10th July, Needless Needling

Tom Oxley had just about had enough. He was in the middle of sewing a button back onto his gaiters and the tough canvas, combined with the darkness of the lower deck, were conspiring against him. He had jammed the needle into his finger twice already and now the thread was knotted, and he couldn't see to undo the knot.

He swore, yanked at the knot and felt the thread break. He scowled, shoved the needle back into his needlebook and hurled the recalcitrant gaiter across the messdeck, careless of where it might land.

"Oi! The hell was that?" Springfield burst out, balling up the gaiter and flinging it back at its owner as hard as he could.

"Yow!" Oxley couldn't help letting out a pained yelp as a button caught him on the side of the head. "Bloody hell. Can't a body do anyfin' down here?"

And how was he to know that someone had been tucked away in the dark over there, anyway?!

"Not if he don't watch what the hell he's doin'," Springfield fired back before bending his attention once more over the crossbelt he was half-heartedly applying pipe clay to.

"You don't hafta be so bleedin'... pig-headed," Oxley muttered, a little louder than he'd intended. It wasn't like he'd meant for it to hit anyone anyway.

Pig-headed, was he? Springfield snorted. "Least I can bloody throw straight."