Surgeons shop

The sensation of having one's hair combed and not having it pulled out in handfulls during the process was making the youth rather at peace and somewhat drowsy. The surgeon had a good hand on it, and compared to most other times with the Hussars, he was in no hurry. It showed. And it felt pleasant.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile at the lad's words and he kept his eyes closed, hands to his side. "..How many siblings, sir?" He asked and tried to show that earlier question had not distressed him. It was just not one he expected and the surgeon really couldn't have known, could he? He drew a sharp breath as a knot had presented itself sneakily under the handful of well brushed strands and tugged at his scalp without warning.

"..sir,..ye needn't apologise." He decided that he shouldn't have made such a deal of it. It happened about eleven years ago, now that was long!

" Yes, I had just one.. .." He hadn't thought that he would speak of this or anything in relation to it, while he was but a private in the army, but he did now. No names. Safe enough.

Not to act like a child and make such a fuss out of it. "He and my parents died when I was eight. Should've had another.. but it had gone before it was born, when they did..." There, out on the platter, didn't feel that bad now, did it.

Rob carefully worked on the large tangle in front of him, sorry for any knots he'd managed to pull on. He decided it was best to just keep brushing the hair then to make a big deal out of it, not that he thought it wasn't a big deal, mind, but that it wasn't really his place.

"I'm sorry, lad...Ter loose them when ye was but a bairn." He kept his voice low, and quiet too, showing his sympathy fer the lad.
He gave himself a few moments, just enough to make it known that he wasn't at all put off by the conversation, just unwilling to cause any further pain, before moving on to answer the last question.

"Me, lad? Had siblings a plenty. I currently have eight of them, only one older- me brother Hamish. one of the reasons I trained, ye see." He gave a short laugh, "I was always in trouble, always breakin things, or cutting things- was nominally in charge of the rest of them, ye see, and always seemed ter be the one ter get hurt."

He frowned at the matt in his hand, "Ye'll tell me if I'm hurting ye, won't ye lad?" And he wasn't sure if he meant with the hair or with questions.

The brushing continued with as great a care as it did before the knot had weasled it's way into the comb's teeth. He relaxed, much of the tension gone from his limbs, even his shoulders now a lot more slumped against the chair in which he was seated. His breathing was light and even. He'd put his trust into the surgeon not to pull at his hair, for he had been proving himself skilled, and did not hold the earlier pull against him at all. An accident, a nasty little bugger that wanted to sabotage the surgeon's efforts. That was what that knot was to be.

He breathed out lightly and aknowledged the man's words with the slightest of nods. He didn't want to have a more prominent a tilt of his head, when his hair was so nicely brushed across. " Eight in all. Well, sure it couldn't have been boring on you, eh? And much experience learnt from that time, I bet. "

He had opened his eyes to gaze ahead of him at the heavy cloth of the surgeon's tent and ran them across the seams as if they carried some greater meaning. "I'll tell you, sir... nay worry." It was as if confirming it for both too. And perhaps feeling that the man had worried just about the earlier, he added:"... It was a long time ago. My grampa... " He smiled sadly, for so much had happened since then, and he knew it was neither the place nor the time nor the topic to speak of. Not that.".. had to be there for him too..."What was there to say. He was eight, he didn't cry at first and had a while before he could. But now it was just in the past. One couldn't change it.

"I haven't had one to brush my hair and not have me wish to punch him for doing such a painful job about it." The mood needn't stray into the murkier part of the pond now. "But you.. ,sir. I could get used too it too soon." He looked embarrassed at the kind of compliment he gave, though he meant it well.

Carefully Rob picked up some more hair and started working on it. There was begining to be more hair than mud, but he reckoned it would be a while before that was the case all over.

"Aye, well, clearly brushing the hair was one of the many things I learnt, when in me mispent youth." he smiled, "If it makes any difference," he added, more softly, "Nay doubt if yer grampa was anything like mine, he'd be proud of ye."

He fell silent as he again shifted his grip slightly, moving his left hand higher up the mans skull and starting on a slightly higher bit of hair, working the knots downwards. "I've always found it difficult ter comb all the knots out of me own hair." he added, jokingly "But ye mustn't get too used ter me doing it, or I'll spend me life cleaning all the lads heads, not cuts or bones."

Thinking, he decided ter change the subject, back to his childhood, "Of course, Hamish left after a while, so then I was spared some of the more strenuous of the tasks- like chasing after the toddler, whoever that was at the time." Suddenly he realised he'd so far neglected mentioning any of the other children, of his fathers demise. Twas probably better that way, though, unless he wanted to talk about it.... not that he had any problem with talking about it, but that he didna want to cause any more discomfiture.

The notion of pride of his grandfather brought a pained expression to the youth's face, if only for the briefest of moments, and the faintest of looks. The same words had been told to him by Lord Edrington and then he'd wished to forget them. For it had made this, the decision he'd made, his life at present so much harder, for guilt rode him far harder than he'd ever ridden a horse.

"..Ah..I'd have... not shared t' secret if you told me to.." He'd forced a cheer into his voice. Sinclair hadn't known and he did nothing wrong. It was a compliment and he knew. The surgeon would have been off the topic that might cause displeasure sooner than a pup was of a cat that tried to claw at its face.

"Toddler chasing, eh." He murmured and adjusted his seating, placing his bound leg more comfortobly where it lay, and tugging the blanket across his lap to keep himself comfortably warm. His coat remained folded and dirty and for the moment he wanted it no other way. He wasn't a scruffy ol' slob, he just didn't want to go and do the streneous task, when he could have the more enjoyable brushing.

"Sisters, brothers? What did .. do you have? Well one's a brother as you said, but others?"

Rob chuckled and shook his head, "Aye, I'd appreciate it if I didna have ter spend me time brushing errant locks." he grinned.

"A fair mix of sisters and brothers, luckily. As I said, T'oldest was Hamish, then meself. I don't think there was a child in between, we were so close in timing. Then there was Bridget and Marian, so similar you'd hardly notice the two years between them. Between meself and Bridget there was another child, but they were so early as ter be stillborn...." Rob trailed off a little as he remembered his mothers pain, and his fathers feeling of hopelessness, "Almost made Hamish and me spoilt, I reckon." he added, "Then there's Alan, Hugh and Douglas, all rascally brothers who caused no end of mischeif. Hugh was always the smarter of the three, with Douglas taking t'lead- reckon he was looked after by Bridget enough ter make him reckon himself a king. Alan...he was alwys quieter, but he was good enough at sport ter never be picked on." rob shook his head, "I never had ter bloody me fist fer him, though I faught enough over t'lassies.... and specially over Kathy, t'youngest."

Gently he moved further round the head, gettign to the tricky bits of hair on his left side, "I think ye'd like Kathy, but most everyone did, she bein that kind of lassie." His voice was the soft voice of remembering now, and he honestly wan't sure if he couldn't smell almost burnt breakfast on a crisp morning breeze.

Remembering home and the past was a thing that was brought up about the fire sometimes. Hopes and dreams left behind, wives , sweethearts, children waiting for their man to return, and sisters, brothers ,mothers and fathers all there, proud or not so proud, known or unknown out there, while the men fought the war.

"The kind that would warm any heart and would be the lass men would wish to know and fight battles over, as in the olde times of fable and of myth?" He spoke light, and was glad to to have the surgeon share his little bit of his life with him. He was for a moment worried, but then again he listened and tried to imagine the siblings and their rivalry and their ways with others.

"She'll have to be watched then eh. A treasure not to be given off likely, but I reckon your brothers shall do their right best that she comes only to the right lad." He reached to his hair and felt the strands from which the knots had been worked out of. With a small smile he ran his fingers down their length, feeling at last a bit of relief there. And not finding a strand of grass, or a bit of twig, nor much more mud in there as before.

Rob laughed lightly, "Aye, t'number of times I defended the three lasses, ye wouldna believe. She was the sorta lass who had the smile which lit up a room, ye see, and she didna ken how all the lads looked at her."

Gently he started on the last little bit of hair, "But she was such a delicate little lassie that everyoen was a little protective, so not that many battles were faught with her knowing about them."

He sighed at the last comment, "I wish t'were the case... but Hamish, well, he's laid up and married with bairns of his own, and Alan is studying, as is Hughie. Clearly I'm here, leaving Doug and Kathy back home. when Kathy wants ter leave she will, as did Marian and Bridget, but tis ter be hoped that she'll leave on the arm of someone more deserving than Bridget got."

Rob tooka breath. he'd started the story almost without knowing, and had to finish it, now, "He took her, Bridget, and scurried her ter england, without us knowing. Then he sends letters, which he's made her sign, asking fer money. He gambled, ye see. Well, he died, and she was happy and sad all at once, and came back with a coupla bairns ter be nursed by Marian and Kathy, but then a bairn got sick..." He swallowed, silently. It still rankled, this, "Through no fault of her.... that man couldna proved fer them, and the bairn had always been on t'weak side. I couldna do anything, and we laid it down months after Bridget returned. Almost broke her, it did."

"I'm so sorry..." He murmured and felt the pain as if it were his own. Poor lass must've suffered, not only when she were to learn that her man was not as deserving of love and of her as she'd first thought, but that when she lost him and she then lost her young one. It wasn't the anguish one wished on anyone, let alone a girl who's had her run of bad luck.

He knew men that gambled, there'd been some amongst the hussars and many a time they were coming back with their pockets empty and their plea to borrow more. Just this once, just a little more. They'd return it for sure. At times he was glad he kept from it, not only because his pay was so scarce and so rare that he couldn't afford a good bet. Not at all, for there were men of his rank and of the same pay and they still had the time to gamble things away.

But because it could get as much an unhealthy habit as was drinking till dead drunk and with the lack of awareness of oneself.

"I hope that good fortune smiles on her now.. for, god knows, she deserves it." He glanced towards the surgeon. "..Men can be vile as they can be good. ..'s t' wrong kind that turn the lass's heads too often. And yet they are too precious that they ought to be made to suffer." He placed his hand light at the arm of his chair." Are you to need any help in defending your ladies.. I'll be glad to land a hand." It was meant even if as they both knew, it was as plausible as having all French lift their hands and bow to them English.

Rob smiled gently, "Aye, lad, I'll hold ye t'it. Run away with ye in t'middle of the night ter defend them all, taking a fast passage there. Might put a dent in yer pocket, though."

He shrugged, "Tis what will happen to them next, is all I'm worried about. Never had much of a hand fer dealing with too much fo the past." he gestured to the mans ankle, "unless twas....in front of me eyes, so ter speak. The worst of it was, he was just passing through, and she was in t'wrong place at the wrong time. I ken Hamish was worried about it, he wasna there, and I was tied up, ye see. But she was all sweetness ter us, so there's no use me worriting over it now."

A sudden grin lit his features, "And now, ye'll have ter sit tight, I'm just up ter the last bit of yer hair, and this stuff'll hurt, more'n likely. Sorry about that." Very gently he relinquished his handfull of hair, placed the palm of huis hand flat on the lads skull and drew the comb through a few times, teasing out the last bits of twig.

" I'll be sure trying to run my best." Bemused at the thought, when the surgeon just moments ago had threatened him with life, were he to walk on his leg, or try to do anything but find rest in his wagon and on his chair. With a few light nods he listened and then gripped at the arm of his chair tight as if expecting cruel pain from that warning.

There were tugs though, few and small, and though it did yank a little and didn't feel that comfortable, the hair was in most well brushed and the hand against his head had made, even those tiny knots that wanted to make themselves known, to fail at their mission.

"Oy, I'd try to complain about the pain.. but there's right none." He spoke in a bemused tone: "All done now, sir?" Perhaps not washed, but free from mud and from twigs and the grass he'd looked a good deel more presentable.

"Think you'll be getting the prisoner to see? I've seen and heard we have atleast one Frenchman, and he looked rather banged up..." The boy, whom he had gotten to know, if only briefly.

Rob stood and pushed his own hair back, "Aye, ye look more presentable now, lad. I'll leave the tying and washing and such ter ye- ye have ter earn yer keep somehow." but he smiled to show it was meant as a little light releif and not a criticism.

"No doubt I'll be getting a prisoner, if he's injured, but I wouldna wish ter break in on summat I shouldna be."he looked round though, as if expecting a prisoner to turn up at any moment, banged up bringing to mind a variety of ailments, each requiring undevided attention.

"If he does come," he fixed the lad with a stern eye, "yer not ter move from this chair, ye hear? If anyone tells ye otherwise, even if it be me, ye just remind them, or me, that ye mun stay put." He grinned, "If he's that banged up I may get a little.. preoccupied...ye see"

(sorry for the delay- I'm now a delightfull whiffy smell of wet wool due to that blasted storm.)

"Sir, am I not to move even if he be starting to threaten you with one of your knives?" He ran his hand through his hair and was sure that it'd need a good washing, later. For now he took the ribbon and bound the hair firmly, not a single strand out of place. Finally, neat and tidy enough and feeling much better.

"I wouldn't think my ankle's more important to this Division than a healthy, live surgeon. They've got plenty of ankles, but just you to help their ailments. And last I've learnt, you can't ask the ankle to tell you how to heal it. But you can sure ask a surgeon!" He would be glad to truly earn his keep when he was given a task to fulfill. Whatever the task may be, though by what they have discussed he expected it to be a good kind of writing, and that he knew how to do.

"Can I ask for just a little more water. To have my coat wet and scrubbed. The sooner I'm to do so, the sooner it may begin to dry." And he could be of use while and if there's a prisoner coming. Watch and observe, though he was sure another soldier might be present, and not do just that.

( You've had to go o.o out because of it? *offers ye a fresh dry coat* )

Rob grinned at the lad over his shoulder, "If he threatens me with a knife, a banged up frog, then I'll be sure ter put him down ready fer me own knife, dinna fear, lad. though I thankee fer yer concern."

Carefully he picked up a bucket and a basin, "Here, water and such. If I put it on the table"- he moved the papers onto his trunk- "then ye can reach it and clean yer coat yerself." He arranged it all just so, and brought out a brush as well, "There. What else d'ye need ter clean it, lad?"

(I needed to grab some money, and went out just as it started hailing. *grumbles*)

"Nothing more sir. I'd think. Water, the coat and the brush to rub it with. All here, unless you're willing to provide an assistant to wash and another to sing an entertainment.." He wasn't at all serious saying that, and chuckled leaning closer so that he could snatch his coat from the other chair and have it dipped and made wet.

With the company of the present, being handicapped like this was not such a bad thing. He would have hoped to get well soon, if to avoid the pain and feel that he couldn't move without help, or permission.


(OOC - and now truly running ter sleep. Use and move as you see fit if it's needed!!)

Rob laughed, "Well, that would defeat the purpose of keeping ye busy, wouldn't it?"

Carefully he looked over his pile of supplies. "Seems I'll be looking for some new bandages, if he's that banged up. Used them all up on the rest of ye, it seems." He eyed the man speculatively "After this ye can cut me some bandages, lad."

"Oh, I would have been busy watching, and telling what they did wrong." He was joking of course, and laughed soft with the man, before he was able to start and to scrub at the green on his uniform that the grass left. The brown came out much easier of course, being it was only mud. The twigs and all the other particles he'd easily plucked out, it was just the green that refused to leave with the rest.

( For some reason i'm itching to make an add for some washing stuff here. Removes grass stains, mud stains and lipstick stains! HA XD)


"Yes sir. I'll make it quick then, or would you prefer that I cut them now? Could have it wait in t' water some, perhaps to dislodge any of t' persistant dirt." He was observing his coat and frowned at the darker stain at the back. It was where he had slid on the wet grass, and now it held a mixture of blue and of the dirty green.

Sergeant Guthrie had waited until the end of the day to go to see the surgeon. It was, after all, only a bit bloody, and surely a horse's bite couldn't be that bad. But by the time he got there, the man already had a patient. The second time he walked back, there was a young French lad - a prisoner from that skirmish that the riflemen had had up front - also waiting, white faced and with blood in his hair and streaking his cheek. The surgeon was still with the same chap, by the sound of it - a plummy young voice. The fact that Sinclair seemed to have reverted to his role of barber surgeon made it stranger. He nodded to the red-haired rifleman guarding the prisoner, and went back to his company. The Captain would not be happy if he kept himself away much longer: he'd just replace the bandage with something from his pack.

They had waited for the surgeon's wagon to come along, but the surgeon was clearly busy - even a Sergeant of the 62nd unable to get any attention. It was that damned Hussar - Harris could recognise the patronising tone even out here - with his oh-so-convenient come-and-go leg wound. Perhaps that Lieutenant had the right of it after all. "All mouth and no trousers" as the saying went. He laughed at the particular aptness of the thought and then down at his prisoner. "Don't worry. He'll see you when he's ready. Once he's dealt with Trooper Willoughby."

"Sir.. I think you've got a visitor." He had heard some voices from outside and knowing them as French words, he suspected it must've been the French prisoner and his captor. Laughter too, the familiar kind of rifleman Harris.

His smile went into a frown. The man he'd been unable to keep in good relations with was standing outside. As much as he wished that their misunderstanding and all would've turned into something akeen to atleast bearing him, it didn't seem it would do so. Not for a while. He on the other hand indeed bore and was willing to be a fair friend to Harris, pride forgotten.

As for a patronising tone, he had joked and was light, never speaking as if he knew better than his host, nor as if he were higher. Rather he felt humbled by him, and most grateful for the attention he felt he was not deserving of.

Carty was troubled, deeply troubled. He had seen action before, no different from that of this afternoon, and he felt that he had done quite well in it. He had killed two men, it seemed - or, at least, two men for whom he had aimed had gone down - and that was something to be proud of, but... Looking up at the French prisoner they had taken, he felt troubled. He was a solider, but he was a tender-hearted boy as well, and while he had been gentle enough he was not sure at all just how much sympathy and friendliness he should show to an enemy captive, if any at all. Harris was chattering away in the French tongue, and so Carty stood silent, watching as the Colonel had come and gone, as the General had come and gone, and tried to work out what being a soldier entailed in this situation.

Rob was curios by all the voices he could hear, and a visitor seemed the only explanation. "Ye stay there." he admonished, and strode to peer out. "Kings cross!" he muttered, eyeing the shifting pile of men outside.

his eye swept over them- mainly well, as far as he could see, but there was a 'banged up' lad alright, jabbering away in french and, as far as he could tell, guarded. "Ye shouldna been waiting, lads." he admonished, "ye shoulda come in here- we can get carried away with trivialities, else." He swept his eye out once more, "Anyone else been piffling round too scared ter come in?" he asked, moving aside to allow them in as well. "Ye'd better all come in, too, so's I get t'full story." he softened, aware he probably sounded more irratable than was intended, "Might miss something important, else," he smiled.

While the surgeon was ushering men inside the hussar made himself to take as little space as he was able. And then he turned to mind his business. He saw the rifleman Harris and turned from him, not wanting to have any sort of confrontation ever again with him. Harris had a poor opinion of him, fine. He hadn't wanted that to happen, but if it had he could do nothing about it. If Harris wanted, he could approach him and settle business straight. With fists if he so wished to have satisfaction, or otherwise words, or nothing.

He respected the man, found a high opinion of him, both being the teacher to Carty - the lad who was visibly improving under the careful guidence of the man - and as a skilled rifleman. Wouldn't have been a rifleman if he hadn't had something extra now, would he? With as much respect as he had for him though, he knew that to show it, would have Harris misunderstand. And better to avoid than to risk ill feeling to him.

He had taken the bandages that were to be cut, and began to work his way through that, make himself useful and as silent as a mouse.

Rob pushed his chair back from the table, indicating his newest patient was to sit there. "I'll just be cleaning ye up a bit, lad" he promised, reaching for the water bucket that had recently been used to fill another washbasin, "Can't be doing nothing if yer dirty, thats fer sure. need ter be able ter see." He hoped his smile and reassuring tone was getting through. He wasn't sure whether to brave his broken french immediatly, or to make it clear to the captors he had a plan. He'd settle for a mix, he decided, and carefully peered at the man, working out where to start his clean up.

Bézayrie looked nervously at the man who was speaking. He understood of course that the man wanted him to sit, but he was loathe to do so. And with a quickening heartbeat, he recognized the hussar. Now that their roles were reversed with himself as the captive, perhaps they had brought him here in this enclosed and shielded place to let the hussar take his revenge. He looked around at his escort, the two riflemen, both of whom had seemed to be quite honorable. And perhaps they were. "Please, rifleman," he said to Harris.