After the Battle

Shrugging, Chase accepted his own plate from Dunnett and dipped his fingers into the puddle of gravy. "There's an extra one in me sea-chest, if y'wanna fetch it."

For a moment he considered asking Chase to fetch it instead and then instead just as his plate was filled he began to stand. "...Allright. In, ye sea-chest..." He looked dubiously at his plate debating whether he ought to go retrieve it now, so that when the rations were on, he would not need first to run back and forth to fetch it, or eat first and then go on the adventure called 'the sea-chest of Jacob Chase'. Where many tried, and few survived.

He made a face at the food, deciding that as much as his tummy wanted to be filled, he might wait a little before he would dip anything of his own in that slush.

"Don't..touch." He spoke sharply left and right of him and then climbed over the chest on which he'd been sitting, scampering to where the battered old thing has last been sighted, and he actually did run too.

Chase shook his head in silent amusement when the boy scurried off. He was far too demanding of his own personal space. On the lower deck, there was no such thing.

"The lad said don't touch," Chase growled, suddenly, elbowing Dyer in the ribs when the other topman tried to claim De Guarde's plate for himself in the boy's absence. A lack of personal space was one thing, but a man knew better than to mess with another's food or drink.

Shuffling carelessly through the cloth and personals of Jacob Chase, he fished out the mug that he was earlier wanting. He looked at the disarray that he had left of the sea-chest and its contents. After a moment of thought he'd placed the mug beside him and did atleast a bit of shuffling inside, so that it didn't look as if a barrel of gunpowder had exploded inside and then closed it again.

De Guarde returned with a look that showed he'd expected his food lost to the mob, and was pleasantly surprised as his plate remained untouched. He breathed out a breath of relief and blinked at Chase. Lifting his mug in small triumph he turned away quickly again. What a poor show of control it must've seemed for one that was once a respectable midshipman. He frowned and scolded himself, his face taking on a more serious and less youthful a look.

His slipped into his space and fumed over his food for a few moments and saw indeed that none had touched or taken even a mere bite. He took a bite then, took a taste with mild delight, even if the food wasn't the finest there could be.

"..Chase." He turned briefly to the man. "..I've found it." As if it weren't completely obvious by then.

"Good lad," the topman said. His own meal was half gone, though he was taking care to keep from dripping gravy onto the table. "Better tuck in, we'll prolly be piped up to re-set the fore course in a bit."

"Surely, not before our rations of drink. Aye?" Water had been well enough, though it was starting to gain the colour and taste far from something healthy. He ate when he didn't speak, and though his head was bowed slightly, so as to keep having anything drop anywhere but his mouth, he listened to Chase.

Still he looked rather poor at ease with so many men stuffed in such a small part of space. Visibly more used to the slightly broader space of the mid's berth he'd been startled once or twice when his arm bumped against the sailor's to his side. The first two or three times he spared the said man a glare, but the next he tried to ignore it, and looked back at Chase for his verdict.

With two or so days on the ship, perhaps a record in any midshipman's life - but not one being wanted - he was much at loss of how Terpsy worked above and below decks. Half a plate gone, he'd eaten rather fast, and it didn't take all that long that only a fourth of his food remained to be scooped up and eaten.

The seamen around the table chuckled. Chase said, "Course not! We'll get our tot, with time t'drink it, then it's back up t'work."

De Guarde spared the men a small glare and turned to Chase with a faint nod. "Good." He said almost as seriously as if he were accepting a report that Chase had given him as a midshipman. He glanced at the empty mug that lay solitary on the crammed table.

"Wot' did your men find as amusing?" The tone was fair respectful, but it was hard to believe anyone would dare use a different one, with so many to anger at a time, and little reason to feel protected either from them.

"Well, it's thirsty work, fightin' an' beatin' a Frog," Chase replied. "An' even more if we set right t'repairin' our own ship wi'out a drop, y'know? Cap'n knows it too. We'll git our tot, sure, but then we'll be workin' likely all night."

The look on the boy's face might have mirrored the shock and displeasure at the news well. Working as a midshipman for more than a while did not demand as much effort and physical stress as working a shift of a sailor. He had been eager to bully men into exhaustion but being on the other side of the stick, he had hoped only for a good night's rest.

He even stopped chewing at the last bit he had in his mouth at the revelation. A heavy gulp later, he shuffled uneasily. The men had been fighting of course, so their exhaustion would be even greater than the boy who lazied around in his berth and did little but move a finger when he needed to scratch an itch.

"..Yer too?.. Bein' ye'um injured...at the back." Light duties, was what he was really asking about. He looked still rather uneasy. He wasn't daft not to know what work the sailors had to do, and it was no easy work either, as judging by how trained their bodies turned in time. Shouting was all swell, but this wasn't going to be shouting, but good ol' dirty hand and foot work.

"N'.. .me too? ..all into the night?"

Chase rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug. He'd almost forgotten about his back, in the face of everything that had happened over the course of the day.

"Me back's arrigh'. I can work jus' the same's the resta the lads."

The boy's second question was met with knowing grins from the other seamen. Dyer said, "That's so. When us'ns work, so'll ye."

Their grins were met with an unhappy frown. Dyer's confirmation just deepened that frown and the boy nudged his empty plate a bit forward at the table. Chase was eager to work with his own back striped, De Guarde would have wished the nightmare to end in sleep already, but it seemed that work would keep him awake for a good while longer.

"But'um...." He began. "..That's awfully long." He shufled his feet under the table and felt the need to stretch them to bring some life back into them. "You'um used to it.." He looked at Dyer a moment and felt himself actually inching away from him a little. Subconsciously that is, inwardly he scolded himself once he realised it.

"Aye." Chase swiped up the last bit of gravy from his plate with the now-softened hardtack and chewed happily on the soggy mess. "We're used t'it, sure, an' so'll ya be soon 'nuff. Now grab yer plate an' shift, time fer cleanin' up."

He chose not to point out that he was made for something entirely different than to be a sailor in His Majesty's Navy and instead took his empty plate as obediently as he could master, without looking like he was following a command. Shuffling across to stand he looked at his plate which had been near cleaned of the food, a better job only if he were to turn and lick it.

And that he would not have done, even with all manners thrown out the window. His eyes lit some though, for it was that tot of drink that was next in coming, a ration fit for a sailor.

He near disappeared from view with the tall or broadchested sailors about, and had to pull himself to the tips of his toes to even attempt to see and follow the one sailor who was as near his teacher as he'd have been, were he his sea daddy before. " Move." He snapped and bit at his lip as under the shuffling of feet one had all by accident stepped on his own.

"OY! Get off, ye oaf!" His voice sharp, for a moment a glimpse of the old middie there as he pushed at the back of the guilty man.

"Hoi!" Chase managed to grab Dyer by the collar before the other seaman could snatch the brat De Guarde straight off the deck by his scruff. "Ain't gonna be no tossin' the lad 'bout, got it? We gots work t'do."

Dyer harrumphed and stamped off. Grimacing, Chase pushed the boy forward. "Hurry up an' git yer tot. There'll be bad doin's down here if y'stay longer'n y'have to."

De Guarde grinned at Dyer and then stumbled and glared at Chase, but didn't dwell for more than a second at the thought of the treatment, for the mention of tot had him gain a spark in his step and there was the part where Chase had pretty much set Dyer in place for him.

He held his mug to him, till it could be filled and then turned around to see if Chase was coming along as well.

He took a rather quick yet delighted gulp from it:" Bad doings of what sort?"

Was the boy really so oblivious? Chase frowned. "Lads don't like ya," he answered shortly, accepting his now-filled mug back. "An' they ain't gonna like bein' ordered 'bout by ya til yer accepted."

He took a swallow of rum and shook his head. "Dunno if yer ever gonna get that, the way y'carry on an' all. Not smart, that."

"Then they can watch where their feet are. Wasn't askin them ter step on mine." He found himself grinning no less, as he took a step so that he was quite well safe at the topman's side.

"n' so?.. You'll set them straight." He added and felt the warmth as he gulped down more of his rum. At last, even. It brightened his mood considerably. "'s nothin' I have ter fear that way."

This was hopeless, Chase decided.

"That ain't even the half of it. Mebbe jus' now it were summody steppin' on yer feet. What'll it be next?" Chase sighed. Maybe he'd made a mistake by turning Dyer away from his intended shaking-up of the boy.

"Yer not wise t'be relyin' on summody else t'defend ya, neither. Nobody'll let y'alone then. I ain't gonna 'round allays, y'know."

"Yer t' one teachin' me 'bout ye suppose' life. Can't be away then can ye?" He replied confidently. "N' yer word would stand even if ye were away... since they be respectin' ye that much... or am I ter be wrong in assumin' ye can be tellin' them what to do, n' they'd follow?"

He did feel safe around Chase, if only since he had proved himself enough to stop Dyer as a first, from doing much but stomping away in anger. He was attempting to establish what he had been so used to before, presenting himself as a brave young boy, when in truth he was quite afraid of them sailors. But showing that, would have only enforced their glee at the matter.

He covered his frustration by taking another drink from his mug. Maybe he should leave the boy to his own feeble defences for a bit and see how he did.

"Can't learn everythin' if yer hangin' off me arse alla the time, can ye? Mebbe the lads'll do what I tells 'em. That ain't gonna do yerself no good when I ain't 'round, though."

How could Chase tell the boy anything, if he thought that hanging around him all the time was the best thing? "It's no different than when y'was a middie, see. Y'gotta be able t'hold yer own, wi'out an officer standin' by t'protect ya."

He didn't feel easy as he looked at Chase. Holding his own was easy, when law forbid any man to strike a midshipman for fear they would hang. But now?.. He was bloody half their size and in strength he didn't dare compare. Sure he could try and land a punch, perhaps even be swift on his feet, which with greater size to carry about, they couldn't be, but it was still a thought he disliked to consider.

"I'm holdin' me own.. with ye." He answered stiffly and looked over his shoulder at the other sailors, whom he so greatly disliked. "T' men will do wot' ye tell them, even in ye absence. No?" He looked again at Chase and drank from his mug.

"So I would be daft not ter stay where I am sure to have an ace up me sleeve. They dislike me, as ye've said. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout that. " He shrugged his shoulders. "Ain't nothin' I should be doin' neither. s' holdin' me own that way.. They don't come after me do they? See..'s workin' jus' fine."

This was not going to work. Chase turned away and raised his voice.

"Lads!" He waited until most of the men scattered around the deck had turned his way. "Y'know about De Guarde bein' parta the gundeck now. Cap'n wants him taught how t'be a seaman. Means we gotta teach him."

There were some snickers. Chase scowled. "No lad'll lay a hand on the boy when I'm 'bout, got it? But when I ain't 'bout, he's no better'n any other landsman 'mongst us. He'll git learned, same's we all got learned."

That was it. Chase tossed back the last mouthful of rum in his mug and headed for his sea-chest.

De Guarde paled, near forgetting the mug in his hand, till it was dangerously close to slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. He took a heavy deep gulp, near emptying it and took a long step back. He wanted to hiss at Chase that he ought to take such a claim back the very same instant , but found the man very much leaving the scene.

"Chase!" He did call after the man and turned angrily around to see his back just disappearing below deck. He turned sharply to look at the other sailors. He opened his mouth briefly, closed it again. Finished the contents of his mug more hastly than he'd intended.

He wasted but another moment there, before the sound of scampering feet announced the boy actually making a run for it. It wasn't very gentlemanly like, it wasn't how a midshipman would act, but he favoured his well being over any of the above mentioned.