10 June; Mess Duties

It was his turn to act as mess cook. Which meant, more or less, that he was responsible for collecting, serving, and clearing away the food the lads ate, as well as cleaning up afterward. All week. It was not a duty Chase had ever cared so much for.

It did have its perks, however. Such as first pick - or near enough to it! - of everything that came out of that big galley stove, if he was quick enough to arrive with the mess kid. It was no guarantee of being promptly served, of course, but generally it was a good tactic.

The messdeck was crowded and noisy, and still smelled faintly of the potent vinegar wash that had been used to clean the deck. But most of the lads were up and moving about now, which could only be good. Chase grinned at a mizzentopman and exchanged teasing greetings. Word was there was to be an extra serving of plumduff today, which cheered Chase some.

He delivered his mess kid to the cook's mate and stood back a bit to wait. Receiving food to serve out always took a while by the nature of its arrangement.

Well, there was a time of day that De Guarde looked forward to for the past few days. This time was the moment when food would be served. With so many of his patients now getting better, the stress was abating.

He glanced about. Having joined the table early, he was feeling rather impatient of the arrival of their mess cook. He was also sleepy, and the warmth and the mutter of men around him seemed to lull him right proper into a dazed state. Would he not be careful, he could end up taking space on the table, snoozing away quite nicely.

"So..'s Chase for the week? " He had a big yawn coming. "Where is he?"

"Aye, sadly," Dyer answered. "He'll be over there some'ers, prolly tryin' to sneak a bit of our food fer hisself."

The others around the table offered smirks or mutters of agreement to that. They all knew Chase disliked being mess cook, even though it was only ever for a week.

"He wouldn't do that." De Guarde said in earnest. "..Well'ur.. I think so, anyway." He shifted tenderly and yawned. He shielded the yawn with his hand and then made to rub at his eyes.

He looked questionably around the table. There were smirks and mutters but it appeared to be a sort of inside joke, that involved Chase. "..What's this all about?" He asked as politely as he could, allowing his curiosity show, so that the others might not feel offended by his inquiry.

There was a chuckle from Joe Preddie. "Cob got himself caught dippin' into the puddin' bag once, see," he replied. "Thought he were clever 'bout it, but he weren't!"

Dyer nodded. "Be just like him to try agin, sure."

"Oh?..so he ain't safe around t' cook's things? Was that on this ship?" Because then he was certain the cook would not like to see him, although he did not remember ever having something as that served except for when he was at the captain's table. Did Chase dare dip his hand in something as 'sacred'?

He shook his head. "Why's you all sittin' so calm around here? Mebbe we don' get nothin' to eat at all!" Perhaps that was a thing they really needn't be scared of, but if Chase liked to pick his bits, they might yet get just the water remaining.

"Oh we'll have plenty to eat," Dyer assured the lad. "A pinch or two's all he'll take. He knows better to try more'n that!"

Preddie nodded. "It were on this ship too, aye. Back 'fore we left home."

"And... and what happened?" De Guarde wished to know. The feeling that he might have been accepted into this group would be enforced and made more certain, in times such as this, chatting away. He had gotten to grips with not being superior to them.

And now, he actually quite hoped that they might consider him one of their own, if only to feel.. well safer too. "You said he got ter the pudding, but surely there's more to the story, than that!"

The crowd around the cook's mate was beginning to thin out, just a little. With each "Who shall have this?" and the accompanying reply with a mess number from the mate, men were shuffling away with laden mess kids. Chase waited impatiently for his own number to be given.

When, at last, it was, he received the kid gratefully. Now back to his mess to serve out the meal. It smelled good. Or at least tolerable enough to eat, which to Chase was not a very reliable way to gauge food. He was not a very fussy eater.

"There ain't," he said cheerfully, arriving in time to hear the question. "Plates then, or this'll all be for me!"

"Chase!" De Guarde exclaimed with such delight, that his cheeks coloured a moment later, in shame. He looked at the other messmates and kept his plate waiting. He knew he was youngest and newest to the mess, so he thought he might as well not dare and thrust his plate forward even if he would have liked nothing more but to do that.

He shifted again, just a bit tenderly, and glanced at the food.

The enthusiasm behind the greeting surprised Chase and he glanced at the lad with both eyebrows raised.

"So it's me," he said placidly, accepting the first plate shoved his way. "That sorta hungry, are ya?"

"Can't a lad be glad ter see you, jus' so? Ain't couse I'm hungry." He displayed that pointedly by not holding his own plate towards Chase just yet.

"Though it's jus' as well that we get fed." He nodded and stifled a yawn. "Now that everybody's eager for it again."

"Mebbe he can, sure," Chase replied with a smirk, glancing down briefly so he didn't miss the plate in his hand with the ladle. "Ain't a better time 'board ship, this, that's true."

The others in the mess nodded their agreements to this.

"Quite so." The boy nodded watching as plates were being filled. He waited his turn very obediently, not demanding to be first or forcing himself infront of someone, who was his senior. He just hoped that something would be left, but then there always was.

"Chase...when we's havin' free time, could yer take me through the knots again?...and... an' could we do summat that'll make me a better seaman?"

The last plate to be filled was his own, and finally he scraped the last of the food out of the mess kid down onto the old tin plate. "Oh aye, that'd be fine," Chase replied, swiping a finger around the inside of the shallow ladle before licking the gravy off.

He grinned and sat down, relieved to be permitted to eat now. "Jus' so you don't let Chicken no where near. He might get thinkin' he oughta practise too!"

"I won't. Though he'll lissen more to you than he would to me." De Guarde pointed out, gazing at his own plate. He licked his lips. It was not the finest sort of food, it would not really taste all that good, but it was better than nothing.. most of the time.

"So......uh.. how's everybody?" That was just stupid to ask. He took a mouthful of food and looked up.

That was true only to a point, but Chase was not about to admit that. He shoved his spoon into the pile on his plate and simply grinned.

"Oh we's all grand, now," Taylor answered cheerfully.

"That's good ter know. Ain't easy tendin' ter yer lot, and carryin' buckets all around." De Guarde murmured, making sure his mouth was empty when he spoke. "Much prefer yer as a lively motley group o' Tars."

Another mouthful had him quiet for the moment. He had not seen Thompson since his promotion, nearly. He thought briefly about the marine, then glanced towards Chase again. If he remained close to the man, he would be safe and fine.

"Aye, well. That'll learn ya, won't it?" A voice behind them growled.
"Shoulda got dead sick yer own self."

Chase did not need to look up to know who'd spoken. That brainless swine never learned, did he? "Shut it," he snapped.

There was a scoff from behind them. "Oh ain't that sweet. Yer just's stupid as that little toad, Chase. Mebbe more. Allays stickin' - "

It was a very bad idea for this particular idiot to spout off, Chase thought fiercely as he came up off the bench. God damn it, he would make the jack's arse shut up if nobody else could be bothered!

Somebody hollered - though if it was encouragement, dismay, or for the boatswain, Chase could not tell but nor did he care - when Chase's half-blind lunge knocked Seward flat onto his mess table. The impact scattered plates, mugs, and utensils in every direction. Men of that mess were quick to vacate the table, giving the two combatants space to settle their particular disagreement.

De Guarde stared in alarm as Chase lunged at Seward. He had certainly cheered the successful strike that knocked Seward right of his feet. What the bastard deserved, and no less!

He moved away from the table, his own plate - almost empty anway - left where it was. "Cob'!" Aim for the back, that's where he's still hurting. The back would get him down and whimpering! De Guarde looked around. He did not want someone of importance to walk in or be called and see this. For Chase's sake, he didn't really give rats' arse about Seward.

An instinctive backward headbutt from Seward flattened Chase's nose and left it bloody. The answering punch to the ear elicited a heartfelt curse from Seward. Then, in the next instant, both seamen were on the deck, each striving mightily to get in the one blow that would put the other out of any interest in continuing.

Thompson had only been a Corporal for a week, and though he was getting to grips with the requirements and responsibilities of his new rank, he had not had to use it to any serious effect. That seemed to be about to change - there was shouting coming from for'rard.

"What the bloody hell's goin' on here?" he asked, pushing his way through the gathered seamen.

De Guarde froze. He knew the voice, but he also knew that the owner of this voice was now a Corporal. Chase would get in trouble if Thompson saw him fighting even if it was all Seward's fault. Chase attacked first, and though he would not claim it, and he hoped most would not, there was still a chance the truth would come up.

He cursed and yelled towards the two fighting men." Break it up!" Right after he'd started towards the corporal.

A lucky, half-aimed elbow had clipped against Chase's cheek, causing him to flinch back. Not enough to signal his withdrawal from the fight but enough to permit Seward to land a more measured strike. That one would leave a bruise for sure.

Seward was trying to get to his feet, which was entirely unacceptable. If he got up, he would be more dangerous - and Chase was a little dazed from that earlier headbutt. The only thing to do was knock the other sailor down again. Which he did.

Or tried to do, anyway. Somebody was grabbing at his arms. One of Seward's pathetic little mates, perhaps? Chase swatted at this new assailant with a half-closed fist and a curse.

"Stand aside there," Thompson demanded. "You two men, break it up there!" He had to raise his voice to be heard, but he was going to make damn sure they could hear him.