The Captain's Quarters

The Captain's invitation had driven everyone to make even more efforts with their appearance. Even Brandeson had been dragged off by a sullen looking Marine, doubtless to be returned in due course smartened up if not sobered up. Midshipmen, with shiny faces and polished shoes, were arriving. Edrington had smoothed his hair, straightened his stock and gone to the great cabin. From the window he could see the line of the wake reeling out behind them, creamy and straight.

Thompson followed the other guests, and those acting as their servants for the evening, into the Great Cabin. He might be used to standing on sentry outside - and he'd grinned at Lakey, the poor sod doing that at the moment - but it was rare indeed that he got to see inside. Even with all the other people crowding the place, it was far lighter and airier than his own berth.

He found himself standing behind the Army colonel he'd bumped into earlier. Well, the man had seemed pretty understanding at the time, and at least he wasn't expected to wait on Brandeson, who was looking scrubbed, but still drunk.

As officers and guests entered the cabin they were shown to seats round the large table. A mess dinner would have been much brighter, of course, since the majority of the guests here wore blue. The red uniforms of the two Army officers and the Marine Lieutenant stood out at the table and behind each a uniformed, very smart Marine. He recognized the young man detailed to stand behind his chair on this occasion as the one he had bumped into on deck - or who had bumped into him.

The man's embarrassment was still fresh in his mind, and the evidence of what carelessness construed as disrespect could lead to. Not the subject for jokes then. But he leaned back and turned slightly. "You know I'm Edrington," he said quietly, under the chatter of the others. "And you are?"

"Private Thompson, sir," the Marine replied. Thankfully, it seemed the man wasn't going to mention his lack of attention earlier that morning. He seemed a nce enough man, anyway, this Colonel. He couldn't actually thank the man for not taking his name earlier - not without making Leat or someone suspicious - but he hoped he looked suitably grateful.

The doctor found himself seated next to Major Findlay and across from their other passenger, Colonel Edrington. Looking over the colonel's shoulder he could see Private Thompson that he had dosed earlier, and he gave him a very small conspiratorial glance. Then he wondered which of the midshipmen would be invited tonight. He hoped it wouldn't be De Guarde. Perhaps the captain would have decided to let the lad have a more relaxed first evening, settling in with his peers in the midshipmen's berth. Then again, he might have chosen to welcome him with the honor of an invitation his first evening, in which case the boy would probably be along shortly. Well, at least the young gentlemen were usually seen and not heard at these dinners.

"Good evening," he greeted his neighbors, even though he had just recently spoken to them in the wardroom.

Thompson noticed the surgeon's glance and acknowledged it with a small nod and a smile.

It was bad enough bumping into Colonel Edringon earlier, after all, without being bullied around by a midshipman half his own age, and the doctor had stopped that by a bit of subterfuge.

He leaned forward a little to address 'his' officer. "D'you want a drink, sir, while you wait?"

Edrington nodded to Crozier, in response to his greeting. Drinking seemed to be one of the main pastimes on board ship, but he had a reasonable head, and had not been drinking heavily during the game with Findlay. The Marine's suggestion seemed sensible, and he smiled back at him. "Thank you. While we wait for the Captain." He held out his glass. "Were you among those on deck earlier? We seem to have interrupted a party."

Thompson took a bottle from the seaman standing next to him and carefully filled the Colonel's glass.

"Yes, sir. It was only a bit of skylarkin', sir, not really a party, like." Though quite what the man meant by 'a party', Thompson couldn't say for sure. It was probably a landsman's thing, or something to do with the gentry having fun.

"Skylarking? That is a strange name for what sounded like an impromptu dance. A nautical term, no doubt." Only the seamen's dances would not involve inviting young ladies, not yet Out, who would try to practise being older for a few moments, before forgetting themselves and throwing themselves into the figures with all the exuberance of youth, and a lot of laughter. Though the exurberance and the laughter seemed common to both.

"Dancin', aye. They'll be singin' too, afore long, I shouldn't wonder," Thompson said, passing the decanter back. "Just a bit of fun is all it is. An' high spirits." And he would've liked to have stayed there, but he was a little intrigued by the man sitting in front of him at the table. It was like talking to a Captain, only not quite. Maybe like talking to a Captain who was a guest.

Peter came into the Great Cabin feeling as nervous as if he expected to be told off again, and was amazed at the change. There was a glitter about the room, from glasses and cutlery, and splashes of red from the Marines and the officers. He saw young Danny Milburn trying to catch his eye over the table, and went round to him. "You'll be sitting here, Mr Yates," he said, pointing to a seat next to the doctor. It seemed to Peter that this would be all right. He had had nothing much to do with Dr Crozier, who was young and friendly, and who would no doubt give most of his attention to the brilliantly dressed cavalry officer on his other side, leaving Peter to eat in peace, without being required to make adult conversation

"Very like an impromptu party. Although," he turned his head round further, "perhaps with less to drink than we have here." He grinned. "I suppose singing is a possibility here, but not, I suspect, dancing." High spirits might be hard to find, as well.

Thompson grinned at the bulkhead opposite before he managed to regain control of his expression. He really couldn't imagine the Captain doing the hornpipe, but this wasn't the place to say that, of course.

"They do like to have a bit o' fun, 'times, sir," he said instead. "But don't ever'one?"

De Guarde arrived a little after Mr. Yates, taking his seat after being pointed to his place. He took a small glance about the room. He noticed the guests that weren't of the ship's crew, and then a few familiar faces, such as that of the doctor and the marine. Others he had seen so briefly that their identities remained a foreign ordeal to him.

He adjusted his coat, finding the present colourful array, look more like a sea of waves of various heights and a few splotches of red. One would think of blood. Observing further, he remained a silent spectator. Untill asked about the filling of his glass, to which he nodded. He observed the liquid rise against it's clear new confinements, giving the boy that stood to service a warning glance not to subject to clumsyness.

"Is that what this is?" Edrington immediately regretted his remark. Trying to make the Marine laugh was reprehensible. If they were like footmen, they would be severely taken to task by their superiors, even if it had been their employer who had succumbed to an bout of unnecessary and ill-timed humour. So he continued, in a more sober tone, "Is it a regular thing, the skylarking, I mean?"

Thompson choked back a laugh, trying to cover it with a cough. "Think it's s'posed to be, sir. And mebbe there's a proper skylarkin' once a week in good weather. Mebbe more, mebbe less. Depends on what's goin' on, o' course."

He was warming to the Colonel. He seemed like he had a proper sense of humour, though no sense of when to use it. But then, he was a lubber, wasn't he, not a sailor. So that could be excused. And the Captain wasn't in here yet, anyway.

Having changed back into his best uniform now, Leat entered the cabin with Mister Bush, the first lieutenant, and wasglad to see that most of those invited were already here.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for being so prompt as to the invitation; the captain shall be with us shortly, no doubt."

Which considering he was only on the other side of the bulkhead was more than likely to be correct.

Officers would not be welcome, of course. Not that Edrington wanted to join the dancing, but if it were like similar occasions among soldiers it would be best to keep clear of it. Drink was easier on land - there was usually a lot more drunk than the standard ration. Sometimes, rather than simply enjoying themselves, they would perform - Scottish regiments in particular - for the entertainment of their officers and others. But in general the two groups kept apart while enjoying leisure.

"Good weather must be essential - and in bad, you'd have enough exercise without wanting to leap about, or frolic in the rigging."

The Lieutenants had come in, and the officers - and the young gentlemen - seemed to gather themselves up in readiness for the Captain's arrival. Edrington smiled at Thompson before turning back to pay attention to the other guests instead. It was not, he felt, an improvement.

Having shaved and changed, Major Findlay presented a much different picture than what he had earlier on deck. No longer wan and peakish, the color had begun to return to his face, making the red of his coat less of a shock to the eye. He felt a little ridiculous in the amount of gold lace that adorned the dress coat, two heavy epaulettes winking on his shoulders and a scarlet sash tied neatly about his waist.

However, he was determined to be pleasant, even if he did feel somewhat awkward, and he returned the doctor's greeting with a smile and one of his own. Snatches of the conversation between the colonel and marine drifted across the table but he remained oblivious to their exchange, accepting a glass of wine from the man behind his own chair with a quiet word of thanks.

Turning back to the doctor, George grinned and set his glass down on the table, keeping half an eye trained on its responsive movements to those of the ship. "Now that I am back among the land of the living, Doctor, perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what I have missed in the past week? Nothing too exciting, I hope."

It was no question who at present caught the youth's attention with his glittering uniform, so extravagant with it's details that those, dark blue, seemed to pale in comparison. It was enough to draw his attention from the full glass of wine, and observe the strange arrival as he seated himself behind the table. Almost too much lace. Yet it seemed to fit together properly, the sash the last addition to perfect the picture.

His skin was a tad bit pale. A good guess would be that he had been seasick before and only now began to find his legs. The words that came out of his mouth confirmed that thesis swiftly. Mr. De Guarde finally realised he was staring at the uniform for a considerable few minutes and averted his gaze.

A dinner such as this, was not a common place for the young gentlemen to share much of conversation. While the adults would talk, they could feel lucky to be in their presence and enjoy the delights of a captain's offered dinner.

The claret he'd enjoyed in the wardroom had helped set the world around him to gently spinning. His face felt warm and slightly fuzzy as well, but that was nothing unusual. What was proving mildly annoying to him at that moment was the necessity of being in the great cabin for the evening ritual of dining with the captain. Brandeson blinked twice, rapidly, and tapped the rim of his empty glass with a finger. The Marine behind his chair refilled the glass at once and Brandeson was just as quick to swallow half the port in a single draught. Then, after dabbing almost daintily at his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, the Marine lieutenant glanced at the smartly-dressed Army officer who had spoken last.

"I daresay you've missed nothing of interest in the last week, sir," Brandeson said, knowing in a small corner of his mind that the question had been directed at Doctor Crozier but not caring that he was being too forward by replying. Social niceties were largely beyond him. "The usual hum and droll of life on a King's ship, certainly!"

Now his glass was empty again. Brandeson tapped the rim once more, trying and failing to remember how many times thus far that he'd been refilled. It wasn't important. Behind his chair, the Marine - a thin-faced fellow called Hardy - closed his eyes and sighed.


OOC - Hopefully no one is too offended by Brandeson's (lack of) manners.

As he finished preparing himself for the impending meal, Bolitho began hearing the sound of voices coming from the Great Cabin, which became steadily louder as he assumed more people were entering the room. He had only changed out of his dress coat briefly to freshen up, then he promptly put it back on and took a moment to re-adjust the ribbon in his hair. Presentable at last, he left his personal quarters and entered the Great Cabin. The room was laid out for the meal and all the officers were already present.

"Good evening gentlemen. I trust you have all been enjoying yourselves in my absence," he said, compeletely straight-faced.

Then he crossed to his place at the head of the table.

"I see that everyone has wasted no time in helping themselves to drinks as well," Bolitho said, still appearing to be as serious as possible, but then he finally broke into a smile as he added, "I wouldn't have wanted anyone to wait for me in order to imbibe."

Then he gestured to Catchpole, who poured him a glass of wine. Bolitho accepted the glass and seated himself at the table.

"Now then, let's have our supper, shall we?" he said, smiling again as he took a sip of his wine.

Thank God he didn't have to wait on Mister Brandeson. Private Hardy looked as though he thought it was going to be a long night. Thompson wondered how long it would be before the Lieutenant slid under the table. He wanted to apologise to the Army Colonel for his officer's lack of manners, but knew it wasn't his place... especially as Captain Bolitho had just entered.

He sent a sympathising look across the cabin to Hardy.

Edrington had been watching Lieutenant Brandeson. He would either slide from his chair or - worse - vomit, if he kept drinking at that rate. He had been well on the way to intoxication before the invitation to dinner. But from the look of the man, and from the faintest reflection of an expression on the face of the Marine behind Brandeson's chair, this was a regular occurence, too familiar to draw some sort of concern. He pitied Findlay, only recently recovered from his sea-sickness, forced to sit next to the boor. But the doctor at least was handy.

Captain Bolitho's entrance meant that the preliminaries were over. Servants - the Captain's steward and the co-opted wardroom steward - were preparing to bring food to the table. He returned Bolitho's smile and raised his glass.

The new midshipman had been staring; if the major had not been certain that his appearance was as impeccable as could be arrived at on a ship at sea, he might have thought he'd had something offensive plastered to his person. As it was, though, the young man turned away after several long moments and George, who had been expecting an answer from Doctor Crozier, was forced to turn towards Brandeson as he spoke.

He turned his eyes towards the colonel to gauge his reaction but kept his own expression carefully, pleasantly neutral, reaching forward to retrieve the glass that had wandered into the center of the table. "Then I am glad to hear it, sir. I should have been sorry had it been otherwise." The doctor was favored with a rather apologetic smile but anything further was precluded by the arrival of Captain Bolitho in his own glittering epaulettes and neatly laced coat. In the grand scheme of things, the captain outranked him, the commission he held being roughly equivalent to that of a colonel in the army and so George contented himself with a pleasant, "Sir," in greeting before turning back to the table.