The Middies' Berth

He knew it was better so and he should've agreed to it from the start, but he felt a sting of pain at those words and knowing that they meant he was to be alone in the Berth.

"..Aye.." He wasn't sure if the marine meant it. Nice talking to him? He must've only sought to flatter him. Couldn't right pinpoint why though.

"He'll.. not be nice..." He murmured and looked away expecting Thompson to go as he probably wanted.

"If he does report it to the Lieutenant, I'd better at least look like I'm doin' me job prop'ly, like. But if he doesn't, and you still want to, I can come back in an' we can carry on talkin'. Or... we can talk while I'm standin' there like I should be."

It had been nice, too. It wasn't often Thompson got asked about himself like that, after all. And even if the middy had only asked because he didn't know what else to talk about, well, it was still something, wasn't it? And somehow the boy looked disappointed at the thought Thompson wasn't going to be in here.

That was unexpected.

"..Aye." He answered subtly:" ..Go.. do yer duty.. private." But it didn't have that sting that it usually carried when talking to those not of higher or equal rank than he. He waited for the lad to turn and to head for his station before he more quietly added:"... later.. we be talkin'?"

"Yes, sir... if you want to." He managed to smile at the lad before slipping out of the door and taking up his post just outside, standing at ease and occasionally putting a hand on the bulkhead to aid his balance as Terpsy was buffeted by a wave out of synch with the others.

Alone inside the boy had pulled some cloth and rolled it up so that it would make a fair pillow for him and then he lay on two of the seachests close enough together that it made itself be comfortable. Curling up, he tucked the pillow under his head and placed his arm to the side of the first chest, to keep himself balanced.

Closing his eyes he sighed. he thought he'd heard things happening outside, but perhaps that was just his imagination and desire to hear the battle start, when it didn't yet.

Thompson still hadn't quite got his breathing under control, and his heart felt as though it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. If any Lieutenant - or anyone else, for that matter - walked past right now, surely they would see his guilt written all over his face. And he had been making sure the lad wouldn't go anywhere he wasn't wanted, hadn't he? Like Mister Leat had said to do.

He lay there for a moment longer then he slowly got up, shivering he reminded himself that a cloak and a coat were both also in his chest. Searching through it he'd shrugged his middie's one off and with it also his neck cloth and shirt. he'd pulled on a warmer kind of coat which was also dry, and then wrapped himself in the cloak similar to the one that Yates took with him earlier. He walked to the door and peered through it at Thompson.

".. .." He dropped the cloak right at his feet, and turned around, closing the door again without a single word. His demanour somewhat aloof and looked almost mean, if not for the cloth that now lay in a crumpled heap out there. None of these actions meant that he'd be any kinder to the sailors. Not really.

The door was pulled open a few inches and Thompson blinked at the middy's face peering at him through the crack. Something was pushed through to land on the deck at the Marine's feet and the door closed.

"What the...?" He bent. Some sort of blanket, he thought at first and shook it out. No; a bloody boat cloak, like the officers had. He blinked at it, startled. Well... whoever thought he had it in him?

Thompson was starting to shiver a little now, and pulled it round him gratefully. He pushed the door open a little. "Thank'ee, sir. Really. Thanks."

"Don' stain it.." Came a muffled reply, and though it may have attempted to be harsh, within it there was the little tone that could've well had a voice of it's own as well as a meaning and would have been saying something along the lines of 's all right.

The boy curled back up on his two chests he'd chosen for his rest and feeling a deal warmer, he curled his hands under his dry coat placing them against his chest. He could try and take a short nap, which the middies were always short of, and then wake and be sure that there was no lieutenant angry and yelling. And perhaps steal the rest of time in a similar kind of conversation. Distracting himself from the fears and the worries that the end of the battle , IF victorious, shall bring.

(ooc, is because I be going sleepy now too!! Good night, and see you tomorrow! )

"Don' stain it..." came in return, the words muffled slightly but the tone... the tone one a lot more friendly than the middy usually used. It could almost have been one of his mates, admonishing him in that friendly way.

The Marine smiled a little and gently pulled the door closed. What had Mister Yates thought he'd seen, and would he tell Mister Leat, or one of the other Lieutenants? They were angry enough at De Guarde that Thompson couldn't be sure they'd listen to him if they were accused of....of... what?

Whatever it was, he'd be able to speak up and tell them what was really going on, and they'd listen and respect his record, and maybe he'd only get field punishment for slacking on duty. The idea of marching round and round deck with a full pack, getting yelled at by Corporal Johnson, wasn't something Thompson looked forward to, but it would be better than the alternative, whatever that was.

(OOC - I'm going to turn in, as well. I'm out most of tomorrow though, so Thompson will just stand there like a good sentry unless one of the Lieutenants comes along to spoil his day more.)

He was near fallen asleep and he peered from his spot at the side of the ship and wondered if the battle would begin soon. Perhaps the Frenchmen would slay the offending lieutenants? Now that would be something. Irony of the century... but he sincerely doubt it would help. If Bush was killed and Leat was killed, there'd still be George. The later might've talked to the first and the second and knew what to do. And even if he was killed , which was as possible... well it was but not too plausible, there'd surely be another standing in line.

Grunting annoyed and hateful of them and deciding that he'd wished a ball through their heads and then scolding himself, for they were oficers, he curled up somewhat tighter.

He yawned again and covered himself over his head with his arm, his hair lying in dissaray spread from his head so that it could attempt to dry, having the cloth under them soak up their wetness. He'd pulled some of the cloth over his hair, to have it dry faster and feel warmer and then was back to sleeping. Catching up for a day ago and finding his solace in feeling nothing - being asleep.

(ooc - Have fun all day! )

Thompson pulled the cloak around himself, and hoped like crazy that Yates hadn't reported the Marine's slip. He had been keeping De Guarde from running off and poking his nose in where it wasn't wanted - or however Mister Leat had actually phrased it - even if he hadn't been doing so quite the way Bush and Leat had meant. And quite what Yates had suspected him to be doing with De Guarde - and why! - he really couldn't say.

It felt like hours, though only a few minutes had passed. At most there were 15 but there was much doubt that there were even that many. The young gentleman woke again, restless for his dreams had Leat and Bush reappearing like the beasts of the sea. He'd had the angry voices, the furious faces so close in his dream, that he could've dared believe they were real. And he'd woken and felt hot and as tired as if he'd run a mile. Bush, Leat... George, Johnson. And then even the captain, who's figure looked godly in his dream and yet as frightening as if he were the bringer of death.

He bit at his lip and rubbed at his temples sighing. Leaning down he pulled at his socks and had them dry across the other chest. He wondered why he hadn't done it before. He knew he had another dry pair, dryed from the time ago , when he'd fallen in the water with it. He pulled them on and glanced at the door. Barefoot, but for his stockings he walked to the door and he slowly opened it again, seeing the red coated man there.

"What time is it?" Down here, below, he could not know, not judge it by the light from the sky, nor had he heard a bell. The later more because he slept and he thought he might have missed it.

The door was pulled open and the middy poked his head round it enquire what the time was.

"Don't reckon it's much short of five bells, sir," Thompson replied. As if in answer the bell rang above deck, deliberately sounding five strikes, rather than the dull clanging caused by Terpsy's restless motion.

Thompson bit his lip and dared a question. "Are you... Are you all right, now, sir?"

He paused, as he was about to close the door, and then was caught and stopped by the question. He blinked at Thompson, startled that the marine would care to know how he was feeling. Why did he? He was only his charge and in this his breathing perhaps was important, as was the fact that he were alive, but whether he was shaken or not.. would not be a thing the marine needed to protect. The lieutenants most certainly would not scold him for leaving the young one crying.

At first he thought of retorting something or even just not answering to the question and closing the door. But the expression on the marine's face stopped him and he didn't know even why. He shouldn't have cared at all. And, did he?

"... Aye.. I'm more sure they won't do it. They've jus' wanted ter scare me." He murmured and he didn't say what a terrible dream he just had. "...n' they have ye here, because yer to play their game n'.. because there be seamen that are more vile than t' others." He found himself saying more than he intended. With a slight shrug he added:".. They've not started yet, 'ave they?...t' fighting."

He so wished to see what was going on, just to know whether they were just about to fire a cannon at the enemy, or whether the enemy escaped or whether perhaps he's somehow, as unimaginable as that was, overslept it all. His thoughts strayed back to Yates, and he may have looked more worried, thinking of him. The midshipman's blush, his flustered gait and his wish to depart as soon as he could, pointed in a direction the boy did not wish to imagine. IF it were true that he thought so and he were to accuse him, it would've been terrible if not final. But how could he ever convince him to keep quiet or that what it was, was not what he thought it was. Threatening would make Yates do just the opposite of what he desired. It would make him tell on them and what he thought he saw.

Thompson kept his thoughts to himself. Bush wasn't one to threaten something lightly, especially not something like that. But that wouldn't help the boy, or reassure him.

"No, they 'aven't started fightin' yet, sir," he said. "Dunno if we've caught up, or what's goin' on up there, like." He paused, before continuing awkwardly. "Thanks f'r lendin' me your cloak, like., sir It's real nice of you."

He looked silently at the lad, again surprised that he would thank him again and so eagerly. Yes he had done him a favour, one he himself did not know why he did. Perhaps to thank him without words, for having his warmth shared and for having him comforted in which he was risking his own self. The midshipman wasn't daft not to know that .. as Yates had just proven, Thompson could end in great trouble if somebody would come and barge in while he was not only not at his post, but hugging another lad.

He considered that though. A child's mind had gone before his reason, and he knew that with his age he should've acted less a youngling and more an older minded lad. But he was shaken at the time and he needed comfort and it hame in the form of the marine who'd risked a great deal.

Who was kind.

"s' warm on you..?" He finally said, aknowledging the thanks in one manner. "..yer were wet. ...be sick like n'..who knows if they'd not send me yer corporal ...." Open in saying this, making a frail excuse for his action, which needed not but a nod and a smile.

"Yer missin' t' action,.. fer today." He murmured and gazed past the marine, thoughtfuly. "mus' be ...unhappy' with havin' been told ye come fetch me, ?" He didn't know how Thompson came to be the one chosen, but reckoned it must've been an order he was given.

"It's very warm, sir, thanks." He shrugged. He hadn't really thought about how he felt to be missing out on the action, though he knew he was disappointed.

"Ain't unhappy, sir. Bit disappointed, like, but not unhappy. An' Mister Bush just called for a Marine. I happened to get there first, is all."

There were still tear-tracks faintly visible on the boy's face, although he seemed to have regained most of his composure. He didn't seem to have recovered the hard edge he'd had earlier, and Thompson wondered again whether it was really part of who De Guarde was, or if it had been something learned on his previous ship.

"D'you want to talk a bit, like we was earlier?" he asked. "Though I can't come in, so you'll have to sit there... or... or somethin', sir."

"..You.. ..came 'ere of ye own will?" He looked rather shocked to hear something as bizzare, believing that men would only do things if ordered and never, never would they volunteer. If a sailor said something of the sort, it were thought that they were mocking an officer at the very least! Or so the youth was convinced.

He must've lied about it, or was he mocking him right now? He frowned and felt the weight of his present situation sit heavy on his shoulders, and when he thought of the lieutenants he had wished he could cry again. Lt. Leat had been a right deathly scary thing if he wanted to. And Lt. Bush had had him trembling and wishing he were invisible too. He rubbed at his cheek as if conscious of the look that Thompson gave it.

He considered the offer there and then. Talk as they did earlier, sans the cold and the tremble? "..others could hear it." He voiced one of his worries. "..'cept if ye talk of yeself.. like.. then yes. Do."

"If it wasn't me, it would've been some else. Mallory, mebbe, or Beech." And the lad sounded surprised when he'd asked about Thompson's coming below as a volunteer. "Like I say, he didn't want anyone in partic'lar. An' I was closest to the ladder anyways."

Terpsy was still responding to the waves, but Thompson had found his footing by now and no longer needed to put one hand out every so often. It was rather pleasant down here, after all, out of the wind and the rain, although the lads topside would have a chance of action, which Thompson wouldn't. There was always another time for that, though.

He listened to the creaking of Terpsy's timbers for a moment, thinking and glanced sideways at the lad. "All right. You still want me talk about the ships I bin on, or d'you want to know summat else, sir?"

"Ships." He answered shortly and there was some scuffling heard behind the door, and for a moment the pitter patter of feet announced the boy had removed himself from the door. There was more shuffling and the sound of feet against the wooden floors returned in volume and with them the silhuette of the boy.

He had brought with him the cloth he'd earlier used to lie on, and had used his dry coat to cover himself more comofrtably. He didn't feel like standing, that much was clear, and sitting being out of the question, he made himself rather cosy there, just lying

"Ships it is, then sir. What d'you want to know?"

He nearly smiled at the sight of the middy lying on his front just inside the door. He shifted slightly, leaning on his musket a little, though not so much that he couldn't come to attention promptly, if required to.

"..T' middies. n' lieutenants. Ye saw much of em?...wot' were they like? Ter you n' ter each other?" He was sure the sentry could often see more , hear more and observe more than a mere sailor could. After all as much as they may have denied it, they were able to hear what went on behind closed doors, and close enogh to it, they could listen and learn and, well more often than not marines were considered to just be there. Like a part of the scenery.

He had the benefit of the door that hid most of him behind it. Were there a lieutenant to come , he could get up sooner than they could come and reach the Berth. The private serving as an early warning to, since he would stiffen to attention at the very single wift of an officer.

"They was all right. Only had one real bastard, and that was my Sergeant, when I was in training. They got a cane, see, and if you made a mistake - or even if he only thought you did - he'd take a swipe across your legs. Shoulders sometimes, but usually acrost the back o' the legs. Oh, and there was the lieutenant on the receivin' ship at Chatham. He was thirty if'n he was a day, and horrible bitter about it. Used to give you somethin' proper to moan about. Pressed men too noisy, uniform not clean enough, didn't come to attention quick enough."

He shrugged. "The others was all right, like. 'Member once Captain Aubrey organised a game of cricket between us an' the sailors. We'd stopped off for water an' that, see, and he decided to hold a cricket match. That was fun."

Real bastard? That was the kind of normal behavour now, wasn't it? Didn't seem like the private thought so. The boy refused to agree, even when it was rather clear that amongst them it was Thompson who had seen plenty more ships.

"...I see." Hesaid to that. A sergeant that punished you for thinking you did something wrong. It was most familiar to the boy, so that he didn't even look surprised or appaled when Thompson had said it, he was more shocked toknow that they had a cricket match in which the lads participated, and that it was the captain who had organised such entertainment. More so, a pleasant ship?

"'s odd." He muttered and looked from the door, listening to the sounds of the ship and the feet that ran above, with purpose and duty.

"..havin' such lax rules on a ship. ... such.. behavour like. They've been 'fraid of causin' punishment of men? Weakhearted?"