22nd July, evening; Up Spirits

The bottles had come from a Spanish family whose little shack had been near the company's bivouac two nights past. Only two bottles, to be sure, but there had been little else of value in the shack. The others in Jérémie's section had searched anyway. Once they were satisfied they had taken everything worth taking, they'd broken almost everything that could be broken. Just because. Jérémie had learned a long time ago not to try to stop this but he resented the occurrence of such casual destruction.

It had been a hollow gesture, he knew, but he'd left what little he had in the way of rations for the family. The scowling man rewarded his attempt at kindness by spitting on the offering. Jérémie had shrugged and walked away. Later, he had acquired ownership of the two bottles from Couture in payment for providing the other private with a mostly-serviceable pair of shoes. It was an uneven trade for Couture, but Jérémie was of no mind to care.

The bottles had stayed carefully hidden in his pack until this evening, when he decided that to continue hauling them about was a waste. Wine was meant to be drunk, after all. He set his pack down with care, mindful of both the bottles and the kitten within it. Then he peeled out of his coat. To say he disliked Spain was understating it just a little. The heat of the place was difficult to bear and never seemed to wane, during the summer.

The black kitten was clawing at the pack's flap, yowling its impatience to be let out. With a grin, Jérémie unfastened the straps and lifted the kitten out. It was growing fast. He settled down to sit, then fished out his old tin mug. It was time for a little primer before he went to find someone to look after the kitten for the evening.

"Ah, Suie!" cried a small voice. Mathilde, the top of her face peeking over the pile of laundry she carried, stopped in her tracks to address the kitten. "How is it you are so big? Do you eat all Rosy's food and leave none for him?"

The arrival of Mathilde, only half-visible behind the pile of laundry she was carrying, was well-timed. Jérémie had been about to offer his mug of wine to the kitten for sampling.

"He does not like to share," Jérémie admitted with a grin and playfully pinched at one of the kitten's ears. It mewled and swiped at him, to no effect. "And he demands to be fed first each meal."

Mathilde smiled shyly back. "He sounds like Philippe," she said ruefully, shaking her head.

"But does Philippe make it a habit to sleep in your shako?" Jérémie asked lightly, thinking that his shako would need patching soon, the way his kitten seemed to like kneading it. He hesitated, then moved the mug away from the kitten's probing nose. Now was not exactly the time for sharing, really...

She giggled at the image that conjured up. "He is much too big! He would probably chew on it instead. Like poor Madame Bellot's hat."

Given a choice, he'd take his shako being chewed on rather than clawed to pieces. "Perhaps he thought it tasted good?" He scratched Suie's ears - that was a fine enough name for the kitten, wasn't it - and asked, "Are you bound for your mother's cart?"

He probably did at that. Philippe would eat almost anything.

"Yes," she replied, a hopeful note creeping into her voice. "Do you need anything washed?"

If he could get at his pack again - "Stop that, you," he said to his kitten, setting it aside again to keep it from gnawing at the quarter of a crust of bread that it had dragged out of the pack. "I do. Just a shirt, though."

A shirt that Suie had taken a particular liking to, at that. Blasted little creature not only slept on it, it also relieved itself at will on the linen.

"Tsk! Suie, what have you done?" Reaching out somewhat awkwardly from beneath the pile of clothing, Mathilde took the shirt from Jeremie. "We will get it cleaned up good as new. His brothers and sisters have given me a lot of practice," she added with a grin.

He could ask for nothing else than an honest effort and there was no fear of anything less from this quarter.

"They are making themselves at home, then?"

"Oh, yes. It is their wagon now."

"As long as sometimes they share?" Jérémie lifted the kitten away from its attempt to explore his mug of wine again. "Is... would you mind looking after Suie for the evening?"

Mathilde's face lit up -- as much at the prospect of taking Suie for the evening as at the fact that Rosy would trust her to do so -- and she nodded vigorously. "Of course! He is no trouble. Are you petit?"

The kitten tilted his head to the side a little as he peered up from Jérémie's hand, then he offered a pitiful-sounding mewl. Jérémie grinned and held the small feline out. "He has no objections, I think."

"As long as he does not mind riding in the laundry," she remarked, taking him from Blanchard's hand and settling him on top of the pile of clothing. "There. A throne for the little emperor."

Jérémie shook his head with a smirk. The kitten stood splay-legged for a moment, looking uneasy about his new surroundings, but seemed to adjust quickly enough. Or at least he was comfortable enough to ease down into a sitting position, his tail flicking slowly about.

"Best not to let him get used to that," Jérémie warned airily. "Or he'll be wanting to ride outside my pack before long."

"Ah, little one, did you hear that? Just for tonight, yes?" She bounced the armload gently. "Do you have to stand watch tonight?"

That was a question he should have expected, yet hadn't. Damn. He couldn't lie either, especially since she was doing him a favour.

"No," he admitted. "But I am invited to join a couple of the others for cards. Foucheaux will be there - I don't want him to decide he needs a replacement Beefsteak."

Mathilde's smile disappeared and her eyes widened in horror at the prospect. "Oh, no. No, he will be safe with us," she assured him.

Excellent. "Thank you," he said.

Rather abruptly there seemed to be nothing left to say and Mathilde felt awkwardness overtake her once more. "Alright... um, goodbye," she offered, taking an uncertain step backward.

The brief, uneasy silence made his face flush and he glanced down at his as-yet untouched mug of wine. He ought to say something else, but all that came readily to mind was, "The washing is paid for when it's done?"

"Oh--" The question was a reasonable one, but nonetheless took her by surprise. "I--that'll be fine, yes," she stammered, colouring faintly. Her mother usually insisted on payment up front, but she didn't suppose it made any real difference in the end, so long as it was paid eventually. And besides, it was Rosy.

The heat in his cheeks lessened a bit and he nodded. "All right. Thank you, again."