24th May, Morning - Deck

"Oh, he kept a girl in the cable tiers for a bit, an' went fishin' for the captain's dinner, or summat like that, I ain't too clear of quite why. Though the cap'n of his ship - he was a middy at the time - turned him afore the mast an' kept him there for six months afore he re-rated him."

He nodded at de Guarde's words. "It'd be hard not believe you, 'nless you was real good at actin'. Ain't nobody that good, that I know of. An' if you ain't tellin' me the truth, I'll string you up to the mainyard by your toes." He spoke lightly, teasingly.

"Wanted ter impress the lass?" He tapped his fingers against Thompson's before he adjusted his hold on them. It was more comfortable for both and certainly didn't squeeze nor have any nails in the way. "See, always said lasses were trouble! They only humiliate yer, or get you ter do foolish things, n' then it's not them payin' fer it at all! It's always you, n' some even fight duels over them and then they die. Fer what?.. fer sum'one who's all annoyin' anyway, n' a terrible pit fer your earnings." He nodded firmly. "..he'd have done better not goin' places or havin' that lass around at all.

With all that preaching over, he chuckled at George's threat. " By me toes? THat's cruel! " He squeezed his hand gently. ".. I wouldn't lie ter you though. Don't see wot' good it would bring, 'cept you'd not be m' friend no more, n' you wouldn't want ter talk t' me.. and everything. Now that's all bad though, ain't it!"

Thompson grinned. "I allus knew you was a sensible lad," he said. "The lasses ain't that bad, not if you don't try smugglin' them aboard the ship, anyhow, which you wouldn't."

He shrugged. "It's just summat that he done, 'cause he was young at the time. But what I wanted to say was, he's a captain now. His own captain waited a bit, an' he learned his lesson an' showed he was a good Tar, so he got re-rated."

"Or he learnt ter hide t' lass better so t' captain never found her again." He mused glancing up along the rigging and right at the mast and the people that were there, so few but existent. "Jus' I would never want one on t' ship. Don't see a point in them.. Either they'um cold... or they'um jus' annoying." Though the girl which served them drink the other night had made him blush as red as Thompson's coat. He couldn't say that it wasn't in the slightest embarrassing.

"Six months.. though, that's such an awful long time. Is' like half a life time fer me!" He nodded, for everything that wasn't pleasant, looked so much longer to a lad, such as he.

"No, it's only half a year. It ain't so much - if it's that long, you'll be a middy again afore Christmas, easy. An' girls ain't so annoyin'. Mebbe you'll find that out for yourself, time you'm my age."

He poked at the lock. "Think that's near done. Hold the oil bottle for me - you can put the lock down first of course. I need to put the cork back, is all."

He smiled at the boy. "Think of it diff'rent. Just take one day at a time an' see what happens on that day. Don't go thinkin' you've got to impress folks or anythin'. Just learn all the stuff a sailor needs an'... an' think like a Tar. I mean, learn everythin' an' look at what you'd need to know to... to be made captain of the foretop, or summat. 'Stead of goin' all the way back up to middy. That way it'll be even better when they do make you back up, if you see what I mean."

The lock was carefully placed to his left, making sure that it wouldn't fall or slip. He reached for the oil bottle and curled his fingers around it, holding it infront of the marine so that the man would have an easier time placing the cork in it.

" I'll be old as earth till then, by Christmas. Might even forget how yer give orders." He spoke and sounded rather sulky. Everything lasted so long for him. Though perhaps he wouldn't be as willing to complain if not for having Claggart, the mean character on board. There were things he could stand even in the slops he wore. Atleast he had a shirt that belonged to his best rig, or so he decided it would. The gift from the marine.

He didn't know about them girls, not that he wasn't almost like any boy of his age. "You jus' think so.. but there ain't an appeal in them. N' children are jus' wot' parents want, but they have me elder brother so.." His smile broadened. "I've no obligations that'away!"

"Cap'n of the foretop." He mused, though as much as he looked like he did not take the suggestion seriously, he considered it. He could attempt to strive and be better in where he was stationed. It would take his mind off of things, it might even be enjoyable and if there was success, he could not have anyone use his breeding as an excuse. It would be all his doing. Though, perhaps it would be too hard to do too. It was much easier to just sit back and do just as much as he was asked of. "Maybe, but wot' do I have ter do to earn that? Ain't like climbin' fast is enough. " He murmured. Earning a rank was much different than having it granted.

"...oh, George, we need ter continue yer lessons. You know I promised yer." He nodded sharply. "N' there's more writin' material to be had. Did yer see any in t' town?" He looked for it himself but found little to none.

"Y'need to learn an' do more than the... the smallest bit possible. It's hard work, mebbe, but it'll be worth it. An' that's what I think the officers'll be lookin' for the most - that you'm properly gettin' involved with stuff not just doin' whatever you c'n get away with." He slipped the cork into the bottle and pushed it in firmly, making sure it wouldn't leak oil everywhere.

"I didn't see anythin' like the sort of place you said, only I wasn't e-zackly lookin' for that sort of shop," he said, reaching for the musket so he could put the lock back on it.

De Guarde shifted the hold on the bottle, which he placed on the floor beside him, for the lock he had earlier lay down and lifted it up for the marine to take.

"Well, I've got summat more still in me chest. Ink too. Jus' I'd rather to get more sooner than I am to run out of it. Perhaps if t' captain lets me go on shore leave today, I could look."

He glanced at the marine. "..I'll try to do my best, but I am not physically able, you know that. I'm... still not as strong, nor tall as them others. I'm not addapted to stand in t' rigging for long with bare feet I think. I do like ter climb, n' that I do well, I think. But I've lackin' t' muscle, i'm lackin'..." He frowned. He felt now that he lacked so many things to ever reach more than an able Seaman's position, that he was thinking right the opposite from how full of himself he was when a midshipman. Perhaps the fact that for the one he needn't try as hard, but now he had to prove himself before he was ever to perhaps earn it, was to blame for it.

"..Wot' were you lookin' fer, I mean...before you found t' same tavern I happened ter eh.. go into?" He said the last part very quietly, not wanting any uninvited ears to pick up on it.

"We'd had a fight in another tavern, an' had to leg it quick-sharp," he said. "Just wiggle that into place, will you, please, so's I can put this back together the way it should be?" He wouldn't have minded if he'd been able to find a brothel, but as it happened, things had turned out differently, and who knew when he'd get to go ashore again? "You's a good lad, you'll be all right, you know," he said reassuringly.

"A fight? Was it that, why the provosts were there? Lookin' fer you lot and after Chase.. gave a full broadside of muck, lookin' for any bloody Tar that dared thread the dry ground of the land?" He asked wondering about the late evening. He remembered well and was surprised how he had not gotten so drunk that he would endanger either himself or his friends. He was of course not fully sober, not till before they were to board again.

He wiggled the lock onto the musket, placing it down so as he thought was most proper. He remembered seeing it there in just the position anyway. " Thanks.. George. I hope your words are heard by the one that might make them true." He smiled. "There, is that a'right?"

"Aye, they come lookin' for the folks who was involved in it. Dunno if they got the soldiers, but they didn't get us." He grinned, remembering Chase's parting shot.

"Aye, that's right. Just hold it there while I put the crews back in an' tighten 'em up, would you, please?" he said, reaching for the screwdriver.

"Things'll work out lad, they will."

"I will. You borrowed me hand, remember. Can't do else but hold onto that." He felt as if he was learning about the weapon more than he could, were he just an observer. It was interesting to say the least, and it had gotten his nerves calmed, his thoughts straying from that of the captain.

"What was the fight you had about? Not a pretty lass from a tavern, I hope." He shifted a tad bit closer as his cheeks coloured a little. He remembered that girl from the tavern and how she had made him feel quite a stuttering fool.

Thompson grinned. "Thought it was you as borrowed my hand," he said, slipping the screws into place. "Oh, no, it weren't no lass. There was a bunch of sailors an' they started makin' fun of us. Couldn't have that, could we?" he said and began tightening the screws, turning each one a little before tightening the other.

"I thought you liked that girl who served us," he said, finally putting the screwdriver down for a moment to fish in his pocket for a new flint.

"Well you borrowed mine, I borrowed yours, it's a fair trade that we've done and as yours needs do what I want it, mine does the same but what you do." He listened attentively and found himself agreeing to the marine. Yes, if they had spoken ill of the Terpsyies , to have their heads punched in was the least they could have done.

He kept a firm hold on the lock, but kept it so that his fingers were not in the way of the marine.

It didn't help that he was asked just about that girl! He blushed again, a darker red this time, and found that his cheeks somewhat resembled the marine's. "She leaned down so!" He complained and looked quite embarrassed. "She's been practically...right there.. I could 'eel 'er breath!" He shook his head sharply. "Was I to turn me head a bit wrong and I'd be bumpin' right..." He squirmed a little and dropped his gaze. "Don't you laugh!" He warned.

"Whatever. Now, hold the musket steady while I unscrew the flint, will you? That's as useless as anythin' I've ever seen afore. Can't think why it didn't get changed the last time I cleaned her."

He grinned. "Barmaids do that, a lot of 'em. See, some of 'em can earn a bit extra on their backs like, if you want 'em to do that sort of thing for you. Some of 'em just tease, though."

"Why do you think it's a bad flint?" He looked at the one, only remembering then that a flint needed to make a good spark, as Sergeant Quinn had told him before and if it was a bad sort or broken, it couldn't, not really. Without a spark though the musket was as useless as a club at a great distance of two ships apart.

He held onto the musket, tight and firm. He did not let it shift or slide from his hand, while Thompson did his work on it. He blinked as Thompson continued. "Earn their money on their backs. ..How can they.. that?" He thought he had an idea, but then decided that his mind was crude and thinking improperly and very ungentlemanly and so waited instead for the marine to explain.

He put the new flint next to the old one still in the musket. "See the edge on this, an' the edge on the one in the doghead, lad? That's the sort of edge you need on a flint, nice an' sharp. Should make a good spark, that. I'd be lucky to get one shot with the old flint, let alone more."

He put the new flint down, out of the way, and pulled the old one out before fitting the new one and reaching for the screwdriver again. "Can you hold that steady for us, Mathew?" he said. "It needs to be straight while I screw it down."

He started tightening the screw. "Make a livin'... I mean, lad, some of 'em might be whores. Or at least, that's how it is at home, where I come from."

"Sharp edge, I see." He held it again as he was ordered, adjusting his grip so it would be a proper sort. It was strange to work with one hand and help another actually almost as if he were missing his. But it was a fine way to learn not only about the musket and how to assemble and disassemble it, but rather also of team work. This only worked - if they both had only one hand for real - with each doing their part.

"Whores?" As he thought back on how she leaned over when placing a mug before him, how revealing she was, his cheeks coloured even darker and he nearly dropped the musket. "...You mean'um.." He began, and the more he thought of that suggestion being the case, the more it seemed to embarrass him.

"Oh no, she didn't right... that. She ..thought I would..?"

"Thanks," he said, tightening the screw to grip the new flint firmly. "Careful with that, lad."

He smiled, still looking down at the musket. "Some of 'em do, aye. Some of 'em just do that to tease, though. If we hadn't bin interrupted, someone would've gone with her, even if it warn't one of us." He shrugged. "Ain't nothin' to be 'shamed of, lad. We all had that sort of... of feelin', once."

"Jus' once?" He regretted saying it and bowed his head. The musket was nearly ready, the flint replaced with a good sort, which would serve to make sparks, more than one single time. It was rather peaceful, still being in port. Their everyday routine was changed a bit, and there were men as the other day, who left the ship to enjoy some of their time on land. There were some rumours and chattering about what had happened the other day, though he knew the truth now. There wasn't no great battle where the French were defeated in having been drunk under the table, nor did the provosts hang half a crew of another ship for fighting, neither were they rolled in dung or chased about by any sort of cow or a similar matter.

He smiled. He hadn't even had time to hear half of them, though he was sure that come another few hours and he might learn that imagination indeed had nothing to stop it taking wing.

"..You'um... gone with many lasses?" He fidgeted a little, and it was only the musket and having to hold it firm and still, that prevented him from doing worse.

"Well, some lads get embarrassed more easily than others do, but it's summat you get over." He shrugged. "Bin with a number, aye. Warn't much older'n you when I did it for the first time." He reached over to ruffle the lad's hair - as much as he could do without messing his queue up. "You'm, what, fourteen? Plenty o' time to learn about all that sort of thing later, Mathew."

"I will be... fifteen soon." He protested, glad that the heat of his cheeks was slowly subsiding. It meant that the colour too was disappearing from his skin, and that uncomfortable feeling would be gone soon. He only needed to keep his head level and try to stop any attempts of his mind, to recall the previous evening and all its joys as well as other.

He raised his hand to his hair, and patted it across the strands to set them as straight as he had them earlier. He humphed and huffed before regained the hold of Thompson's hand. More automatically that was, rather than knowingly.

" How...how did yer do it?" He chewed at his lip, thinking it a most inappropriate question to give, but all too curious to listen to the voice of reason and perhaps willing to make Thompson feel uncomfortable himself. He thought that such a question could provoke such a thing, though then realised it could as well not have.

"How did I do...? Oh. That's what your prick's for, Mathew, lad," he said, slightly bemused at the way his hand was grabbed again. He pulled out his tin of brick-dust and a damp cloth. "Need to polish the brasswork on her, that's what this's for, lad," he said, opening the tin.

"...aye.." He mouthed. "Me prick." He added offhandedly and averted his gaze to the tin. He adjusted the grip on the musket a little, growing silent as he observed the tin being opened and the brick dust revealed. He didn't know the cloth was damp, but could suspect that it was, the way it looked heavy and a bit darker than he was used to seeing that sort of cloth.

It was a lot of work and time, spent in preparing a musket for use and keeping it in a good state. It wasn't just, picking one up when it was needed and then dropping it back down when the firing ended. No, there was the sort of polishing and pampering that was a bit like what some men would do with women, probably. Though unlike the women, muskets were there, every day.

"Here, turn it on the side so's I can get to the brass plate, there," he said, indicating the brass plate the screws went through to hold the lock on. "Lot of work, keepin' smart," he said, catching sight of the lad's glance. "It ain't just the musket we use this stuff on, neither. Any brass at all - me crossbelt plate you've seen, but there's me shoe buckles, the brass on me bay'nit scabbard an' all the buttons to be kep' nice."