Training Day - Rifle Competition

"....Where do you hail from, sir?"

'I was born in London,' answered Hunter a little glumly.

"Did you enjoy it there, sir?" He asked, hoping his questions were not considered impolite. He carefully took another strawberry and took a bite from it. Mark that taste, for he was certain, that the opportunity to eat it again would not arise.

'Not particularly,' answered Hunter. 'I was glad to leave it'

"Sir.. I apologise If I have in any way displeased you." The shooting would start soon. Just for the last participants to prime their weapons,set their positions. He hoped he could see some of the performance. And have his mind of of that spectacle of two , who were most probably women, posing as riflemen. It wasn't natural. Women in pants.

Hunter glanced at Timothy, a little surprised.
'No, no, you have not. It is just that, well, London holds some unpleasant memories for me'.

"Ah sir. I apologise. " He smiled. "Let us then discuss the competition.... if that should be more of by your taste.. else, " He looked at the strawberry."... sir. " He was forgetting his station again and he tried to reign himself back before it was too late.

George chuckled. 'I think you'd better not 'sir' the srawberries, they might get too high an opinion of themselves'. He smiled teasingly at Willoughby, showing that he meant it as a joke.

Timothy lifted his gaze startled. Then upon the realisation he laughed. Stiffling it quickly, he grinned. The Captain wasn't half bad an officer, though perhaps a very odd kind. Hopefully he would not be a completely different man the moment his back was turned. Joke with a trooper one time, have him flogged for insubordination for his behavour, at another.

"Should eat it then, sir. Better be sure than sorry. An army of strawberries.. ah, quite like the redcoats.. er... the foot regiments."

'Only with a far more pleasant smell, I find, and it is legal to eat them,' George was positively beaming now.

Timothy chuckled keeping it more quiet and contained. "Sir.. what would you do, if you would have eaten all of your redcoats? Who would you send into battle then?"

Hunter shrugged. 'Well, I do not have redcoats to eat or command, but, I guess I would chuck strawberries at the French: make them prove themselves'. George leaned back snickering. 'Oh, this is so silly! Imagine the faces of the french, if I started throwing strawberries at them, shouting 'Go on, show'em!'

"They would wonder of your sanity, sir." Willoughby smiled politely. " Perhaps though they might think that you have such a grande army behind you that you may mock them with fruit, and fear not their own attack."

'Yes, you are right. My sanity would definitely be questioned. Perhaps, I should throw potatoes: at least they stand a chance of knocking someone out'.

[OOC: remember the orange? What is it with me and chucking food at people? XD ]

"Indeed sir, but they would be offensive also. And a fair waste of food that the soldiers would eagerly have. That is, sir ..your decision would indeed be right, in any case."

(ooc - don't play with food !)

Hunter was a little put out by Willoughby not really joining in the joke. Fernao turned to him, his face scornful:
'You do know, you are laughing not unlike a madman?'
In retaliation Hunter stuck his tongue out at the boy. Needham who understood the gist of what Fernao said to Hunter, smirked.
'Touche, Hunter! Truly an answer worthy of an aristocrat!'

Timothy observed the exchange, wondering if the officers indeed had gone, for the most, mad. Or whether it was just that day that they acted a wee bit out of the ordinary.

He kept himself from commenting and solely waited whether a conversation were to be continued or whether they would converse amongst each other.

George huffed, as if insulted, while Needham chuckled and Fernao shook his head, turning back to Havers.
'So, er, where were we, before I got called a madman by my servant?' asked George of Willoughby.

"Debating the similarities between this food and the redcoats, sir." He supplied, glancing at the two men and the boy. Fernao, Needham and Havers.

"Is there anything that you need me for, more, sir?" The Hussar asked. He had thought that there was a reason that he was called to the company of officers.

'No, no. I was only looking for company. It seems that you wish to escape from my clutches, though. Well, off you go then, enjoy the show'. George smiled at Willoughby in parting.

"I was not..sir.."He began, but stood and straightened smiling. "Thank you, most graciously for the food, sir. " And for the company, though he had expected neither from an officer.

'Think nothing of it'.
As the boy started to leave, the rest of the company nodded at him politely, while Fernao waved at him, smiling at the hussar for the first time.

Willoughby saluted to the officers, and nodded a farewell to Fernao, and after he turned and walked towards the field where he could better see the men shoot.

"Scuse me mate - oh, Newbury," Perkins called, catching up to the rifleman and the boy walking with him. "Me sergeant's sent me to talk to your sergeant or lieutenant. Only one of our men turned his knee in the skirmish, and the surgeon says not to wait but he won't get to compete now. Poor bugger."

Somebody else was calling to him; one of the lads from the 95th. Perkins. His hail was a welcome relief.

"Turned his knee? Not pleasant, that. I'm lookin' for my sarn't too, but I think Cap'n Vickery's over that way." Newbury pointed in the direction he'd last heard Vickery to be in.