Wedding Bells in Oporto

Flowers. Newbury frowned a moment, thinking. " 'Bout long d'you have for lookin'?" He asked.

"Mebbe half-an-hour. Dunno how long them women are goin' to be. I've got an idea where to look, though." The problem was persuading the owners to let him have one or two roses from the bush, that was all.

Half an hour. That should be enough time.

"I got... gotta fetch somethin' from the baggage," Newbury said, hoping he could find what he needed and return, without being late. "Won't be long."

And off he went, privately chastising himself for not thinking of this sooner.

Cotton blinked as Newbury vanished out of the door, then shook his head and went off in search of flowers.

There was a house with a rose-bush in an urn outside. Either it was an early bloomer, or it was in a sheltered spot - or both - because it had flowers. He hesitated. The house was still dark and the front door was still closed. He just wanted two... a bud beginning to open and a full flower.

He pulled out his knife and unfolded it. There was an opening flower there, low down, near the back, where it wouldn't be seen. He cut it, careful not to damage the stem or the parent plant, before moving to look for another.

He didn't want one that was beginning to shatter, but a nice flower in bloom. There was one a little higher up and nearer the front. It would have to do. He cut that as well, and found a coin to leave on the doorstep of the house, hoping that would make up for it.

The orange blossom wasn't such a problem; the tree was growing in the corner of the small square, looking forlorn and straggly, as though it had taken root from a dropped pip. He found a nice-looking spray of flowers, with leaves on, and cut that, again being careful not to damage the parent tree.

His foraging successful, he returned to the house, where Martha met him with a cup of tea, taking his offering in exchange.

Pye had been gone for a while though his disappearance had a reason and a goal. He'd run for the most part when he begun his search for what he had meant to retrieve. The town itself was combed through as the lad hurried to find, and if finding, to collect his own gift meant for the soon to be married couple.

Having discovered it, and having retrieved it in ways one would probably not learn, certainly not from the lad, he was hurrying back in hopes he was neither too late, nor bringing something that might've been gotten or else would not have been needed.

A return to the river showed him that the small clusters of blueish flowers that he'd seen earlier were gone, trampled down by the muleteers and camp followers with the baggage train. Damn it. He had to find something else. Newbury bit his lip and looked around, unwilling to return empty-handed after his hasty departure.

Wine. Of course. With a grin, he headed away from the river, looking for a tavern. After a short search, he found one and, after a confused exchange of gestures, he left with his prize. Wasn't much, considering, but this was a special occasion.

Cotton found himself sitting outside their billet, with a cup of tea in his hand, watching the slow creep of the sunlight as it lit up the houses. The houses reminded him a bit of the ones in Lisbon - all different colours and with bright terracotta tiles on the roofs. It was quite pretty, if you could ignore the state of the streets themselves.

He hadn't realised how much he'd missed the countryside until they'd marched away from Lisbon, and to find himself surrounded by walls and buildings again was somewhat depressing, although he couldn't get too depressed because of the thrill that ran through him every time he remembered that he was going to be married this morning.

Vickery could hear the merry sounding chatter of women's voices and decided it was high time he went downstairs to congratulate the bride. He took his shako and headed down the stairs, smiling as the women fell abruptly silent at his entrance.

"Don't mind me, ladies. I'm just passing through," he said and opened the door, nearly falling over Cotton who was sitting on the step. "Oops," he said. "Been sent to Coventry? What on earth have you done to deserve that?"

"Sir!" Cotton sprang to his feet, nearly knocking over the mug of tea he had set to cool. "Gettin' married, sir - it ain't good luck to see the bride afore the weddin'. Though I could hardly help it, really, sir. Not sleepin' in the same room an' all."

"Beg pardon, sir," said a couple of chattering women, squeezing out past the captain through the door. Cotton they ignored but headed down the street toward the square bearing armloads of cloth and an assortment of haberdashery. One of them was carrying the broom which was now decked with ribbons and a small sprig of Cotton's orange blossoms tucked into the bristles.

Cotton stared after them before bending to rescue his abandoned tea. "It was only s'posed to be quick-like, sir," he said, which made Vickery chuckle. "It's a big day for Maggie," he said. "It isn't every day a girll gets married, after all - or a man, either, for that matter."

Sarah Palmer poked her head out the door. "It's almost time, Gabe. Will you go on ahead?"

Cotton gaped at her and looked at Vickery in a sudden panic. What on earth was he thinking, getting married today - right now - when they were going to march in a bit, and chances were good he wouldn't see Maggie for a couple of days afterwards?

Vickery folded his arms. "Don't go backing out of it now, Gabriel Cotton," he said.

Cotton hastily swallowed the rest of his tea, nearly spilling some down himself and grabbed for his forage hat. "Hey - me shako's in there," he said, and Vickery laughed, disappearing inside and coming back out with it, making Cotton blink at him in disbelief.

"Oh, dammit. Joe Newbury's got me decent trousers an' I wanted to wear them, not these old things," he said, glancing down at himself, suddenly.

Zeb Palmer now appeared at the doorway, adjusting his own shako. "Best to run while you can, Gabe. It ain't easy being married," and he grunted as Sarah gave him a shove. "Oh, didn't see you there, missy," he laughed before kissing her.

Cotton laughed. "Well, I'll just have to hope Joe gets back here soon then, won't I?" he said. "Else I will be marryin' her wearin' these - which she prob'ly won't like all that much, really, not if that broom was anythin' to go by."

The streets were filled up with followers and townspeople and who knew what else. Newbury was bulling his way through the crowds as best he could, but it was slow going. He was going to be late and that was unforgivable. Or maybe not. A donkey hauling a cart was trundling along past him, going mostly in the same direction. Perfect.

Once he was past most of the congestion, he broke into a run, determined not to be delayed any longer.

"Sorry I took so long," he burst out when he finally reached the billet again. "Ain't missed anythin', have I?"

"No, not yet," Cotton replied, turning to see Newbury. "You don't want to go doin' that sort of thing, you'll make your side worse," he added, and then frowned. "Hate to ask it, but you've got me best trousers that I lent you the other day. Any chance I could have 'em back to get married in? It'd beat wearin' these old things, after all."

"Devil take my side," Newbury said, grinning with relief. "Oh! 'Course you can. I got me own pair sewed up an' fixed anyway. This'll be for you an' Miss Evans too," he added, holding out the bottle.

Cotton took the offered bottle. "Thanks, Joe," he said. "Think the best thing to do would be nip up to the Captain's room an' change there - don't think he'll be back for a little bit, anyhow."

Right. He grabbed up his pack and headed off, still grinning. Wasn't this a different way to spend the last hours before a march?

OOC - If I've assumed wrong, let me know and I'll edit.

Cotton followed Newbury inside. He studiously ignored the women across the room as he led the way up the stairs. It was hard not to look over and see how Maggie was doing, but he had other things to do right now.

Once in the Captain's room, which was thankfully empty, he hastily stripped off his gaiters and shoes, giving Newbury time to retrieve his best trousers.

Damn. He'd forgotten a couple buttons. No time to worry over it now, though. Newbury was quick to skin out of the trousers he'd been wearing, in exchange for his own pair.

"You can be keepin' them, now," he teased. "I ain't plannin' to lose no more buttons off mine."

There. He wasn't late, he hoped. Getting lost while one was running back for the billet was unforgivable! Taking a few wrong turns left him asking and looking rather red in the face, embarrassed and even more lost. The The Portuguese did attempt to explain the directions, once they understood where he even meant to go, but it was no use and twice he'd misunderstood himself.

When finally coming across Wilton, the man pretty much appeared to be his savour, sending him on his way in the right direction. Finally! There it was now, and he recognised the path, the houses and finally the billet which he left the riflemen in. He was still breathing heavily as he knocked at the door, holding the parcel in his hands. Wilton teased him about it. He frowned. "..please, let it not be too late!" He murmured to the door.

"Don't reckon anyone plans on losin' buttons," Cotton said, quickly stripping off his raggedy workaday trousers and pulling on the ones Newbury handed him before slipping his shoes back on and buttoning his gaiters over them. "When you'm ready, mate," he said, picking up his shako and frowning at it. "Don't think this thing could get much more bashed, could it?" he said, trying to bash it back into shape, and mostly failing.

"I don't, anyhow," he agreed. Or not if he could help it. "I'd offer my shako, but it looks worse'n yours."

"No idea how it stays on your head," Cotton remarked cheerfully. "C'mon, else they'll think I've gone and got lost." He settled his shako on more firmly and headed for the door.