Friday morning with the Marines

He was going to get get hauled over the coals by Leiutenant Cartwright, then probably get yelled at by Corporal Johnson. And suffer whatever the doctor had planned, as well.

It was not looking like a very promising day, as far as Oxley was concerned. Not promising at all.

(Johnson and Oxley just came from here.)

There was Lieutenant Cartwright. He pulled his jacket a bit straighter and hoped the dressing-down wouldn't be too severe.

A bloody good introduction this was going to be, and a wonderful way to make yourself known to a new officer: hauled in front of him for fighting. And fighting a Tar, at that. He wouldn't be at all surprised to find himself under close scrutiny in the future, where Mister Cartwright was concerned.

"Ah, Corporal Johnson." Cartwright had spotted Johnson when the man had first come back topside, but waited until he had completed his errand before hailing him. "Doctor Crozier is finished with our drummer, then?"

Johnson saluted and held out the sawbones' note. "Guess so, sir." He waited while Cartwright took the note and read it. After a moment, he nodded.

"Very well. Carry on with your duties, Corporal. I'll keep young Oxley with me for the day - the Shepherds can share his responsibilities today."

That didn't sound good at all... and he was sure neither one of the Shepherds was going to appreciate doing his duties as well as theirs.

He kept his silence however, which was about the only thing he could do without making things even worse.

Cartwright waited until Johnson had moved away before looking down at Oxley. He was disappointed that the boy had gotten into a fight, but he was not so moved that he was going to publicly punish the boy. Not for a first offence.

"Has your sense of balance improved since last night, Oxley?" The lieutenant asked, carefully keeping his face blank.

Oxley blinked. What sort of question was that? More to the point, what did the officer want to hear? There was nothing to be learned from his expression, which didn't help Oxley - or reassure him.

"Y... yes, sir...?" The inflection rose a little on the last word, making it sound more like a question than the lad was entirely happy with. He stood to attention and just hoped he could weather the storm that was surely going to break over his head.

The drummer resisted the temptation to shuffle his feet. He never liked coming under an officer's scrutiny for doing something wrong... and Lieutenant Cartwright wanted to keep him there for the whole day? And unless they moved, which was highly unlikely, he was going to get a dressing-down in front of the entire squad of Marines.

And all for giving that little brat a taste of what he deserved, when he'd only tried to be friendly in the first place.

"Good," Cartwright said. He looked satisfied with that answer, though of course Oxley couldn't have given any other. "We can carry on this business when the morning's drill is completed."

He had been about to send the drummer below to find Foley, his steward, but the reappearance of that young Tar with whom Oxley had fought quickly changed his mind. One instance of fighting between the two was plenty enough.

"Um... sir?" He looked hesitant, and knew he sounded so, as well. "The... the surgeon wants to dress me eye, sir."

He'd noticed de Guarde come back on deck, and made up his mind to stay well away from him if at all possible. One dressing down for fighting was one too many - and the boy really wasn't worth it.

Hm. Cartwright looked at the boy's face, considered that fact for a moment, and nodded. "Very well. Back down below with you and have Doctor Crozier tend to your eye. You may wish to be quick with it, too. The better to avoid another bout of unsteadiness, I think." He punctuated that last sentence with a pointed glance toward where the Tar was standing. He suspected that the two boys might attempt to seize upon an opportunity for another scrap if one presented itself and wished to prevent that.

He opened his mouth to reply to that, then thought better of it. "Yes, sir," he said and cast a resentful look at de Guarde. If he'd been able to keep his temper, Oxley wouldn't be in this situation now.

He saluted and turned to head down the aft companionway, keeping as far away from de Guarde as he could.

(He heads here.)

(He returns from Sickbay.)

Oxley returned topside, careful of his footing with one eye covered and not anxious at all to hear what Lieutenant Cartwright was going to say to him. He gave Lieutenant Leat and de Guarde a wide berth, heading to where the Marines were beginning their morning drill session.

"Reportin' as ordered, sir," he said, coming to attention in front of the officer and trying to ignore the looks of merriment as the drilling privates caught sight of his eye patch.

The Marines knew their drill, it seemed. Someone had been keeping their skills sharp. Cartwright watched Sergeant Quinn and knew just who that someone was. The same couldn't quite be said for Corporal Johnson, though the man seemed to have his own way of doing things.

Cartwright turned when Oxley announced himself and nodded. "Good. How is your wrist feeling?"

"It aches a little bit, sir, but other wise it feels fine. The doctor said I should keep the bandage on for a few days just to make sure, sir."

If the officer was going to rake him over the coals, Oxley wished he'd just get on with it. The waiting was unbearable.

Good news. Cartwright glanced over the ranks of drilling Marines, spotted his steward - how clever of Foley to have chosen a spot close to where his lieutenant was standing - and called him over. Out of Cartwright's view, Corporal Johnson scowled.

"This is Foley, my steward," Cartwright said by way of introduction. "He'll be taking direct charge of you today when I'm unable. Take Oxley below and get him acquainted with your usual duties, Foley. No, you're dismissed from drill for the morning. Carry on, both of you."

"Aye, aye, sir," Oxley replied and turned unenthusiastically to follow the other man.

Well, deny it how he would, the officer knew he'd been fighting - he had to know. Strange sort of punishment, though, learning the duties of an officer's steward. At least... at least it wasn't cleaning the heads or something. He stopped himself from thinking that, just in case Lieutenant Cartwright turned out to be a mind-reader and decided to make him do that, instead.

Foley was hard-pressed to hide a smirk as Mister Cartwright gave him responsibility for the young drummer. That lad was going to regret that he'd been fighting before the day was over!

"C'mon then, no lazin' 'bout," Foley said, hefting his musket as he headed for the companion ladder. It would be interesting to see how long the boy lasted today.

Oxley sighed. This was not going to be a pleasant day. Who knew how much running around he'd end up doing before hammocks were piped down this evening?

He hurried to keep up with Foley. Maybe if he stayed on the man's good side, he'd have an easier time of it.

"First thing," Foley began, not waiting until he got to the bottom of the ladder to begin his instruction, "is to not be around when the 'Tenant is, 'less he says otherwise."

He breezed into the wardroom without hesitation, nodding curtly at Markham as he went. This was one of those precious places he was allowed entrance to and he took it entirely in stride. "Second thing is to not disturb the other officers."

Foley paused just outside Cartwright's cabin and looked back. "Keepin' up, boyo?"

Not to be around when the Lieutenant was? That sounded... wrong... to Oxley's ears. Not disturbing the other officers, though, well, he wouldn't dream of doing that.

Foley didn't hesitate before entering the wardroom, but Oxley hung back a little. This wasn't somewhere he was used to being, after all. Though, he'd been told by Mister Cartwright that he was to learn what Foley's duties were, which gave him as much right to be here as Foley had, at least for today. He stepped in a little hesitantly and nodded as Foley looked at him. "Y...yes, Mister Foley."

He just hoped he could please the man so he'd give a good report to Mister Cartwright later.

This time, he couldn't repress a slight grin. " 'Mikey' suits fine, boyo. Now c'mon. S'pose you knows how to polish good 'nuff. That'll be a good place to start."

He almost felt sorry for Oxley, as the lad had no idea what he was getting into. Smirking again, but this time to himself, Foley eased open the door to Cartwright's cabin and propped it open with his musket. As it usually was in the morning, the cramped space was half a mess, even though Cartwright usually tried to tidy up after himself.

He hung back a bit, waiting to see what Foley wanted. "I...I can polish stuff pretty good, Mikey," he said, as Foley opened the door to the Lieutenant's cabin. It was a bit of a mess, but then, he had space to himself to be messy in. One of the perks of being an officer, that was.

Polishing stuff didn't sound so bad, Oxley thought. He could do that all right, anyway.

Good. Foley nodded, already knowing what the lad's first tasks would be. "Arright then. Got some brass needs cleanin', for a start." He dug through Cartwright's sea-chest for a moment before producing the lieutenant's spare coat. A moment later, he handed over a rag.

"I'll show you how to brush the coat proper when you're done," he added, before turning away to begin his own work.

Polishing buttons. Well, that wasn't so bad. He counted... Thirty buttons, all needing to be gleaming. A bit of brickdust, and a damp rag was all he needed for that.

He found a corner where he could sit down, out of the way, and made sure that the coat was across his legs rather than all over the deck. He made a start, wondering how long it was going to take him to get them all looking like new.

For a moment, Foley watched the lad settle down to his work. At least he seemed willing enough. Then the steward shrugged and concentrated on rolling up Cartwright's hammock. Having an assistant was throwing off his routine just a little.

Oxley tucked himself into his corner as much as he could so that Foley wouldn't trip over him or something. He really didn't want to get in any more trouble than he was in already, after all.

The only thing he didn't like about doing something like polishing brass was that fact that it gave him time to think. And right now, his thoughts were occupied in thinking about de Guarde and how he'd flown off the handle about something stupid. Bloody stupid bastard, gettin' upset over nothin', he thought, rubbing at one of the buttons on the jacket's cuff. He sighed and made up his mind he'd be keeping away from de Guarde in the future. The kid was more trouble than he was worth.