24th May Afternoon - On Deck

Bush was standing watch on the quarterdeck, observing the activity below him. Everything looked to be in fine shape, exactly as he would have expected it to be. All the men were at their proper posts; nothing untoward was transpiring anywhere that he could see, which pleased him greatly. Captain Bolitho was in his cabin, and Bush did not want there to be any reason for him to be disturbed. All in all, things were perfectly sound, and Bush hoped that boded well for the duration of the afternoon.

Coming about and cutting a short corner, nearly running smack into one of the Tars the young former midshipman wished he had started running sooner. He had been late, not so late really, but it was late enough that he wished he could've taken atleast a few of those seconds back and had come much sooner.

And then there was something he needed to ask the lieutenant for. Something he knew could well end up in a strict no, even more so now, that he had not been the finest example of punctuality. He could only have hoped that his absence has not been noted. There were plenty of bodies enough that were about their work, and plenty more that had made any ship look as if chaos had reigned on it. Albeit, it was chaotic order, that would baffle an outside, but seemed perfectly fine to a man living on such a ship.

He bit his lip as he walked more steadily past the next body of men, and grabbing a bucket had carried it to the collection that was kneeling on deck, scrubbing at it with the stones, far less holy.

A movement out of the corner of his eye made Bush glance down just in time to catch sight of De Guarde picking up a bucket and heading towards the men who were holystoning the deck. The former midshipman's absence might have gone unnoticed had he snuck in at a moment when Bush's eyes were elsewhere. But now that he had seen the boy, Bush found his mood had suddenly soured. Everything had been going smoothly, but it seemed everytime De Guarde made his presence known, things went rapidly downhill.

Being that the boy was clearly late in returning to his duty, Bush knew it was his obligation to call him on it. Even so, he did not relish having any sort of conversation with De Guarde, even a chastizement.

"De Guarde," Bush snapped, "I would have a word with you."

De Guarde tensed at the sharp bark, that was the voice of their lieutenant and had many feel the chill when it was directed to them. He nearly spilled the water, so quickly he had stopped as his name had been called. Ripples were clear on the surface of the water that sloshed in the bucket. He was trembling. With a bite at his lip, so strong that it made blood rush to it and felt as if it would bruise, he placed the bucket down, turned quickly and replied. "Aye, aye sir!"

He hurried towards the lieutenant, hurried as the very ground under his bare feet had been aflame and he'd need to cross more of such ground before reaching the cool , wet sand. He saluted as sharply as he knew how, when he stood infront of the lieutenant, and kept his gaze rather trained on the third or fourth button of Bush's coat, than on his face. "Present, sir."

"I trust there must have been an urget matter to attend elsewhere which has caused you to be late in returning to duty," Bush said, frowning at the boy, "Would you care to enlighten me?"

He hoped De Guarde had a good excuse. Otherwise Bush was going to have to disturb Bolitho, and he knew the captain would not be pleased to learn that De Guarde would be the reason for the disruption.

"..I.." He felt as if he were drowning, for so thin seemed the air at that moment, and there at the corners of his vision he could nearly make out little dots that were multiplying rapidly. He took a few deep breaths and though he probably looked as pale as if he had seen a ghost he attempted to gather his wits about him. "....I..."

He stammered trying to form words, while his throat felt dry and his tongue as heavy as if it had weighed a ton."...I did... I was...tea.. teaching Private Thompson sir..., didn't mean to be late...but....but.. didn't think time.... was.. went so fast." He didn't hear the bells when he should've, though he wished place no blame on Thompson. "My fault sir. ...should've known better." He squinted his eyes.

Teaching Private Thompson? Bush cocked an eyebrow slightly. That was not at all what he had been expecting to hear. But was it true? As much as he wanted to doubt it, something told him that the boy was being truthful. If De Guarde really was telling the truth, Bush had half a mind to compliment him on being considerate to the Marine. But being that it was De Guarde, somehow Bush just could not bring himself to do so.

"Indeed? Well, I would ask that you plan your time more accordingly when next you decide to give Thompson a lesson."

"I will sir, I promise." The boy hurried to say. The arched eyebrow hadn't escaped him. Bush seemed to have doubts about his story, atleast at first, and Mathew found himself tugging nervously at his sleeve. But then the lieutenant, with his words confirmed, as vaguely as he could, that he even believed him.

De Guarde hadn't been afraid to be caught at a lie, as it weren't a lie, but that he would not even be believed when he spoke the truth. Almost expected it and then he felt quite pleasantly surprised when Bush indeed did different. It wasn't enough to have him smile and that too, a smile, could be misunderstood and turn a bad situation worse, but atleast the jerky tugging at his sleeve ceased.

If the lieutenant was pleased, then all would be well and if the lieutenant would continue to be upset, the boy felt that his life would have just taken a step closer to greater misery.

"I am going to, sir. Make sure that we are finished..early enough that I won't come.. come late. Or him of course. Won't have him come late either!" He spoke that in earnest though still fearfully, as it was Lieutenant Bush that he spoke with. The man he might've dreaded most on the ship for his strictness. "Sir... , sir may I ask something, please?"

It was one thing for De Guarde to promise to be punctual. It would be quite another to see if he would actually carry that promise out. Bush would simply believe it when he saw it.

He had been about to tell the boy to be about his business, but then De Guarde suddenly claimed he had something to ask. The lad had just been chastized for his tardiness, and now he had the gall to make a request. Bush's frown deepened. What praytell was the boy going to ask? Considering the source, he was rather hesitant to hear to what the question might be.

"You may," Bush said at last.

He gulped. His left hand went to the hem of his right and took a firm grip of the sleeve. It twisted a little, so that he felt the fabric constrict around his wrist. He balled the other hand up into a fist, and felt as his nails dug into the skin of his palm. His knees felt weak, and ready to buckle under his weight, and the weight of the lieutenant's gaze.

"I..." He searched his mind for the right words again. How by not doing anything even one single man could have the boy struggle so, was amazing, although it might've been that now Bush was a lieutenant still and he a Tar. Tar being the worst possible position. "..was wondering if..." He had to loosen the grip on the sleeve's fabric a bit, his hand was getting an odd color and felt like it was tingling a bit.

".. couse.. I's learning Thompson, I would.. really .. it would help if I could have m' tablet from m' chest... t' middy's chest. Just t' tablet n' chalk." He hurried to say. "T' be able t' write n' wipe..." It would have enabled him to spend less ink and paper and since he only had one quill, it would have also enabled them both to write at the same time without the need of having the pen exchanged every second moment.

For the second time in as many minutes De Guarde had surprised him. Bush had been expecting a foolish excuse for tardiness, and an equally foolish request, and on both counts he had been wrong. Clearly De Guarde really was teaching Thompson; otherwise why would he make such a request? Even if not, how much mischief could he get up to with his tablet and chalk anyway?

"Well, I suppose that can be arranged, provided that is all you take from the chest. But do not think this will become a regular occurence. You are an Able Seaman, De Guarde, not a midshipman. Do not expect that you may simply retrieve items from your midshipman's chest any time you wish."

"I understand, sir." The boy looked relieved and his hand released the fabric, which threatened to tear a little at the seam. "I won't ask for anything else, nor take anything more." Even if he would have wished to see his coat again, pull it over his shoulders , feel the fabric close around his wrists and know what authority that coat had, he knew it wouldn't be possible even when he was going to go and retrieve it.

He looked sad at the thought, sad at the emphasis of what station he was serving in. "..when.. may I go to retrieve it, sir?" He inquired, just to be sure that he would know of the exact time and place, and so would not miss out on it due to his own... tardiness. "..n'...n' thank you sir. For allowing me that. I am very grateful." His gratefulness probably did not mean anything to the lieutenant, he thought with another sigh, and rightfully so.

"You may be allowed to retrieve it the next time you are off-watch. Your duties as a seaman do not require the use of a tablet and chalk." Bush was not about to let De Guarde go now. It was not as though he needed the items in question immediately, and more to the point, there was no need for the boy to leave his station. "Now, if there is nothing else De Guarde, you may return to your work."

"Yes sir" He saluted sharply. "Thank you sir." He added and smiled. "Good day, sir!" He said as he was already half turned, and looked ready to skip a bit in merriment. He waited a moment and that quickened his step in the direction of the rest of the fellow tars.

"Hoi. Buckles," Chase called out, looking up from the patch of deck he was scrubbing. "Put the bucket down an' quit botherin' the first luff."

The grin on his face was meant to take any sting out of the rebuke.

De Guarde obliged with a small laugh. "Aww's you're killin' all t' fun. Ye are." He watched as a bit of water slushed over the edge of the bucket, having put it down a bit too quickly.

"Need any 'elp over there?" He asked innocent, glad he'd worn the pair of his slops that weren't his best. They had been the ones that Chase managed to left a hand's imprint on, and were already tainted in other places too. They didn't add to his appearance, unless he went for a ragged ol' Tar look.

Thompson had put de Guarde's things away tidily in the sea-chest he shared with Cob Chase before heading back to his own sea-chest, where he hastily pulled his jacket and equipment on. He wasn't due on watch just yet - not till two bells - but he'd had quite enough of being stuck down below decks where it was hardly light enough to see your own hand in front of your face.

He headed up the main companionway, reminding himself to be sure and head back below when Corporal Johnson or Sergeant Quinn was going to be sorting out the sentries for the next two hours.

"Not in particularly," Chase answered cheerfully. "Nearly done here anyways. So what's so 'portant that you're natterin' at the poor first luff for it?"

"Well two things. Wos' suggestin' it ter him, that you'd be ex'ellent as t' ship's cook.. n'all.. he agreed that you would. So after ye's cleaned this deck up,.." He waved his hand and burst into laughter. "..n' fer t' other.. getting m' things back.. or 'least two of 'em." He said that proudly, and unlike before, he was actually serious. "...fer writin'. A tablet. He said I may. Tablet n' chalk."

He studied the spot that Chase was holystoning critically. "..You sure you don't need no help?..you's missin' a spot there.. n' it's the size of t' Spanish fleet, it is!"

With a smirk, Chase flicked some water at De Guarde. "I wouldn't last as a cook. The lads'd have me sacked 'fore I even got the fires lit."

Chicken Dyer laughed. "An' that's the plain truth!"

"Dunno what you'd need chalk for, 'less yer markin' up yer hammock or somethin'," Chase went on. "An' I ain't missed no spot. That's from yer dirty foot, treadin' on me fresh cleaned deck!"

"But yer mean t' say wot' I heard them lads saying about your excellent cookin' ain't t' truth at all?" He made to look as though he was seriously upset about having been lied to. Very quickly he dropped the act, and grinned at Dyer, who confirmed Chase as one man who'd not be permitted anywhere close to the cooking pot, unless it was to take the food to his mess.

"Writin'! That's what one does with a chalk n' a tablet. Writes on it." He wiped at his pant leg as if that would remove any water at all from it. "Oy! Watch it!" And he dropped to one knee to have a handful of it from the bucket chugging it in Chase's direction. With his foot , his toes curled he tapped a spot, which was rather clean really. "See.. me feet's clean.. but yer floor board ain't!"

"Hoi!" Chase burst out. He splashed up some dirty water off the deck and only just managed to keep from laughing as he scrubbed quickly at the spot with the stray splatter of pitch. "Off yer head, you is."

"As long as it ain't of with me head." The boy returned with a grin hopping a bit, to avoid any dirty water soiling his slops and his feet. The wet cool feeling on the bottom of his soles still felt too foreign and unpleasant to want it too much.

He took hold of the bucket and lifted it out of the way, carrying it backwards a few steps. "What fine work did I miss?" He asked kneeling by Chase's side. If he needed to do any of the scrubbing himself, he didn't look as though he'd be against it, or complain.

"Nothin' in particularly," was Chase's answer as he carried on scrubbing. "We're near to done with this anyways. Then it'll prolly be some sail drill after the deck's flogged dry."

If for no other reason but not to draw the attention of the lieutenant, and also to be of use, the boy helped as best he could and made himself appear busy as much as later actually be that. " Sail drill?" He asked gazing up in the direction of the masts. "...we'll go up aloft?" He indicated himself as well with his thumb. He yelped as a badly coordinated move, had sent water splashing in several directions, and one of them being his own. He rubbed his cheek and made a face, as some of it came onto his tongue. "Eugh..., that's got t' mos' awful taste i've ever gotten' t' taste!"