Surgeons shop

Mushrooms, water, some fennel he'd found yesterday... Rob rummuged in the cupboards to find something else. Barley...he could do that and possibly there was some meat hanging about as well. Or at the very least some fish. An interesting misture, doubtless, but food and hot and filling at that.

"Ye like everything, I'd imagine, lad? Fish I managed ter find this morning, having woken early. Small, indeed, but not lacking in number or taste, I'm hoping." He scaled the fish out the door, and returned to cube it, before throwing the barley in with some water and putting the lid on.

The watched pot never boils, he remembered, turning to find two bowls and spoons, placing them on the table with some mugs.

Resolutely, he rolled back his sleeves and picked up ink and a pen, not considering the possible discomfiture the stains on hsi arms might bring his patient. "No doubt tomorrow afternoon I'll get ye ter write all this up fair, lad, but fer now tis easiest if I get me thoughts in order, both about t'frog and that Sarge...who I would call silly, if't weren't fer yer ranks."

It was interesting to watch the surgeon cook, and the food itself seemed promising enough that it might even be better than the youth had imagined ever having in the army. He wouldn't have thought of having fish, nor that there be mushrooms with it, or anything else that the man mixed in to make a fine dish.

" Am I to write it sir, or do you mean that I shall write what you shall have written today?" He hadn't quite understood what the surgeon had asked for, and so he was left with looking at the man, and hoping that he were not scolded for ever using that leg. It wasn't as if he did it intentionally and thinking of that. Would the surgeon allow him to go, when he would need to take a leak? (XP)

(nope, the surgeon will keep you here forever.....)

"Nay, lad. Ye'll start yer scribe duty termorrer, when I ken what ye'll write." Rob was distracted, his hearing listening to the pot, not simmering yet, and his eyes on the paper in front of him.

He finished his sentance and looked up, eyeing the man in front of him. Of course it would be impossible to keep him bedridden till it was completely healed, and impractacle toe ven keep him seated all day, there'd be trips outside, carefully measured out though, to take advantage of trees to prop him up on. He had no wish of being covered in another mans excretia.

Abruptly he stood, "Salt! I knew I'd forgotten something."

(ooc- we won't think abotu why he thought of flavourings. old roman tradition. also, he has interesting scars up and down his arms, if you run out of things to talk about.)

(ah , didn't know! and.. forever O_O OH NOES. HELP!!!!! Surgeon is evil!!)

"Yes, sir." He observed the man going back and forth, and saw how his eyes had darted from paper to pot. His hands were now bare of cloth and there were odd scars there that he'd not earlier seen. He did wonder about them and made a note in his mind that he would ask. A surgeon was known to heal others, not as much to fight battles, no? So those,.. well, if it would not be impudent to ask.

He couldn't help but laugh when the surgeon had jumped to his feet and spoke in such revere about what he'd forgotten than one would have thought he just discovered the meaning of life, there and then.

"Sir. " He grinned at the surgeon. "You'll make a feast fit for a king.. the way you are going."

"Well, it wouldn't be fit fer anyone without salt." Rob pointed out, testing the barley. "ALdante. Excellent." deftly he scooped fennel, mushrooms and fish in as well, turning down the heat to a simmer and propping the lid half on.

He looked round for a cloth and found one, slightly older, bandage which would do for a pot mitt. "Smell that." he gestured, pulling off the lid and looking at it. "Ready soon, I promise ye."

"If it's anything close as good as it smells sir, I'll be sure to wish to stay longest able." He spoke in half joke and half serious manner. The scent promised and he hoped the dish would deliver. Yet he had no doubt with the surgeon that it might. The man looked adept to cooking as one of his many talents.

"Is there anything sir, that you cannot do?" It was flattery yes, but certainly meant.

Rob laughed, picking up the billy and tipping half the contents into the bowl in fron of Willoughby. "There's plenty I can't do, lad. I can cook because I have to, I can sew because I have to, I can doctor becasue I learnt to...Ye see a pattern?"

He sat down heavily and tasted a little from the edge of his spoon, one eye lidded, "Aye, twill do fer a bite, no doubt."

"Don' see it at all sir." He smiled and leaned a bit in his chair. Hoping that it wasn't the one with the lame leg. The last thing he needed was to topple side or backwards because the chair could not take his weight.

"I'd sew myself, but I don't have the props, I cook... but not to have many left in delight. " He spoke with a slight amusement to his tone: "I can write,.. well I can do that." There was a soft creek turning louder as he was leaning back.

Rob carefully picked up another spoonfull, "Well, if I need something enough, I'll do it, lad. simple pattern...but usefull."

He eyed the chair titling, but left it. If it collapsed it collapsed, and he needed food. "See, ye're t'same. Everyone will do what they need ter do, I reckon."

Bruskely he moved the papers over to the very edge of the table and took his spoonfull. Hot, almost too hot, with just the right amount of salt, but a little too much fennel, if he judged correctly. He shrugged it off though. Twould be a nice meal, provided his company was, and he saw no reason ter disbeleive that.

"..True enough. One learns anything if there's need for it. Even a foreign language in less than few days." He smiled and and with a crack the chair had colapsed so that the Hussar found himself on his back and on the floor. With a flushed red face he struggled to his feet, trying to make it seem as if nothing had happened.

"..meal , ready, sir?"

Rob hastened round, "Lad...lean on this arm here and let me lever ye back up." He pulled up the chair, "Ye're ankle, lad, needs dealing with. Will ye never listen? no activity I said!"

Shaking his head he seated himself and pushed a full bowl accross the table, along with a spoon, "aye, lad. Eat up."

"..Yes sir! I'll tell that to my next chair..." He used the help offered to heft himself up and to take a seat on a chair that did not threaten to shatter, would one lean against it ever so lightly. Not that he had even tried.

Looking at his bowl his mishap was forgotten, and with the first taste the boy ate, with the delight of a hungry man. Still he held his spoon proper as if he were in a high society, right until he realised he did so. Upon which time he had shifted and ate in a more common and less refined a manner, and did more to enjoy his food. It was good enough, and his stomach as hungry and demanding as it was for food, could not have agreed more.

"Thank you sir..t' riflemen will be grateful, as you've fed a mouth that they might have had to." He smiled warmly.

Rob blinked at the change in spoon holding, but covered the action with another mouthfull. "Well, always good ter have rifleman ahppy, ye ken. Never know when I might need them." he smiled though, accepting the compliment and thinking about a suitable conversation starter.

He picked on something unlikely to cause offence, and of little real meaning. Twould at least pass through the camp that Sinclair tried to think of others when he ate. "What would ye be eating otherwise, lad?"

".. t' usual army's rations. And if we are lucky and the riflemen are able to provide, a rabbit stew had not gone unheard of, sir." He smiled and he shrugged his shoulders.".. Atleast it is what we would have here." He'd thought that Sinclair did not wonder about his food as a Hussar.

"It depends.. alright. I've seen a chicken leg be snatched and eaten, and I may assure you...that it was found, waiting to be taken." A small smile broke on his face, a knowing glance that meant not to snitch nor to speak more of the details.

"What does a surgeon have as his meal.. when he does not find 't mushrooms , like it?" He asked and ate more from his bowl, feeling the food warm him as much as the the air inside the tent.

Rob shrugged, "Little enough, it seems. Ye care fer food different ter mine, though tasty enough. Small rations, but I'm often up early and spend that time forraging." he smiled at the lad, "Ye never know when ye'll be having visitors, and it's nice ter be able ter cook something different."

He nodded to the collection of pots, "As ye can gather, I like ter cook- tis similar ter doctoring, but without the same time involved" his mind went back to family dinners and he ammended the sentance, "well, sometimes it can be faster."

Suddenly selfconscious he rolled down and buttoned his sleeves with quick movements. It never did to let patients see you at less than your full potential. A mantra grilled into him by numerous people over the years, and here he was chatting with his scars there for all to see.
Sternly, he reminded himself that he'd earned them in duty, and there was little enough wrong with this lad anyway.

He was surprised by the sudden movements of the surgeon and he saw the full reason for his reaction. The scars he had noticed earlier were now being covered. Was he ashamed of them, or did he think it improper to bare himself so. He glanced to his bowl and took a few bites more. He was tempted to ask, but would the surgeon feel offended. He could always refuse to reply, refuse to explain at the very least.

He studied the man and then his arms, and found that the surgeon was probably aware of how much attention he had now drawn to just those scars that he'd wished to conceal.

"Sir.."He began and at first knew not how to continue. Were he to ask, or rather keep quiet and pretend he had not seen it?

"...May I..."He did begin though and averted his gaze from the hands up to the man's face: "Inquire.. where to... you have gotten those?" A rather bold way to go about the injuries, but asked atleast.

Rob nodded, "Aye lad, ye can ask me anything." with a small smile, he added, "and I'll answer, normally, too."

Carefully he rolled the shirtsleeves back up again, placing his right arm palm up on the table. "As ye can see, I've got a scar on me hand- that's from a dog bite." He looked up, eyeing the man steadily, "I was fooling around with me brothers and a dog came up. We were playing with it when we cornered it and it got...scared. A lad from the neighbours place- another Bobbie- was in it's way and I panicked too." He gave a small shrug and looked at it, remembering a few days in a sling, "He bit me, but only there. We were shut inside in disgrace fer beign so silly."

He smiled, "Nothing much more spectacular, ye see." and laid the other arm flat, "tHese are from me apprentice days." He paused, seeing soemthing in the set of the lads shoulders, "Ye dinna do wrong ter ask, lad, I told ye. WOuld ye like ter hear more?"

He relaxed and carefuly observed the first set of scars. A fine dog bite, a larger dog by the size of it. Children were often found in all forms of mischief, he had to smile at that. The surgeon of course could not have been any different, and he had a family large enough to be signed to a few injuries, caused by his siblings or their play. A nod to the explanation of the first cut, not feeling that they had no lesser significance, even if gotten through a child's ignorance.

To the second he nodded again and spoke soft:" I would like, were it allright with you, that you tell me more, yes." He added and glanced to the second arm rolled bare to see the lines on it.

Rob adjusted the sleeves slightly, "Fine with me, Lad", hearty and sure, to try and get rid of that beaten look.
"MOst of these are from mixing, I wasna too good ye see, shorter than I shoulda been adn couldna reach everything. I dropped all sorts on these poor arms." He looked down,a gain tracing the red, orange and purple lines from wrists, up along veins or accross the arm the other way. his eyes lit on a particularly long on runnign from his elbow of the left arm, "That one"- he pointed it out-"was caused by me caring sister Bridget. She snuck up one day, ter ask if I wanted dinner, she say." his raised eyebrow and put on voice indicated he was in no doubt of why she was actually sneaking up, "and comes right up behind before hollering in me ear."

He looked a bit shamefaced, "I jumped, course, and turning, caught me arm on a beaker. I made her cook me dinner every day fer a week, after that. Breakfast too." He grinned, then turned his arms over. "There's some here, too, ye can see. Ye shouldna fear them lad.... they each tell a story, as t'bairns used ter clamour at me."

Willoughby felt more at ease when the look on Sinclair's face spoke that it was fair and alright and even his tone sounded to calm his worries. He nodded and smiled and peered at the cuts with equal attention as the story was explained and chuckled and shook his head when he mentioned the girl that snuck up on him and had him cause injury to himself.

"A fiesty even in youth." He spoke light, and the smile was back to his face while the earlier look was soon fading away:" What are those from then, if it's polite to ask?" A wave of his hand in the indicated direction, and he was all ear again. His bowl now lay empty, not a single scrap of food left inside. He would make sure of it. Waste not! Especially when it was food. Odd how things changed from his young days. Atleast such a stricter attitude to food.

Rob eyed the empty bowl and remembered his own, gulping down a couple of hot mouthfulls before answering. "Mainly they're all from spilling things when I was an apprentice...but lookee here." he pointed to a particularly light patch of hair on his forearm, with some dark stains underneath, "hughie was going through a sea stage, and wanted a tattoo."
He glanced up, eyes twinkling, "Well, being t'elder, I couldna let him have first go, could I? Jes' as well I didna, I'm thinkin', twas a tad painfull fer a wee while." Tad painfull didn't begin to cover it. lacking the gumption to actually carve into himself with a knife he'd mixed a pungent potion whcih ended up being too strong, and had to soak his arm in strong saltwater for days afterwords. It had saved the skin but had stung like billy-oh. and as soon as he took it out it burned, so that was good enough.
"Ye can see twas strong enough ter do some damage." he added, lightly. "hughie was sorry fer weeks afterwords- didna have ter carry anything. Almost enough ter make me do't again!" he laughed, and set to his sorely uneaten meal.

Rob eyed the empty bowl and remembered his own, gulping down a couple of hot mouthfulls before answering. "Mainly they're all from spilling things when I was an apprentice...but lookee here." he pointed to a particularly light patch of hair on his forearm, with some dark stains underneath, "hughie was going through a sea stage, and wanted a tattoo."
He glanced up, eyes twinkling, "Well, being t'elder, I couldna let him have first go, could I? Jes' as well I didna, I'm thinkin', twas a tad painfull fer a wee while." Tad painfull didn't begin to cover it. lacking the gumption to actually carve into himself with a knife he'd mixed a pungent potion whcih ended up being too strong, and had to soak his arm in strong saltwater for days afterwords. It had saved the skin but had stung like billy-oh. and as soon as he took it out it burned, so that was good enough.
"Ye can see twas strong enough ter do some damage." he added, lightly. "hughie was sorry fer weeks afterwords- didna have ter carry anything. Almost enough ter make me do't again!" he laughed, and set to his sorely uneaten meal.

"You've done much for your kin'." He shook his head chuckling softly. My, quite a history the man's hands had, the arms that spoke about his childhood as much as if he had his stories carved into them, word by single word. "I reckon Hughie ..didn't join the navy after all?.. Gone for the sea, as much as his tattoo would have ever been an interest?"

He shifted a little:" ..So.. is there a thing that you'd wish to ask. So that I may relieve your tongue from speech and permit you a fair feast of what you have yourself cooked so fine." He grinned , knowing that it would cool, should Rob be made to talk for much longer.

(gah! the post won't go away! this is what happens when you use a different machine...any ideas?)

"Hughie? nay, he didna join t'navy. He thought he'd follow me, but now he's in law. Much less travel than he thought first."

Rob swallowed thoughtfully. his first overtures about this mans family had seemed to put him on edge, so there was that idea shot. Well, he could at least ask questions that could be thought to have both entertaining and usefull answers. "D'ye have any interesting scars, lad?" remembering his own reticence at removing a shirt over a dinner table, he added smlingly, "Ye dinna have ter show them if they're not...easy ter see."

(a different machine? O.O... *wonders whether to run or stay!.. and trying to write now too. dang!)

"Law?" He nodded lightly. A profession that was both of benefit to some as it was a terrible nuisance to others. It could make or it could break a man, the lawyer.

"Interesting scars? I'll regret to say that I lack many that might raise your attention. I have gotten a bump here, and a bruise there in my youth. And scratches that are hardly worth of mention." He smiled for indeed he had few, very few. ".. riding .. hm..." He looked thoughtful then turned slightly and he raised his bound hair so that nae but a small scar was seen. A slight and old and very pale and barely noticable, if one did not know what to look for.

"There's not that much of a story to go with it. We've played .. and an accident came to be, in which there was more blood than there was harm. Grandfather had held me home for longer than it needed to heel. And he was so furious I've feared he would have locked me.. till I was old enough to need a stick to walk." He chuckled softly and then with a small bit of thought he moved his sleeve up. Indeed his skin had barely showed an injury. There was a bruise from his fall of the horse and his tumble down the slope, a dark one the one that was younger, and a paling , the ones that had been old. "Here.. ..I've dueled and this was the shot I had gotten.." He'd spoken before he thought to do better.