Libertymen Ashore, 23rd May, Oporto

Dyer had gotten himself into a bad spot - predictably - and Taylor was having trouble wading through the wall of redcoats to get to his mate and help him. For his part, Chase was busy knocking a soldier sideways across a table. Preddie was somewhere close by, swinging a chair leg vengefully.

They had all forgotten about Shepherd, who had been hanging back from the fight to cheer his mates on. That was until he saw Dyer was in trouble. Owing to his smaller size, he found it easier to slip between the brawlers and he did just that, grabbing an empty tankard off the floor as he went. One of the soldiers keeping Dyer hemmed in went down abruptly, courtesy of a hard-swung tankard to the ear.

The Terpsies were holding their own, at least. They were all mostly sober - they'd only had one drink each before the fight, whereas the soldiers they were brawling with were likely seeing double. One of them was definitely seeing double, the way he was swinging his arms like the sails of a windmill. Thompson scooped a tankard off the table and rammed it into the side of the man's head. He went down, hard.

There was a crash as a table gave way as a redcoat was shoved or thrown onto it, which just made the others roar, spitting threats and curses. The barmaid was behind the bar, shouting incomprehensible threats and curses in Portuguese.

"At 'em, lads!" Dyer thundered, driving his knee up into one soldier's groin. He was free from the pack of soldiers thanks to Shepherd's help and the two were now working in concert to clear a path back toward the others.

Chase put his elbow into a redcoat's gut and spun aruond on his toes. There was a flash of red just ahead of him. With a holler, he leapt up onto the man's back and bore him quickly down to the floor, punching and kicking the whole way. Now this was how liberty runs were supposed to go!

Thompson got an elbow or something in the side and had to duck sideways as a blue-clad arm swung at him. "TERPSY!" he bellowed, kicking at the back of a pair of white-trousered legs, whose owner seemed intent on thumping Taylor. The redcoat went down, helped by a thump to the back of his head.

Oh, oops. He had swung at Thompson, apparently. Chase grimaced but pressed on, stepping pointedly on a downed soldier's face on his way toward a redcoat that was wrestling with Preddie for the chair leg.

There was a high, piercing whistle from somewhere near the door, then somebody yelled "Provosts!"

Almost instantly, which was surprising given how badly some of the soldiers had been stumbling around - the redcoats pushed off their opponents and swarmed for the door.

"Wha'll bha'," Dyer asked, holding one hand to his nose in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. Chase grabbed his jacket and dragged him toward the back of the tavern.

"Terpsies to me!" The topman thundered.

Thompson nearly overbalanced as he swung at a soldier who suddenly twisted away towards the door. It was comical how they tried to push out three abreast, though doing so was just slowing them down.

Thompson's head was ringing, and he had a cut lip, but he didn't think he was in as bad a state as Dyer, who had blood pouring from his nose.

He let his erstwhile punchbag make a break for the door and regrouped with the sailors, looking around the ruin of the taproom as he did.

Oh. That was bad. Very bad. There was a broken table, several broken chairs and more than a few tankards and things lying on the floor. One soldier slid drunkenly down the wall to end up sitting propped against one half of the shattered table.

"C'mon lads, let's get outta here," Chase urged, pushing Dyer toward the back door. "Out, out, go - bloody hell."

Some of the soldiers were being driven back by grim-faced men carrying rattan canes. Preddie shoved at Taylor, trying to hurry him out the door.

"Masters-at-arms!" Preddie cried, which helped stir the others back into motion.

Thompson had bad memories of men - one man, anyway - in a red coat who wielded a cane. At least Preddie's cry got them moving a bit quicker, which was something.

But with the soldiers trying to escape from the front door, into the Provosts' path, that meant - hopefully! - that the Naval men (and the Marine) could get out the back door and away safely.

Hopefully...

Thompson winced as he saw a discarded tarred hat on the floor. He scooped it up hurriedly, There was no need to leave any clues to their identity behind, after all, and a hat-ribbon with Terpsy's name on would be horribly effective at doing that.

Dyer stopped suddenly, despite being outside already and halfway on the path to a safe getaway. "Py fhat!" He said, despite a heavy trickle of blood over his lips. Chase shoved him along.

"Forget it! Run!" The topman stopped an instant and grabbed for Shepherd, who was straggling. "C'mon lad!"

He swept the boy up under one arm, despite the drummer's protests, and dashed off down the narrow alley after the others. What a time!

Thompson was bringing up the rear, half-glad that his red coat was identical to those of the soldiers. Which meant, that if they got away, the Provosts would hopefully not be looking for a Naval party on a shore run.

He managed a half-grin at the sight of Shepherd tucked under Chase's arm, protesting for all he was worth.

"Dyer! Hat!" he said, as soon as they were out of sight, holding the item out. "Chase! Put him down. Straighten yourselves up, lads. We're out on a shore run, we ain't bin anywhere near no brawl, and Dyer, shame someone opened a door in your face."

Chase did as he was bid, while Dyer gratefully accepted his hat back. They were a slightly-ragged lot now, Chase thought as he looked the group over. But, he supposed, what else would soldiers expect from a bunch of sailors? Thompson had the right idea, for sure.

"Use your neckcloth, Chicken," Chase said, taking care to stay out of Dyer's reach.

Shepherd looked up from a careful study of his hand. "That was fun!"

"C'mon, lads, straighten yourselves up. Make yourselves look like you've just got off the boat to go on the ran-tan." He pulled his own hat off and straightened the plume. "Might help if we split up, too, though. Remember, we ain't bin in a fight, we ain't bin anywhere near a fight... We just heard summat that might've been one."

The Tars brushed themselves off, between wary glances behind them to check for any pursuit. Chase pulled his hat off and grimaced at the sight of stains of something damp on it.

"Sounds square," he said, giving his hat a brisk shake before putting it back on, though now with the chinstrap again tucked away. "Preddie, you an' me'll stay with Dyer. Taylor oughta go with Thompson an' help keep Shepherd outta trouble."

"That'll keep they old sods of our backs, right 'nough," Thompson said, pulling his crossbelt straight. He grinned. "Dunno what you Tars'd do without me to keep you right, though."

He stiffened, thinking he heard footsteps approaching. "Right, out the other end, split up an' act like normal."

Chase grinned. "It'd be a fair bit more trouble, I think! Anyway, c'mon lads. Maybe we can find some Defiances an' get 'em back for tryin' to push in on our wine casks!"

The two groups split and meandered off, taking care to go separate directions once they reached the end of the alley.

Thompson went with Taylor and Shepherd, heading left as they came out of the alleyway. He hummed a few bars of 'The Rochester Recruit' and glanced at Taylor. "What say we find another tavern and get ourselves a drink after that bit of fun?"

The carpenter's mate grinned. "That'd suit right nice, sure. C'mon, Sticks. You ain't had a proper run ashore 'til you gone 'round with us Tars!"

Slinking away when the Tars have landed looked a great deal easier than the getting into the boat without any proper notice. There was no way that he'd stay behind aboard the Terpsy though. Not with the promise of some time on land, and a prospect of long months back out at sea.

He'd been one of those few who had left the Teprsies in search of, well it was rum and drink on his part, and something much less Tar centered. Seeing the shops he found little of the desired and turned for the first tavern come into view, his hat standing big atop his head.

A jolly sort of tune was coming from it amidst all the laughter and much shouting. He'd passed the other one that seemed to have had a brawl of some sorts if the provosts and the men trying to flee out the front was anything to judge by. Nothing out of the ordinary, a brawl. Not with so much drink at stake!

He grinned, whistling to himself. Ah, he had money enough, and the new found freedom seemed to go to his head already. Cheekily he thrust his foot infront of himself when a drunken soldier passed and saw him sprawl with a heavy grunt. Well perhaps it wasn't the kindest thing, but it meant a full belly of laughter for a good few minutes.

Pushing the door open to the tavern he'd chosen, perhaps a bear or some other creature drawn on the wooden plaque, he entered. The smell of alcohol was thick in there, so was the smell of sweat. Ignoring that and a few aromas more that he deliberately left unrecognised he got to the bar.

"Rum.." He spoke looking at the pretty girl. She looked back at him before turning her back on the lad and serving three soldiers their own mugs of drink.

"that'un, wot they're 'aving." The youth spoke placing a few coins on the table. The girl did recognise the money, gave the youth another fleeting look before she placed a mug infront of him, scooping the coin of the table. That was better. A proper tavern for him, a proper place to be, and freedom if only for the moment being. How he got back to the ship was left to be decided later.

Thompson pushed open the door of the nearby tavern. "C'mon then, Taylor, and you, Shepherd. I ain't goin' to be the one to answer to Mister Cartwright if'n you don't get back to Terpsy in one piece, that's for sure."

He took his hat off and paused. The lad near the bar looked familiar. Very familiar.

"'nother 'un miss." De Guarde placed the empty mug back onto the table, careful not to tip it. It wasn't because he was afraid it would spill really being, that he had drunk it dry, it was just a slight bit harder to lay it down, when the table was as tall.

The girl waited a moment and shook her head murmuring something in her Portuguese tongue. It was all the same to the lad, but the sound of drink trickling into his mug was enough to keep him silent. "Thankee. You'um mos' good."

Some of the men took a glance at the new arrivals, but most returned to either women or their drink, and certainly the talk, bravado and the stories which were becoming bigger by the moment.

Thompson crossed to the bar, letting the others find a table while he ordered their drinks. The barmaid took his order, given the same way he'd ordered earlier, by requesting what the soldiers were drinking. At least these didn't seem to be the same regiment as those in the first tavern.

He turned to find where Taylor and Shepherd were sitting, and frowned. He had recognised that lad. "Hey, Buckles, why don't you come an' sit with us?" he said.

The boy blinked at Thompson, and took a step back. "I'um,.. ." At first he thought the marine was there on duty and his mind was already aflame with all the excuses of which none would've come to work. His face brightened the moment the words registered, if only a little.

"join'in?.. sure'um.. I.. yer lot is payin' fer the drinks then or what?" He tried to look innocent. "I had.. permission fer coming here you know." He said quietly, but looked as guiltily as if his hand had been found in a cookie jar.

"Sure you did," Thompson said, wondering just how much de Guarde had drunk already. "You've got a drink, an' we'm jus' goin' to pay for our own. We ain't payin' for yourn... though we might on the next round. Jus' don't drink so much you ain't goin' to be able to stand up tomorrer, right?"

"A'right." He hesitated and looked at the mug as if debating that perhaps if he were to drink it empty quickly, his next fill would be free and sooner than if he were to mull over the mug.

"They'um...not going ter be telling either?" He nodded in the direction of the Terpsy's men. It was still a habit to trust the marine's word as if it was law. But then, up till then the man was right about much that he said. Just like, he learned, the Tars were too. "Ain't drinkin' that much ever!" He stuck his nose up, and crossed his hands, nearly spilling some from his mug. "Tch!"

"I dunno, lad, I ain't asked 'em. But you know Sticks, don't you? An' Taylor." He grinned, sliding onto the bench across the table from the other two. "Don't think Sticks'd say anythin', but you'll have to ask Taylor for yourself."

He wondered how long it would be before their drinks came, and pulled a battered pack of cards from his pocket. "Anyone want a game?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked around the table.