Re: 3rd August, Room and Board

[sans nom]

"What did they want?" Charcot asked in a hushed voice.

[Paol Kerjean]

Privately, Paol agreed with Bright. However well intentioned the riflemen might have been, he could feel only relief at their absence.

Reaching down, he picked the small necklace up from the bed. "Here," he said, pressing it into Charcot's hand. "Didn't you say you'd had some'at go missing, a little saint's medal or something?"

[Keiju]

Something very like a sneer came onto Bright's face upon hearing this. A saint's medal. How very rich. How fitting as well, considering his company. It had been possible to forget the decidedly straight-laced natures of his fellow prisoners, with recent events being what they had been.

"A saint's medal for a pair of bleedin' saints. Aint't that special."

[sans nom]

Charcot laughed, just once, as he felt it with his fingers. "This is really it? It's my St. Hubert medal?" But he could already recognize it by the feel and the sound. He kissed it and clasped it in his hands, grinning broadly. "Maybe this is a sign! Maybe things are going to get better for us." He didn't care what Bright said. He was too happy to have his little memento of home back in his possession.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol's shoulders sagged just the barest bit at the all too familiar tone. "Feelin' better, then?" he muttered at Bright. But it was a relief to see Charcot smiling again, at least. "Might just be," he said, forcing a smile into his own voice. "You're sittin' on a real bed and all, that ain't a bad start."

[sans nom]

"Yes! And eating real food, and - is there some more of that water? What else do we have in the room? Is there a window?"

[Keiju]

He rolled his eyes. What a load of childish nonsense. Little bits of metal reappearing were not portents of impending positive changes in fortune. To believe so was foolish, but then again...

"I'm feeling well enough, maybe. Kind of you to ask." Bright shrugged and got to his feet. "Sure there's a window. If there are beds, there'll be a window, won't there?"

There was indeed a small window across the room and suddenly he was of a mind to ease it open, as much to get some fresh air into the cramped space as for something to do. Other than sit.

Of course, if he had to stay cooped up in here with these two for very long, he was liable to lose his mind.

[sans nom]

"What can you see?"

[Keiju]

Bright opened the window as much as he could and winced as the stitches in his side pulled a little too sharply. "Not much worth seein'. Spanish soldiers, mostly. A few of our lads too. Looks like a couple are wounded. Dunno who they are though - not from our lot anyway. Coats are wrong."

Probably best not to loiter near the window either, lest a Spaniard spot him and want to make trouble. Bright stepped back from the window again, taking care to turn away once he was out of immediate view from the street.

"Anyway. Better here than anywhere else, eh?"

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol looked strangely at Bright, uncertain what to make of his last remark, then shrugged. "Dunno. Think I'd give just about anythin' to be back with our lot, though."

[sans nom]

"Or at home."

[Keiju]

"Dunno why, considerin'," Bright said, an eyebrow arched in apparent disbelief. "Ain't like there's anythin' to miss. Besides, there's no beds back with the regiment, are there?"

As for home... he just snorted. "If you got a home, then maybe, aye."

[Paol Kerjean]

Nothing to miss? For a moment Paol simply stared at Bright in disbelief, then shook his head. Maybe it was different for the Englishman.

"Regiment's the closest I've got, now," he admitted, and almost immediately wished he hadn't. There were a number of reasons why he should have kept that too himself, not least of which was the fact that he was talking to Bright.

[Keiju]

That statement caused Bright to shake his head. "Makes things ever more sad, that does," he remarked without a trace of sorrow in his voice. "Because sure it ain't much of a home with folks missin' from it, is it? But I can't be sorry for that, myself."

Not with the recent events still prominent in his memory.

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol's head came up sharply. "What? What do you mean?"

[Keiju]

"So you don't know?" Bright made a noise of surprise. "There's a shock. The company got done hard, mate. A fair few lads knocked down and all that. Blanchard was one of 'em, which is what I don't understand. I thought you were his guard dog and all?"

[Paol Kerjean]

Paol stood there, staring at Bright as if the ground had just given out beneath him. "No." He started to shake his head, the words coming out in a faltering rush. "No. He can't--How do you know? What happened?"

[Keiju]

The line of stitches pulled again as Bright slipped his waistcoat back on and he grimaced. "I saw it, didn't I? Shrapnel done it. Cut down half that file. Us lads behind 'em had to step careful over that lot, I'll tell you."

[sans nom]

"Rosy?" Charcot exclaimed. Then he frowned. "No. You're a liar, Braillte."

[Paol Kerjean]

A musket butt to his stomach would have been less effective than those few, short phrases. Shrapnel? Raking through his disordered memories, he tried desperately to recall some piece of what Bright had related. Maybe Bright was wrong. Maybe—Damnit, why couldn't he remember? Where had he been? Christ, what did that even matter? He hadn't been where he was needed.

Paol took a step back, but there was nowhere to retreat to in the tiny room. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then seemed to give up. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. It was far too late for any of that.

[sans nom]

Kerjean's silence was unnerving since Charcot couldn't see his face. "Paol, he's lying. He's lying!"

[Keiju]

Bright shrugged, then, belatedly remembering that Charcot could not see, said, "I ain't, 'cause sure there's no reason to lie, is there? The redcoats had their guns bloody well-sited and were lettin' the columns have it. If it weren't that, it was the volleys."

There were none better at maintaining constant, disciplined fire than the British, either. Bright knew that firsthand. He picked up his discarded coat and folded it carefully, then laid it on the second, unclaimed, bed. It wasn't much but it would do for a pillow.

"Anyway," he went on, as he retrieved his sling-shirt and gingerly wrung it out over the basin. "I ain't sorry to still be here, for all of it."

[sans nom]

"So which was it that got Rosy?" Charcot shot back, scowling in his direction.

[Paol Kerjean]

"Christ. Just--" He broke off, defeat dulling the momentary sharpness in his voice. "Just leave it," he finished heavily.

[sans nom]

"No, I wanna hear it!" Charcot said. "Maybe he's wrong. Or he is lying. Did you even see it for yourself?"

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