Writing home; 7th May

(happens at a later part of the day - Day after - thread time. Now if that made sense ^.^; )

With some rest that was followed by work it was at last time, that men could take a proper rest, their tasks for the time finished. Amongst them was young de Guarde, looking positively exhausted. Under his arm he carried a few folds of paper, a quill and a bottle of ink were held in his curled hand. He felt the strain of each muscle and could easily have told the doctor how many muscles a body has. He learned of those he may have before ignored or left to not knowing that they've even existed. The paper was held close and tight to his body, a great part of it concealed under his arm and the loose sleeved shirt.

He had debated with himself whether he would see the marine arriving and whether he was a fool for coming as well. He feared that perhaps Thompson had made him believe they had an agreement or that another midshipman would come, another sailor, and spoil it all. Nervously he sat, once he reached his destination. His slops needed cleaning, but for the moment they could wait.

"come on now.."He whispered under his breath and gazed around him. Nothing was wrong with writing a letter. Yet never before he had done it for someone and now he was making too big a deal out of it. Should've been best to write it someplace with a good deal of light. Had he agreed to it? The more he considered the more lost he was feeling, sitting and waiting all alone. He tested his quill and studied his ink. Both would do well.

It was a man's own business what he did during his off-watch hours, and Thompson made his way to where he had agreed to meet up with De Guarde, feeling a little nervous. The boy was waiting for him, though, and Thompson nearly slipped away again, unseen, before catching himself.

He had never had the chance to write home before. Was that what was making him feel nervous? Or was it due to the fact of who was going to be doing the writing?

He took a breath and moved forwards, into De Guarde's line of sight, before he could change his mind.

"Right then, lad. Where d'you want to go for this?" he said, wondering if he'd taken leave of his senses. "I was thinkin' topside. Plenty of light an' all up there, an' we c'n find a quiet corner out of everyone's way. And they won't disturb us, if they see we don't want to be disturbed, neither, if'n you'm worried about that."

"..Topside?" He didn't want to meet a face, a different one to the marine's for whom he would be writing. He masked relief that he was feeling at Thompson's arrival with a serious, somber look of one contemplating their options. "..Could go topside....fer t' light."

There he was. The marine whom he thought would break his promise and not come. He smiled to himself and dusted his slops. "Shall we then. Before we'um lost all of the light." When the light were gone from the sky, he knew they'd as well be good to write below as they would out in the open. And there were to be hardly any fear that his arrangement would not loose papers to find.

"Ye'um going ter have t' hold t' other papers. And take with you summat hard and flat. I didn't bring any with me.."Since he had forgotten. He refused to admit to his mistake though and rather emphesized the importance of such a board.

Hard and flat?

"Could rest on the deck," Thompson said doubtfully, wondering what he could find if the lad didn't think that was going to be good enough. He didn't mind holding the other papers, though. He would have to be careful that none of them blew away, of course, but that shouldn't be a problem.

"On me belly? " He considered the choice with less zeal. It wouldn't have been as easy to write, though he reckoned the deck was atleast a large body of flat stiff grounds. "Perhaps we may try. See it if goes . If it doesn't... I'll have you see if there's a thing to borrow."

The floor would be fine enough for now, and being that it was sanded, washed and tried it was cleanest a floor could get on a ship. "Think 'ard on what yer want ter write." He spoke , and covered a yawn with the back of his hand. He lead the way to the ladder first, and the he had the paper carefully tucked at the waistband of his slops. He tucked the quill between his teeth, and had the small glass bottle of ink carefully held at the palm of his hand. "Make some haste, marine." He called to Thompson. "You'll be showing t' spot we might be left in peace at!"

"You just watch who you'm orderin' around. An' you know me name, don't you?"

He made haste anyway, settling his forage cap more firmly on his head before climbing the ladder.

"Right, on the foc'sle, lad." He dodged around some seated sailors yarning away and found a spot right by the bulwark, where they couldn't be in the way if they tried. If anyone came over to them, it would have to be deliberate.

"How's this then, lad?" he said, sitting down and leaning against the side of the ship.

" Thompson... or George?" He asked, glancing down at the sailors which were still at work. He turned his gaze quickly away from them unwilling to make eye contact with the men with whom he now shared much of his daily life. As he walked he carried himself like a midshipman, chin up, straight back and proud of being himself. A man not knowing the hierarchy and clothes of men on ships might've thought he was someone important by how he walked.

As the marine sat down, De Guarde still looked around a couple of times, and then sunk down and took place beside Thompson. He turned a few times , testing where at best he could write, while the ink bottle and the quill were already set on the floor.

Nestling himself so that he was comfortable as much as he could bear, while the paper lay pressed against a hard, flat surface, he nodded to the marine. "I'um ready. ..would you like to start?" He held the other papers to the man. "N' hold these." He managed a small smile.

Thompson took the papers and mustered a small smile. "Never done this'n afore, you know. Might not say things quite proper f'r a letter, neither."

He looked down, feeling suddenly, unbearably shy. "Right. 'Dear Mum an' Annie' - that's how you start a letter, ain't it?" he said suddenly, looking up.

"Yes, s' one of t' ways. Ye have a letter fer occasions too.. n' how ye address a person. N' ye speak a bit differen' than you write like. .. Like um'.. ye say an' ... but you write and..."

He dipped the quill into the ink bottle, edging away any excess ink before he moved it to the paper. With a fair hand of a boy learnt by a private tutor, he wrote the first.

Dear Mother and Annie,

"Annie is who?" He asked curiously, looking up at the marine. The first letter of a sentence was neat and longer as much as a slight bigger than the rest. He lifted the paper to the marine, careful that no ink would stray and make his writing worse. He took greatest care that he would not by accident smear any, putting an effort that he could have done without. "First o' what you said." He smiled warmly.

It was strange, yet in a way he was entering a private world of another. "You tell me what ye want ter say, n' then we can make it.. we can make it into a letter form. Don't worry... 's, I had brought more paper if we make many a mistake.. " Though it was a precious commodity he considered it could be spent and when they were again in port he could attempt to find more.

"n'... um, is it alright if I write Mother?.." He had done it more out of habit than want, but now he wondered if that would bother the marine after all.

"I never called her that, but then, I never wrote a letter afore, an' mebbe, well, you said that you write it different for a letter than how you say it."

He considered for a moment. "Only, I don't want it too diff'rent, 'cause mebbe it won't sound like it's from me. But then, I don't talk like a letter sounds, likely, so... um. Just so long's it don't end up soundin' too, well, posh. Mebbe, if I tell you what I'd like to say, an' you tell me back what I should say, an' we c'n make it sound right afore you write anythin'. Don't want to use too much paper, see."

He clasped his hands around one upraised knee and smiled at the boy. "Thanks f'r doin' it. An'... Annie's me sister. Younger'n me by three, four years. Summat like that."

"Aye , I do." He looked thoughtful then took a different paper from Thompson. He could use the used one for other things, even to write home himself, just figure how to come around the Annie.

"I'll write it how you call 'er. 's more personal.. as ye say. N' t' rest you'll tell me, I'll tell you then n' then ye say if it alright. N' I write. " He nodded agreeing to the way that they could do. It was always hard to start and he'd never written a letter for nobody else but himself to his parents. The later he did rarely, but did no less.

Being it new for Thompson to write, it was fair new for the boy to write for someone else. He looked down at the paper now unmarred again, and wrote what they've agreed to similar to the first, yet using Thompson's Mum, for address rather than a more formal - Mother.

"There. M'..." He felt warmth come to his cheeks at the thanks and fidgeted embarrassed , with the quill in hand. "'s .. 's alright, Thompson. " He whispered. " 's alright." But he enjoyed the thanks and the gratitude as any boy would have. "So.. um. now what ye wish ter tell them?"

He thought for a moment. "'I'm on His Majesty's Ship Terpsykor' - only you know how to say it an' write it proper, don't you? 'an' I'm writing you fr'm Lisbon, which is in Portugal.'" He looked across at the boy. "At least, I think it's in Portugal, anyway. An' I'd like to tell her it's a friend writin' for me, if... if that's all right? Only I don't quite know how to say that."

"Hm... well you usually firs' start with askin' how t' person you write to is.. or say it like : I hope my letter finds You in good health. "

He blinked surprised when Thompson suggested that he wished to tell that a friend was writing for him. Quickly his gaze lowered again to the paper, and he tried to find the words that would make it for the first.

" Then.. then you start.. like... Ye can write it like ye said too. Jus' say you are at present on His Majesty's ship Terpsy.. or say it like this maybe : At present I am serving .. or stationed or t' like.. aboard His Majesty's ship Terpsichore. I'm writing you from Lisbon, which is in Portugal is good! All good!" He grinned and nodded quickly: " You'm right 'bout it bein' in Portugal. Ye'um listenin' ter more than t' drill orders , ain't ye?"

He looked expectant at the marine, feeling that he might've been talking far too much. "...thanks.. Thompson." He murmured so silently that the marine would have to strain to hear him. He hadn't forgotten what the marine said. Tell her it's a friend writing for me.

"So, 'I'm servin' on board His Majesty's ship Terpsikor' - best say her proper name so's they can write back if... if they want, and c'n find someone t'do it. 'We'm sailin' to Lisbon, which is in Portugal. I miss you, an' hope you'm both all right. It's a friend writin' this f'r me, an' I hope you c'n find someone to read it f'r you...'"

He broke off and looked across at the lad.. "Am I goin' too fast for you?"

"'s all fine." He murmured more to himself, placing the words into written shape, with the letter that may not have been spoken, but most of what Thompson said is written in exactly the manner he wanted it.

De Guarde hesitated for a moment when writing the word friend, and though he spoke none of it, there was the faintest of smiles playing on his face. Lost in thought for that moment, he blinked startled when Thompson asked him, whether he was going too fast. He studied him for a moment, and looked down at what he had written. All to the last word.. and nearly he would've written the part where the marine asked him a question.

He shook his head quickly:" No, well, yer might try a bit slower if you can. but 's alright with me. See, so far's what we have written." He held it up again, and looked proud of his work, as simple as it may have been to do.

"We'll write the name of our ship later again perhaps. Add where she can send a letter for you. " He spoke warmly. "i.. I wrote myself as well as I can, so's can be read easy."

He looked at the sheet of paper as the boy held it up.

"Looks good to me, though I can't read it, o' course."

He paused, thinking over what he'd just said to be written down, then looked at the lad. "Um. 'Since I last seen you, I bin in Calypso, Surprise, Mistral an' Berry. I got a good Captain and some real good mates. Hope I see you both soon. Take care, an' I miss you, George.'"

He frowned, thinking. "Least, I can't think of anythin' else I need to say. Well, without tellin' a yarn that'd take up all the paper you brung up here, anyways."

"Yer can try ter tell what is ye life. Mom' might be interested. Summat you lived through that she may tell 'er daughter then.. or 'er other ones." He smiled and pointed to the letter saying that there was still enough space if Thompson so wished. " 's summat yer always wanted ter tell 'er.. but couldnt because ye had no letter to write? Summat exciting perhaps? ..Or recent?"

He looked encouraging at the marine, not minding to write what he said and conclude his letter, yet he felt that the marine would have wanted more, but wasn't sure. "We can squeeze in one thing 'tleast. N' then.. at a later time ye can write again, n' say more. If yer want ter." He placed the quill down for a moment and let the ink dry.

"Oh. Right. Um. Lemme think a minute how to say it. 'Cause I've got prize money an' stuff an' when I was in Calypso, Captain Ramage sorted it so's I've got savin's an' stuff that they can have if... if anything happens to me. Though I ain't sure how much it is. An' I've got another twenty pounds or summat fr'm takin' Victorious, I think. I think I'm goin' to get some prize money anyways, bein' on the muster when we took her, even if I didn't get to do any fightin' meself, anyway."

He shrugged. "Dunno how to say it proper, f'r a letter, but they need t'know that."

De Guarde nodded. The prize money for taking their latest ship was something he wondered about as well. Since he was dismissed, did it mean any at all would be coming into his purse, or was it only for those to be said to be on duty, whether as the ones fighting or as guards.

He tapped his finger against his knee, shifted his legs for, his left had fallen asleep. He rubbed it along the ankle up to the knee, and felt as millions of ants tingled their way along his leg. "Yer can say that while ye were serving on ships ye earned summat in addition to your normal pay. Perhaps explain that you get it if ye'um got a prize ship. And then explain yer have it saved up fer them, if anything happens. n' that it will be sent ter them then. N' maybe then ye tell, how much it is, so they know... " Though it was a morbid topic as much as it was natural, to consider one's possible passing and the way one's finances would then go.

He made the sentences more right for a letter and with each formed, he recited them to the marine, waiting for either approval or further discussion of their content and shape.

"I ain't sure how much I got. We took sev'ral prizes when I was in Calypso, an' more in Surprise. It's enough for 'em not to... not to have to worry, f'r years, I think. Captain Ramage and Captain Aubrey was both lucky with prizes, see. But yes, they'll be able to get it easy enough, like. Oh, an' I'll try to write 'em again soon... if'n you don't mind doin' this again, that is."

It was quite pleasant up here on deck, sitting in the sunshine. He tried to imagine their faces when his letter arrived, and wondered what they would think. He hoped they wouldn't think it was bad news, though he doubted that anyone would bother writing to them if anything happened to him. He shook his head to clear it of that thought. No, they'd be pleased to hear from him after all this time, he was sure of that.

"Ah, alright, then you jus' say you had several prizes, n' ye tell that there's plenty o' money. Enough not ter worry fer years like. That you think so and hope so perhaps." He paused then at the words of the marine and nodded. "..Won't mind."

It had been after all, pleasant to write, nice to hear about another's family and see how much it meant to them to write such a simple thing as a letter. It was surprising for him of course. He'd never imagined that he would enjoy it and the longer he considered it, he was enjoying it for the writing and for the marine much more than for the deal that they have made.

He shook his head. It also had distracted him from the present situation. If not for the writing he would have been feeling bitter, upset, angry, perhaps even crying. He knew he might just do so later when he needed to return to the sailors. Yet for now he could feel as important as if he were a midshipman. Midshipmen wrote, sailors didn't.

"If ye'um need to read.. if a letter comes back sometime, I can do that for you." He spoke as he halted his quill at the letter, waiting if Thompson wished for anything more to be made, and for what.

"I'd like that. An' I don't think there's anythin' else to say. Least, I can't think of anythin' else, anyways."

It had been very nice just to sit here, and Thompson had enjoyed the closeness and companionship, something he wondered if the boy had ever really experienced. And he had noticed the slight pause when he'd said he would like to say it had been a friend who'd done the writing.

And he wasn't sure the boy fully understood what it meant to him to be able to write home, either, although he knew that most captains he'd had liked their young gentlemen to write home, even if it was one letter they added to every week. It would be a surprise for both his mother and his sister to get a letter from him, especially after this long.

He looked the boy holding the paper and pen. "I just... Thanks, f'r doin' it. An' I don't know when they'll be able to get a letter back to me, but they just need to send it to me on Terpsy - Terpsykor, for it to get here - but I;d like it if you read it for me when it gets here."

If they could find someone to write for them, anyway, that was.

He finished the letter with what Thompson had said earlier and held it up so that the ink could dry and not smear before it would be given to the marine. He studied his letters critically, wondering if anything was amis, and then noticed that he had forgotten the date. It would not mean much now, but perhaps a time to measure when the letter was sent and when it would arrive would be enough for the family. Either so, or he would've just added it as it fitted on the letter after all.

With the numbers in place he waited a while longer, and as he did, he turned to Thompson. He had added the return address to the letter. If the family wanted to write, and if the letter was to be sent, they could atleast know where about the letter should travel. H.M.S. Terpsichore, Marine Thompson or what not.

" I'll... be glad ter." He looked up at the marine, for he was taller than himself, and he was also seated lower, hunched a bit when writing. "Ye'll jus' have ter hand it over ter be sent.. n' then it will. 'fcourse we need ter have it folded n' closed like. With t'... what's t' address fer your home? We need that more written on 'ere." He pointed at a different paper which would contain the first.

"Oh, right. If you write it to go to Bessie Thompson at the Ropemakers' Arms in Red Cat Lane, Chatham, it'll get to 'em."

He looked at the black writing on the page the lad was holding. Meaningless to him, it was a link to home. He didn't quite understand how the sheet of paper de Guarde was holding could let his mother and sister know what he'd just said to the boy, but he knew somehow that it would.

It might take weeks to get home, but they would finally have some news of him and that he was thinking of them.

"A'right." With it out of the way and the paper safely stored, he held it out to the marine. "..'ere ye go. Be a .. lon' time. Will it?" Stretching out his legs he found that his left had fallen asleep again. With a scowl that was quite good natured, he began to bring it back to life, twisting his ankle to ease up more blood into his foot.

"I'm a sure they'll find someone ter read it fer them. " He nodded reassuringly at Thompson, deciding that by all logic it may be a task not easy, but certainly one that would have the man's mother read of him and know he was alive. He wondered what great joy they might feel. For to not know of him for twelve years about. Nothing, not a word. Even his own folk had him write and even he received letters from home and sometimes in them a little something for the young gentleman.

Much of the letters he got from home, were lost thanks to Mr. Hollow, yet he had one or two still stored away. They were short, to the point. Thompson's letter felt to carry so much warmth in his words.

"'s all done now." He murmured but looked less eager to up and go. He plugged the ink bottle just to be sure none of it were wasted by someone being a clumsy twit. The quill was wiped clean and dry.