Beating to quarters

He turned from Westdale and was about to head back up, when he caught sight of eyes watching him. Though it was a normal treat that in such a small space men would be oblieged to glance and observe others, he felt as if the looks were hardly done in a subconscious manner.

There was the Private he'd seen called to play dice, before he was called to arms, and the youth returned his gaze with his own. Let him know he'd noticed. And if he were mistaken and the man had only by accident or lost thoughts, been looking at him, a simple look back, would still not cost much.

And then the lad turned around and looked at him. He blinked and shook himself, turning his eyes upwards to the few scraps of sail Terpsy was carrying. Wasn't right, to stare, and it'd be just his luck if the lad came over here and decided to pull him up for it.

(Ooc - *glares at the internet connection which is to blame for a whole bloody post lost)

Too obvious, the action of looking to the sky where he had nothing to search for. The sails were a sailor's burden and were tended to at the captain's whim, or that of lieutenants working in the captain's name and by his wishes. A private marine, well he was sure that he'd turned for he had found himself being stared back at.

He spied two of the lieutenants in sight, but both had not yet been in need of young middies to do their bidding, nor has the captain who was immersed in conversation himself. The ship was approaching and for a moment he felt as if the storm was having a tame moment, but the look at the sky confirmed.. it was but a hiccup.

He had few moments to spare and he so approached the private, careful across the distance for he slipped and near fell once and he felt that it alone were to give him right for his foul mood. Still there was an excuse, even if he were wrong and the private was not staring, with which he could still approach him. Tension and stress at the prospects of battle aside. He knew the man, if only by a brief encounter with the play of dice. He knew him more than just a look of his face in the sick bay any how.

"Yes, private?" He spoke once he stood before the man. He had a pleasant smile on his face, though he looked more like a drenched cat, shivering and wishing for a hot fire to lie beside, than a gentleman of the royal navy. He could spare a few moments, and then he knew he would have to make haste to return to his place. For then, the middies would be more than certainly needed.

Oops. Now the lad was coming his way. He straightened to attention, the musket tucked in by his right side, his hand and arm straight down holding it steady, and his left hand straight with his forefinger along the seam of his trousers. He was looking over the lad's head, his eyes focussed on the middle distance.

"Beg pardon, sir, just thinkin', sir."

"..Mind to share your thoughts then... private." He inquired in a pleasant yet authorative manner. Whether he meant the pleasantries, was doubtful.

"I am interested,.. private. What have you been so attentative in watching, before you've found your interest up in the shrouds?"

"Was wonderin' whether me musket would fire in this rain, sir, the flint bein' wet an' all." He was not going to look down at the middy; unlike the sailors, the Marines did have a proper way to stand when talking to an officer. The fact that it left Thompson staring over the lad's head could only be a good thing, he thought.

" Ah.. but is your musket not in your hands... and why then were your eyes rather from it." He asked , sweetness laced in his words. Still he played the game, perhaps to distract himself from the danger that may soon be real, as real as the projectiles that may decapitate a man in a mere moment.

"It was in my direction you have stared.. private. And were you to mention muskets.. am I to think, that it was thus, your intention of knowing whether it shall fire. That reason?"

He looked up at the man and felt annoyed that his height had set him so low to the marine , and though aware that all marines would stand in this manner when talking to an officer, it felt as if the private was thinking the youth not there or of the similar importance. It showed on his face.

"No, sir, didn't know I was lookin' your way, sir. Beg pardon, sir." Thompson kept his face blank. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked awkward questions by an officer, after all, and probably wouldn't be the last.

Edrington thanked Captain Bolitho for the permission to put himself in harm's way and left the quarterdeck to look for the marines and, in particular, Sergeant Quinn.

The first marine he saw was Thompson, standing before the fair-haired midshipman. Edrington remembered him from the Captain's dinner, and gave him merely the most cursory of nods before speaking to the Marine. "Thompson. I am to join you, with the Captain's leave. Can you tell me where Sergeant Quinn is?"

He sensed that the Private might like to withdraw from what appeared to be another confrontation between this midshipman and the men of the ship. There was little likelihood that this conversation was an essential part of the preparations for defence which the Captain was so keen to see put in place.

Perhaps he was wrong. He had been nervous and suspicious ever since.., well quite ever since. He was about to speak, when he heard the guest approach and was just about to turn as the guest greeted him with a nod that was hardly heart felt. He stood back. He knew better but to speak out of turn and for most what he was to say, would change little.

"..Greetings sir." He spoke politely, and spared no look to the private this time.

And here was Colonel My Lord Edrington, looking slightly disreputable in an old boatcloak, but the sight of him was no less welcome for all that. The Marine's expression didn't change - he wasn't about to risk the middy hauling him over the coals once His Lordship had gone to find Quinn - but he hoped the Colonel could see his thankfulness in his eyes.

"Below still, My Lord. Either by the arms locker or with the gunner sorting out extra rounds, in the magazine." He was not about to add 'I think' to that sentence in the middy's presence.

There was a very appealing expression in Thompson's eyes, and Edrington's expression changed to a worried frown. "Yes," he murmured. "The arms locker." He turned to the midshipman, whose name, if he had ever heard it he had forgotten. "Perhaps I might borrow Thompson - to show me the way, and ..."

"..Yes, sir. Certainly take him." He would've had little choice even if he so disagreed with letting the marine go. He turned towards Thompson, in a manner more trained than needed.

" You shall take our guest below and you shall do as he tells you. And once he finds no more need of you, you will return here. The French may yet soon be in need of some lessons.." Perhaps he was not even entailed to do so yet he was the sole officer present. Or an officer in the making at least.

"Aye, aye, sir." As if he wouldn't get back on deck if there was any hope of a fight with the French. He wasn't shy, after all.

And if the lad wanted things done properly, that's how he'd get them. He shouldered his musket, every motion as crisp and precise as he could manage with the ship's movements, and saluted.

"It's this way, my lord," he said, indicating the companionway.

"Thank you," he acknowledged the midshipman, and turned to follow Thompson to the companionway and back down below decks, out of the rain. "I may need reminders in the use of muskets," he said quietly. "If I ask Sergeant Quinn, he may order you to remain with me once we return on deck." The Marine might prefer that to returning to face the ire of the middie.

Thompson shifted his musket to his hand to make it easier to carry belowdecks. "Maybe, sir, but he wants to tell me off anyway, and I'd rather get it over with." He grinned. "And all I have to do is stand there like a good Marine and tell him 'Yes, sir, no, sir, whatever you bloody say, sir' and stare over his head while I do it."

He shrugged. "He's only a lad, after all, and not even in the Marines. He wants to do anythin' to me, he's got to get through Sergeant Quinn first."

Seeing the two men depart , he still held a slight look of surprise at the proper salute of a marine. Turning on his heel though, he knew it was by now time to return to his station, and see if there was more to be done. He had recieved news of Yates as he wished. And he decided that if there was time he would visit him below once their battle and the storm was over and once so was he to be off duty.

"It passes the time, I suppose. And keeps him from those he can threaten... Very well, just show me to Sergeant Quinn. I expect I can remember how to load and fire a musket." Edrington grimaced. "But I'm damned if I can see what we can hope to do in this weather."

"He's down here somewhere, sir... ah, there he is. And if you're comin' back on deck, I'll go an' get me scoldin' over with an'...an' mebbe I can talk with you?" He bit his lip, looking nervous. "If you don't think I'm bein' too forward-like in suggestin' it, though, sir. I...I don't want you to think I don't know me place, like."

Edrington looked down at the young Marine. "I expect I will be on deck - I wouldn't be of much use elsewhere, and... I am a complete novice at this kind of battle so I would be grateful for instruction. If you wouldn't mind. Offers of help and advice from an expert are never out of place." He smiled. "Provided the midshipman can stop scolding long enough to allow you to do some fighting." And the rest of the men, he thought. Heaven help any gun crew he commanded who would be chivvied and shouted at until they began to make mistakes they would otherwise have avoided!

"Of course I wouldn't mind, sir. Can I leave you with the Sergeant? Otherwise he might give me more of a scolding for takin' so long." He grinned ruefully. "And then I c'n talk to you about... well, about anythin' you want, sir."

"Of course. But tell him I delayed you. Even on board a ship, I think I outrank a midshipman! In one way or another." He glanced towards the Sergeant - no sign of the Marine Lieutenant, of course - and then back towards Thompson. "And I will find you on deck. Thank you." He nodded in dismissal and went towards Sergeant Quinn, saying "The Captain says you can arm me, and take me on as a supplementary Marine."

"Thanks, sir." He headed for the companionway, clutching the rail firmly. The last thing he needed was to find himself thrown to the lower deck by an unexpected movement as Terpsy raced down a wave.

Quinn frowned momentarily in the direction of Thompson and the officer accompanying him. His expression cleared when he realised who it was ,a nd what he was offering.

"Certainly sir," he said, unslinging the cartouche he was wearing and holding it out, crossbelt and all. "If you'll come this way sir." He fiddled with the keys before unlocking the arms locker and pulling out a musket. "You remember what to do, sir, I'm sure. If not, one of my lads will be happy to go through the drills up on deck."

(OOC - I have to go to uni for a bit. Be back later!)

Edrington took the cross belt, letting the cloak fall to the deck for a moment as he slipped it on, and then took the musket - slightly different from those he had used. "If it comes to boarding - either way - then ... Do you have a heavier sword I could use, Sergeant?" He would go to his cabin and collect his pistols, though in this weather they were as likely to be rendered useless as the muskets. Rain alone could stop a regiment from firing a volley, and the sea just added to the problem.