19th May: Supper - Down below with the Tars

The sight of filthy cauldrons still plagued the youth's mind. The cook was not too much of a company and seemed pleased to have a lad helping with the dirty work. Once that was done, and a few hours later - A clean Officer's privy later - he was washing his arms up to his elbows. He'd changed his slops again for the ones that had been 'signaling foreign ships' in the morning and appeared below in the Tar's mess.

With a small groan, a hand to his back which had him feel like an old lady, and the other at his side, he duckled past two sailors chatting away. He knew neither of them well, not even the face looked more than just familiar, for they were neither in his mess nor in the same watch. Moving around another, he slipped to the mess table. He propped his mug at its usual spot and slid the plate along to the right of it.

With a yawn he glanced around, seeking a more familiar face to put a name to.

Westdale was in his usual seat, and tired enough that he hadn't been paying so much attention to his food he didn't see the new arrival.
de GUarde looked tired, and he had to smother a laugh as he saw the distinctive 'old lady' look of someone who had been cleaning all day.

He wasn't prepared yet to start conversations, more wander into them or have them started. He still wasn't about to forget this lad would be back yelling at them all soon enough, in all probability. However he was quite happy to smile a welcome at the tired face one seat down, and shift over enough to make any conversation possible.

"...oy.." He'd just noticed the man looking at him. He registered the smile and answered with a faint nod. He looked at his plate, which would soon be filled, studied his mug with the slightest of attention before he spoke.

"....wos'..good weather t'day." He rubbed at the cloth, still held over his eye. It has grown cold a long while ago and kept on sleeping down if he gave it a while.

"..aye?" His voice was as tired as he looked. Why he'd spoken at all, he didn't know. Especially to the man he remembered accusing of causing himself harm on purpose a good while ago.

"That it was" agreed westdale, reserved still, bemused they were talking, but not necassarily adverse tot he idea.
"Hopefully it'll stay that way f'r a while, we'll be there in no time..." he trailed off a little, wondering quite what else to say.

they were both tired, so no joking round, and he didn't know much about what questions would be appropriate for the boy, so he settled for a more general comment, "Yer was busy terday, de Guarde?"

"..You could say that." The boy scowled. He was sour about the day ever since he was told to commit his day and afternoon all to work, all up till then.

"...Weren't around when yer had gun practice..." He hesitated and leaned back a bit on his sea chest.

"..How was it?" He knew it was much more silent than it should've been. All with what had happened to the doctor and how it was in his benefit that he would not be stirred and suffer the tremors of shot and cannon.

Westdale shrugged, having accepted the absence from the guns as something unimportant to himself, "Quieter than normal." he grunted, "On account of Dr Crozier."

there was a brief pause, then he continued, "But we managed ter do a fair bit, anyways."
It had been interesting, though, trying to keep it quiet. Not that anyone minded hugely, given who it was for, all the effort. He eyed the food tiredly, "Wonder what them's eating upstairs?"

"..Summat better than us... Especially at t' captain's table... in the wardroom... too." He sighed and shrugged. "If you'um lucky you can get called ter stand fer some of them officers or guests if t' captain's inviting them. Wouldn't eat anythin' mind but you'd see what they have fer themselves. Is good stuff. N' wine as much as they'd want ter! N' sweets, puddin' like shaped in all sorts of things, I reckon. Well last time it was ships here. Real well done ships."

And what he would've wished instead of the fodder of the Tar's mess. " Heard anythin' bout t' doctor? T' horse did him in a sure good one." He looked back at his plate, then shifted a little, so that he was more comfortable in talking with the Tar.

Ships? to eat? Westdale eyed his own, less than perfectly presented meal doubtfully. "No doubt it's all well earned." he muttered, half sarcasticaly.

"T'Doctor? Well, he's still breathing, I know that much." he considered, "but I ain't heard much more, which could be good news...or bad, I s'pose."

"Do you know what happened, exact-like?"

"Aye. Wos' there when it 'appened." He glanced at Westdale. He noted his tone aoout the ships earlier but decided to let it go. He leaned an elbow against the table, propping his other hand to tap lightly against the hard surface.

"Me n' Thompson.. n' 'fcourse t' horse."

Westdale grinned, wondering if it was worth saying something about boys and horses, but decided against it. "He was fetching something, wasn't he?"

Slowly he leaned back, gripping the seat with both hands, before leaning his own elbows on the table to rest his head on, ready to hear anything mroe he could.

"Aye. Well I dunno, I think he did. " He touched his temple, and wished there was some way to ease the pain in his back. Old lady was an understatement.

"Came closer though, n' then t' horse got a nasty thought really. He thought ter get me out of t' way.. but he'd just spooked that damn thing more." He stilled his hand from where it tapped against the table.

"N' s' no animal worse to have spooked, than a horse. If'um yer as close to it's legs as we were."

WEstdale nodded with some authority, having spent several years with horses- normally angry ones- nearby. "Yer mean t'doctor was trying ter clear yer all out from t'horses path, then?"
That wasn't necassarily surprising, but it added some very interesting background information, and something to think about.

"was yer just looking at it, though?"

"Not all.. jus' me. Thompson was sittin' with his ankle busted, as ye know. Couldn't right stand n'..well t' general's horse a right nasty one. Wouldn't let him come close ter it, even if he wanted. Not that horse 'tleast. Could hurt him n'all!" He shook his head. " He was jus' watchin' n'...." He hesitated and shook his head.

"I was cleanin'.. about t' horse. Muckin his ..." He made a face. "Yer know... Thompson was , well he came so we'um could talk a bit." He wasn't sure it was right that he admitted to it. He'd had company, but what would a Tar like Westdale think of it?

He was intrigued that their own company wasn't good enough, that de Guarde had felt he had to go to thompson. Though it made convoluted sense, given there was that far off day to be anticipated, still far off, by the sounds of it.

"Of course. His ankle's still bung, ain't it." He pulled a commiserating face, whiffling his nose obviously, "T'would explain a bit, that story, then." he grinned.

"Wot' story?" He inquired uncertainly. He studied Westdale trying to read his face, not only to answer his question but also to see his reaction to what he'd just told him. Not too long and he was sure everybody would know what he'd just told the Tar. The fact he'd found himself talking to one civilly was something Thompson might've been glad to know. All with how often he'd told him he should stop and try to meet these men.

"Well then we got him from under t' horse... cos' Copenhagen wanted ter have more than one go at him. Had ter keep his head out of t' filth. .. hope 'twas enough o' that. That is.. if it makes any difference." He lowered his gaze to his mug. He still had that lovely bottle of grog hidden someplace, but he chose not to see to it today. Not with the sour mood of the officers and all that had happened that day.

WEstdale nodded back at de Guarde, "What yer just told me, explains the..." he mimed a polite lady waving a fan infront of her nose, then grinned to show it was meant as a jest, not a complaint. He was hardly fresh, neither.

"T'wound being clean always makes a difference." he added, "at t'very least, yer can see what yer up to, instead of having ter feel t'whole way."

"Oh.." he lifted his hand to his nose and then sniffed at it, then at the shirt. Didn't seem a half minded rub and scrub helped, then again he did figure that he should've had a thorough kind, if he were not to have a smell. He hoped that word of the whole of his tasks would not be traveling about the ship, but he doubted that people were ignorant of a boy scrubbing out the heads. So much for that. "'s not me fault."

And then he added: "Aye.. n' horse's dung ain't t' nicest ter get in a wound. Any wound." He shifted in his seat. "Wot' were ye doin' t'day?" A tentative question, but from a former midshipman who would've had a fly flogged for landing on his hand, it was a great ordeal.

"I know t'ain't yer fault." Westdale assured him, shaking his head at the touchiness. Mind you, it was a great improvement on being beaten for suggesting there was something off with the lad. Not that there was any authority to let him beat anyone, now.

"T'day? Was nice ter that passenger, Padstowe, whats hurt." He frowned a little, remembering his instructions, "Trying ter stop him getting in t'way, or falling down and such."

"Ah, one of the guests?" He remembered there to be three. A doctor, another man that wasn't French and looked poorly, and a man that was French and had gotten himself in grave trouble.

"He fell any then?" And then there was the other man again, the one who was said to have had a fight belowdecks.

"...Did yer hear 'bout that Frog?" He added more quietly. "Struck a marine, 'e did. or so they'um sayin'. Heard he came down ter harm t' general's horse. T' marine came to stop 'im and they had a fight." Atleast it was one of the many versions he'd heard. Hushed conversation and all that.

Westdale shook his head, "I've been a walking that man round and round t'decks. No chance ter hear much...and he wouldn't be told anything, anyways."

He was curious though, "The frog what follows t'doctor Maturin round, then? he in trouble?" he was surprised by that, at the very least because trying to get away with anything secret around such an object of discussion was always going to end in tragedy and rumours. "D'yer know who he hurt, then?"

"I heard that it was a marine.. Some big one. Um'.. as big as Branning, but not 'im. " He squinted his eyes, trying to remember the name of the said man.

"...Help me 'ere. Shiver ....no... Summat like that. Shriver? That one I think. "

[ooc- oh hell. don't go asking me to name every marine!]

"Shriver? well, I hope he's alright." Westdale knew that rumours were hardly the most accurate things, but this was a story he was interested to hear, at the very least. "Though t'frog didn't look too big himself, ter cause too much of a problem." he added, thinking it through a bit.

(ooc - Oh, I shouldn't? )

" T' size of these leapers don't matter. " He shook his head slowly. ".. I've been surprised too ter hear that this Shriver,.. which by description could've gotten t' Frenchy right under with one good swing, wos' found on t' floor with summat in his face. But think that shows it then, no? If He was t' one wantin' ter make trouble, we'd have t' Frog stickin' all four of his out from 'im! "

He leaned a bit closer, his voice still quieter than before.

"Would make sense. T' marine wos' probably jus' meanin' ter talk t' him nice. Ask him ter leave t' stables. N' catchin' 'im right of guard, t' Frenchy struck! Couldn't imagine that t' marine wos' expecting him and got felled 'tleast."

WEstdale ahd to agree, "Yer can't trust them frogs, can yer, though."
He glanced round, eyeing his empty mess kit, "t'frenchie, he musta been saying something, or else them Marine woulda never let him through, or get that close, of course."

It was interesting having a close, almost private conversation with de Guarde, who seemed to feel it was interesting enough to put aside whatever reserve he may have felt. Though, of course, just because Westdale was trying to be patient with the boy didn't mean de Guarde was trying to do the same thing back.

"No. Can't trus' 'em , nor their word. No matter wot' they be sayin'. " He agreed. "I think they said t' Frenchy snuck to t' horses on his own. N' t' marine jus' found him down there already! He could've poisoned t' general's horse, I tell ye. N' who'd be takin' t' blame? Us! N' ain't good ter be on a bad side of no general.. even if we'um t' navy."

He was confiding his thoughts to a Tar. The feeling of doing so, felt quite foreign, the idea would have been laughable only a few days ago, perhaps even hours, but it might've been that some of Thompson's lectures had come trough.

He had also to admit, it was not half bad to talk to a Tar. Not the least when he was agreeing and talking back in a civil and friendly manner, almost.

"t' Frog had no right ter be round there anyways, all on his own even worse! ..looking fer trouble that was, fer walking about like he owns t' place. No?"