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Post by Ladorak on Oct 5, 2010 23:52:01 GMT -5
"Up on the quarterdeck, on either side. Take the larboard one for now. We'll lower the boats and get them towed out behind the ship." the Coxswain explained, in answer to Spender's question mostly.
The marten was able to lift the boat without too much trouble. He had about the same muscle mass as Spender, though used to be stronger. Spender might surpass him as he was older, and Caden was only entering his stripling years. They began shuffling along the deck, heading to the stern and the quarterdeck. "When you reach the stairs, just hoist the boat up and drag it up top. Isn't terribly hard."
"Do you want to pull the boat from the top, or push it from the bottom?" Caden asked the ferret as they drew closer to the stairs. "And...a few weeks back...well more like a month ago now...when you apologized...I wasn't sure if you meant it. You were clearly quite intoxicated...but if you did..." he paused now, swallowing hard. "I...forgive you." he said softly. They were about at the stairs now, and decisions needed to be made.
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The Gunner's Mate stared at Selvis for a moment, then waved his arms to the companionway. "Well what are you waiting for? Come on! Take as many shot as you can up to the gun decks! Get moving!" the grison started to jog to the stairs. "It's not difficult. Just head down four flights to the hold, gather up a cannonball, and start with the lower gun deck first. The shot garlands are the circular slots all around the center of the deck, formed in squares. A square of circles...usually around the masts and companionways, you've seen them before. Just lay the shot down in one of them and go back to repeat the process. Step lively!" the mustelid called before disappearing down below to begin doing just that.
"When lower gun deck is full, try to fill the upper gun deck, though I've got two teams, so shouldn't take very long to fill the garlands." the mate called back over his shoulder, assuming Selvis would be following right behind him. "Oh yes...right...the shot locker itself." the grison paused on the stairs. "It's amidships, located directly around the mainmast in the hold, alright? Just go in, grab a shot, bring it up to the garlands, and repeat. Got it?"
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"OK...we're all here. We'll be moving down to the hold to retrieve the spare tiller and the relieving tackles, and we'll be depositing them in the gun room, near the tiller itself. Lead the way Seajack Apodemus, the rest will be following after you. The spare tiller is down the aft companionway, in the aft hold, alright? Can't miss it, it's a big old thing, looks just like the regular tiller, but we'll all need to run it two flights up to the lower gun deck." the Mid explained, letting Carrow take point.
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Ladorak pushed the door open, seeing a non-decent Molly quickly throwing on one of his uniforms. That reminded the stoat...he needed to remove his epaulettes. The molting mustelid did so, removing the pins and tossing the gold cords into his chest. "Don't want to get shot at after all." he explained, giving her a small smile.
"I doubt your clothes have been moved...they haven't even reached my cabin yet. As for the curtains yes...they remove the entire stern window setup...that way no broken glass to clean up if this area does take a hit, and cannons can be set up out the back. Here..."
He moved over to the windows, beginning to haul down the red drapery he had set up at Crittenden. It gave the spacious cabin a rather homey feel to it, but soon, all the furniture would be down in the hold. Already he could hear the crew taking apart the Master's and first Lieutenant's cabins, and it would only be a matter of minutes before the bulkheads came down to his quarters.
"You look as if you're ready for this..." He commented, watching her briefly before continuing to remove the drapes and setting them down on the floor at his paws. "Anything you want with you for the next few hours...grab it and stick it in a pocket...everything else goes into the hold." he stated. He paused...and then...
"We haven't spoken much since Naples...I half expected you to not even show up. Is everything alright?" Or are you planning on abandoning me? He didn't state that out loud, simply looked around his cabin, trying to picture what it would be like empty.
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"You're shorter though, you should lead, as it'll make it easier going down the stairs. Just go all the way down...three flights to the hold. We'll stack this sucker and then go back up for more bulkheads or some furniture. Just go all the way down." Ocean instructed. They were on the upper gun deck now, and needed to make for the hold, way below them. It would reek down there from the slimy bilge water, but oh well. They'd be back and forth, so wouldn't have to worry about it too much.
Ocean simply hoped he wouldn't come out smelling like the ocean by the time they needed to report to their guns...
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Post by spender on Oct 6, 2010 7:28:27 GMT -5
Spender bristled. Any sharpness of his face could have been easily traced to the difficult job of keeping the boat from striking the deck, however. He grunted and shifted some muscle around to get a better grip.
I apologized... to Ocean, y'git, the ferret thought. That's what that was about... That book wasn't for you, nor was the boat! Bloody stupid... I already apologised t'you, and you blew up and had me kicked out an' nearly beaten again...
And yet... somewhere in him, the marten's words wobbled. To be forgiven, even if it wasn't something you'd meant to be forgiven for—it was... nice? Maybe?
Thankfully for both of them, Spender didn't have time to verbally reply to this. There was the job at paw.
"Pull," he grunted again, shifting around to the front. No way he was going to behind this thing when he slipped and it went sliding back... Well. Not that he would slip if he was in the back. But still. Caden might. He wouldn't, no. So much as sneeze in the same room as Caden and the Captain would be whapping his tail end for trying to infect him with plague, most likely...
Spender wouldn't admit it at first, but he did, for one brief minute, think that by top and bottom, Caden meant the boat, and not their position on the stairs.
He was tempted to let those at the bottom do all the work, but the presence of an officer behind him lent effort to his work, and Spender visibly strained to haul the nose of the boat up after him, hoping there wasn't anybeast behind who he might bump into and set on fire. (It happened more often than you'd think.)
Molly 'hrrm'ed regarding her clothes. She was sure she hadn't misplaced them... And she was more than sure she'd packed them. She'd packed them first, in fact. Someone must have moved them. She suspected Ladorak. After all their talks about how better to arrange the furniture, he might've put it somewhere as a side table, or just had someone take it to the hold to get it out of the way. She did have quite a bit of luggage... and some of it was rather useless, sure. But that was no reason to treat a jill's chest like it was just junk to be tossed around and fondled by whomever. Or their luggage for that matter.
"You look as if you're ready for this..."
Molly looked up at him, one eyewhisker cocked. Ready? She'd been waiting for this since she stepped aboard the ship! She'd been ready since she'd first had the notion of following him! Battle! Adventure! Everything she missed about the Imperium, and nothing she disliked.
She focused on buttoning his jacket. It was a little loose—he being bigger and all. She hoped the officers wouldn't mind. And she more than hoped the crew wouldn't look to her for orders or anything...
"Is everything alright?"
Molly held her breath for a moment.
"It wasn't," she said. The stoat jill smiled. "But it is now. I've just been busy. Trying to spend more time with Caden, and Spender's taken quite the shine to me as well. And you know how I dislike talking during meals. And after the lights go out." Which, she did have to admit, was a little worrisome that those were the only two times they had together lately...
As she spoke, she rummaged in her weapons chest.
"I just need a little time to myself now and again. Not a break, just... time to think. Has Caden said—Ooohh..."
She pulled out her present from Crittenden—a brand new rifle. She had yet to use it, preferring the first shot fired not to be at some clay discus or something dumb like that, but to be a good, clean enemy kill. The chances, she knew, were unlikely. Maybe one in a dozen shots she could send off would find a mark, and even then, it might not be the mark she'd been aiming at. Long-range weapons were unexplored territory for her; better a sword than a pistol if it came to a duel.
"I think I've thought up a name for him," she grinned, cradling the barrel against her neck. "My Little Lad. My baby..."
Molly stared at the weapons in the chest for a few seconds more, her eyes suddenly misted and glazed over. Then she shut the chest with a bang and stood up.
It was a fine night for killin'. She had some eleven years to unwind, and only one battle to do it in. She'd not waste this chance.
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Post by Ladorak on Oct 6, 2010 14:44:43 GMT -5
Caden pushed from below, letting Spender take the stairs first. He never responded once to what Caden had said. Maybe it was for the best...but Caden couldn't...just couldn't let it end like that tonight. Judging by the odds...four frigates against one battleship, one or more of them end up badly hurt or even dead tonight, and life was suddenly too short to waste opportunities like this.
Of course, with that said, the marten had no idea that Ladorak was planning to level the odds in their favor by going after the isolated leader and leaving the others to chase him down. It was like a sleek stoat seeking its quarry...it was heading off the solitary target, and ignoring the larger group of predators as it lead them on a chase while it in turn chased its target. It was a classical "chain" dating back to their ancestors. Who could outrun and outfight who? It would all be answered tonight...
Hefting the cutter up onto the quarterdeck, Caden bounded up after the boat, and stole a glance over at the frigates. He knew that the Rosferian crews would be doing the same things they were engaged in right now, except they had no upper and lower gun deck, just one gun deck to clear, so it would probably take them a bit less time.
"OK...bring it over the davits, turn it upright and set it down." the instructions were carried out, the cutter being placed right side up and against the davits. "Attach the tackles together on either end..." two other crewbeasts took care of that, sliding the "fishhooks" to the "eyes". "Now listen up...Seajacks Fugate and Cielciosk" the latter name was a chore. "Spender and Caden, get in the boat. We'll lower you down, and you two will need to detach the tackles and climb back aboard as she starts to drift toward the stern. We'll be attaching the towline, and you two can just use the ladder on the side of the ship to crawl up back here. Swing the boat out!"
The Coxswain's orders were followed, the davits moving from over the ship's deck to out and over the sea, swinging the cutter along with it, until it was suspended in mid-air, held taut by the ropes. "Get in you two." Caden gulped, looking down into the sea below him, and stretched his leg out over the gunwale, alighting it in the small craft. He waited for Spender to get in, and turned to look at him as the Coxswain shouted "LOWER AWAY!"
With a creaking and groaning of the pulleys, the small boat lurched, throwing Caden temporarily off balance, and then steadied itself as the guiding ropes began to slowly lower it downward to the sea. Caden stood in the bow, while Spender stood in the stern. The albino watched the side of the ship glide by, and gazed at Spender from the corner of his eye. "Um...Spender...sorry...for gettin' mad at you..." But you broke my arm...and you think I'm a freak...so I shouldn't be apologizing...I should be throwing you over the side of this cutter into the sea...but...I can't...because tonight might change our lives... "Do...you...maybe want to..." he felt a knot forming in his throat. "Um..." play together sounded so juvenile, and kit like. They were striplings now...Caden didn't "play"...but he knew Spender used that term...and it might make the ferret understand better. "Play together...after we get the ship...ready?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion. Why had he said that? Why did he want to hang out with Spender in their down time before combat? Because he was afraid one of them might die?
He fished in his pocket as the boat neared the black water. "I've got some leftover chocolate...here..." he held out an unopened box of chocolate, not directly looking at the ferret and allowing only the smallest of smiles to play across his features. If he was going to make peace...he needed to do it now...otherwise he might not get the chance to later one...
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Ladorak stood silently by, listening to her speak. Spend more time with Caden? Why? Wasn't Molly not into kits and striplings? And Spender? Ladorak pursed his looks, looking at her in profile and keeping his eyes down on the deck. Ladorak was growing to like the ferret less and less. At least he had kept his head down the past month...but he was nothing but an abusive bully in the stoat's eyes, and the Captain felt discouraged by the fact that Spender and Molly were getting along.
"I see." was all he said, the scrambling of footpaws audible outside, like some frantic, off tune drum beat, banging away in his brain. She was about to ask about Caden saying something, but the crash of the bulkheads being taken down exposed them both to the crew, one of them peering in and asking if it was alright, to which the Captain nodded. Molly found her rifle at that point, and the molting stoat had to admit that she would make one hell of a Marine...and that uniform...it made the jack want to rip it off of her and begin kissing her ravishing lips...all she needed was the red coat of the Welkin Marines and she'd be set...
He of course stayed still, letting the crew move about his inner sanctum and begin taking it down. The makeshift walls came down, as did his hanging cot and some of his furniture. He stood stock still in the middle of it, as if he were some statue and part of the room's furnishings and not the Captain of the vessel. He had entered into a state of reflection, and couldn't bring himself to focus presently on the job at paw...not that he had much to do at this point anyway, unless something changed with the enemy vessels.
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Post by Carrow on Oct 6, 2010 15:48:59 GMT -5
Selvis smiled. Ah, so they were actually moving now? Truth be told, he had been waiting on the word of the grison before he did anything, just to make sure. Didn't want to jump the gun after all. It didn't matter in the slightest to the long-tailed weasel, however, for as soon as he heard the command, he was off like a shot. Selvis had become known for his speed in recent weeks, and he was going flat out now with little sign of stress. "Down four flights to the hold, grab a cannonball, start with the lower gun the deck: coming in loud and clear, sir!," he exclaimed, feeling a tremor of excitement shoot through him.
He had indeed seen those shot garlands before, when Elle had come perilously close to crushing her footpaw on their first day of gun training. That sort of thing wasn't easy to forget. Luckily, she had escaped any serious injury, but twenty-four-pound weights would have been a struggle for most any creature, and so the risk of being injured 'on the job', as it were, when involved in such activity was quite high. The beech marten had been quite jittery and nervous on that first day - nowhere near as panicky as Carrow - but all the same the weasel couldn't help but wonder at her present state.
"Go in, grab a shot, bring it up to the garlands, repeat as many times as we need. Got it, sir," he called back cheerfully, greatly enjoying this exercise. Running distances like this in a short space of time was absolutely no trouble to the musteld, that much could be seen clearly as he took another flight of stairs, then another, not seeming to tire in the slightest. He was in peak physical condition, it seemed, and was lucky not to ave suffered any recent injury, something that would certainly have made this even slightly more difficult for him. Carrow didn't have the same luxury, though, and he knew that whatever the mouse was doing at that moment, he would have to be careful.
He soon reached the hold, racing over and picking up the cannonball that was closest to paw. Twenty-four pound weights were tough to pawdle at the best of times. Though the weasel was strong, he'd never done much like this before, and couldn't keep himself from grunting in exertion as he lifted the shot. However, he became accustomed to the weight quite quickly, and was soon off towards the gun deck - at a more leisurely pace this time. He needed to make sure he didn't trip and fall, or he'd drop like a stone, so the mustelid decided that the slower, steadier approach would suit him best. He reached the lower gun deck a moment later, placing the shot down in the nearest garland, before heading back down to repeat the process. Within moments, a half dozen had been contributed by the mustelid, and the lower garlands were being filled very quickly indeed. He wondered briefly how his mouse friend was getting on - little realising their paths would soon cross.
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Carrow took this all in in silence, nodding anxiously every now and then to show that the information was getting through to him. "Right... so, retrieve the tiller and tackles," he murmured in response. "Got it, sir..." He wasn't even confident he could accomplish this small task without something going wrong. There would of course be those who said the mouse was his own worst enemy and harshest critic - and they would be right. Carrow didn't really hate any other creature - though Spender had certainly come close to earning this unwanted distinction - mainly because he had always reserved the most hate for himself. He still did.
Even as things stood now, the rodent had settled things with Spender, at least in his own mind. He hadn't had a chance to speak to the ferret in recent weeks, but he had decided that while he wasn't going to forgive him the past instances of bullying that had been inflicted on Caden and himself, he was going to put them out of his head no matter what. He didn't realise that Caden and his aggressor had made up, of course, but that would have made little to no impact on how he himself felt. Those wounds had healed, it seemed, and he was willing to drop the subject altogether. He wasn't going to forgive him his past though... he couldn't even reconcile with himself.
It was with these such thoughts in his mind that the wood mouse began to lead the way down to the holds. He set as quick a pace as he could manage, treading carefully, in a manner of speaking, as he was unsure how well his back could stand up to dashing about at top speed for any length of time. As it was, though, he was certainly nothing like the impaired beast he had been in Calgary - and the reality of the situation the crew now found themselves in lent speed to the stripling's footpaws. He tried to keep his mind from swaying towards thoughts of the impending conflict, however. He kept telling himself that he needed to concentrate on the task at paw.
Soon, he had managed all four flights, and was heading aft, every other creature in the team following in the mouse's wake. He raced down the companionway and into the hold. He smiled when he spotted what it was he was after. The spare tiller and tackles were all there. Taking some of the tackles, the long-tailed field mouse was off again rather rapidly, making for the gun room now, having decided that, due to the teamwork that would be involved in pawdling the transport of the tiller, it would be best for that to be left 'til last. He had acted on instinct, and was now putting everything he could into the task. Focus on the job at paw... focus on the job at paw...
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Post by spender on Oct 7, 2010 7:19:02 GMT -5
Spender rubbed his eyes. Caden was almost too bright to look at directly; he contrasted too much with the blackness of the sea around them. From down here in the boat, it was hard to see any of the lights on the deck of the ship. Only a faint glow from the port holes, and the stars and moon, gave any shape to the world.
He was half certain that one of the figures prowling around the outside of the ship—he didn't know what that little ledge was called—was Peskers.For some reason, he... hoped the other ferret would be safe.
It was an odd feeling.
It was an odd night.
He took the chocolate and munched it, biting his own paw in the process. He mumbled a dozy "ow", then clicked his claws clean. He took as much time as he could to consider Caden's proposition. But what could possibly be controlling the marten? Was it a joke, perhaps? Or a trap? There was going to be a fight, right? Were they going to gang up on him in some dark corner and his corpse would only be found after the encounter with the enemy, and Caden and the others would get off free?
"Ummm..."
But this was what he wanted... All he wanted all along, really. To be offered this chance; to not be ignored, or ran from, or scolded away. It was just... why did it have to come from Caden?
"Okay."
Spender blinked again, and yet another yawn wafted out of his mouth.
"Maybe y'could read that book, too... it's really funny..."
Weren't they supposed to be working or something? Spender didn't remember anymore. Caden had distracted him. Playing would be nice... But right now he just wanted to curl up in the boat and finish sleeping.
His chin began dipping to his chest, his eyes fluttering 'til they were shut.
Having seen her curtains and other such niceties taken down and folded away properly, Molly found herself in a strange mood. This familiar place was gone now, and the future was an uncertain ball of yarn that the present was just eying for now, wriggling its rump—saving up the batting and pouncing for later. Was this how real soldiers and naval beasts felt all the time before a fight?
Molly shivered. What a shame, that they were taking apart Ladorak's cabin now, instead of later. Pre-battle jitters were the worst. Her nerves were all jangly! She needed a distraction, something to expel her energies upon. She would have to find something else to occupy her mind.
"So, um... How long is this going to take?" she said, nudging Ladorak with the butt of her rifle. "A few minutes... hours... days? What's your plan for these ships?"
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Post by Ladorak on Oct 7, 2010 9:39:28 GMT -5
The crew following Carrow hefted up the tiller, several beasts holding it amongst each other. The Mid nodded, grabbing some more relieving tackles, and began leading the mouse out of the hold and back up the stairs. They arrived on the bustling orlop deck. Down here, below the waterline, preparations were going on to ready the ship for combat.
The cockpit, where the MIdshipjacks normally dined, was being cleared, and the Surgeon and his assistants were setting up the operations theater for use...the grim but true facts of combat were that casualties occurred, and down here was where the amputations and other injuries were treated. The Sick Berth, up in the bow of the upper gun deck, was being dismantled, and the patients being moved down to the cockpit and other areas of the orlop deck not currently in use. They would be safest down here, as a strike below the waterline was highly unlikely in combat.
"Carrow, lead the way up to the gun room...I'm sure you know where it is. Where your friend Caden Fugate normally sleeps. Lay the tackles out at the stern." the Mid was standing aside for the mouse to take lead. "I'll follow behind the tiller to make sure the Seajacks don't drop it. Lead us on."
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Caden was a bit relieved to hear Spender say OK, but wondered just what it was they would play together when the time came. After they prepared the guns, there was little left for them to do until combat. The Middle Watch would take over, as usual, and the starboard watch could go off and do whatever they wanted...just couldn't go back to sleep. They would take over at the start of the Morning Watch, around 4, but that was still a little less than two hours off...and they might be engaged by then.
Caden could see Spender falling asleep, and the ferret looked positively...adorable. Caden had the urge to roll him up into a ball and use him as a toy, tossing him up into the air as he lay on his back...though those odd thoughts quickly evaporated.
The boat touched the waves, and shuddered a bit, most likely knocking Spender back awake. A rope was thrown down to the marten from above, and the Coxswain leaned over to yell down to them. "Tie that rope to the bow, and make sure it's made fast. Then both of you unhook the bow and stern tackles and get back up the ladder to the ship. Step lively!"
Caden moved to begin tying the rope down securely to the cleat at the bow of the small boat. He had been practicing knots since day one, and this one wasn't terribly difficult. Making it fast and yanking on it to make sure it was secure, the albino unhooked the tackle from the bow, and looked over at Spender.
"Come on mate...we're done here..." he grasped the rungs on the ladder that ran up the side of the ship, but then paused, and stepped back. "Actually...you go first. I got a longer tail...and it might whap you in the face. I'm not very good at holding it up when I'm climbing...so why don't you head up first?" he stepped back to allow the ferret to begin the climb before him.
The boat wouldn't begin drifting behind them until the crew up top released tension on the towing rope, and they wouldn't do that until both Spender and Caden were over the side and back on the quarterdeck.
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Ladorak was nudged in the side by Molly's rifle (fortunately the butt), and he shifted his gaze over to her, moving his neck to look down at her. "Hm...if you mean clearing for action, it shouldn't take longer than fifteen to thirty minutes. Our crew is new at doing it, so I'd say the latter would be the closer estimate."
Two crewbeasts grappled with his large desk, and hefted it up in between them, beginning to walk out the now large open space with it. "After that...we wait, until I sound General Quarters, which is the signal to the crew to report to action stations." The stern gallery windows of his cabin were being taken out, and the stoat moved over to the night sky, peering out the back of the ship and craning his neck to see the enemy frigates.
"Their speed and course will bring us in range of each other in about....two hours to two and a half hours I'm estimating. My plan?" he turned back to look at her, eyes shining behind his spectacles a bit now. "Think of our ancestors. We're a stoat...currently on the hunt for prey. Metaphorically speaking...we've encountered prey that's capable of fighting back, but is normally weaker than we are. As a group though, they could overwhelm us. I've taken their formation and layout into consideration...and their leader, the big one, is way out in front of them, through some error perhaps on their part. Either way, he's committed a blunder, and we're going to capitalize on it. We pursue him, and lead the other three on a chase of ourselves for as long as we can manage."
Ladorak smiled now, his fangs showing. "See...it would be suicidal for the lead frigate to take us on as is...so I bet he'll try and run. We engage in a running fight...taking him on as the others chase us. If we're lucky...we can bring the leader to bay before the others have a chance to catch up, and then...well...if we can get a prize crew aboard quickly enough, we can beat a hasty withdrawal out of here and continue on our way...if worse comes to worst...we'll try and knock the lead frigate out and engage the other three when they do come up. Either way, I don't intend to let the leader go without a fight. We use our slightly slower speed to keep up with the leader for as long as possible, and start one big chase. It's how our ancestors would have hunted had they been outnumbered. Chase the isolated one and lead the others after him...hoping for the quick kill before the others can get in and maul him. That's how I plan to approach this battle."
"Like a skillful hunter..." he moved past her now, beginning to wander away and out into the open night air of the weather deck. A change had visibly come over the stoat now. He was sleeker...more angular...he strode with a purpose. He looked every bit the deadly hunter of days gone by. "We strike swiftly, and won't pick a fight that we can't hope to win."
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Post by Carrow on Oct 7, 2010 10:39:12 GMT -5
Carrow did indeed know where the gun room was located. That was where he had found Caden on the day he'd almost had a complete collapse after embarrassing himself in the Sick Berth. The combination of stress, nerves and self-loathing had very nearly overwhelmed the rodent then, but seeing Caden safe had made him feel alright again. The mere sight of his dear friend was proving to be a tonic these days. They both led a difficult existence, that much was for certain, but Carrow always felt immeasurably better when he spotted the mustelid.
This wasn't something he felt he'd ever be able to explain, but he was thankful that he had somebeast that meant that much to him - or rather, one who he could see every day. Archie was the last remaining link with his homeland, but he hadn't seen her for what was quickly becoming seven months. Even though he thought of her rather a lot, whenever he did so, a slight pang of homesickness could be felt within him. He missed very little about Muggidrear, as the memories he associated with it were almost all bad, but he desperately missed his weasel carer. She had been all that was good about his time on Welkin soil... and he was unsure whether he would ever see her again. No matter what her most recent letter had done for him, he still missed her terribly.
The lack of her presence, after more than nine whole years of close companionship, was not something he ever thought he'd become accustomed to, but he knew that the benefits of his time at sea far outweighed his losses. He might no longer see her, sure, but he had Caden, Selvis and Elliot. He had friends now, something he'd never been able to say when he had been at home. The more the wood mouse thought of it, the more he saw of her in his longtail companion. Archia... gone but not forgotten.
"Coming in loud and clear, sir," he'd called back in response to the Mid's latest set of instructions. He'd already been on his way up anyways, but now he knew what next he had to do. He liked to be kept busy and make himself useful. He was still terribly shy, timid and withdrawn - even worse than he'd been at the start of the year - but these periods were juxtaposed with sunny spells, when the clouds broke up, penetrated by sunlight, and the stripling took on a more cheerful disposition. He was enjoying this work so far, not least because he'd been able to forget his nerves for a while.
Selvis had been in the mouse's thoughts, and it was with a smile that he greeted the sight of the mustelid. They saw each other for the briefest of seconds: Carrow, running sternways to lay down the tackles; Selvis, on his way back down to the holds. In that short space of time, the weasel realised that his companion seemed to be getting along just fine. It was better that he didn't know just how visibly agitated Carrow had been just a short while earlier. Having helped to fill the shot garland on the lower gun deck, the longtail was hoping to contribute to the arsenal up above him as well.
Carrow soon reached the stern, having settled into a brisk jog. His paws could be unsure of themselves at times, so he'd thought it best to play it safe and reduce the chances of him being tripped up by setting a more moderate pace. He laid the tackles out, as instructed, making sure to give his best attempt, even under the circumstances. He completed the task with little difficulty, and raised his head to find the rest of the team arriving behind him, with the Mid at the rear. There had been no incidents of the tiller-dropping variety, which was a relief. If the others were nervous, they were hardly showing it, though the same couldn't be said for him.
Selvis was on his way back up the stairs, headed for the garland on the upper gun deck. As most of his work had been done one flight below him, the weasel reached it in time to find that it had almost been filled. He smiled though when he saw some room left, and promptly deposited his burden, a lighter twelve-pound cannonball. He was surprised at this, as he hadn't known the weights were different for the shot on the upper gun deck, but knew it made sense when it came to balancing the ship and so forth. He smiled, knowing he had completed the task to the best of his ability. There was no more work he could do in that department. He wondered if there was anything else that needed to be done. There was nothing better for the Ferlusan weasel than helping out after all.
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Post by bookity101 on Oct 9, 2010 0:31:27 GMT -5
Elle couldn't help a slight grimace as she spoke again;
“Right… I lead.” ‘Oh the joy’s of being short…’
Elle lead the way down the companion ways and around the many beasts that were running around like ants without a queen… well very orderly ants without a queen. Three flights down and thankfully not slipping into the murky water below the deck. She and Ocean placed the plank down, and her paw immediately her paw flew to her nose.
“Mr Sleet, lets finish getting these things down here so we don’t end smelling like this all day…”
Elle ran up the steps to the hold, assuming that Ocean would follow ‘him’ back up… all the way up… three flights of stairs… through the crowd… and back into the room.
Elle was slightly short of breath when she made it back to the room, but quickly moved to one of the remaining panels. Grasping it, she tugged, but found she was quite unable to make it budge… not that that stopped her from trying;
“Come on, stupid piece of wood… Come off the wall!”
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Post by Ladorak on Oct 9, 2010 10:02:07 GMT -5
By the time they had reached the hold, Ocean had all but confirmed his suspicions. Elle's scent was quickly overpowered by the stink of the bilge water down below them, but the ermine could tell exactly what it was he was dealing with. Stacking the partition on top of several other panels, the older mustelid waited for Elliot to begin "his" trek back up to the wardroom.
Ocean followed, glad to be putting some distance in between himself and the bilge. He had to thread his way past several other crew members who were busy taking objects down the stairways. There was a small sofa (probably Ladorak's), a few tables, a chair, and of course, the bulkheads. Ocean's footpaws stepped in something grainy on the lower gun deck...ah yes...sand. It was being spread all over the floors as a safeguard. Sand would absorb any blood that spilled, and keep the deck less slippery in combat. Crew were seen carrying leather buckets of sand and dumping it out slowly as they walked backwards.
Ocean continued on up another flight, heading to the wardroom. He could see Elliot way in the back, wrestling with one of the last bulkhead partitions, this one around one of the Lieutenants' cabins. He smiled, and went up behind her, looking out the now open space (the windows having been removed) of the ship's stern. "Here..." He flexed his arms, grasped hold of either side of the stubborn partition, and wrenched it up and out. "A bit difficult...for a jill." he said, pausing for effect. Before she could react, he shoved his snout in close to her, to and spoke in hushed tones.
"I can smell your scent...you're so different from us jacks. I figure the only reason you haven't been found out yet is because the officers are normally too busy with duties to take a good whiff. Don't worry...I'm not going to say anything. I know a little about you from what I've head from Caden and your...'brother', i.e. you...but I wonder...is it because of Caden that you're here? You can talk freely...I doubt we'll be running into him on our way down. And nobody else will be paying attention either...they're all focused on their tasks...so don't worry about telling me..."
He waited for her to grasp hold, and let her lead again, his ears trained ahead so he could hear her speak...if speak she so chose. She wouldn't have to worry about the ermine ratting her out...he had his own secrets of course, and realized he wouldn't be the only one. Everyone had secrets...to some extent or another. It just depended on how carefully they concealed them.
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"Alright, good work crew! Now report to gun stations! The rest of your gun crew will begin trickling in, and once everyone is ready, the guns will be prepared for action. We'll see you down there!" the Mid exclaimed, dismissing Carrow and the others. Carrow's gun was number four on the starboard side, lower gun deck, or fourth from the bow. It was the one they had practiced on for the past seven months, and it was there he needed to report now. The Midshipjacks would all report to their action stations on the gun decks, as would the Lieutenants, once their tasks were completed.
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The filling of the shot garlands was almost all but complete now, as were most of the tasks on board the ship. "Get down to your guns now lads! Down to your guns! I need to head down to the filling room and start making up cartridges. Best of luck!" the grison Gunner's Mate passed off his orders and jogged toward the bow, ducking down the fore companionway to make his way to the magazine, where he would start assisting the Gunner in measuring out powder and sewing it up in the cartridges.
That was Selvis's cue to get down to his gun, as preparations were underway to ready all cannon for action.
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Post by Carrow on Oct 9, 2010 17:20:27 GMT -5
Carrow needed no second bidding. As soon as the Mid said the words, he was off like a shot, wanting to get down below as soon as possible so he could finally take a small breather. It was this above all that the mouse was in need of now. He pictured the location of his gun in his mind, as it had been burned into the rodent's memory over months upon months of practice, and he headed down the stairs, unable to hide the nervous anxiety that was beginning to take hold once again.
The prospect of combat loomed ever larger now. With each hurried step of his paw, the wood mouse realised that it was surely only a short time before they became engaged in a skirmish - a short time, becoming shorter still as the moments ticked by. He was feeling extremely grateful to Ocean now the realities of his new position had set in. The chances of him being rendered unable to function due to his stress issues had all of a sudden been greatly reduced.
That was not to say that Carrow was completely relaxed. His tail swished nervously about behind him as he spotted his gun, fourth from the bow. This was the one he would now be working with Ocean on. He scurried over to it, positioning himself and waiting for the ermine to meet up with him. As he stood there, the anticipation of meeting up with his companions again momentarily overwhelmed his fears. He was greatly looking forward to seeing Caden and Elliot, and properly touching base with Selvis. They'd have a little time for discussion now after all.
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Selvis was anxious to get down there and finally get settled. His blue eyes were as bright as diamonds with a sort of nervous energy. He was relishing all this. To be active, and to be useful, it was what the weasel lived for, and he was happy to be of service to the Agamemnon - and to Welkin. If not for his lightly-accented speech, creatures on board would have taken him for another Welkinite. As far as he knew, he was the only foreigner serving on board, but this didn't bother him at all.
His pace was more leisurely this time, as he was in no great hurry to descend to the lower gun deck, being naturally fleet of paw, and in possession of a long, leaping stride that immediately marked him out as a creature of the athletic variety. His paws soon touched the timbers of the lower deck, however, and he began casting about for his gun. The mustelid had quite a number of things to remember at this stage - as he played a more active role than his rodent companion - and he was struggling to get things in order.
However, the longtail's brief moment of indecisiveness soon passed, as he distinctly recalled that he was across from Carrow. He would be teaming up with Peskers in the upcoming battle. And there was the mouse now, looking a little more settled than he had expected. He passed his good friend, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He also 'accidentally' brushed the mouse with the tip of his tail. Carrow giggled in response to this unexpected occurrence, watching as the weasel took up his position and winked at his diminutive companion. It was good to see the field mouse smiling, especially under circumstances like these.
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