Off-watch with the Marines

(Thompson has just limped from here.)

Step, thud. Step, thud.

Somehow Thompson had made it back to the Marines' part of the berth deck, where they slung their hammocks between the sailors and the officers.

Now that the shock had worn off and he'd seen the surgeon (and his mate) and had his ankle bandaged twice, Thompson just felt embarrassed. What kind of lubber took a tumble down a companion-ladder when the ship was at anchor?

He finally sat down on his shared sea-chest with his foot stretched out in front him. No matter what the doctor said, it hurt like crazy, but at least he wasn't going to be expected to do drill or anything for a bit.

It seemed that with the ship safely stored, they were going to catch the tide tomorrow, and those Marines not on duty were coming below, trying to ease cramped muscles and looking forward to their supper. He just hoped that nobody would go tripping over him, either by accident or design.

After delivering Thomspon to the sick-berth, Branning had returned to his interrupted work. Now that the loading of stores was completed, however, he tramped down to the Marines' messdeck with the others. Unlike most of the others, however, Branning only looked mildly weary.

"Hoi, Thompson," the big Marine called out cheerfully, "sawbones turned ya out a'ready?"

"Hulloa, Brannin'," Thompson said, looking up at the big Marine. "He bandaged it up, right enough. An' put me on the sick list till Monday. An' I've got to see him again in two bells, though I dunno for why."

He was glad enough that he was on light duties, though disgusted at losing his grog ration while he was on the sick.

"So how's the loadin' goin', then, mate?"

Sick list 'til Monday? Branning made a face. That was almost a punishment!

"Loadin's done, 'cept fer gettin' the whole lot settled an' lashed down." He shrugged idly. "Pity, really. Was jes' startin' t'git workin' good. How's yer foot feelin'?"

"Hurts some. Still can't walk on it, so it's light duties f'r a bit, an' no drill. It's bin bandaged up, like I said, an' I c'n only just get me shoe on." He shrugged in turn. "Could be worse, o' course. I could've broken it."

Once the loading was finished, Allen had followed the other Marines to the messdeck. He had left with Branning, though Allen was so worn out it took him a good deal longer to get there. Thus, when he at last shuffled into the room, he was not surprised to see Branning already there, having a conversation with Thompson.

"Bloody hell, I thought that pile o' sacks would go on forever!" Allen exclaimed, then he turned to Thompson and offered his injured companion a grin, "How're you doin', mate? Sorry that you got hurt, but at least you didn't have t' finish hauling all those stinkin' sacks!"

"Hum." Poor Thompson. Branning couldn't quite imagine not being able to walk, never mind being unable to do drill. Allen's arrival provided a distraction from the trial of attempting to fathom such concepts, fortunately.

"Wish it woulda," Branning said with a playful grin. "That were fun."

Allen would have stared at Branning in shock for making such a comment, but he knew that was just the man's nature. He liked doing labourious tasks. Instead, he grinned back at Branning and shook his head slightly.

"Fer you maybe, but I can't say it would've been fun fer me. I'm worn out, an' I'm glad th' job is done!"

"Well, mate," Thompson said, shifting over in case Allen wanted to sit down - he looked like he needed to. "It ain't worth doin' your ankle in to get out of it. Doctor Crozier's put me on th'sick list till Monday. Got me a crutch an' all." He pulled a face.

" 'Til nex' time," Branning said knowingly. Then he grimaced. A crutch? "Yer jes' hurt, not missin' yer foot or nothin'."

"Hmm, you got a point there," Allen said, "I guess it's not worth it after all. Sorry you'll be out o' action fer a while."

Noticing Thompson's movement, Allen took the opportunity to seat himself. He took a deep breath and then glanced up at Branning.

"I'm hopin' next time won't be comin' all that soon. It'll prolly take me 'til then t' recover."

"Nope, me foot's still there. Look." He twisted around a little to swing his foot out from under the table. "Doctor told me to keep the weight off it, an' to try to keep it up. An' I hope it's mended soon, is about all I can say."

"No worries, mate," Branning said. "Prolly gonna find some Porto-geese fellows t'do the loadin' fer us, next port!"

When Thompson stuck his foot out to prove that it was still attached, Branning offered a low whistle. Well, so it was, and well-wrapped to boot. "It oughta bear fine, done all up like that."

"Won't let me try an' stand on it. Well, can't stand on it anyways. I'm surprised it ain't broke, goin' over like that, an' in the dark, with a damn sack over me shoulders."

He just hoped Corporal Johnson wasn't going to shout at him too loudly when he heard.

"That'd be nice. Let them do some haulin' an' save us some trouble."

Allen looked at Thompson's foot and nodded in agreement.

"You're right. I'm surprised you didn't do a lot more damage, considerin' th' fall you took. But th' doctor knows what he's doin', so I'm sure you'll be good as new in no time."

Branning's eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. "How're ya gonna get yer tot if ya can't walk proper?"

Rum would make it ache less, he was certain. Rum usually made everything ache less. Certainly the sawbones hadn't forbade Thompson from getting and enjoying his tot?


OOC - I think I'm going to take off to bed early tonight. Like Thompson, my ankle's well done in, but unlike Thompson I'm not on sick-list. Work tomorrow but I'll try to sneak on during slow patches.

Feel free to send Branning off to wherever, or just have him nod and agree with anything that's said.

"Aye, be nice to take it easy f'r once when there's stores to come into the barky." He shrugged again. "I was nearly at the bottom, but everythin' happened at once, with the lantern givin' out an' the ship snubbin' at the cable, an' all. Could've happened to anyone."

He sighed. "I'm on sick list, mate. Grog's bin stopped till I'm off of it ag'in." And that was, the pain aside, the most annoying part of the whole thing.

"That's almost worse'n bein' hurt in th' first place," Allen said, wishing Thompson could have at least had some grog to comfort him, "Well, maybe you can have some extra rations t' make up fer all th' ones you're missin' out on now."

He smiled sympathetically at Thompson.

[I'm going off myself, so I think the Marine conversation will have to be cut short for now...]

"Mebbe so," Thompson said, wondering when all the surgeons and everyone would realise that, given enough grog, a man wouldn't care how much something hurt, because he'd not be able to feel it. Maybe Vining or Grattan or somebody would share their tots, so he wouldn't go without completely, even if folks though he was.

(OOC - I'll see you both tomorrow hopefully, in that case! Night!)

"Aye," Branning agreed, nodding. Extra rations or maybe even part of somebody else's ration. He thought about it for a moment and added, "Can have half'a mine."

"You can have half o' mine too, if'n you want," Allen put in, "You need it a lot more'n me."

As much as he liked his own ration, Thompson was much more in need of some comfort at the moment.

Thompson grinned. "That'll mean I get full tot, an' both of you'll only have half." And they probably wouldn't be the only Marines to offer to split their rum ration with him. "If'n I have a quarter of each, that'll leave you both with three quarters, won't it? An' thanks, lads."

Branning tried nobly to work out that equation in his head, but succeeded only in looking confused.

"Better'n not havin' no tot t'all."

Allen grinned back at Thompson.

"Sounds jus' fine t' me. An' you're more'n welcome, mate. I wouldn't want t' see you deprived o' your tot."

Thompson noticed the look of confusion on Branning's face. "True enough mate, but if I have half a tot from you, and half a tot from Nate here, that gives me a full tot." He pulled his own leather drinking jack out to show what he meant.

"Half from your mug and half from his would fill mine right up, d'you see? An' you'd both only have half a mug each. But if I get a little bit from you, and little bit from Nate, and a little bit from the others, you'll only lose a little bit each, an' I'd still get a full tot."

He grinned at Allen. "With mates like you, I don't think I'd ever go without. Cheers."