17th May - After Review - Cleaning out

(aha o.o and had any trouble when it happened then?)

He took the dishes and forks and placed them on the small table, before he turned again to Sinclair and smiled:" Ah, my ankle's quite well. It doesn't ache at all, I'd think. 'cept perhaps if I ride long , and hard on it. But then, that's not of the injury, sir. I'm sure. Just exhaustion."

(nope. well- the hut's still standing and I'm not covered in burns!)

"I'm pleased ter hear it, laddie." And he was, as always, happy for the patient who had recovered and willing to take his word for it, for now at least.

"In that case, in t'interests of teaching ye ter cook, ye may stir t'pot and tell me if ye think tis done. Hopefully we willna be interrupted with our feathered friend, neither." ha added a smile at that, trailing off into fondness as he watched her inspect his bed.

"Very well, sir." He walked to the pot and stirred the food inside it a little. Then he looked at how the food seemed and took a taste of it too, to be sure it was cooked and not raw, or even half raw.

"Think it's done, sir. But, I'd ask if you see to it too, so's that we won't eat any bit raw.. if I am mistaken. But I think it's really done.. and don't think anything more's missing."

"O'course." He peered curiously into the pot, blowing away a little fo the steam as he eyed the llumpy golden mess expertly. "Seems done ter me, laddie. Serve up as much as ye would like, fer yeself."

If there happened to be any left over he'd warm it for his next meal.

"And you sir, you shall dine as well?" He asked, thinking that if he were to serve, it would be the doctor first, and then himself.

"Och, I shall. But I ken ye are more active than I, and nae doubt hungrier, too, after all t'shovellin ye've been doing this morning."
He replaced a kettle on the flames, intending to let them die of their own accord.
"Come on, laddie. Yer just letting it get cold, at that."

"Shall I have you a plate of it though, first sir? It would only be appropriate, I think." He smiled. The doctor was right. All the work had had him rather starved though he wouldn't admit it so openly. He stirred the food a little and looked at Sinclair, waiting for his response before he could fill in, and eat till there was nothing on his plate.

"I'm not as important as ye'd be thinking, laddie." THough he smiled at the offer to fill his plate first, something he remembered occuring only at birthdays, possibly, if doable at all.
"I ken ye'll be eating as much as ye like, and coming back fer more, if ye can stand it. Here."

determined to teach Willoughby his lesson, he ended up treating him as a patient, spooning glumpy, light golden maize onto his plate, filling it.
"Ain't that a mite easier ter deal with? Ye mustn't stand on ceremony all the time, laddie."

"Thank you , sir. Much obliged." He sat once he had gotten his fill of food and looked to the man.

"If I find some of them mushrooms again, you'll be getting them." Or be notified of their wherabouts, if he wasn't able or allowed to get of his horse at such a moment. He had done enough to need proving he could be a better man and soldier and he did mean to stay out of trouble if he could help it. Luck be damned. He smiled and began on the dish before him, eating still at a decent and respectable pace.

It was then that he noticed the little bird hop up about Sinclair's cupboards and tried to squirm its way into a smaller space by them, just to see what was there. She had managed to topple something over already, and chirped both in surprise and what could only be triumph. She looked around, studied the two men, sat herself down and chirped as loud as she could. Food, she wanted it too, of course. The hungry little thing, and she was asking for it much like a little fledgling would, her mother.

He'd just sat down, of course, when the bird started chirping.
"Ye want ter try some of this, then?" Gently he held out a finger to her, keen to entice her away from the cupboards and back where he could keep a sterner eye on her.

Belatedly he smiled his thanks at Willoughby, eating in a more polite manner htna one might expect, "T'mushrooms would be welcome. NOw, d'ye wish ter see if she's hungry?"

He picked a small forkfull out of the pot, resting where he had left it between them and offered it to the lad, "Put some on yer finger, see if she will take it."

The sparrow hopped around Sinclair's finger looking at it and possibly debating (if birds did at all) whether that was one large worm, or a something that would bring food but wasn't food in its own. She leaned closer, pecked at it then hopped back. She repeated that and then looked around at what the man decided to do.

Willoughby did as he was suggested, observing the little bird, with his finger now having a small bit of food on it. "Is she going to eat the same as we?"

"If she will. Else I'll have ter be lookin fer summat else, and I'm t'lasiest man alive, ye know." He smiled at the false admission, thoughtfully chewing a mouthful as he moved his finger.

Clearly she was going to be pecking him all the hours she was awake, though maybe if she learnt he was just going to move it away slowly, not pretending to be a worm of something, there would be no follow-up pecks. He could hope, anyway, and try to look less interesting than the other finger on the table, bearing some actual food.

" Indeed." Timothy didn't sound convinced. He smiled and watched as the bird looked from one worm to the other and saw that there was something on the second. She hopped a little indecisively. She pecked at Sinclair's finger one more time, as if to make sure it was really dead and wouldn't squirm away while she was busy with her second 'prey'.

For a little bird she sure was a greedy thing. She hopped to the second finger and hopped around it first. Then made a first quick peck at the food on it, jumping back in a flurry of feathers, then approaching it slowly again.

Rob had a quick thought, thankful his fingers weren't sensitive to small pecks, at least not on the sides of them. Her beak wasn't sharp, but it wasn't light, either.

He had to smile at the way she eagerly hopped about, pecking at everything. The food seemed to have done the trick, he watched her gulp the mall amount down and approach cautiously, presumably looking for more.
"At t'least it's got her interested in something else ter peck." he offered a somewhat sympathetic smile, though he couldn't stop the laughter from trying to bubble up as well.

"Why, If I didn't know better I'd have thought you planned it, Sir." Willoughby answered in a mock sulk and smiled. The bird was eager enough to peck again and seemed thrilled at the fact that she was actually receiving food. She pecked, ate, and pecked again and tried another finger beside the first, perhaps expecting that if she did it hard enough, it would splurt food out of it.

"Ouch! Oy." Willoughby jerked the finger away. "You could ask for more a little bit more politely!" He turned to look at Sinclair. "Shall this suit your... lazyness sir, enough?"

"why laddie, would I plan such a thing? After all, ye did seem keen ter have a hand in looking after her."

At the rate she was pecking there'd be nothing left but bones on the boys fingers soon enough. He offered a forkful of meal from his own plate, nudging it against the finger.
"This is t'perfect solution fer a lazy man like meself. Ye cook t'meals and serve them and then feed t'bird...All i mun do is eat my own food." he grinned, at that. Although it could be easier, to have a trained hand like that, he would never like to deprive someone of their own life, and he spoke only in jest.

He took a bit more food before the bird would have his finger, and let it have that instead.

"Certainly sir. As long as it is you that provides the food and cleans the dishes." He said equally in jest. "I shall be most glad to tend to the bird and food."

He fixed a mock pout on his face and looked up through his eyelashes, "But I don't -like- doin t'dishes."
It was a whiny voice he'd heard a small child use fairly recently, and he tried to hold the pout as long as he could against the smile such a stupid voice normally caused.

Timothy was trying to hold laughter in, but he just could not succeed that for long and so he held his hands to his belly. He laughed and shook his head. " Sir,..Sir!" And he tried to get serious, just so he could play along. Struggled to do so for a few moments longer and at last: "Now now, we all have to do our honourable part, sir. No use pouting there!"

As soon as the laughter started he'd had to join in, no doubt startling the fledgling, who looked indignant and fluttered to the edge of his plate instead.
As he subsided into a grin, he worked out a reply to the next sentance and schooled his face to a semblance of a sulky bairn, "'M not pouting. See?" it was grumbled, now, before he added, looking up again, "DOn't see what's so honourable bout doing dishes, anyways. Can allus wipe 'em clean soon nuff." His face turned hopeful at that, his chin coming up and his eyes, a little sore from assuming the unnatural position, relaxing to look straight ahead.

Sadly he spoiled the whole image with a bark of laughter again.

"Nice try, but no!" He grinned and was laughing right along side with Sinclair. Of course the little sparrow didn't like that sort of noise and began to chirp and flutter and hop up and down. What were these men thinking making such a noise!

She turned to look at the plate and began to snatch the food from it while the other two were busy.

"seems we canna take ourselves seriously, laddie." he grinned, the laughter calming down a little now. SLowly he removed his glasses and deliberatly wiped his eyes, removing the tears which had started to form at their corners.
The world was blurry when he looked up, of course, but none-the-less interesting, and he could clearly make out a cheeky sparrow at the edge of his plate.

"Get away with ye...ye litlte theif." but he couldn't pretend to be angry with her, as he plopped a few more crums on the table and pushed her over to them, suggesting she eat on her own.

The bird looked very unimpressed with what she'd been offered. A whole plate full of things she could peck at, or a few tiny crumbs were hardly a bergain. She looked at Sinclair and then hopped right into his plate.

Willoughby watched amused:" Sir...we sure can't, but neither can she, I believe. Could've sworn she's just given you a cold shoulder, the little beasty!"

He put his glasses on again, affecting surprise when the cheeky little feathered figure appeared on his plate.
"Ye, my beatie, are cheeky ter no end. I willna have ye hopping round eating off others' plates."
Gently he picked her up and put her back in front of her own little pile, nearer his elbow. "What would a-happen if there should be things on t'plate which are bad fer ye? Or, worse yet, if this should be t'plate of some person who couldna abide birds?"

The bird looked at the food, hopped back. Didn't seem to listen or understand what Sinclair was telling her but then rather sulkily she began to peck at the food she was given in her own pile. Her feathers were puffed up as if to atleast in some way show her annoyance.

"You'll certainly have a handful, having her around, but I do promise to come and help you when I can." And if he survived the next battle of course. Couldn't come help if he were killed. "Just don't decide to cook her." He said amused. Perhaps that choice would become tempting too soon!