Meeting the Green

He wondered again why he hadn't tried to ask to transfer to the rifles sooner. Well, mind other than not knowing he could of course. He carried his plate away with a grin on his face. Slipping into a seat he glanced over at Cotton.

Grabbing a spoon in one hand he'd taken a hefty portion from the plate and after he'd given it a nice few breaths of air, to cool, he stuck it into his mouth. A good praise for the cook it was then, in words and in the look that blossomed on his face. "Not sure I've died n' this is me life after. But I'um sure not changin' a wee thing! Too good to be true, that!" He laughed softly.

(ooc - alright! Enjoy! XD)

Cotton chuckled at the look on Pye's face. "Jus' you wait till you get invited to one of the German messes. That's what we call a groups of soldiers who eat together, by the way - a mess. An' ourn's me, Tom Roper an' Joe Cavender, here, Joe Newbury, the Palmers and Ben Jacklin. An' you makes eight." He counted on his fingers to make sure of his sums. "Oh, an' Maggie of course, nine. But the Germans - we copy 'em, a bit. Each man carries summat for the pot. A couple of taters, mebbe, or an onion, or some herbs. Summat to make dinner go round more an' taste a bit nicer."

"Maggie? Oh, Maggie, yer lass!" He grinned. She was a nice girl, didn't seem to like the 33rd.
Nine in a mess and he knew more than half of them already. That was good! "Carries.. such's finds n' brings, like foragin' fer it? Or gets t' be put in his haversack?"

Of course even in the first case the man finding would be the one carrying. He couldn't ask more though, for again he was filling his mouth with his portion of food and looking like a cat out in the sun, the happiest lad this side of the hill.

"Finds. Buys or whatever in town, gen'rally, but finds. Y'know what the rest of the army's like for givin' provisions out. Can be worse than that in the Rifles, 'cause we march so fast. Not lately, though, we've tried to keep with the 62nd a bit, 'cause we'm attached to 'em."

He indicated the other man's plate. "Seems you like our bait, anyways."

"Worse?" He glanced down at his plate then up at Cotton. "'s it hard t' get used t' marchin' at ye speed?" His mouth again full, he took smaller bites, but only so his meal could last longer. Nobody was going to take it, that was true.

"..Ah, sorry, sorry. Shouldn' be askin' durin' a meal." He bowed his head. And he'd been bothering them with that ever since they've started. He shook his head.

Cotton shrugged and swallowed his mouthful to explain. "'T'ain't so much faster'n ordinary time, not when you'm actually doin' it. You was doin' the rifles' quick march up from the trainin' field, only you mightn't have known it. It's just that we keep goin' where them redcoats march slower, an' stop, and get goin' a bit, and stop again. And it adds up to us outmarchin' 'em - they've got to wait for the last companies to catch up, an' we only have to worry 'bout ourselves."

Ah, so it wouldn't be much trouble and if it were, he'd not have it seen and just press on. Press on till he dropped, if it came to it!

"Only us." He inclined his head. He debated on asking the question, but the spirits were too high, and he felt that bringing the one up, might crush them. He took another mouthful instead, and then another, careful to clean of his plate better than he would've if he were actually giving it a wash. Nothing could be left. Perhaps if the question was rephrased a little.

"..Why's Newbury looked at me tense when ye mentioned 'im which regiment I wos' from?" There.

Cotton sighed. "It was... Sergeant Hakeswill as set me up to go to the triangle, 'cause, well, he started on a mate's girl. Back in Lisbon, this was. An' me mate weren't happy 'bout it, an' I, well, backed him up. An', well, means the rest of the Comp'ny don't want much to do with the 33rd if we can help it. Wasn't nothin' to do with you, personal-like, at all." He looked frankly at Pye. "Don't you mind them. They'll see, soon 'nough, that you'm one of us now, all right?"

Was sergeant Hakeswill, alright! Needn't say a name and he'd have guessed it.

"He's let you off now tho'?" Well, one never knew with that man. Usually, if he had a thing against someone, he'd keep that up even if it turned ugly, or he'd make sure it would. "Not buggin' ye anymore, n' all that?" It was good to know, not because it had happened, but know what to expect. Well, he was a rifleman now, one of them and he'd not put on his former uniform, ever.

"'s understandable, fer 'em. N' I'll make sur' t' show I'm none of that they don' like." He smiled friendly. "..s' not all of us.. well them like that neither." He added.

"I dunno. Wasn't like either us even did anythin' 'gainst him, anyway. An' I dessay there's plenty of decent folks in the 33rd, like there are in any regiment. I just never been so glad to be a greenjacket, though." He shrugged. "Not like there's much you can do anyway, when you'm just a soldier, though."

"Don't need t' have anyhtin' against him, Gabe. S' enough ye catch 'is fancy. Or like yer did, speak up when he'd think ye should'a kept yer mouth shut. If ye stop 'im 'aving his way.. he'll sure make yer regret it." He studied his empty, near spotless looking plate.

"Ye prolly know that all already." He smiled, with a faint shrug. "..heh.. there'll be no officer that catch 'im doing it. All whistlin' t' right tune about them. Did do so far." He shifted a little sighing contently.

"Yeah, that's kind of what I figured." He shrugged. "Can't change things, you can only do your best to live with it. Could talk about summat else, though, please? Only, I'd rather not think about him if'n I can help it."

(OOC - I'm going to be heading out in a bit, though not to work.)

"Oh.." He nodded quickly." Didn' mean t'... I'um sorry. Coulda' stopped me n' tol' me t' shut me trap sooner, ye know." An apologetic, genuine look on his face.

"Well , then.. wot' ye lot do when ye'um off duty , n' ye rifles are all spotless n' so t' res' of ye gear with em?... I heard that yer played sum' sort of ball game, got caked in mud, n' had even some officers with it. Couldn't see if t' rumours were true.. not wot' was happening either."

He nodded shortly:" Ah, that'un, and saw ye had a pet horseman. What's that like? They eat much?" He grinned playfully.

(ooc - alright whereever ye be going, have a good time!!)

"That's all right. No harm done." He shook his head ruefully. "Was still recoverin' - wasn't quite up to playin' ball. Mister Sharpe's lot of the 95th were the ones who did that, mainly. And Mister Sharpe joined in - and the Colonel of the 62nd!" He nodded emphtically. "Aye, seen it with me own eyes, I done. An' we did have a horseman with us for a bit, but he's gone back to his own regiment. Seems like not all cavalrymen leave it to the 'orses to do their thinkin' for 'em. Or mebbe he was one of the few that could still think. Was nice enough."

He had another mouthful of stew. "Off-duty we spend much like you would've when you was in the 33rd. Play cards, natter a bit, mebbe do a bit of sewin' if there's a hole in your jacket, polish your leatherwork, that kind of thing."

(And now it's dinner time...!)

"Yer saying he could think? Now that's learnin' something new every day." He chuckled. "'s summat odd to have an officer play in like that. Get all mud covered n'all." He couldn't imagine to dare go after an officer, even in a game. Too quickly could it turn into trouble and, well it was an officer. Couldn't just go after one! Would be almost like striking them, and that was a terrible offence worth an even worse kind of punishment.

He leaned back a little , studying the pattern on the ceiling above them, and a fly that zoomed back and forth till it settled on a wall for a short few moments, then rose again in an erratic display of its flight.

"So.. we'm marching tomorrow then, eh?" He rubbed a temple. He wondered if he could sleep at all till then. No drink, as he was told he couldn't. Not before a march to be walking like somebody had fired a ball right through the centre of his scull.

"Aye, we'm marchin' tomorrow. You prob'ly won't be on patrol or scouting for a bit, till you've got a bit used to how we do things, but there ain't no reason why you shouldn't pick it up quick-like. You did with the firin', anyways." He glanced at the lad's plate. "And you've finished your supper, unless you want seconds, and I think you've got a rifle to clean. You can borrow my cleanin' things, if you need to. I'll get 'em out me pack, if you want them."

"Would need 'm this time, if it were no trouble." Pye nodded, his belly rather content, and his mind ready to rest from all that he'd learned through the day. If he meant to have himself a short visit to his former own, his rifle was best cleaned at soonest a time. Now, was just splendid thus.

" N' I'll be out of yer hair fer t'night." He grinned, for he'd guessed that any and all of those riflemen that could, would spend some time preparing and some of the last moments enjoying the pleasantries of their present home. Atleast it was how the 33rd would've done.

"When's our wakin' tomorrow?" He recalled that it would be an earlier time to the rest of the army, but the actual moment eluded him.

"About five, prob'ly. It'll still be dark, anyways, which you'll need to get used to. I'd suggest you do your rifle and find somewhere to get your head down. I'm just goin' to take the Captain his supper an' I'll be doin' the same meself."

He got up and opened his pack to get his cleaning tools out, and handed the roll of canvas to the new lad. "Here y'go. You'll end up sharin' a set with your partner, 'ventually, but till all that's sorted out you can share mine and Tom's. The worm and things screw onto the wrong end of the ramrod, which save carr'in' another rod around. And there's a screwdriver in there as well, so's you can get the lock off."

He crossed to the fire and served a portion of stew. "Remember, it's just the same as cleanin' a musket, only a bit more fiddly 'cause the lock's smaller. Boilin' water to clean the barrel with and a bit of rag and elbow-grease to get the muck off the lock with."

"Allright!" He was glad for the helpful words, and grinned again with delight that might not have been right for one that was to merely clean a weapon. However, with the cleaning kit in place, it didn't right matter how others would feel about it. He had some of the water boil, and waited patiently, till he was to take it. By what Cotton had told him, he could afford merely a short visit, and find himself a spot to sleep after.

He hummed himself a tune, which he'd heard the other day coming from a tavern of sorts. And with it, his attention had left to be solely on his weapon, to clean it as spotless as he'd seen Cotton's be cleaned, and not fiddle about in a manner that might cause harm to it.

(ooc - is ended unless there be anything to add, I think ?)