28 May; Grumpy Greenjackets

Sunlight was the enemy, Newbury thought sourly. The whole world was the enemy. He had woken up to the feeling of white-hot blazing fire in his side and his head and all over. It had been all he could stand to flop onto his back and cover his head with the blanket. He couldn't fathom trying to muster the endurance to drag himself out of the wagon so he could relieve himself. At least with the blanket over his head, he was not subjected to the harsh glare of the sun.

He should have saved some of that wine for now, damn it. Where was the surgeon with his laudanum? He'd take anything if it would help make it possible to move even the barest bit without wanting to sob. Newbury tried to shift his legs, stubbornly thinking to force himself to crawl out of the wagon, but this attempt was immediately abandoned. He whined in quiet frustration. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway?

It wasn't intentional really. The coming there had been, since he wanted to see that Newbury was still alive and kicking and that the guards were still where they were supposed to be. It was more the other thing, so natural to man that he was going to do, without the knowledge that there was a man in the wagon who was suffering the very same problem, yet who wasn't as easy to hop about and to his thing.

Pye had taken the short walk between Maggie's camp fire, and Newbury's and realised that the early tea might just have done the trick that a night's sleep hadn't. Thinking it would be quite an unnecessary walk, to go all the way across the path and onwards to have it done, he only moved in the direction of the wagon. Moved past it, behind it really, a bit further. He had undone his buttons and then with a near silent sigh, did the deed... watering the grass rather soundly as it was.

Somebody was moving around near the wagon. Somebody who was going about the work of easing his bladder. Newbury suppressed a shiver. Not fair not fair not fair...

"If tha' ain't a sawbones out there," he rasped, "they'd oughta scram bu' quick."

Oh. He was awake. Well by didn't mean to do his business half way. Not even for Newbury. "Oughta' wait a bit, Joe." He did respond after a few long moments. There. He was done and buttoning himself up. Since the other rifleman was awake it was as good a visit as any, wasn't it?

"'scuse me." He greeted the guards in such a way. "Jus' seein' t' man in there." And at that, his head appeared right at the entrance, a curious look, and a smile on his face. "Hey Joe. How're ye?"

Hadn't he just said to scram? Why the hell was whoever that was still there?

"How the hell d'you s'pose I am?" Newbury growled back, glad again for the blanket he was tucked underneath. Really. What the devil sort of question was that, anyway?

"No worse n' the provost." Pye piped , though his voice was much quieter then. He stepped in, without really being invited to. He studied the poor man and thought that not even a flogging would make the other provosts even. "Need any 'elp?"

"Aye," Newbury grunted, annoyed even more that the other Rifleman had started climbing into the wagon. He didn't care much for just anybody to come crawling up in here. Besides. The fewer appearances he made outside the wagon, the better. "Piss off out, wouldja?"

"..Ey. Sure." Pye shrugged. What crawled up Newbury's this morning to make him such a sour puss. Didn't matter to Pye. He blinked curiously at Newbury. He looked in a rather miserable state. He glanced at the empty bottle at his side and grinned. Wasn't the surgeon's so it meant someone had to have brought it in and Newbury must've drunk it all. Not today though, he didn't appear drunk.

"Goin' ter see if Cotton's woke. Anythin' yer want to be tellin 'im?" He was cheerful and as if he hadn't just been told off harshly.

"Wha' the hell's there to be tellin' Cotton?" He'd spoken to the man only the night before. Precious little had happened between now and last night anyway.

"That yer better n' yesterday." He could not know who brought the drink, or perhaps at least he could make an excellent guess of that. It wasn't many people that knew Newbury as much or would have been willing. There was Maggie, Jenny and Cotton, and maybe that other rifleman.

Better than yesterday, was he?

"Oh aye," Newbury said caustically. "I'm loads better'n yesterday. Can get up an' walk 'round an' all."

He scowled at the rough wool of blanket and was glad again that it was covering his head and face.

"An' yer also a terrible liar." Pye rolled his eyes. "..Well I's going, so unless yer need somethin' or someone sent, I think I'll be lettin' you sleep." He thought to call a surgeon but decided against it. "Don't need that, do ye." He reached for the empty bottle. No surgeon needed to find it there.

"Leave that," he grunted, feeling the empty bottle start to shift on the other side of the blanket. He might be able to use that to relieve himself, since it was not at all likely he'd be getting out of the wagon any time soon.

"Sure. Well, see ye then." Pye gave a quick nod, a small grin and was gone from the flap. He glanced up at the sky as if picking time of it. Stretched adjusted his coat which had ridden up a bit and turned on his heel. Before any of the guards could say anything he was on his way.

Finally. Newbury reached unsteadily for the bottle and managed with some effort to drag it under the blanket. If he couldn't rouse himself to stand up and relieve himself properly, he could made do with this bottle. Provided, of course, that somebody else didn't come along to bother him.