Happy Birthday, Sweet Fifteen (13 June)

"Nope, peach fuzz," Thompson said with a grin, running a finger over the lad's chin carefully. "Still. You'm young yet. Don't grow up too quick, will you?"

"Wouldn't it be better if I wos' all adult and everything?" He asked, looking at Thompson curiously. He had closed his eyes a few moments ago, without meaning to, and was now trying to distract from that vehemently.

" I'm 15, ain't that young, really. Now, 13 is young..But I'm ..I'm close to 16 now.. very near 17, and not too far from 18!"

"You'm only just fifteen, though. Oxley's nearer eighteen than you are. You'll still get there afore Terry Button and young Fingers, of course." He adjusted his shirt. "I dunno if eighteen's better or not. Everyone's experience is diff'rent, after all."

"How old is Oxley anyways?" He was not happy that that boy would beat him in getting older sooner, but then if he was only to think about it a bit more thoroughly, he could realise that, the sooner one became completely adult, the sooner one was flogged for their transgressions. And the longer he was a Tar, the longer he would then technically have to be a midshipman before he could be anything more.

"George.." There was one thing that was also not possible, when he was grown up, which he could still get away with now, even at 15. "...Um... there's summat I liked... when I was bein' punished... mind, when I was a middie... or even later.. I mean.." He looked down. "Ilikedbein'huggedandheldn'Iknowitwon'tbehappening but...well that. " He quickly turned away and bit his lip. That was a terribly daft thing to say just now!

"Sixteen, or thereabouts, I think," Thompson replied. He blinked at de Guarde's words, and adjusted his position a little. "I shouldn't ask why, should I?" he said, and slipped an arm around de Guarde. "Now, reckon you can show me some of the knots an' things you've bin learnin'?"

De Guarde felt stunned, pleasantly so. He looked at Thompson, nodded quickly. A faint smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth and then he reached into his pocket bringing from it a piece of string. It was fairly long though not as thick. It would do for knots however.

"Right. " He hesitated. "I've learned several knots and.. ways o' splayin' rope and all that. ..like.. well first knot.. here." He began to work the rope untill the knot was made."Like this."

"Splicin'," Thompson corrected automatically, smiling as he watched the lad tie a knot in his piece of spun-yarn. "Looks like a bowline to me," he said doubtfully. "Not that I know, of course. I don't need to know all them knots, bein' a Marine."

"'tis." De Guarde nodded and then undid it again, did a few adjustments. It took him longer this time, but the next knot was perfectly fine, once finished. "Here.. I can do this'un and, then.." He recounted which knots he had learned, knew by heart and which he had some trouble with still. He looked proudly at the marine when he had accomplished in doing a particularly complicated knot, which was though not so much a useful one, but rather an ornamental.

"See. I lissen. and I now know wot' ter do wot' a surgeon wants me too. Which isn't wot' a Tar learns at all, usually anyway!"

Thompson grinned. "So... if I was to fall down a companionway an' bust me ankle, what would you do?" he asked, in amusement, thinking of when he'd done just that, only a few bare weeks before. "You'm good at them knots, I'll say that for you," he added, looking at the bit of spunyarn.

"Now a surgeon would go see how bad t' injury is first. if it's sprained, broken, twisted, whatnot. Then.. well you'd need immobilze t' foot and t' ankle and no walkin' on it or what not. Nuh uh. Nothing' ter stirr it up. " He continued with a few things he had seen the surgeon do with similar injuries and grinned. "And I'd tell you off for being so careless, of course!"

He blushed. "Thank you. I'um tryin' me best to learn all there's ter need ter know!"

"So... you's anglin' to become a surgeon now?" Thompson enquired, raising an eyebrow. Of course, maybe the lad was just recalling what the surgeon and his mate had done for Thompson.

"You'm learnin' pretty well, I'll say that, Mathew, me lad."

"I'm learnin' wot'ever I see n' hear and all, George. It will be handy one day, o' that I am certain. I don't want ter be a surgeon. I ain't... well I would think I'd want to be a learnt sort, not jus' a butcher and fer that I'd have to study, and I can't do more n' read books so.." He shrugged. " I like ter help but..." He shook his head again.

He grinned proudly at the compliment. "Thank you. It's all goin' ter be useful to me, some of it jus' now, and some maybe never, if it ain't directly related ter me profession but who knows.. we've been without a surgeon afore..." He shrugged and chuckled.

"I hope so, lad." He shifted a little to lean against the side of the ship. "So... if you can be anythin', anythin' at all, what would you like to be?" he asked, curious.

"Hmmm... t' lord of an island all of me own, filled with gold ore." De Guarde laughed softly. "With a full stables o' finest horses an' a lush forest full o' game. Me own fleet o' ships." He shrugged knowing how impossible it was, but humouring Thompson with it in a purely boyish manner.

"With...um.. with somethin real exotic fer a pet. " He shrugged. "Or do ye mean a profession, couse, in a way bein' an owner of an island is a profession.. only..not quite t' sort you'd dare call a profession or a job."

"Not quite what I meant," Thompson said ruefully, and chuckled. "Though at your age, I oughtn't to expect a serious answer to a question like that, ought I?" He shrugged. "I mean, what job. Though, thinkin' about it, what sort of animal would you call, um, exotic was the word you used."

"Well... a tiger's exotic." De Guarde answered seriously. "I'd like to have a pet tiger, or a pet....pet lion." He grinned. "Imagine 'im walking alongside me! Everybody'd be 'fraid. But not me, couse he'd like me."

He tilted his head. "As fer a job it depends... one in t' service.. or one in general. Couse if I was in t' service, I think I'd want ter be a marine, but if I was just so.....like I said... a rather proper island would be nice!"

Thompson looked askance at the boy. "Are you mad? Them things're huge - at least eight foot, without countin' the tail. You can't tame them things, I'm sure of it. I meant summat sensible... like a parrot or a monkey." He grinned. "I knowed a parrot once, would say 'Pieces of eight' an' other things just for a bit of beer."

"I'm sure you can tame 'em! Though.. if we was going somewhere's exotic, to have on a ship, I would rather have a monkey. A little one. I'd train 'er ter do things." He looked thoughtful. "Or... or a parrot, so he'd sing, an' talk, and whistle and all. Only I would not let him learn bad things.. 'couse then the captain would have us hear it!"

"Usedta swear blue murder, that parrot did," Thompson recalled. "Dunno if it's still alive, though, not after all this time. I was a boy at the time, see. Don't reckon the captain'd have anythin' to say much if we had a parrot that swears - after all, we do that enough."

"Aye, true, but if he was swearin' at t' captain and t' captain thought it wos' someone else, we'd all be in some trouble, don't you think?" He grinned. "But anyway, unless we get to the exotics we can't get a parrot.. and we can't get 'im to be taught anything. Pity, huh?" He took a few sips from the cup that Thompson gave him earlier.

"Now If I were a captain, I'd have us go there..an' see all t' islands we've not seen 'fore!" He chuckled softly.

"Captain don't come down to the messdeck above once a week for Divisions," Thompson pointed out, and added, "Dunno where we'll end up, after all, do you?"

"We'll not go anywhere far until t' war's over I think. We are needed to patrol these coasts, look for the enemy vessels, collect prize money, and hinder the enemy from making progress at sea. We are not doing blockade itself but I think that we are almost as good as.. while having the pleasure of moving and not just staring down the ships in port."

He took another sip and then set the cup down. It was nearly empty. " We are needed to offer transport services at times too, though luckily, we ain't turned into army servants."

"I dunno. We'm a frigate, we don't do blockadin' an' stuff - that's up to the line o' battle ships, men o' war like Temmyrare an' Victory. It's the frigates as range the furthest, see, an' allus has bin. Was in a frigate that I went round the Horn, the wrong way."

He glanced down at the leather jack as de Guarde set it down. At least the lad hadn't drunk it all at once, but slowly, a mouthful at a time. Best way to not get drunk, was Thompson's opinion, drinkin' slowly. If you have to drink at all. He knew very few people - maybe only one or two, in the whole course of his life - who never drank at all, and they were very strange, in his opinion.

"I know t' frigates ain't doin' t' blockading. Ain't firs' time on a ship, me." De Guarde protested, slightly hurt that Thompson thought him unable to know such a minor fact. "I have only compared it ter that.. sort of like sayin' what we do here, now." He shrugged. "Not sayin' that we're blockadin' but that it is a bit like, couse we's making it harder fer t' French, no less."

He drunk the rest from the cup and smiled. "S' good, this."

"Was joshin' you, that's all," Thompson said lightly. "I know where I'd rather be, though, an' that's in a frigate. The big ships - all they do is stand off an' on, off an' on, no matter what the weather, an' only runnin' back to port for repairs - not even for supplies." He shuddered.

"It's only grog, same's anyone gets issued," he added, noticing de Guarde looking into the bottom of his leather drinking jack.