25th May - Lieutenants in the tavern

Leat presented his, along with Bush's, and then handed it full back to the first lieutenant.

"It seems perhaps she was just trying to sell you her wine after all, sir."

Bush chuckled slightly as he took the glass back from Leat.

"Perhaps. She just seemed a bit too...persistent...to merely be selling wine."

"She did," Cartwright agreed, filling up his own glass last. He took a sample taste and nodded. "It is not bad stock, certainly."

Leat shrugged and sipped from his glass.

"Perhaps she was simply taken by irresistable your charm, Mr. Bush," he said offhand, knowing full well the comment would annoy his colleague.

Bush frowned.

"Highly doubtful, Mr. Leat. But she shtill sheemed--ahem--still seemed as though she had some ulterior motive."

Leat merely grinned at Bush, still smiling over the rim of his glass as he drank.

"Trying to sell us stores isn't ulterior enough?"

"I said there is nothing stronger than pie!" Deverel insisted at a mumble.

"Perhaps one of the men owes her money," Cartwright suggested, filling up his glass again. "Heaven knows the Portuguese seem quite insistent on being paid properly."

He glanced at Mister Deverel when he offered one of his wine-soaked pearls of wisdom and resisted the urge to pat the man's head, as if he was an errant child.

"I should be wary of whatever sort of pie he eats," the Marine remarked and wondered why the notion of a pie with a two-decker broadside came drifting into his mind.

"Well, I suppose it is, Mr. Leat." Bush shrugged. "I merely wondered why she seems so intent on getting us to purchase them."

He chuckled slightly, both at Deverel's random drunken muttering and at Cartwright's reaction. "Considering the state he's usually in, I should be wary of anything he might eat..."

Considering that Deverel might be considering another sort of 'pie' altogether Leat let the subject drop, downing what was left of his glass instead. As he did so his head felt slightly fuzzy for a moment, but the sensation soon passed. Perhaps another drink might help clear it?

"Indeed." Cartwright swirled the wine around in his glass, admiring the colour of it. Pity they had to tolerate Deverel's presence at the table. Even though at present he was not actively participating in anything. "Assuming he ever eats at all..."

A hiccup escaped and he looked surprised.

Bush was finishing off his glass when he heard Cartwright hiccup. Seeing the look of surprise on the Marine lieutenant's face, he was suddenly overcome by the urge to grin.

"Alright there, Mr. Cartwright?"

He took a healthy mouthful of wine to moisten his throat. "Yes, I believe so," Cartwright replied, taking care to swallow the wine properly. There shouldn't be another unexpected utterances like that. Hopefully.

Leat laughed.

"I shouldn't mind wardroom etiquette here, gentlemen - we are ashore after all."

He was already feeling a lot more cheerful, despite the unwanted attentions of the woman and Deverel's continued presence.

So cheerful in fact that he started humming a nameless ditty.

That was true. Cartwright tipped his glass very slightly to the side and back upright again, watching the wine swirl casually around. For whatever reason, the sight was captivating.

"Music," he said after a moment, taking note of Mister Leat's humming. "That's what this place is missing."

It made perfect sense to him.

The pimpled young midshipman named Docker now reappeared, approaching the table with a hesitant salute to the officers. "Beg pardon, sir - sirs. Mister Deverel, sir, Mister Hood asks can you come down to the... Mister Deverel? Sir?" He gently shook the man's elbow and looked up at the other lieutenants with embarrassed uncertainty.

Leat's smile broadened at the Midshipman's distress, and shook his head - only the room seemed to swim when he did that, so he stopped.

"I think you'll find you'll need a couple of steady hands and a shutter for Mr. Deverel, sir - otherwise I do not think it is likely you'll persuade him to go anywhere."

The fact that the midshipman was trying to get Deverel back to his ship seemed inexplicably amusing. Bush gave Leat a grin of his own, then glanced at the embarrassed lad.

"Quite sho--ahem--quite so. You'll need some aid if you hope to get Mr. Deverel back to the ship."

Leat caught Bush's smile and grinned again, giggling.

"A shutter for your officer, sir - and quick about it, if I were you!"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." The lad gave Leat a salute and then looked around the tavern helplessly to see if there were any other shipmates who might come to his assistance. Then, with a last glance at his own slumbering lieutenant, he resigned himself and went out the door to find help.

He could only grin as the midshipman dashed out again. "Poor fellow. He'll have a devil of a time finding shoe - er, suitable help at this hour."

Shoe? Where had that come from? Cartwright thought a moment, shrugged slightly, and drank off his glass. He still had both of his shoes on his feet, where they should be, so he decided it didn't matter.

"There'll be someone 'bout," Leat cheerfully assured, refilling his glass from where he had emptied it again. At leasty they would be rid of Deverel. The bottle was running low, so he leaned back in his chair and waved for the serving maid to come over.

"Hi! Senhora! Vino ici, por favor! Deux bouteilles!"

For some reason, Leat's shouting sounded even more foreign than it should have, though Bush could not decide exactly why. Even so, he could tell Leat was calling for more wine, but it sounded as though he was asking for a large amount of bottles.

"Oh, I doubt we need so many, Mr. Leat. I think two bottles will be plenty."

"Oh no, sir, I only asked for two bottles," Leat said, and was shortly proved right, as the Reubenesque wench brought over two more bottles of wine, having somehow understood the redheaded lieutenant's strange patois. There had been enough French around recently to decipher 'deux bouteilles' anyway.