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Post by Ladorak on Sept 22, 2011 22:46:46 GMT -5
The Mediterranean Fleet seemed to be marching to a different tune these days. They were down to only about 15 out of the original 22 ships they had. One (Ardent) had been lost accidentally off the coast of Personza, but the other seven had been dispersed on other assignments, or had gone back to Welkin to join the Channel Fleet, due to the large battle that had taken place in the Atlantic earlier in the year. 15 ships were enough to blockade Toulon, but considering the Rosferians had 13 warships still active in that harbor, the numbers were now much closer.
The Calgarians were aiding them by sending four Neapolitan vessels to assist from time to time, all 74s. Their assistance was most welcome, but there was increasing talk that Hood might be recalled, though in actuality, Ladorak had been pleased to see his mentor still in command when he'd returned from Genoa in late September.
It was now October, and the weather was cooling down. The fleet was on blockade off Toulon, heaving to in order to keep their station. Blockade could be a little monotonous, but Hood wasn't taking any chances. He was a believer in close blockade, or laying right off the enemy's harbor. It was more demanding on the fleet, but kept the Rosferians bottled up as well without chance of escape without offering battle. Admiral Howe, Hood's counterpart in the Atlantic, was a believer in distant blockade, or laying in home waters and only setting sail once word had come out that the enemy had sailed. Easier on the fleet, but the enemy had a chance of eluding you as well.
Ladorak supported the close blockade idea. It was better to keep the enemy at bay in his mind, as there was less a chance for them to wreak havoc this way. Winter weather would soon force them away, but for now, they could maintain their station about another month or so. And they had the nearby Personza to fall back on, so that the enemy wouldn't be very far away at all.
"It's hard to believe that a year ago we were INSIDE that harbor." Ladorak was saying, tapping a claw on his arm as he folded his arms across his chest and squinted out across the water toward Toulon. "Unbelievable that we gave up such a valuable prize." He was still wearing his spectacles, despite his vision not having returned since his injury. He still couldn't see out of his right eye, and he had almost bought a monocle in Genoa, but had held off on it. As it turned out, Caden had almost purchased one for his 36th Birthday, but held off too.
Ladorak had been thinking about what Molly had said to him on the day they left Personza. Getting older... they were both getting older... yes. And he had promised her to keep her and her family safe... but he had also had to promise to keep himself safe as well. His injury had done something he'd never thought possible. It had gotten to her. She really was a changed jill. She cared for him now, and did not want to see him fall in combat. He had never thought in terms so... concrete before. He had things to protect... including himself. But was he capable of keeping himself out of harm's way yet still in the thick of combat?
The stoat was molting, beginning to shed his summer coat for his winter one. His brown backside had more of a peppery look to it now, and it was a gradual process. A few more months and he'd be in full ermine. Standing by his side was Caden, the newest Midshipjack on Agamemnon. "I know... do you feel any older?" he asked, smiling up at his guardian. It garnered a small smile in return.
"No. I don't. 36 feels no different from 35."
"We'll have to celebrate big next year."
"I think the little party we had in the cabin was sufficient." Ladorak responded, still smiling. "It's not everyday you get to enjoy the amenities of my quarters, after all. I have yet to take a prize though... that would truly be the great Birthday present I could think of." he commented humorously.
"Heh... too bad I couldn't take a ship for you. I'll try harder next year." the marten joked.
"Well... enough of this standing around. The small arms need to be cleaned and buffed... go fetch your subdivision, and start that task, if you don't mind. Report back to me at the start of the First Watch." the Captain ordered.
"Aye, sir. Will do." he gave his guardian a salute, which the stoat returned, and Caden was soon off, searching for his subdivision, knowing they'd be around at various tasks.
Ladorak looked first at the 100 gun flagship Victory, and then over at the slightly older 100 gun Welkania. That was Hotham's ship... Hotham... the one who would succeed Hood if Hood left. Victory was famous as being a flagship in numerous combats, including Ushant, and Cape Spartel. She had a long and proud career. Hotham did not. Gazing at Welkania from over his spectacles, the stoat continued watching Hotham's ship with some degree of uncertainty, as if he expected it to suddenly come to life or give him some sort of sign.
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Ocean was on the upper gun deck, helping to mend a sail. It was laid out on the larboard side of the deck, and he and various other crew beasts were working on it. It was almost a never ending task, mending ripped or damaged sails, but it was part of the job. He worked at an even pace, sitting down cross legged, jabbing his needle down into the canvas, and then looping it back around again. He was going to do his laundry after this, as today was his designated day to do so. That would be at the start of his leisure time though, which would be coming around soon. Another hour or so, by his reckoning.
They were in the middle of the 1st Dog Watch, and it was evening, a little after 5 PM. Supper had just concluded, and the crew on the larboard watch was back to work for an hour before getting their leisure time. Ocean preferred doing his laundry in the evening, as it was cooler out on deck, and typically less crowded during the 2nd Dog Watch as well.
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Down below, on the lower gun deck, the Gunner, Horace Dorien, was setting up one of the 24 pounders for training, as he knew one of the Quarter Gunners under his command was looking to become a Gun Captain soon, and figured today was a good day to hold gunnery practice. It would serve to keep the crew fresh, and train the new Quarter Gunner as well.
Twisting the nut around tightly, the otter Gunner stepped back with a nod, satisfied that the gun lock was now securely attached to the top of the massive weapon.
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Post by warwick on Sept 23, 2011 2:20:24 GMT -5
Warwick could not really see Toulon at this sort of distance, so he imagined it instead. In his imagination, it was a pretty seaside town, with skirted jills baking pies and kits running in the streets. Perhaps a barber's, a baker's or a small quaint Rosferian pub. There would be harbourside workers, little fisherboats with big fisherjacks, maybe even a few pleasure craft, if the Revolution had left those intact. He imagined clean, neat jetties and polished windows and sunshine and peace. He also imagined it was all on fire.
The stoat was not too happy. He had been restless for some time since leaving Corsica. The siege had gone terribly, in his opinion, he had not been in it. He suspected there was talk behind his back. Talk of cowardice and weakness. At first his brightly coloured neckwear had been jaunty and quizzical. Now it seemed to say he was a fop, a country stoat with no skill in combat. He had stopped wearing the damn things. The butler kept sending sweets in the mail, whenever it arrived. He had briefly entertained the idea of asking that they be stopped, but he knew his tics would doom him otherwise.
As if to support his theory, the Gunner wanted him for 'training'. Warwick had been in the Navy for years. He had been in gunnery practice all the time. Apparently, he needed to go and be trained in something he had been part of over the course of his Naval career. More suspicions were heaped on the young jack's mind. Little niggling ideas. which were like glowing embers in his mind. Once, he dared think perhaps the Gunner was humiliating him on purpose. He had immediately regretted it, for now he knew he would not be able to get that thought out of his head.
In order to prove himself to the jacks, he had several ideas. He had saved his grog ration up till now, and quaffed the whole lot. Then, he had beaten one of the sailors in a teeth-gritting, furious, sweaty arm wrestle. Just in case there was any doubt that he was all jack, he had gone on to helping out shift stores, ignoring the heavy lifting that was doing no good to his flexible mustelid spine. He did not want people thinking of him as the snivelling weird one they could not rely on. He wanted to be the seajack that got things done.
Once his ingenuity had run out, he decided to wait for the Gunner's word. Then, he would arrive fashionably late, show absolutely no interest in anything being explained to him and then proceed to handle the cannon like he had been born on one. It would not be quite as satisfying as jumping onto a Rosferian ship with a cutlass between his teeth, bare chested and holding a pistol in each paw, but it might help dispel any rumours that Warwick Norwich could not handle himself in combat.
Warwick's imagination was ablaze with Toulon, yet there was another image that persisted. As he grouchily ambled past rows of cannon, he could see another such weapon in his mind. The cannon of this daydream was leaping out at him from its recoil, the wheels jumping from the deck as the beast roared and pounced at the helpless stoat behind it. It was not a pretty thought, yet Warwick could not abandon it.
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Post by Carrow on Sept 23, 2011 18:10:51 GMT -5
Cerinus Apodemus was one of the crewbeasts working with Ocean on helping to mend the sail. The field mouse was being moderately cautious in his actions, it could be easily noticed, as he didn't have very steady paws at the best of times, and only by some sort of miracle had managed to avoid pricking himself with the needle he was keeping a very careful hold on.
The rodent had been rather badly shaken in the wake of his near-death experience on the yards back in August, but within a few days of the incident, he was back to his usual self again. Not even being told that there was no letter awaiting him in the Purser's store the next day could knock him out of his stride. He had merely been curious - at that time it had scarcely been two months since he'd sent off his last missive.
He hadn't been upset by the lack of response from Archie, but September had come and gone without any word from her, and he had started to get worried. It was usually six weeks each way between letters, so logically, Archie should have received her charge's letter in early August, and the middle of September or thereabouts should have brought with it a response from the weasel. He checked the store every few days at this rate, and had noticed Selvis doing so as well - it seemed the weasel was waiting on a letter also.
The mouse's fourteenth birthday had come and gone. He and his companions had not had much of a chance to celebrate it just yet, but he was OK with that. He'd already been wished a happy birthday from his friends, and for the moment, that was enough for him. He didn't know whether Caden, Selvis or Elle had bought him gifts, but he didn't mind, knowing that if they had picked up things for him in Genoa, they'd present them in due course.
He'd had something to give to somebeast else: a few weeks previously, the mouse had presented Spender with the letter Peskers had entrusted him with. He had talked him through the letter, doing his best to explain it to the ferret, though at the time hadn't been too sure how the mustelid had taken it. It was certainly news that needed time to sink in; just how much time, neither of them had been sure.
None of these thoughts were uppermost in his mind at present, however. Carrow was currently pawdling the task of repairing the sail. He'd almost missed tasks like this. He'd been thrown for a bit of a loop on his first full day back on the Agamemnon, but thankfully had gotten back into the swing of things without much difficulty. Now that he was well accustomed to the routine of ship life again (even after going ashore for a short while in Genoa) he remembered everything that made it so enjoyable for him.
The rodent was also sitting with his legs crossed, though found he had to keep shifting position a little more frequently than he would have liked. This wasn't the most comfortable of tasks after all. To keep his mind off it, he spoke softly to Ocean. unable to keep from chuckling. "I'd say I've learned more from this one task about sewing and stitching than anything else, heheh.
"When we were at Calvi, I found myself missing the routine of ship life - probably because it was a lot more preferable to have the deck beneath by paws rather than land - things have almost completely changed for me in that respect: I prefer being at sea to being on land... though my last experience ashore wasn't exactly pleasant... so that might have had something to do with it," he murmured. "Which are you more fond of, mate: land or sea?"
--
If anybeast asked him if he was tired, Selvis Frenata's response was, 'No, I'm fine, honestly.' He wasn't lying. The weasel was fine, and this extended to far more than just his sleeping pattern. There had been a few worrisome nights immediately following the mustelid's discovery that there was no letter waiting for him on the ship, and had served to push him to his absolute lowest point. Had he been any more despondent, Selvis would have started seriously considering doing away with himself.
He'd spent the days after being delivered this crushing blow in a kind of half-asleep daze. It hadn't seemed as though he was all there, and in truth, it was because the longtail wasn't. He'd become extremely introspective, and had weighed up his reasons to live against his reasons to give up. Thankfully, he found he had plenty of reasons to carry on, because as he'd been pushed lower, he'd found he'd needed to start concentrating on the small things, because the small things really did add up.
After all, couldn't he wake up on a ship every morning after a comfortable sleep in a hammock? Couldn't he fall asleep at night next to creatures he cared for? Couldn't he shoot for Ship's Corporal and do his best to secure the post? Didn't he, for the time being, have the prospect of semi-regular letters from home? These were just some of the things that made him start to realise his life wasn't so bad after all - and then there were his friends.
His faithful and loyal companions... they would be devastated if he killed himself or anything else happened to him. He didn't want to do that to them, because an escape from his troubles would mean intense suffering for those he left behind. He couldn't put them through that. Caden, Elle and Carrow had all done their best to support him, and they continued to do so through his dark times, so much so in fact that by the time, in early September, that he was off his crutches and learning to walk normally again, the clouds had, at long last, begun to part.
He still not received any correspondence from his parents as September faded into October, but consoled himself with the fact that, well, they were his parents, and if they had waited this long to respond to him, there would be a reason. He was no longer depressed, and was finally starting to return to his old self. It was now the 4th of October, two days after a certain mouse companion of his had had his fourteenth birthday. He had in fact asked his parents if they could help him with choosing Carrow's gift, but realised that with every passing day, he was being left even more in the dark about what Briga and Trelio had done for his mouse friend. He had held off on buying something for the rodent in Genoa, hoping that his Mum and Dad would pull through.
It was Selvis's turn to be Mess Cook for his table this week, and he was on the lower gun deck, finishing his task, scrubbing away at plates and utensils as he washed up after supper. It was just as well he had time to collect his thoughts, because the longtail had developed a more introspective side in recent weeks, in the wake of everything he had gone through in the last few months, and needed to gather himself today of all days, because his nightmares had been getting worse.
As he set the clean plates and cutlery aside and looked around him, breathing a sigh of relief, he thought about the possible reasons behind them. Some nights he'd wake in a cold sweat, eyes wide and terrified, unable to speak for a moment before he settled down and tried to think of happier things. He vividly imagined his own death in these nightmares, and needed to get this fact off his chest.
He couldn't talk to Carrow about it - much as he would have loved to be put under and given assistance with them - because he feared doing so would trigger a relapse for the mouse into his own night terrors. He wanted to speak to Caden, but was finding it hard to get a private moment together with him so he could open up. He'd ask him about it later on, but there was still an hour or so of the First Dog Watch left. As soon as he was off on leisure time, he'd see about enlisting the pine marten's help.
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Post by Ladorak on Sept 24, 2011 0:41:02 GMT -5
Ocean lifted his eyes from the silver needle he'd been focusing on. "Eh... what?" He asked, only having half paid attention. "Uh... I guess I prefer land... when it comes down to it... but that's because I grew up there. Either way doesn't make much of a difference to me. I have..." He paused here, and exhaled as he closed his eyes.
"A fear of water... and being ON the water. I can't take it. The ship is just barely enough to keep me calm. I mean... it's very unsettling... knowing I'm in a floating tub basically." he said, his needle jabbing down a bit more violently as he worked to sew up the sail. "You can see why that would make me nervous... eh?" he asked, offering an uneasy smile. "I really picked the wrong career... but I got my orders too... so I intend to carry them out."
The sound of approaching pawsteps caused him to glance up, and he could see Caden walking over. He threw a salute, though didn't rise, as a good portion of the sail was on top of him. "Hello, sir." he said, and Caden saluted back, looking about him.
"Ah, Carrow. Thought I'd find you here. I'm gathering my subdivision together... we're to spend the next forty-five minutes or so cleaning and scouring the small arms. After that, we'll have down time until the First Watch. As for what our agenda is for the First Watch... I don't really know." the marten confessed. They'd get to sleep once the Middle Watch started, and then be woken up for the Morning Watch. Caden was thinking on catching some shuteye during the 2nd Dog Watch though, as he'd have two hours of leisure time, and two hours of sleep was good, considering he'd only get four tonight.
"So get up, we're heading down to the Master at Arms to get keys for the weapons chests, and then we'll be heading to the gun room." the albino explained. Ocean wasn't a part of Caden's subdivision, so he'd stay on sail mending duties for now.
"Actually..." Caden spied the Master at Arms, and strode over to him. "Master at Arms. I'm going to need the keys to the weapons chests. Captain's orders. Cleaning and scouring for the 1st Dog Watch."
"Ah, right sir!" the hedgehog saluted, and pawed over the spare keys he kept. His master set would be with him at all times, but Lieutenants and Midshipjacks as well as the Master and Master's mates could request the backup pair, usually for cleaning duty.
It felt very weird... having the warrant officers all salute him now. He was a junior officer, but that still placed him above the warrant officers on the ship, and that would take some getting used to. He technically only answered to the Captain and the Lieutenants now.
Beckoning Carrow to follow him, he started heading for the aft companionway. "Where's Selvis? You know what he's doing?" Caden asked, gathering a few more of his subdivision from the sail mending, and knowing the rest would probably be below somewhere.
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"Ah, there he is." the Gunner said, smirking. "So... you're looking to be a hot new Gun Captain, are you?" the otter asked. "Well... first things first. Have to do this, as part of our duty. Everyone gets gun training every so often, after all. It's what keeps us sharp, and the best navy on the planet. Alright, Quarter Gunner. Let's see what you can do. First off, take apart the gun lock, and then reattach it to the gun. After that, we'll go through the commands, and see if you'll know what to do once the Lieutenants start shouting out instructions in the heat of combat. As a matter of fact... let's just start the commands now, while you work with the gun lock."
He turned to the crew, who were mostly new and in training. "LOAD WITH CARTRIDGE!" he shouted, and the crew moved to do just that, shoving a canvas cartridge down the barrel, and the sponger pushed both it and the wad way into the back of the gun, into the gun chamber.
Horace retrieved a thin copper wire from his belt, and pawed it over to Warwick. "Know what that is, right? The priming wire. Check to see if the cartridge has been rammed home." he instructed. He would be Warwick's boss from now until kingdom come... or until Warwick transferred to another ship or died. Either way, the Gunner had charge of all the Gun Captains, as well as the Quarter Gunners and the Gunner's mates. He was responsible for the gun deck, and also responsible for training those under his command.
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Post by Carrow on Sept 24, 2011 18:57:01 GMT -5
Carrow was surprised to hear the Ocean had a fear of water. He could never have suspected something like that, and couldn't help noting how ironic it was, in light of the ermine having a fondness for fire. However, he merely nodded when Ocean admitted his phobia to him, and made sure not to press him on it as he didn't want to risk embarrassing his friend. He certainly knew that if it had been him in the same situation, he wouldn't have wanted to be asked anything about it.
"Yes, I certainly can," he replied when asked if he could see how Ocean could feel nervous on the ship. "You have enough to keep your mind off it, and well, if you ever feel you need some assistance with it... I could try and assist if you wanted. I'm a bit more confident about my abilities as a hypnotist now, so if you ever wanted to try a session with me, I'd definitely be able to make time for you," he told his mustelid companion with a smile.
The mouse's sensitive ears were alerted to approaching pawsteps, and he looked up to see Caden drawing nearer to them. His eyes lit up as he spotted his albino friend, quite glad to see him, and especially so as he noted the mustelid looked quite relaxed. He was settling into his new position in quite an impressive manner, it seemed, and was growing more capable by the day.
Due to the fact that he had a lesser portion of the sail covering him than Ocean did, the rodent was able to pause in his work and get to his paws to salute the marten Midshipjack. "Good evening, Captain Fugate, sir!," he exclaimed, smiling at his superior officer before sitting down again for a moment. He listened as Caden outlined the task that he would setting his subdivision to. Carrow liked the sound of it, particularly because he'd get to spend some time with the pine marten.
Their tasks often meant that they didn't see that much of each other while on duty, and Carrow still missed that, but he'd also noticed Selvis hadn't been able to spend much time with him either while they were doing work. Sometimes he didn't get the shot in the arm he needed due to not working amongst friends. He was looking forward to getting time with both of them on the job.
He was also looking forward to seeing the gun room - he'd only been in it once before, and he shouldn't have been, (so had only stayed there for a moment), but he'd needed to find Caden on a certain day in August last year, and had been prepared to look everywhere for him. He'd located him in there, though, and had been quite relieved at the time. He was glad he was getting the chance to see it again.
He watched as Caden asked the hedgehog Master-at-Arms for the weapon chests keys, smiling at the display. Caden wasn't the only one who thought of his new-found air of command as strange, and Carrow hadn't quite gotten used to seeing him like that, but it was a new experience for both of them. He turned to Ocean before he left. "I'll see you on leisure time, alright?" Waving to the ermine, he set off with his Midshipjack friend, nodding as the mustelid asked what Selvis was up to.
"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. He's probably still down below - he's Mess Cook for us this week, you see, so by my reckoning should be finished with the washing-up any moment now. He's able to get it done faster than I am in any case. He won't need to come up here, so how about we go and see him?," he asked his friend. He wanted to check in with Selvis as well; the weasel had been tossing and turning some nights and the rodent had been wondering if he'd been sleeping properly. Carrow didn't have difficulty with getting rest anymore, at least not in the way he'd used to.
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Selvis could afford to have a small rest now that his previous task had been completed, so rest he did, sitting down and crossing his legs, and wondering what he'd be required to do next. The weasel was also thinking about Caden, because he knew in his heart that he'd never actively tried to make it up to the albino marten after what had happened between them on the Glorious First of June.
The truth was that he wasn't sure what to do. He really wanted to start mending things between them, but was at a loss about where exactly to start. Sure, they were still friends - in hindsight, there had never really been any danger of their friendship being ended by those events (what had occurred in Florence had been another matter entirely) - but Selvis still felt he owed Caden something. He would do anything to repair things with his friend, because he didn't like feeling like he was continuing to get in the way.
He couldn't begin to work on it because he was still hitting dead ends on that subject. However, one creature he had made things up to was Willard. Once he'd been able to walk properly again, he'd sought out his fellow weasel and explained to him that he had been under a lot of stress when he'd come back aboard the ship, and the reason he'd given him such a frosty reception was that he'd been annoyed about Willard spending the entire siege on the Agamemnon while he and his shipmates had gone through an intense and exhausting two months.
He'd explained his position clearly, and told the least weasel he had long since moved on past that frustrated stage, and was over it. He'd apologised but hadn't asked Willard why he'd stayed on the ship. He hadn't wanted an explanation from his fellow mustelid, but had just wanted to set things straight between them. It appeared that his apology had been accepted, though, and that was all he'd really wanted.
He remained sitting, making sure he saved a little energy to get him through the next hour. The previous night hadn't been a good one for him, but it was only really now that his loss of sleep was starting to affect him. He felt much better on the whole than he had been doing, and felt he was starting to turn a corner in his life, but there were still other things that were holding him back. Once he started to open up about the nightmares to somebeast, and hopefully Caden at that, he could deal with those as well.
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Post by warwick on Sept 25, 2011 0:24:06 GMT -5
"Taking apart gun lock," Warwick echoed automatically, stepping forward. He twisted the nut... No! He did not. It was not turning. Concerned, Warwick pulled harder. Lefty loosy, right tighty. Right? No, left. Come on, Warwick! The damn thing was not budging. Squinching up his eyes, clenching his teeth and giving a loud sniff, the stoat clamped his claws over the stuck nut and turned. Each eventually came off, but suddenly, the whole assembly was loose, and the gun lock rolled off the cannon and hit the deck with a disproportionately loud clunk.
Red-faced, Warwick hurredly knelt to retrieve it, his head bumping into someone's midriff on the way down. "Oof."
"Sorry!" Warwick squeaked, picking up the heavy piece. He had better luck taking the individual bits apart. There was the hammer, frizzen, spring, that little jaw screw that clamped the jaws over the flint... Warwick reassembled the piece quickly and hesitated. Why did he have a spring left over....
"Jussamoment," Warwick hissed quietly between his teeth. The hammer was too loose. He took the flintlock apart and went through his motions again until no piece was left out. Satisfied, the stoat neatly set it down on the cannon again. "Er, where did those nuts get to?"
Warwick could feel the crew's impatience as he slithered to the deck, musteline face squeezed against the wood to locate the little metallic objects. After a few seconds of searching, his sweaty paws tightened around the last one. The cannon was finally in order. "Uh... squeak! Gun lock affixed, sah."
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Post by Ladorak on Sept 25, 2011 1:33:17 GMT -5
Ocean raised a brow, frowning a little. "Hypnotism?" he asked. He wasn't sure if he fully believed in it, nor did he know much about it. "Hypnotism?" he asked again. "Uh... well maybe. I must admit, don't know all about it myself."
But he'd have to learn later, as Caden was calling Carrow off for other work. "Yeah... sure. See you later." he said to the mouse, waving to him as they walked off.
"Hey... Carrow." Caden said, looking over at him. "DON'T call me Captain Fugate. I'm not the Captain." he said, smiling a little bashfully. "Maybe it was a slip of the tongue or... a joke, but don't even joke about that." he said, the smile still there. "But it's alright. It's sir, or Midshipjack Fugate, whatever you prefer." He said, winking at the mouse.
"Ah... so Selvis is down below... good. Let's pick him up and head into the gun room." he began heading down the stairs with his subdivision in tow, and could see Selvis almost immediately. He was sitting down on the deck, and Caden bit his lip at this. He was supposed to be working. "Selvis! On your paws!" he called. "Everything alright? We're gonna be cleaning and scouring the small arms this evening, so let's get ready for that." the albino instructed, nodding at him.
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The Gunner raised a brow, pausing as he watched the debacle with the gun lock. "Errrrr... didn't you say you had experience?" he asked, giving the stoat a quizzical look. "An-anyway. Let's continue, shall we?" the otter continued.
"Now jam your priming wire in the vent, and check to see if the cartridge has been rammed home." He looked over at the gun crew, who were all staring wide eyed at Warwick's efforts... or lack thereof. "What are you blokes staring at!?" he barked. "You've got tasks, you know! Look sharp!" they immediately snapped back to what they were doing, some blushing, and others simply shaking their heads in a small fashion. THIS stoat was going to be commanding a gun in combat?
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Post by warwick on Sept 25, 2011 4:25:05 GMT -5
"'sperience? Aye, sah! Jamming priming wire, sah!" Warwick said loudly. At sea, there was no such thing as an indoor voice, in the stoat's opinion. Communication had to be crystal clear, and over the noise of a floating fortress going into battle, that communication needed to be effective. Or, he was just having difficulty measuring the volume of his voice. Still, Warwick felt good. Confident. That lock business had not taken him that long. In fact, he seemed to remember it had only taken the barest minimum of moments to get the gun in working order.
Warwick violently missed the touch hole the first go as he tried to stab the cartridge as if a Rosferian had weaselled into the cannon. Lining it up carefully, his nose almost touching the lock as he pushed the wire down. It pierced the cartridge's cloth and Warwick gave a lopsided grin. "She's rammed home, sah!"
Unbeknownst to Warwick, his body was doing interesting things unobservable to the eye. His capillaries were flushing, making him feel warm, yet he was losing body heat more quickly. Meanwhile, his brain was anticipating something very exciting, loud and dangerous going off, which sent hormones and nerve impulses to prepare the stoat for a mad, wild war dance in response. The more disciplined and civilised part of Warwick's brain send a very sternly worded nerve impulse after that, warning that war dancing on the gun deck was not appropriate, despite the irony regarding being on a ship of war.
The result was a twitch of the stoat's whiskers and a spastic few flicks of his tail as he retrieved his wire and prepared for orders. One thing he had learnt early on was never to anticipate orders and do anything without being told first. That was the way things worked around the military.
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Post by spender on Sept 25, 2011 5:30:56 GMT -5
"I'll be fine," Marten Pyne hissed to himself.
But he wasn't fine, and hadn't been fine for a while. He'd just been... busy, yes, that was it. Too busy to notice. Too busy to care about the pain. Too busy to take his boots off this last week.
Too scared.
He was back on his old shift, opposite the striplings. Resting while they worked, working while they rested. It was better this way. They were exhausting him. As much as he liked acting the surrogate father for the wayward ones, he needed a break... a break that allowed him to babysit Tally while Molly and Carrow were otherwise engaged. A break that allowed Spender to have Warwick in their mess. A break so Willard wouldn't notice...
"I'll be fine..."
Which is why it had taken him three hours to get the nerve to visit the sick berth and have his footpaw looked at.
He grit his teeth so hard his incisors began to chip, and took another horribly slow step towards the bow. Almost... there...
"I'm in a very bad way," he announced to Kasal. He sat down and took his right boot off, with much swearing and sweating. "I don't think my toes are supposed to be black like that."
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Post by Carrow on Sept 25, 2011 7:14:05 GMT -5
Carrow didn't know whether Ocean believed the mouse actually had talent as a hypnotist, or whether he believed in the practice itself. If he were perfectly honest, though, Ocean, being a religious creature, believed in things that seemed far less likely to the mouse than the thought of a creature being able to exert some amount of influence over another in the way hypnotists did. Besides, he was living proof tthat hypnotism could actually work.
The rodent blushed a little as Caden corrected him, returning the marten's smile in an equally bashful manner. "It was a slip of the tongue, 'sir'," he responded, emphasising his friend's new title and winking right back at him. "Midshipjack's what I meant, of course, won't happen again. I'm used to calling you by your new rank at this stage, but sometimes when I think of 'Fugate', I end up thinking of Ladorak, and then something like that happens.
"What I want to know, though, is, how are you getting settled into being a fully-fledged Midshipjack now? I noticed that you only have to anwser to the Lieutenants and Ladorak himself from now on. That must be quite a change for you, right?," he asked curiously. "Oh, and since you get to sleep in the cockpit now, could you tell me a little about what that's like? I've never even seen it before, of course." Even getting to hear about unexplored places on the ship was a delight for the adventurous field mouse.
They headed down the stairs to the lower gun deck, and Carrow saw Selvis immediately. The mouse's eyes had long since become accustomed to the lighting down there, and he was able to pick out the form of his weasel companion without any difficulty whatsoever. Something immediately struck him as strange. Selvis, sitting down and resting when he wasn't on leisure time? His duties as Mess Cook appeared to be completed, sure, but... this wasn't like him at all.
Selvis had been trying to keep his slight tiredness hidden from his mouse friend, in particular, as he didn't want to worry Carrow about it. Selvis wasn't the one who was known for having difficulty sleeping after all. The weasel spotted Caden and got to his paws straight away, saluting smartly. He didn't have anything to hide, so figured he'd be perfectly honest with the pine marten. Besides, Caden would hear about this later on if he could get a chance to have a talk with him, so it made no difference.
"Everything's fine, Midshipjack! The washing-up's done, but I felt I had to sit down and take a moment's rest after I was finished doing it. Not that it was a particularly tiring task or anything, but well, I didn't have a good night. Lost out on a few hours' sleep last night, and it's only really now that it's coming back to me. I'm sorry, sir, and I rather wish I didn't have to do it, but I want to be able to keep going today if I can manage it, and even resting in short bursts like this helps."
With that said, the longtail returned the marten's nod. "Righto. I can do that, sah," he said gently, walking over to join the rest of the subdivision. "Hello, Carrow! Hello, the rest of you," he said brightly, smiling at the mouse and the rest of the gathered crewbeasts. When he reached Caden, he placed a paw on the marten's shoulder, before leaning in and whispering into his friend's ear. "Say... if we get a spare moment during downtime, sir, can I have a word with you in private? There's something I need assistance with, and I think you're the creature who can best provide it. I'll explain later."
He drew back, making a mental note to head down to the Purser's store as soon as he got off on leisure time. He'd need to make sure Carrow didn't accompany him, because if there was something for the weasel down there, it would probably be accompanied by something for the mouse in the same package, and Selvis didn't want the surprise - the nature of which even he was currently unaware - ruined. He rubbed his paws eagerly, his enthusiasm for doing any kind of work having been sparked again in recent weeks, now that he'd found some steadier pawing. "Right, so what does this preparation entail, Midshipjack Fugate?," he asked.
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