A trip for some breath

The young Marine stared at him. "I don't know how Thompson's puttin' up with you," he said finally. "You're the only one that's right, everyone else is wrong. Think about this. How can a whole ship - over two hundred men, includin' the captain an' officers - be wrong an' one boy of fourteen be the one who's right?"

And whatever the truth of it, there was no need to have hurt Johnny just because he hadn't liked something the boy had done. That was bullying, and nobody liked a bully.

"How can a whole ship.. over two hundred men, including the captain an' officers not find t' two men that wanted to do me in , then?" He answered stiffly.

He didn't dare say directly that the captain and the officers were wrong. He trusted Thompson not to tell it to the others, but Oxley was a different man. He knew little, and he only judged him by what he'd heared about him. A reason enough to be atleast somewhat careful.

"Why would anyone want to do you in if you hadn't come on board, proud as a peacock an' started throwin' your weight around? It's called bullyin', and there ain't a soul here who likes that." He shrugged. "Though they was wrong to do what they done, of course. But you didn't have to hurt Johnny for doin' summat you didn't like. And you could say sorry to him for that, if nothin' else."

What was it going to take to get de Guarde to see he was wrong? Oxley was beginning to admire Thompson's patience a lot more.

(OOC - lunchtime!)

"Take that back!" Oxley had been truthful, but a lot less tactful. The boy, who was used that even if he had done something wrong, the only one telling him so were his superior officers and that others would have bowed their heads no matter, was now faced with a lad who was telling all of it straight to his face. Thompson may have done something of the like, but the boy hadn't noticed. Thompson was different.

Oxley however had his blood boil. Proud as a peacock was a fair insult what he was concerned! He lashed out at the drummer boy. His whole body had sprung from it's place to tackle the other against the deck. "I came as a middie should. I acted right! I did things right! N' ye say that they did right.. though they shouldn't.. but you agree with them!.."He wasn't shouting. Atleast he was smart enough not to do that. Not smart enough to consider how Oxley was 17 and he himself was 14. Nor that possibly his actions might not convince Oxley to say he was sorry, but do quite the opposite.

(OOC - eat well and o.O.. apologies for Mathew!)

"Shan't!"

The surprise of the assault bowled the drummer over onto his back, but he was bigger than the younger boy, and recovered himself quickly. This wouldn't be the first time he'd ever fought someone, either.

"You're a... a spoilt brat who needs to learn you ain't allus right!"

(OOC - And I apologise for Oxley. That was... a little unexpected! And I have to go to work now. Boo!)

"I am not!" The boy barely stifled his cry, knowing another person would do more harm than good. If he were a midshipman, then he'd be certain to call for someone to come by now. But being he was a mere sailor more trouble than good could come of it. He threw a fist angrily at Oxley's side, and with his other hand he dug his fingers into the youth's shoulder as he had done once with Yates. The painful pressure.

"Apologise! I demand you apologise! n' take it back!"

(OOC - Gah, boo!!! Just missed you! Damn!!)

"You are, and I won't!" The fingers digging into his shoulder hurt - as they must have hurt Johnny - and he aimed at the inside of de Guarde's elbow with the side of his fist.

Being on the bottom had definite disadvantages, but Oxley was bigger than de Guarde and was determined not to let the former middy beat him. He formed his other hand into a fist and aimed for de Guarde's solar plexus, hoping that if he got it he could get out from under him while he was trying to catch his breath.

"Am not! N'..n' "

His grip tightened at the shoulder, even as he felt an arm be thrust against his own. He threw another punch at Oxley's side, right under the ribs.

"you'll say yer sorry else.. you'.."

And as he did he felt the full force of Oxley's other hand. At that moment his hold loosened on the shoulder. His hand reached up to his chest as he wheezed. His second punch was sloppy, though aimed at Oxley's face, still gaping for the air that was knocked out of him.

And then he was able to push the hand off his shoulder as de Guarde' fist connected with his face. Damn. That was going to be a nice black eye later. He managed to push the other boy off and scramble into a fighting crouch.

"Won't say I'm sorry. Ain't nothin' but the truth, arter all."

"No! Yer insultin' me. Slanderin' me name!" He spoke harshly, once breath came to him more naturally.

He looked triumphant at the bruise he caused. Rubbing a hand against his chest he tried to tackle the drummer boy the second time. He knew he was at a disadvantage while Oxley was up, him being taller and stronger. But if he were down, they were a slight bit better matched.

"Have you said or done anythin' to show anyone you ain't what I've said?" He balled his fists and let de Guarde come at him. "You think you're so much better'n us, why did you even bother comin' aboard?" He aimed a punch at de Guarde's face, trying to get him back in return for his own black eye.

"I've done plenty of things!"

He fell backwards, and quickly scrambled to his feet. That would certainly show in the morning. No matter.

"Because I was transferred to this ship!"

He steadied himself and then stood just enough that he could kick at the crouching boy. Putting most of his weight and his strength into striking Oxley's belly. And he hoped that he would.

"An' every one of 'em's done nothin' but show you hate us. Or despise us, which is worse."

And he couldn't stop the lad's fist connecting with his stomach. Though he twisted away, it still knocked the breath from him.

"You... ain't... even.... tried... to talk... to us... lads."

Another triumphant look blossomed on the youth's face as he followed after the lad, once he was wheezing for breath. He kicked him again, this time from the side.

" You people had tried to do me in. Do you think I'd fancy wot' you think after that?" He kicked at Oxley again, thinking it were best that he uses the moment while he still could.

If the boy wanted to fight dirty, Oxley could oblige. He made a grab for the other boy's foot, trying to catch him off-balance.

"You really think -" He was getting his breath back, thank Heavens "- that that was any of us boys? Thought you had more brains than that."

"Not you. Though you've openly admitted that you would have understood and therefor agreed!" He felt a resistance against his other leg, and looked down sharply to see what was keeping it.

"You're crazy. Understandin' summat don't mean you agree with it. An' you think you're so high-an'-mighty you won't even talk with the other sailors in your division. Never mind any of the lads who're the same age as you!"

He pulled on the trapped foot, knocking de Guarde to the deck. "You want a proper fight, I c'n give you one," he said.

De Guarde's head was ringing as he hit it against the deck. He reached for it trying to silence the sound, and defend his face and chest from an assault he expected to come from Oxley.

"I doubt ye can.. yer no good as a drummer boy, no good fer loyalty, ye be worse even ter know what's right! Understandin??!.. You'd be talkin' mutiny next! Say yer understand it! Proper fight. HA. A laugh, there!" He twisted to his side, starting to get up.

That did it. "You little bastard!" he said, and aimed a fist at de Guarde's side.

"Come on, then, fight me!"

Mathew rolled out of the way just in time that he felt but a whiff of hair, that passed him along with the fist. "Wot' is it?.. hurts you when ye' been told t' truth?.." He asked , reaching for the arm that struck him. swiftly he placed his hand over Oxley's. four fingers on the inside of his palm, and a thumb on the other side. He held the hand at the side where Oxley's thumb was and then digging his nails into the flesh, he twisted it as far as it could go.

"I wonder if ye even know t' difference between a drum n' a barrel o' water! Tch. Seein' ye aren't all that bright!"

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the bum. Ain't nothin' but a mummy's boy who shouldn't've come to sea!"

That hurt, damn it! He kicked out at de Guarde's knee, wishing he'd put his shoes on before coming up on deck.

De Guarde narrowed his eyes and twisted at the hand more , wanting nothing better but to see the cursed private cry in pain! He yelped as his knee was kicked, having his leg fold down against the assault. He came down to one knee.

" N' you should never have dared think of wearin' that uniform.. for you soil it so! Shame it terribly! Not even for a measly drummer boy, yer no good!" With the arm twisted, he pushed against Oxley, his knee driving hard against his side. That, if he were to manage and the marine had nothing else on his mind. All of the tricks he had used though, or most at least, were the dirty kind and meant to cause as much pain as he were able.

"You... don't even... deserve to wear... sailor's slops." He gasped as his wrist was twisted further. If that bastard damaged his hand...! "They're... twice as good... as you are, all of 'em!"

He twisted away from de Guarde's knee, bringing his own up, trying to catch him between the legs. That'd teach him!

"You, you... bastard!!" Was all he knew to say, no other come back came to his mind. The insult was well placed and served as well as a distraction. Too late he released his hold fully of the private, and too weak was his defense against the knee that caught its target right where it aimed.

He gasped, not making a single sound at first, and crumpled to the side of the drummer boy, hands between his legs. Oh god how that hurt! He found some voice to whimper, and did so.

"Was only tryin' to be friendly. Won't bother, next time."

He stepped back to nurse his wrist. If their scuffle had been seen, they were both going to be in trouble. Bother the boy. Couldn't take a few home truths without flying off the handle. How did Thompson cope with him - and what could the man see in him that even made him want to?