10 June; Mess Duties

Thompson grinned. "You get what you need - an' if anyone asks, you jus' tell 'em it's for me, all right?"

"Aye, corporal." De Guarde straightened. "...Would you come back b'low then... where we's got a table, nice n' firm, ter write on?" He averted his gaze thoughtfully. "..is..." But then he was quiet again.

"I'll ...if you want sir, we can meet back in t' sick berth... or in t' marine's mess." Either place was better than his Tar's mess at the moment. "I'll 'ave everythin' ready with me."

"Aye, I'll do that. You come to the Marine's mess. Folks won't bother us there. Not now." He grinned. Rank did have some privileges, after all. "An' if they do, I'll tell 'em where they can go."

"That's good sir. Well.. see you there, a'right?" He spoke and then turned. He walked in haste to get his things ready so that he would not take long in returning to the marine's messdeck. Part of it was the feeling that he would be safe there and that as long he was with the marine - whom he thought had abandoned him since the promotion, but he hoped now that it was not so - he would not be disturbed.

Thompson, corporal or private, was pleasant. Tide Evans was not.

"Where do yer think you're going?" He froze, he had just collected the paper and ink and was to take a small board, so that if the table could not be used, they could still write. He was below now and out of sight. "...marine's mess." He whispered turning around. He knew he was to see Cattling. The man smiled most pleasantly. "..Just remember, little bastard. You tell anyone anything, dare dunk any of us , and you'll be wishin' you drowned."

De Guarde took a step back. "Y..yes." He murmured quietly. He squinted his eyes knowing what would come. It did, and he doubled over, some of his paper crumpled in the process. He was just able to save his bottle of ink. He wheezed. "Good lad." Cattling muttered and walked past him.

He frowned. One of his quills had broken. Well, he still had one. They could write. Breathing in sharply a couple of times he began for the marine's mess.

"You there, Cattling!" Thompson had seen quite enough. At least some of his questions had just been answered. "Come here!"

"Corp'ral?" Cattling turned and walked up to the marine as he was told. He looked as if nothing had happened and was convinced that the marine saw nothing. The little twirp better keep his mouth shut too, but he was near certain he would do that.

"Is there somethin' I can do for you, corp'ral?" He asked simply.

Thompson folded his arms and glared impassively at Cattling. He wanted to beat the tar into pulp, but knew he couldn't, not after just breaking up a similar fight. "I saw that, Cattling. You dare lay another hand on him - even threaten him - and I'm goin' to make your life a damn misery, you get me?"

"Sir, ain't nothing I'd done." Cattling answered. "You can ask 'im. All it was, the poor thing tripped right badly. Tried to catch 'im, so I did. But that's all."

"Oh, it is summat you've done... I saw it," Thompson said, narrowing his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from the sailor's mouth. He couldn't, though, not with his new position to think about, and not right after having two sailors clapped in irons for fighting. "I seen exactly what you done, Cattling, an' I ain't goin' to stand for it. I'm his mate, an' if I even think you've bin bullyin' him, I'll have you in irons so fast your head'll be spinnin' for a week. Understand?"

De Guarde, who had been silent up till now, did not miss the look Cattling briefly gave him. He turned to Thompson and whispered softly. "..I jus' fell,corp'ral...he tried to catch me." He did not dare to say anything that would upset Cattling or anyone of his peers whom he had not known the identity of.

"Is a'right... can we go?" His belly stopped hurting by that time and some colour returned to his face. He would have been so happy for the protection the corporal had given him, if he was not so afraid that it was not just Cattling and that by not knowing who, even if that man would be in shackles, he would be no safer than now.

"What I saw wasn't you fallin', lad," Thompson said, still scowling in the direction that Cattling had gone. He sighed, and patted de Guarde's shoulder. "All right, lad, let's get some'ers quiet where we can do some practisin'." He smiled at the boy, a little sadly, wishing that he could do something to protect the boy - things had happened to him that Thompson would not wish to happen anyone short of his worst enemy.

"George." The boy paused. "You didn't see anything." His voice was serious. He averted his gaze, resting his hand subconsciously against his belly. One quill was ruined. He sighed then brightened up a little, even smiling.

"..Lets go practice. Marine's mess, we said. Didn't we?"

"Mathew. That man is a bully, and we all know it - don't forget I'm only jus' a Corp'ral. You dunno what I seen of him afore that." He shrugged. "We did say the Marine's mess. Don't s'pose you've got a pencil? 'Cause I'd rather not spoil your other pen in learnin'."

"...He did not do anything. George." His voice was firm. "He might ..be a bully to others, but ...he caught me, now." He quickened his pace a bit, so that he was able to walk ahead of the marine. His face was thus averted from the man whom he had trusted but to whom he could now not tell the truth of his situation.

He wanted to remain alive and possibly as unhurt as possible. The captain had done nothing on the account of his near death before, he had no faith in him, or his superiors. Not what his life was concerned. He could not risk it.

"You can write with my quill. Eventually you will have to do that. I'll buy a new one when we are next in port." He smiled, glancing back. "Don't worry. I've got enough of my savings still, for it."

Thompson shook his head. "Don't go wastin' your savin's on me, lad. I've got money of me own. I can afford a quill, if nothin' else."

He wouldn't press de Guarde, but he hoped that the lad might open up a bit and tell him exactly what was going on.

"..I'm not wasting it." He looked at Thompson in earnest. "It's an investment in your education....and you're my friend. You will need to read well, bein' a corp'ral. .or higher. I can't be responsible for not teaching you with what means I have...And you will not write solely with a pencil, so.. .lets this be the reason."

He motioned for the man to sit and did so himself. "..Now. I will ask you to write all you have learned so far, on this part of paper." He taps it and offers his quill, now dipped in ink. "I'll correct anything that needs correcting.. Alright?"

"Pencil'd be easier. I don't reckon I'll ever have to write in ink." He grinned. "Can't see me gettin' higher than a corp'ral. Bin in twelve years an' never expected to even get that." He took the offered quill anyway. "I don't want to wreck your pen, though - how're you goin' to write home if I do?"

"I don't write often." Since his last letter he had not written at all. "He smiled and shrugged. "..So I will live if I must wait for a month or two." The letters certainly would not want to chug him over board because he had neglected them. Nor his parents to whom he did not dare to write, unsure whether the captain had already informed them of his shameful disrating. If he had, he would be lying to them to say all was just the same. Of course, it had been long since he had received their own letter, so his suspicions were only worse.

"...It's similar to a pencil.. but you need to dip it in ink when it starts loosing a trail and.. you might try to write more gently with it. Go ahead."

"I'll do me best," Thompson said, trying to remember how he had been shown to hold the pen. "Here, this's me name." he began writing, slowly, concentrating hard on forming each letter, taking the pen off the paper between each letter.

"The R needs a little work. The rest is good. Just keep the size of the letters as similar to each other as possible. It saves on paper and it is easier to read." He looked at Thompson and scooted closer.

"This here..." He made a motion with his finger. "Is how you write the letter.. see. Like this'un." He hesitated and looked up, he felt troubled, but the thought that he should say anything quickly faded. "....so... so anyway. this is how you write.. my name. " He wrote his in pencil. "Do you recognise any of the letters?"

Thompson nodded, watching the boy write the letter and then move on to write a whole series of different letters. "That's your name?" he asked,, and looked at the sheet of paper. "Um. I know that one, an' that," he said, pointing to the e and the G respectively, before pointing to the M. "An' that looks a bit like one in my name. Oh, an' I know that one, too," he added, indicating the r.

"Yes. and you know the t here too." He smiled. "Though mine is small, while yours is big." He pointed to the differences of the two letters. "A capital letter." He indicates Thompson's. "..Mathew De Guarde.... I don't have any o's.. but I have several of the e's just as you do. d.. is this one. You can see a capital letter of it, and a normal, small one. "He pointed to indicate which he meant.

"Mine's a bit longer than yours, no wait.." He counted the letters. "I have more words in my name, but the same amount of letters." He chuckled. "Unless I write my middle name, that is."

"You got a name in the middle?" Thompson asked. "I've only got the two you know. Dunno as I know anyone else who've got a name in the middle."

"Well we do,sometimes. " He shrugged and looked at Thompson. "It's a fashion." He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table. "...will you promise me to leave Cattling alone on my account?" He asked, out of the blue, writing the next few words on the paper.

"..it would be better so."

"I don't believe he never touched you, you know," Thompson replied, looking up from the piece of paper.