The Middies' Berth

He shook his head. "No, I can't. Been told to be here, so here I am." He shrugged. "Ain't so bad though. Could be worse. And action is a right bangin', as you say. All them cannon goin' off, and officers and men yellin' fit to bust." He looked at the boy and gave a half-shrug. "There's always next time, though."

Yes, he'd rather be up on deck taking part in the action, but he wasn't and there was nothing he could do to change things. He didn't really mind, though; it was almost pleasant down here, being able to talk like this. And there always was next time.

"And blood aplenty, n' men pounded in, n' jagged with splinters as if they were nothin' more but t' softest fabric." He murmured , gazing at the marine. He was talking, and he felt that he was able, that there was nothing wrong with that. Not now at least. "The cries of men fallin' ter their deaths.. or t' sound t' ball makes if it hits its target.. has them not even cry out.. if it strikes at the right place." He stretched out a little and tugged his coat over himself again.

"...n' boardin'. ..have yer ever been in need ter deflect a boarding? Or were you mos' t' ones to board another?"

"It ain't pretty, I know. Boardin'... I've done both. Been a boarder, and stopped them fr'm boardin' us. Prefer boardin', of course."

He remembered the desperate fight between his own ship, and a much larger enemy vessel, which they carried, though not without a struggle. It had seemed as though for every one British seaman or Marine, there were three enemy men - or more. He'd fought like a madman, using both bayonet and musket butt because there was no time to reload.

"Mhm." The boy nodded lightly and glanced to ceiling again. There was a certain madness in sailing so close to fire cannons at the other, and standing it. A good amount of madness which had people do as they were told in the face of danger. But then, they were trained for it, lived for it and were pressed for it. And if there was a prize money to be had, it would benefit all of the men involved.

Ofcourse boarding was better, there was the feel that you were winning if nothing more. Being boarded meant you were fighting on your own very ship and had to defend it.

The waiting was starting to get to him a little, as it seemed to be getting to the middy. Talking was good; it helped to pass the time if nothing else. Thompson had run out of things to talk about, however.

"D'you want to talk about anythin', sir? Well, what I mean is, is there anythin' in partic'lar you'd like to talk about, sir?"

"..m' not sure." He admitted shifting again. If the battle would've started they atleast could have commented on what they thought was going on above. But so, they could only listen to the silence. And silence itself wasn't the best topic to start a conversation.

"..Seen many die in' t' such an encounter?" He asked and then more subtly he added:" Think any ye know well on Terpsy, will go today?"

"Seen too many go, sir." He touched the barrel of his musket. "And... it ain't nice to talk about things like that, neither, sir." He'd been trying not to think about that, after all. What it would be like for Mallory to go, and lose his ready wit. Or Branning - solid, dependable Branning who reminded him somewhat of an overgrown puppy sometimes.

"Can't you think of anythin' more pleasant, sir?"

"..Hm... t' storm's gone down.. I think." He answered. He wouldn't miss anybody from above.. Well perhaps Quinn, for the man had been kind enough in having him do something aboard the ship and teaching him with it too. But others up there, he did not mind departing. The least Johnson. He'd have celebrated if he knew he was wounded heavily.

"... What 're ye wearin' about the neck?" He pointed, for he had seen it on marines but not on midshipmen, nor sailors, nor on lieutenants and neither on the captain. Since he had little to do what soldiers were concerned , before he boarded his first ship, he'd not gone to learn of it properly at all.

He glanced around and shifted just inside the doorway, where it was lighter.

"It's me stock, sir. S'posed to stop anyone cutting me head off, so they say, though I reckon it's just to keep the head up, like." He tapped a fingernail against the stiff leather collar.

"Stock." He repeated and slowly got to his feet and then moved to the door. He peered through it to see better, what the man had around his neck. And had to lean through the door, as far as his curiosity went.

"If um' it prevents your head from bein' cut off.. then why don' we have them?" A logical question of a child not wanting to have his throat slit. Of course he had not thought that having a head forced up proper would be that much of a hindrance and it may have been that, one of the reasons, why they did not have it.

"Because they'm as uncomf'table as all hell, and make it harder to move your head, sir. Wouldn't be any good for you, tryin' to write your letters home, or whatever, if you couldn't look down." He paused for a moment. "Here, I'll come in for a moment if you like and show you."

"Aye. Come." He stepped aside to give the marine some space. How could something that saved your life be any bad? Well, the marine would show him and since all were busy up above, nobody would come to know of it. A good deal, if any. Two flies with one strike.

He listened for a moment to hear if any cannon had caughed, but hearing none and no footsteps announcing an uninvited guest he stood and observed the lad in coming.

He slipped through the door, to stand just inside the berth.

"Stops you movin' your head prop'ly, see," he said, demonstrating the way the stiff leather stopped him from looking down all the way. "Lookin' sidewards ain't so bad, lookin' up's all right - dependin' on how far up you want to see. But can't look all the way down."

"Show me." He paused and held his hand out to the private. He tried to keep his tone from his voice, for it was real that he wanted to see it. This black leather had made most marines look straight, just to be comfortable, as it seemed now. But if they could not look down properly, wouldn't that be bad for when they were to fight? He couldn't know of course.

"You... you want to see it, sir?" Thompson asked, though he could not imagine what other reason the middy would hold his hand out like that. He reached to unbuckle the clasp that sat at the back of his neck, and pulled it off, rubbing under his chin with the other hand. He held it out.

"Yes." He confirmed both with voice and with the action of taking the stock from the marine's hand. he felt that it was warmer, from where the neck had touched it. The leather was stiff and firm, and so he turned it with slight curiosity and felt both the inside of the stock as the outside. He'd almost looked as if he was deciding if it was up to par, like checking a musket to see if it had rust, if it's lock worked and if it would let out a spark.

He even touched the clasp to see, how that would tie, and wondered if it were indeed as uncomfortable as it was said. "Interesting." he said, and for a bit also warmed his hands on the cooling leather.

"Interesting," the boy had said, and Thompson watched him curiously. All it was was a bit of stiff leather with a clasp to it, after all.

"You c'n try it... if you want to, sir," he said, not knowing quite why he was offering. Surely the boy would rather not have to put up with the same discomfort, even for a moment, that Thompson had to endure every day?

He hadn't wanted to ask for permission though he wanted to test the theory, but with Thompson offering, he could excuse himself and pretend it was due to the man that he did it. So with a nod he took the stock and turned it how it saw it to be right. He undid his stock and placed it on the pile of cloth to his left. He placed the stock to his skin and felt it now cooler than himself. Still he buckled it carefully. Fidgeting at the back.

There, it was on and it felt rather foreign and odd. Cold at first, so that he had to wait for his own body temperature to warm it. he looked at the private. He wasn't laughing, was he? "Ye shall not tell it to noone." He said, realising that it would make for a fine odd story to share.

He slowly looked down as far as he was able, and blinked as the leather dug up under his chin.

He'd never known a sailor or a midshipman to want to try on a Marine's stock before, but the boy seemed to be rather pleased with the offer.

"Wouldn't dream of tellin, sir," he said in response to the lad's order. "Though there ain't no harm in trying things out, y'know." He watched the midshipman for a moment. "Ain't comfortable, is it?" he said after a moment, glad to have it off his own neck even for a short while.

"..somewhat." He took a turn to look left and then another to look right. Looking up had stopped him after a while and he thought he understood what the private meant when he said, that one could, to a certain point. He looked down again and tried to see how much further he could go, bearing the discomfort in mind.

"Does it rub on yer skin?" He asked and pointed to the private's neck. It was bizzare, surreal how they were able to talk and even exchange something like that. There wasn't a way that he could've tried it, were he not under watch. What irony that was.

"It ain't so bad now, like. I've had that one for years. But when they'm new, they rub somethin' terrible." He looked up so the middy could see the callouses it had left under his chin. "Even wearin' the shirt collar over it don't help, really. You just have to get used to it."

It was quite pleasant, talking with De Guarde like this. He'd got over his spitefulness, or seemed to have, and was turning into quite a nice companion. Though how long that would last remained to be seen, of course.

Upon seeing the damage left by the stock the boy looked startled. He had thought it was a given thing that the marines would wear this dark thing, and though he never saw a marine looking down as much as any sailor, he reckoned it was their training that asked them to do so. Or just their way. But with the wear of the thing came not only the discomfort. And it was much stranger to see it first hand.

"..Aye. I see that." He murmured and though he wished not to show, he felt in a way more special to have been permitted to try it on. Mind, were any to ask, he would have denied it as fervently as he did, that Chase was guilty. It wouldn't do for a young gentleman to take joy in things privates wore.

Still, at that moment he did, and though he hid it, the time he had let it on, spoke of it's own accord. "Do you change them often.. or is one with you till it's worn out of use?" He tried it again, and this time he had turned and wished to look both behind him and down some.

(have to go for a little now. Adieu!)

"I've got two. The other one's newer and still a bit too raw round the edge for my likin', so I wear that one most."

He'd end up shaving the other one a little, just to try to smooth the edge a little, though he could get in trouble if he took too much off. It would have to wait for calmer weather, that.

"I think, out of everythin' we have to wear, the stock's the worst, till you get used to it, and even then it can be a nuisance." He smiled as he watched the middy try what it was like. "What d'you think of it then, sir?" he asked, as De Guarde turned to try looking down over his shoulder.

"..'s surely not useful fer goin' up in the shrouds. We'd try looking down over our shoulders n'.. it would be no good. Wouldn' be right ter be looking down as is, with that." He found it much a hindrance, but in a way it must've felt, well.. he couldn't quite describe the feeling. It was certainly diferent than a simple piece of black cloth that they'd have prim and proper tied around their necks. It was much stiffer, demanded much more commitment. And it was something the marines had to wear all the time.

It might've been the silliest question that he could ask, but he dared it, and he held that threatening gaze on his face, while he did. Just so that the marine would not dare laugh or tell:" ..You don't sleep with them on though.. aye?"

Thompson grinned. "No. Same's we don't sleep with our jackets on, or our crossbelts. And it is possible to climb the shrouds in them - you look up, not down, after all, even when climbing back down to the deck. Least, that's what I was taught. But there's no sense in the sailors wearin' them - they have to be able to look down. Like when they'm reefin', for example."

That was just one of the differences between the Marines and the sailors, of course. "You want to know anythin' else, sir?" he asked, leaning on his musket.