17th May - After Review - Cleaning out

[ooc- don't talk to me about the vile eye of the sun that's in that northern hemisphere. A whole week I had of it, and not a skerrick of sunburn, even with no sunblock on!]

"ye have t'right of it there, so shocked was I tws all I could do ter grab them eggs- four if I recall. I was torn atween throwing them att he beastie or running, whcih is what I did at t'end."
He wriggled his toes in his boots, "hamish was yelling on one side of it, it was honking and I was trying ter get away, while it's mate was hissing at me, too. I'm surprised no one heard us, though tain't a populated area, so mebbe that explains it." He took a couple of breaths, setting his thoughts in order, "In t'end, I had ter excape through t'swamp and came home plastered in mud, but we each had two eggs, and Hamish was clean enough ter go and present them."

He smiled fondly, "and because we had so many eggs, we were allowed ter have a sponge fer t'family only, and Hamish and I got as big a slices as ye could get!" it had seemed to make it all worthwhile then, digging into a peice of cake bigger than he'd ever seen before, feet swinging as he couldn't touch the ground yet while he sat at the main table. "And it gave us something ter talk about come monday, as well."

( ooc - you must've been lucky, I say! . *eyes sun suspiciously*)

"Well, as long as the end is well, all is well." That thought could be applied to many things, amongst which his existence back with his troop and earlier with the 60th riflemen spoke volumes of. He wondered if he had come to enjoy the company of the green far too much, or whether in days he might return to his daily routine with the troopers.

"The sun is well, up there?" He asked in a playful tone, placing the shovel back into his cart and having them both dragged back to the next filthy stables.

[ooc- or used to a great big OZONE layer hole as we have here. UV ranking of 13 today]

Rob stretched luxuriously, sighing loudly to let willoughby know exactly how nice it felt to lie down in the sun. "Aye. t'sun is very nice."

He squinted up at some birds for a while but the sun was also almost in his eyes, so he closed them and hoped he didn't fall asleep and fall off the roof. That wouldn't be a pleasant waking up.

"Aye. But it also provided us with something ter stop Bridget badgering about t'lack of eggs she liked ter complain about. I'd remind her I'd come back dripping in mud, and she'd soon stop."

( ooc - hm, well true.. though I'd rather :3 not be used to it and not have it ;D)

"A fine thing to use for one in your favour." He looked enviously, yet in good humour towards the surgeon. What he would give that he could join the man in the joy of the sun. But, as before, the duty was to be done and it would certainly not do itself on it's own. Wiping sweat from his brow and lifting the tail of his hair a little, to have a soft breeze, cool the heated skin under, he picked up the broom.

"What, if any injuries, have you had to treat since our coming to this town?" He asked, for it was a curious thing, that when there was no battle, there still migbht be injury. And he'd wondered just what kind the 'peacetime' might incline to give.

"Ye ken full well that I have far, far better things ter do with em time than ter help ye along with a punishment." He threw a smile down though, making it clear that if the real need had been there, the inclination to laziness would have vanished and he'd be down there helping. THough all seemed to be fine without him.

"Mainly they be of t'kind of heavy lifting, or wheels runnign over those who aren't careful...a few men have been in fights, I should say, but I will merely heal them, not get them inter trouble or any such." He paused, considering what else had passed through his hands in the last weeks or so, "Food problems, men being clumsy... small, every day things ye see more of in a marching army than ye do in a village."

"Oh, I would certainly not have asked you , sir. It is my punishment after all, and I am quite unwilling to share it." He laughed lightly and grinned. He saw the expression and was glad for it, though he knew he would not have asked either way.

"Certainly. Fights? Well, I guess some such could be expected.. with all the drinks and less of the control." He smiled and exchanged the broom for a shovel.

"I reckon you did have a bit more of rest.. than the usual, as with marching?"

(And now I depart for sleep x.x, before sleep drags me under! Good night! )

Rob pushed his sleeves back impatiently, well above his elbows.
"REst? Yae, I dare say I appreciate not having ter be up all night with ye groaning, messy men, all bloody after a battle."
Speaking lightly of such things was the best way to deal with it, he had found, though it didn't diffuse all the pity and sorrow he'd feel looking at those men.
"Of course, with them fights and such, many's the time I'm asked fer when I'd be halfway through falling asleep, or some such. i like a nice long sleep when I can get it."
And he was inclined to get up early as well, prefering that when he could over staying up till early and sleeping late.

[ooc- night!]

"The only groaning you woulld have now, is of men feeling their heads ready to bust with the pain that they were through only because of drink, eh?" The memory of the last battle, as that of those before it were still fresh in his mind. But if one stayed with it for too long, they could only suffer more and he did not intend to do so. Or hoped he would not, at least.

A swallow had come to inspect the oddity stretching out at the roof, he hopped close to him a couple of times, tilted his head a bit, sideways. Uttered a soft sound and then broke of again to fly.

"Och, ye silly wee thing, I willna..."Rob watched it fly away in disappointment, feeling in his pockets for a morsel or two to tempt them closer.

"I'd say tis the more normal groaning, aye." he raised his voice to be heard clearly without him having to stir. "Many I willna offer their groanings any more than a bucket of cold water and a pungent drink. I don't like giving sympathy."
He didn't mention that often the pungency of the drink did more than the harmless addiditves. No need to give away secrets

The bird returned, but a bit further away. It was watching Sinclair and the hand that was someplace about the pocket now. The little thing was smart and must've figured at least, that a hand in a pocket could mean food. Not that it would be given it, but however.. when a man ate they never could eat all the crumbs and all of their food. And the later the bird could find and eat on its own terms.

"A bucket of cold water? That is rather cruel, sir." Willoughby might've just gained another reason not to drink. Not that they bathed in any warmer water, being soldiers, but being in a poor state already, and then being shocked by such a dunking, did sound just as unpleasant. "You do not give symapthy for the drunk, sir?"

"When they need it, only." Rob wasn't the most sympathetic of men anyway, or so he told himself.
SLowly he retreived a crumbled bit of bread, scattering it gently a foot or so away and lying back still, watching.

"T'drunk tend ter put too many in danger fer it ter warrent me sympathy" he expounded, lest Willoughby think he was being heartless for the sake of it only.

"I would assume so." He studied Sinclair. "Have you much drunk yourself, or yet to the point of senselessness?" He asked and looked up, seeing the little bird, hop uncertainly in its spot before it made a tentative hop forward. With another one in tow, picked the crumb and quickly jumped back to eat it. When the bird finished it braved itself to move a bit closer again, picked a grain, hopped back less than before, and observed Sinclair with curiosity.

Keeping his body still, Rob considered the question, wondering how far gone he'd have to be to be labelled 'drunk'.

"Not ter senslesness." he began quietly, eyeing the growing gathering of birds and having a sudden image of being pecked to death by impatient members fo the flock. "Nor as drunk as I see many here, or back home, but I wouldna say I abstain."

Carefully he fished round for the last handfull of crumbs and scattered them slowly and deliberately, causing only one or two skittish birds to hop back, before accepting the gift. "Especially when I was younger though, little more'n a lad, I would get a tad tipsy."

"You shall bribe them yet." He observed the birds that bit by bit inched closer, till they were so that they escaped from his vision, but were still quite obviously clear in Sinclair's. He turned and moved the cart one up, again filling it with what was left of the merry horses.

"Do you find yourself drinking less now if and because you are a surgeon?" He asked his voice a bit strained, as he just had a shovel in both his hands, dunking its contents into the wooden 'container'.

Sinclair observed the birds for a little longer, thinking it over. "Well, I suppose so, in a way...I canna drinka fore any battle, fer instance, like I ken many men do, or I willna. I find it makes t'patients less likely ter do as I say...or ter even come and find me, which means I'm less likely ter get paid." It sounded crass, maybe, but every man needed money, and it was easier to explain in light of that than try and add that he enjoyed having people to poke around, to make them better. Most of the time, anyway.

Idly he reached out a hand, murmering to the closest bird, "COme here, now...ye silly wee thing..."

The little bird hopped closer. It was the only one braving up, the rest watching almost as if waiting to see what would happen to it. Another slowly started hopping closer, debating whether food was better than danger it might was at the time.

Willoughby nodded to the answer and smiled: "Pay, what are you payed by, how many live, sir?" He didn't mean for the question to be straying into the more somber waters, and hadn't really thought before he spoke.

"sOmething like that." Sinclair laughed, "Though if they're dead, I still charge them fer medicine...and time." He'd kept his laugh quiet enough, he thought, but not surprisingly the sparrow had paused in it's exploration of his arm.
The little bird pecked at the crumb dust sticking to his fingers and decided there were a few peices it couldn't reach without hopping onto his arm, which it did forthwith.
Sinclair tried not to change how he had been acting before- not moving, but not frozen either- kowing any change would likely frighten them all off for that day.

"cna ye see this, laddie?" he called down, not sure if his hand wasn't too far from the edge to be made out.

"Yet, if they are dead, have you not been unsuccessful at what you were meant to do, why then collect the fee?" He turned, when he was called and saw in great surprise, the bird standing atop Sinclair's palm.

"I should commend you, you've tamed one.. quite smoothly." He spoke, hiding some, yet not all of his surprise. "Or atleast.. you have earned its trust, if I am to use the correct description of it." He smiled. "And now, sir?"

"Just because I'm unsuccesful, I still will have ter replace t'things somehow, will I not?" ANd though it rankled to loose patients, espeically when they ahd been going so well, then relapsed for no reason, he still had to recoup the loss as best he could.
"Sadly, fer all involved." he added a little whimsically, staring down at the small creatur sitting on his arm./

"Mebbe not trust, but I think it's suspicion is lessening."

"Ah, I haven't thought of it that way, and you must be right." Of course it wasn't as if Sinclair had picked the dead and charged them, but rather those who were alive, had been treated, but hadn't made it in the end. A sad thing.

The little bird was joined only by one more, who hopped about the hand nervously, jumped of Sinclair's palm, returned to it again and repeated the jump as if not trusting the hand itself. It had frightened the other bird, which flew off the palm, and made a few sounds in response. The little nervous bird, stole a few crumbs more and moved away.

The one who had been frightened and chased away, then slowly returned, chirping just as it landed on the palm, more boldly then.

Queitly Rob kept murmering to them, his voice a sing- song version of one of his favoured lullabies. He wasn't planning on doing anything to them, unneeding the meat enough to betray a small creatures trust.

"aye, ye wee thing..." it looked up at him with a beady eye, then hopped up his arm a little, and he pressed his lips together as the little claws pushed into his tender scars there.

"Sadly," he called down to Willoughby, mroe to distract himself than anything, "I canna merely do as t'families see is t'best fer them, or t'most sympathetic. Else I'd be in a sorry state meself."

"We do need a surgeon with supplies to aid those others that are injured. Without it, you would have been unable to save many more a life, sir. " He hesitated and pulled the cart a stall forward again.

"Atleast, I should think so."

A squabble broke out atop Sinclair's hand. Once the birds were learning that the man posed no danger to them, food came into the foreground. Arguments over it included.

"What do you have up there, sir? Have you arranged yourself a private cock fight?" He chuckled. "Or rather.. a lil' bird's?"

"Oh, of course I have, laddie. Can think of nothing better ter do with meself."
he smiled, "Why should I get a cock-fight a going where everyone can see it, and I can share?"

He had to brace himself suddenly as three sparrows, working together, darted towards his pocket, "If tis a cock fight, then mayhap I'm t'loosing one- they seem ter have decided I'm worth nowt but fer food."

"Be careful then, sir. Or at least, try not to fall." He observed the surgeon for a few moments and shook his head. Those little birds could be rather terrible. Being so small, they could easily avoid a hand thrown at them, and as easy attack and take flight. Atleast in Timothy's opinion.

"Would you like that I set my cart under where you lie.. so that if you do fall, you shall land on something soft." Not to mention smelly, but he hadn't yet the fresh hay to bring and much of that would be prepared and attached to the front of their saddles for when they would leave the town.

Rob grimaced as another two decided pecking his arm might help. "Och ye blasted wee things...I've little enough left." He grinned as he suggested instead they go to badger a certain person nearby. Sadly they didn't take his advice and he relinquished his lunch- a hunk of bread and a biscuit.

"Nay, though thankee fer yer kindly offer." he peered over to fix Willoughby with his eye, "I would be a getting ye ter do t'washing, laddie." he added.