10th June: The misplaced

"Only because I had eaten a morsel of that cheese, too. I want to know in advance when I am going to be writhing on the floor in pain. That way I can empty the bottle of booze before I go down."

He refilled Etienne's glass. Considering that he had not even emptied his second one, the low level of remaining spirit in the bottle indicated that Etienne liked it considerably more at the moment.

"Thank you." He emptied half of the glass and then set it back down. He had had a considerable amount of the alcohol up till the moment. "..M' sorry." He murmured then leaned against the table a little. The adrenaline was gone, and with it, it seemed, the moment when he had appeared near completely sober.

"..What's on your mind?" He inquired and looked curious. "...what was? Back there?" He reached out and snatched some of the remaining cheese. He studied it, then popped it into his mouth.

"..don't you wonder?" He rested his cheek against his arm. "Why." He murmured then smiled. "....tell me. Honestly."

Bastien laughed, rather uncomfortably.

"Wine, song, and women, of course. My mind isn't exactly designed to hold any serious thoughts. And back there it was very much on trying to outsmart you. I must have gone completely out of training while you were away; I never knew it to be so difficult to parry your tongue. Or have you taken lessons in wit somewhere?"

He asked the last one teasingly, but his speech was a little bit faster than usual, betraying that he would have liked to leave the subject as quickly as possible.

"No. Really. When you were lookin'at me like I was a...." He struggled to find the word he was looking for. "Well... you backed away, I know that, just you were watching me as if you wanted to spot something...what was it?" He chuckled faintly. "Don't worry, I will probably not rememb'r anything after this."

Which was not completely true. He was not as drunk yet, to have him double head over heals and forget all that happened. Though, after emptying the glass again and offering it to be refilled, it seemed, he was trying to forget something at least. Only, it would probably have come back again, once he was sober.

"I've always been quick of tongue. I think." He smiled. He too had made his reactions far too, well, far too something. He could blame alcohol for it, but probably it was an act, a better, 'happier' one.

Bastien refilled the glass, laughed and started to juggle with four apples he had taken from the final bowl.

"If you still can ask such questions, you're not nearly drunken enough to forget. And I had hoped so much that you would be singing by now and more than willing to finally tell me what the story behind that row you had with Debrigney."

He had himself in hand again, and the apples flew through the air steadily, but he wasn't relaxed; his eyes followed Etienne's hand when he knocked back the contents of the glass, even though he tried to appear uninterested.

"Sing?.. Me?" Saint-Hilaire shook his head, and steadied himself a little against the table. "Do you want our men to run as if though the devil himself is at their feet?" Of course all this was not said as clearly, but rather with a bit of a slur.

He became distracted by the apples, following their progress through the air almost as though he thought it magical. He held his hand forward to snatch an apple from the air, but missed them entirely. He yelped as his belly came in contact with the table, his hand slipping on the spoon and fork, the plate cluttering dangerously, though it managed to remain on the table.

The man slumped back into his chair, looking about to pout when he had sat himself much more directly than he had before and this actually had him push upward again and then he ended as a rather ungainly pile on the floor. " I'm a'right." He uttered then sighed.

"Another.. glass?" There were stains of red, where the wounds had been disturbed.

Bastien had jumped to his feet only instants after the moment Etienne had done so, the apples cluttering down around him. He knelt down by Etienne's side and looked him over for a moment, his eyes fixing on the spreading spots of red. Then he hauled one arm over his shoulder and pulled Etienne up. He was as gentle as he could without giving himself completely away, and his other arm was ready to catch Etienne round the waist.

"Let's get you to your bed first. I don't fancy dragging you there when you drop out on me on the table!"

"No. ..no I want to finish the dinner. Eat, and drink all that...that's left.. n' then mebbe.. we'd go ter bed. My bed. Nice bed." He found the fact that Bastien was having him leaning over his arm, quite amusing.

"Later, first drink. Please?" He looked at Bastien, adorable, sweet and pleading. "..drink.. Bastien? To.. to good things." He looked sad all of a sudden. "...Happy things." He shook his head. "I don't want to sleep...Don't want to dream. Please. Just drink?"

Bastien laughed and settled the arm more firmly over his shoulder.

"No-one said anything about sleep, and we certainly will not stop to drink. Only you will sit on your bed now, so that the next time you decide to go diving you will land somewhere I can let you lay with good conscience. 'Sides, if you don't want that shirt to marry your back and acquire some colourful decorations you'll never get out again, you better slip it off again. Since my main supplier in shirts had strangely vanished for a time, my supply I could lend you is rather limited."

With one hand he fished the bottle from the table and offered it to Etienne.

"Why bother with glasses anyway? Need constant refilling, and half the liquor gets spilled."

Etienne accepted the bottle and clutched it close to his chest. Gentle though, because there was a bandage there too, though the cut was quite shallow. He pressed it to his lips, tipped it over and drunk. A few gulps later he lowered it again.

"Sit?"... My I lean 'gainst you?" He asked, knowing that this would ease most of the pressure from his bum. "Thank you f'bottle." He said more happily again and then hugged the other man around the waist, as best he could reach without having himself injured worse. It was a drunken gratitude.

Bastien laughed and finally emptied his own glass, still standing on the table.

"As long as you don't fall asleep in my lap. That would be ridiculous! The only time I allow people to fall asleep on me is when they are utterly exhausted by what I have done to them, and when giving you a little bit of liquor has exhausted you that much, you better get some training again, because that is ridiculous, too!"

While prattling, he lowered them both to the bed, making sure that Etinne was on the side where the pillows were laying.

"Did that surgeon of yours give you something for your back?"

"I don't remember...Maybe... maybe not." He murmured his bottle still close so that he had nearly spilled it when they had both gone lower. He drank from it instead, thinking that wasted alcohol was worse, than sacrificing one's self to drink so much of it..or was it little? He had lost the track of how much along with his soberness.

"You know I don'.. drink too much too often. Unless I've got a terribly, awfully, terribly good reason." He realised that he was not going to lie down completely and so his bottle and its contents were safe.

But...well, he did have a tiny bit left in it that he could drink a bit later. "..Will you tell surgeon to give me more, fuzzy?" That in the end made no sense. "...for back and..." He began to count the injuries a little bit as if it were a song, and mentioned them all, worst so, he had gone and counted each finger and what injury it had sustained which only made it a very long repetative list... which ended in.. finger, second finger.. the other finger, because he failed to remember some of their proper names.

Bastien listened silently, with no movement distracting Etienne from his list. His face was a stony mask and his eyes were fixed on his friend with a mixture of horror, helplessness, compassion, and a terrible anger that transformed his usually pleasant face into a strange caricature of a smile, the upturned corners of his mouth suddenly no longer amused, but bitter and angry.

When the list had ended, he fetched the remaining bottle, pulled the cork out with his teeth, biting down so hard that the muscles in his neck showed. He held the open bottle out to Etienne to click both together. His voice was a bit husky and pressed, although he managed to get the light tone nearly right.

"Then let's drink to excellent reasons!"

His eyes strayed to the small pouch he had brought along. He had handled it very carefully, much better than he usually treated most of his stuff, and placed it on a secure spot where even two drunken men wouldn't accidently smash it.

"You're hurtin' the bottle." Etienne murmured, watching Bastien's neck. Perhaps he thought that the cork would remain in the head of the bottle, when teeth sunk into it so hard. But it did not and the bottle was opened and offered to him. Or perhaps.. he just then realised that Bastien would drink too because their bottles clunked together rather than were exchanged.

"You're trying to forget." He whispered rather quietly. He observed his own bottle. Nearly empty, it had made a hollower sound as the other, when struck. He'd jerked to attention when he saw Bastien look away. At first he thought he was just trying to avoid his gaze or see what was out there, but then he saw that he was actually focusing on something. He followed his gaze which stopped on a pouch he could not remember owning.

"Whazthat?" He asked. It was too far to reach for, even if his hand moved forward in its direction. It dropped again and he leaned against Bastien, because shifting his weight so was less painful.

"Don't forget....I'll need you." He averted his gaze then had it shift again to the pouch." Show? That. Show t'me? Please? Is money?"

The lieutenant didn't shy away from Etienne's weight, but remained a stable prop for him to lean to. That was certainly a bit unusual, but equally certainly not the strangest thing Bastien had ever done, and a wounded, drunken man had a lot of leeway, especially when it became more and more certain that he would be in no condition to remember anything come the next morning. He tensed a bit at the words 'need you', but he hid the short flash of panic in his eyes in an instant. At Etienne's mentioning of money, Bastien laughed, a bit harshly, and took a sip from the bottle.

"Where the hell should that have come from? Our pay-chest got a bit lost and unfortunately the British aren't honest enough to restore large amounts of money when they find it."

He hesitated; his lips were already parted for a witty refusal, but something in Etienne's words made him reconsider. Slowly, using one arm to help Etienne staying upright, he reluctantly leaned forward and took the pouch. He opened it and pulled out a small glass jar.

"It's a bit of stuff my brother thought necessary for me to have ... Didn't want the handsome one of the family to come back all covered in scars. Mind trying it out for me? I haven't garnered enough scars yet to justify opening it."

"It makes scars disappear?" It was only logical and made sense when one was drunk, of course if Etienne had been sober, he would have known no salve could do that. Certainly not to the point that an ugly scar would just not be there any longer. He smiled brightly.

"Does it regrow things too?" He watched the small glass jar with the attention a starved dog would observe a juicy slab of meat, or a drowning man might have looked at the piece of rope that would have saved him.

"Can it heal my eye?" He looked excited, convinced it was so. Just a bit of that salve and he could see! "I'll see again, Bastien! Thanks t'your brother, I will see again"" Like a child. "Are....are you certain you want to give it to me?" He then asked, as he knew it was the man's brother that gave it and it was for Prayon, not himself.

And then he was lost in his mutter of what the contents of the bottle could do. Heal him completely, make the pain go away, hide the scars, have him see, make his back as it had been before the fire, there were just so many things that he imagined a single drop could do. It was like a dream, in which everything was possible.

He tipped the bottle and emptied its contents into his mouth. For someone with so poor a coordination at the moment, he was quite able to not spill any on his lips, chin and chest. He hugged Bastien,gratefully. "My friend. My best,.. finest friend." Though this was perhaps true beyond his drunken state.

Bastien's face twisted as if somebody had just driven a knife to him. He turned his head away, his eyes squeezed shut. Closing his arms very carefully around Etienne, he began to stroke the other man's hair, perhaps the only safe place where he could give some comfort without hurting him.

"It can't do that ..." His whisper was harsh, apologetic, afflicted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ... It will help it to close, but ... I'm sorry."

He gently wrested the empty bottle from Etienne's hand and put it on the floor; after brief consideration, he handed his own bottle over instead, although he looked at it as if he would have preferred to empty it himself at the moment.

"...oh." There was no magical potion, and though he wished to cling to hope that Bastien was wrong and that his brother knew even better, that hope was gone.

He tightened his hold briefly on his empty bottle, but before he could further protest, a second bottle was handed to him and he hugged it, whispering a soft. "Thank you." He saw that the bottle was pretty full. Its weight was greater and then there was the slushing sound and feel.

"....Well." He did not know what to say. He felt fortunate that he had not lost both his eyes. He had certainly come close to having the Portuguese do so. He had come close to having the suggestion of one of them realised, which would have had his legs broken so that he could not try to escape a second time. He was lucky though. Others disagreed, others wanted him dead for a little while longer.

He drank directly from the bottle to silence those thoughts. When he lowered it, he closed his remaining eye. The sensation was soothing. At first he did not know where it came from, or better, what caused it. But when he saw it was Prayon's hand on the top of his head, he surprisingly... relaxed.

Bastien was here, his friend and fellow French officer. "Can't help it. Do you think it's possible to see with a glass eye?" He asked quietly. "...Though, they are expensive.." He had no money, though he hoped to receive some as pay, once he was well. "..Then there's miracles. People are said to have walked who couldn't, or ...or...But you have to believe, for that to happen.. don't you?"

"Don't know. Ask the priest come Sunday. But I guess a glass eye should be manageable sooner or later. We just need to find out which of the British has one and then kill him."

Bastien made that sound very simple. Slowly he disengaged Etienne's arms from around him.

"And now do me a favour and get rid of that shirt so that I can put some stuff on that back of yours. If people start to bleed while dinning with me, that's not a compliment, and I intend to keep my record straight. The only way people are allowed to bleed in my company is when I break their noses. And as this is usually followed by a quick expulsion from the tent, and I have no intention of spending the rest of the evening drinking in solitude, you will kindly allow me to put a stop to your ruination of my shirt."

While he carped on, he gently nudged Etienne to lay down on his stomach.

".. I need you t'help me a little with it, please. Tug it up higher..at best." His voice was slurred but the words were sensible enough. "If you could pry it over my shoulders. I can have my arms out..." He knew that the shirt needed to come of, but the manner in which he could do it himself, that would not hurt, he did not know. Unless he was assisted and even then he loathed to admit it, that he needed asistance.

Thenagain, as he started to fumble with the fabric, he realised his motions were not exactly steady and under control. Much as he would have liked to think it different, the bottle that he held in one hand, did little to help him succeed in the removal of the fabric.

He adjusted his seating a bit. With an injury to his thigh, some elsewhere, one at his shoulder, it was drink, at the moment, that eased his ailments enough. " What will you all.. cover? M' back? .." He did sound just a little nervous, but only as anything applied to that area, usually hurt.

"Let's see how it looks, and then decide."

Bastien very cautiously hitched the shirt up over Etienne's back. The blood had started to dry and halfway up the fabric was stuck to the skin, though. With a quick "Allow me!", he extricated the bottle from Etienne's hand for a moment and splashed a liberal amount of brandy on his handkerchief.

"Guess that might hurt a little bit, so perhaps you might want to have another gulp of that booze before I try to divorce you from the shirt."

"...I...Alright." He did not look forward to that divorce. Shakily he reached for the bottle to drink from. "...Can you give me something to chew on..." To grit his teeth against and to stiffle the cry of pain he expected to come. He might have been drunk. But he was not naive to believe that the removal of his shirt would not hurt.

"I'm... sorry 'bout having it bloody. I know you wanted it clean...." He whispered apologetically. He took a few sharp and quick, uneven breaths. "What.. you use that for?" He indicated the handkerchief.

"Trying to make the parting a bit easier. Letting go of something is always easier with lots of alcohol. Plus my brother kept on mumbling something that it's good for keeping a wound clean, though if you ever tell him that I actually listened to all that boring stuff he insisted on lecturing us on every time he came home I'm going to use that bottle to brain you."

While he was talking, he lightly dabbed the wet cloth over the dried spots, trying to free the fabric with the other hand. It was very slow work, for he was very careful not to hurt Etienne more than really necessary. He had to re-wet the cloth once, but when he borrowed the bottle, he made sure that Etienne couldn't see the now red cloth.

"Before you go completely drunk, you better tell me when you expect to turn out tomorrow and whether I will have to cover for you in front of the old man. Or did he do the unprecedented and completely excused you from duty?"

"I'm excused.. I think." He did not remember what the old man... their superior, told him. Was it excused until further notice? It made sense. Even with all the care that Bastien gave in not having him hurt, or trying to diminish the harm, it still hurt and when alcohol seeped into the wound, by accident or intention, Saint-Hilaire grit his teeth and tensed.

He tried to keep silent. While he lay on his belly he could not drink. He soon began to chew on the bit of his sheet, that he managed to stuff into his mouth. It prevented him from biting his tongue or the insides of his mouth. At the same time, it also saved his teeth from getting damaged from the force at which they were grit together.

The longer the shirt was being removed, the less comfortable he felt. Alcohol made it bearable. Or at least.. it made it better. "Muhmh..mhm.." He spoke then spat the cloth out of his mouth to utter a better sentence. "Would you wake me if I.was needed?"

"If you are needed, I will be the first to storm in here and shout for you. Although unless you have some mysterious powers inspecting piquets, sick parades and paperwork that so far have totally escaped my notice, I don't really see for what in particular you could be needed. We have shifted pretty well in the month past, and there's little need to change our perfectly balanced, just and even distribution of duties on account of a drunken stiff who had suddenly decided to come alive again. - So. Off goes the shirt."

Bastien finally pulled the garment over Etienne's head, then quickly pulled it down the arms and threw it over a chair, before Etienne had too much time to see the red stains on the backside.

"Take another swallow, if you want to, before it is all gone; then we'll clean that thing up a little and put some Créme Robert on it. It would help, by the way, if you gave some indication of what feels good, what tolerable, and what terrible. My experience as a nurse is somewhat limited."

His voice was commendably even and light, his fingers steady while working on Etienne's back, but his face was pale, nearly ashen, and whenever he wasn't talking, he pressed his lips tightly together. Somebody not knowing him well would have found it hard to pick up on the signals without seeing his face, but one look in Bastien's eyes gave proof enough that Bastien was far from easy.