The sick bay

Johnson eyed the two boys grumpily. He was annoyed that he'd been sent below by Mister Cartwright to retrieve the drummer Shepherd when the boy had failed to reappear after helping Oxley get down to the sick-berth. Shepherd was now topside and Johnson wanted to be there as well, but for the sawbones' calling out to him.

"Aye sir," Johnson grunted. There was a perk to this distraction, however. That upstart snot De Guarde needed guidance to his officer. He was looking fairly battered as well. Good!

"Move it 'long then, you two slack-wits. Ain't got time for you to be lolly-gaggin'. Give those notes here. Can't have you droppin' them some-place!"

De Guarde looked bitter. Even less chance that either of them could know the contents of those letters. Perhaps it was worse for the drummer boy though, as he was a marine and thus Johnson's own. He moved forward. Blasted man. The blasted hated man! And he was there to witness...well, the story would hold. They both fell!

"We'um goin'." He muttered under his breath, not meant for Johnson, but as a retort to the hurrying.

"And you'll be silent 'til I turn your worthless hide back over to your officer," Johnson snapped. It was fortunate indeed, he thought, that the boy was no longer a young gentleman. The change in status meant De Guarde was now open to the same treatment that the rest of the Tars got.

The corporal glanced down at De Guarde and almost smirked. "Bo'sun oughta know that you need your balance worked on, I think. Can't have Tars aboard that can't even go up an' down the companionways without falling!"

De Guarde felt blood rush to his cheeks. It was most unfortunate that he was now so low in the ranks. A Tar. A mere sailor. He couldn't even do anything about the insult he'd received.

"..'twas dark." He mumbled. The fear of a Bo'sun was far more real now. He looked at the floor, deciding to glare his way through the planks, when he couldn't do much about the Corporal ushering them forward. He was biting at his lip. So many damned retorts that the corporal deserved. So many insults. And he had to obtain his silence instead.His hands balled into tight fists, so that the nails left moon shaped marks on his palms. Blasted man!

Oxley handed the two bits of paper over, trying not to smirk at the treatment Johnson was giving de Guarde. Still, he'd get the full attention of both Corporal Johnson and Lieutenant Cartwright soon enough, and that was something he didn't want. He couldn't risk dawdling either, not with Corporal Johnson behind him. He didn't want to make the Corporal any more annoyed than he already was.

De Guarde followed along, leaving the sickbay with the Corporal and the drummer boy. He looked upset as they began to climb the companionway. The letters and whatever content was in them, was in the corporal's hands and thus out of their reach. Well.. the lieutenant, or both, were up on deck so perhaps the suspence would not last as long.

Johnson herded the two boys toward the ladder and up, wanting to be finished with this side-task so he could go back to attending to more important things. Of course, he didn't believe for a second that either boy had honestly fallen. Especially not Oxley - he knew better, for one thing.

"Not a bleedin' word from either of you," Johnson grunted as they got back topside. He wouldn't put it past either of them to say something stupid to their respective officers before he could foist them off and escape.

Oxley wasn't likely to say a word until absolutely necessary. Seemed Johnson's temper was even shorter than usual, and the lad wasn't going to push his luck any further than he had done. At least, he wasn't going to any time soon. And there was de Guarde around to take the brunt of Johnson's temper - for the moment, anyway. Though it was going to be a very short-lived relief. As soon as he got away from being chewed out by Cartwright, he'd probably find Johnson waiting for his own chance to yell at him.

(Ooc - do we move from here back to the morning forum, or continue in approaching lieutenants in here?)

De Guarde held his tongue, though just barely. He glared at Johnson venomously, granted Oxley a similar look, before he gazed ahead to where they could spot a lieutenant or two.

"..ye'um goin' ter be bleed." He whispered harshly at Oxley as he took the step forward.

"Who says you ain't?" Oxley whispered back, then shut the hell up before Johnson turned around.

"Not a bleedin' word, I said!" Johnson snapped, turning back to glare at De Guarde. That one would earn himself a flogging before long, he knew it!

Oxley stuck his tongue out at the boy.

(OOC - I think we ought to stick with this thread, to save confusion, as there are other things happening in our old one...)

In the sick bay, the loblolly boy had returned with the pot of water heated on the galley stove.

"Thank you Bridgens, set it just there," Crozier instructed. "And now, please jump to the ward room and ask Markham to make some coffee." The coffee had nothing to do with his patients. Crozier simply felt he needed a second pot after his uncomfortable night in the dispensary. Clearly the cot would need to be raised so it would not keep swinging into the lower cabinets.

De Guarde looked up at Johnson with a startled look. Last who spoke was Oxley! Who just stuck his tongue at him. The former midshipman glared at the lad and then verbally protested about being the one confronted. "Corporal, 'tis him who spoke! N'.." He pointed at the marine drummer, though he probably had hidden his tongue by now.

(ooc - ok! Then we need to find our lieutenants! XD)

That wasn't a good idea. Didn't de Guarde know about Johnson and his temper? If he wanted you to shut the hell up, you shut the hell up.

Was the boy honestly that stupid? Johnson stared at him for a moment, incredulous that he dared to speak after being told to hold his tongue. Apparently even a caning was not enough to teach him his place!

"Here," Johnson snapped, both hands lashing forward to box De Guarde's ears. "Maybe that'll help you listen better. I said not a word, and I damn well meant it! And that goes for you too, Oxley," he added, turning his glare onto the drummer boy.

De Guarde felt his eyes tear up, and he bit hard on his lower lip, hands stiff at his sides as the burning sensation came in full bloom. He was humbled and humiliated. Though shaking, he kept his mouth firmly shut. After a few moments have passed he dared lift a hand to the side of his head and touched the ear the first hand had struck. He rubbed it jerkily.

Try as he might though, he didn't dare to say a word. Not even a simplest, squeekiest, quietest retort or mumble.

"Yes, Corp'ral. Sorry, Corp'ral." An acknowledgement of a direct order was one thing, and Oxley knew not to push it any further than that. He avoided looking at de Guarde - looking at the younger boy would only make things worse, after all. And things were quite bad enough as it was.

"Good."

They were topside now, finally. Johnson looked around for the nearest sea-officer, wanting to get rid of responsibility for De Guarde as soon as he could. The boy was nothing but trouble.

"Mister Leat." There was the second lieutenant. Even better. "Found this one skulking down in the sick berth, sir. Got a note from Doctor Crozier too." Johnson held out the bit of parchment.

Leat turned, surprised to be addressed by Corporal Johnson, and even more surprised to have both De Guarde and Oxley before him.

"Thank you, Johnson," he said, taking the note and then reading it.

"Lt. Leat,

De Guarde and Oxley seem to have suffered clumsy spells in the night. Will dress their wounds and advise on better familiarity with dangerous parts of the ship, namely larboard head and perhaps the hold where the horses need mucking out. Good practice in agility. If they need more practice and want to show gratitude for treatment, there are bedpans in the sick bay that need washing. Grog may or may not be administered during period of recovery.

-Crozier

P.S. - Please send De Guarde back to sick bay. Need to apply dressing when warm."

Leat raised an eyebrow as he came to the end of his reading. So Crozier had confirmed both his and Cartwright's suspicions, and he looked up at the two boys with a cold expression.

"Well, De Guarde," he said. "It seems Mr. Crozier believes you are still fit for duty, though he wishes to apply a dressing to your eye before you begin. You are to return to sickbay, and give my compliments to Mr. Crozier, and tell him that you are at his disposal for as long as he sees fit; though I shall have some duties for you after you are done. Also tell him that I defer to his superior medical knowledge as to what should or should not be omitted from your diet."

He glanced at Oxley, and then the other note Johnson was clkutching.

"I take it that is for Lieutenant Cartwright?"

He waited until the sea-officer had finished reading and addressed him before meeting the man's gaze.

"Aye sir," Johnson replied. He was impatient to deliver both the note and Oxley as quickly as possible, but he couldn't suppress a rush of silent inner triumph at the knowledge that De Guarde was not going to escape unpunished.

"Then I shall not detain you from delivering it - along with your charge. Thank you, Johnson; carry on."

"Thank you sir," Johnson said, offering a salute. "Come on, Oxley."

Oxley threw a sour look at de Guarde, and came along.

(They head towards the Marines.)

"Aye sir." De Guarde didn't like it one bit. First duty for the surgeon who was anything but kind, then personal duty for Mr. Leat, that looked anything but not intimidating. He wondered if his duty as the mess's cook also came into the equasion which would mean that of his whole day he would probably not have much of rest at all.

He didn't miss the look on the corporal's face neither. He saluted stiffly and turned. What did the Lieutenant mean about his diet? He doubted it was food, that the doctor would be giving him. He pursed his lips worriedly. What if it was his grog. No!

Sparing a glare at Oxley and at Corporal's back he saluted again, perhaps in his thoughts forgetting he had done earlier, and then headed back below, to the sickbay.