sudden suspicion that I would never get to enjoy the most beautiful women, sleep in the best beds or taste the finest cognac. Would I be totally wrong in thinking that your hunt for spies, assassins and poison would in these instances be very thorough and time consuming and be conducted under considerable danger to your own life? Particularly under danger of overindulging in said things?"

Lazily rightening his chair up again, he lifted the cover off another plate and revealed a lump of local cheese. After slicing it with the short knife he customarily carried, he speared one piece with it and offered it to Etienne.

"Here, Monsieur Goûteur. Then start your future career now and tell me what you think of this."

"Overindulging? I would say not!" Etienne protested as if there was a slight made to his person. "I would be fervent in ensuring your safety, yes. But it would be not at all a selfish did. My life would be put on the line, in your favour!"

He shook his head again, and then took the piece of the knife with his forefinger and thumb. He poised himself, appeared to be quite serious at his task in ensuring Bastien's safety and then ate the piece of cheese carefully.

He chewed it, drew across it with his tongue to savour its taste and then gulped it down carefully, but by bit. "Hmmm.." He said, and then looked at Bastien. "I believe it is..." And right after this his eyes rolled up and he wheezed and coughed and clutched at his throat in alarm.

Bastien had his feet on the floor again and was over at Etienne's side before the first burst of coughs had died down.

"Etienne! What is it?"

He had dropped his mask and his expression was now truly worried, his dark eyes fierce. His movements, however, had lost their usually overflowing and slightly clumsy exuberance and where now efficient and precise. He looked at Etienne's back, then obviously decided against thumping it. Instead he slung both his arms around Etienne's middle, just below the rib-cage, pulling him to stand, gripped his wrist and prepared to pull his arms back forcefully.

"No, no!" Saint-Hilaire protested, his wheezing miraculously gone. His voice sounded alarmed. The abrupt motion caused some pain, a lot of strain on his injured back and a fairly painful and abrupt motion of his hurt shoulder. "I was just joking." He spoke rather quickly, tensing up in Bastien's arms.

"You can let me go. I'm not choking... I just pretended to be ill. Honest!" He did begin to shove against the hands that held him rather frantically, even if this caused a further irritation of his injuries.

"

When Etienne started to struggle, Bastien let go immediately and jumped back, his arms spread wide.

"Etienne, it's okay. I only wanted to help. I won't hurt you."

With some effort, the voice was steady, deep and calm. Bastien's eyes were shocked and slightly confused, and he watched Etienne intendly, readying himself for whatever action the other might take.

Saint-Hilaire was breathing fast and shallow. He stumbled away from Bastien, part because he had tried to greaten the distance quickly, and part because his body was still quite weak. At first his eyes stared wildly around him, and he seemed only to begin calming down, once his back had been inches from the tent.

He shook his head. His hands were still outstretched defensively. But he was coming to himself now. It seemed he was more shaken and shocked than actually physically hurt. "No.." He looked guilty now, and apologetic. "It's... it's.. I know you won't." He began to straighten up. He knew that, but it did not stop him from reacting so violently. Even then he was still shaking slightly. "You just... wanted to save me from... from choking." He breathed in sharply.

Bastien circled to the other side of the table again, his movements still like a very alert predatory cat. There he put the chair he had knocked over back to its feet and sat down with feigned nonchalance, laughing.

"Yes, you quite had me there. Rather embarrassing. I hope you won't tell anybody ... It would quite ruin my standing should others know that the leading performer had missed to spot a little bit of theater and a simple bit of pretended illness got such a reaction from me. The soldiers will faint at my feet after hearing that."

He rambled on, refilling their glasses and pretending nothing of any significance had happend.

"They will faint.. to gain some respite and a free day from marching." Saint-Hilaire spoke. Though he tried to make himself sound relaxed and even look as if though he was joking and everything was fine, he did not think he was fooling anyone, let alone himself.

Slowly he walked back to the chair. He sat himself down gingerly, again taking the position of sitting on the side, careful of certain things. As usual. "Don't mind If I will." He whispered and downed the glass. He offered it to Prayon again. It was not a question of if. He wanted to have another glass filled to empty it.

"..Drink ..is the finest invention a man had ever made." He looked up. "...I am sorry I teased you, Bastien. I had not thought that it would frighten you so."