11 June; Watered down

"An' you think the officers'll believe it?" Chase shook his head. "I ain't gonna hold me breath for that, m'self."

"Captain'll believe me," Billy protested. Though in the back of his mind, he knew the captain would only be able to believe that Billy believed Seward had beaten De Guarde. And that was probably not enough. "Why ain't the lad showed anyone else his bruises?"

What a stupid question. Folks in Buckles' situation didn't go blabbing things like that, much less show off that someone had hurt them. "A-cause... Well, would you go showin' it if someone'd 'it you so much it left 'orrible black bruises, Mister Barrow?" he asked, wondering when he was going to get his ears boxed and be told to shut up.

"What're we talkin' about?" Perry asked, sliding in next to Button. "Move over, little'un. So serious! Looks like a funeral in here!"

Nat tried to give Perry a warning look, but settled for kicking him under the table.

Perry scowled and returned the kick.

Perry's arrival forestalled Chase's reply, which was irritating.

"Might just turn out to be a funeral, mebbe," the topman grumbled, curling his hands around his mug of water.

Terry pushed his half-full mug of grog towards Chase and moved up enough to let the American sailor sit down. "Wish it didn't have to," he muttered to the table.

"All right, all right, don't tell me," Perry muttered, though without rancor. "I'll just go back to my knitting." He gave Button a grin as he sidled up next to him. "Cheer up, little'un. Ain't no funerals planned yet, far's I know."

"Knit yerself a bonnet or somethin', if it'll keep you shut up," Chase muttered, deciding after a moment to take a final swig from Button's tankard.

Chase's comment made Terry grin. A sailor in a bonnet wouldn't half be a funny thing to see.

How could they sort things out, though?

"You ain't goin' to 'ave anuvver fight, are you, Mister Chase?" he said, looking up at the topman. "'Cause... i don't wantcha to get 'urt again, see."

"'scuse me." A young voice piped in, having come from one end of the mess. The lad was carrying a tot of grog in one hand, and a packet he had happened to get from his sea chest earlier, in the other. He intended to be rid of the second soon, stuffing it away from where he'd taken it.

He had just come down, so that all the conversation that might have went on, was lost to his ears. He looked around and then noticed Chase. He glanced towards his back, looking concerned and questioning.