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Post by spender on Feb 28, 2012 6:35:23 GMT -5
"Oh," Willard said. His mind sidetracked briefly: than usual? But wasn't he a handsome little weasel, with his handlebar whiskers and strong musteline muscles? He never tired! He never felt... well, actually... he did. Every day he worked himself to the bone. It was just his way. He'd never considered he looked like it, though.
"No... and no." He sniffed the plate he was washing. It smelled clean enough. He moved on to the next. "I don't know what it is... spring fever? I always get sick when I molt back to brown. Could be happening early." He shrugged and scrubbed, too distracted to even be surprised at Ocean's concern for him. "Although... I've been thinking. If one of the Midshipjacks dies... who will the Captain choose to promote?"
He turned away from the dishes to look at the stoat honestly now.
"I think I would decline, if I may. I think it should be you. I don't know... I don't think I'm really... supposed to be here. Maybe I'm meant to make shoes after all."
He'd stopped washing, though he was only halfway done, and stared at nothing again. Spender came up beside him and dipped his paws into the tub, mumbling something completely incomprehensible through his idiotic grin. Willard, zoned out as he was, just let the ferret take the cup he was scrubbing and start doing his job for him. His mouth was half open. He swayed for a moment, then began shivering, back to his old twitchy self.
"It doesn't feel like home anymore, I suppose. Hey, stop that."
"'m hulpurring," Spender claimed, relinquishing the dish to Willard.
Molly had cocooned herself, curling tight in the bed, a dizzy caterpillar of a stoat. Only her tail could be seen, occasionally making propeller movements as it tried to compensate for movement that wasn't there.
"Tolerable," she replied from within, followed by a moan. The sheets quivered. "I'll be ready when it's time. Come get me when. Ahh, I just need somebeast to prepare my rifle... it needs cleaning..."
"I can clean!" Tally flounced in behind Ladorak. She clutched her tail tip like a feather duster. As if she couldn't get any cuter.
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Post by Ladorak on Feb 28, 2012 11:35:30 GMT -5
"You'll have to passs through them... if you want to visssit Rio and Cape Town, that isss." the reptile stated, smiling at this. He hadn't expected his comrades to miss that, but who could really blame them? It was something to do with the Equator after all, and if neither of them had been that far south, they probably weren't too familiar with the geography of that region.
"Doldrumsss come before either of thossse dessstinationsss." he informed them. "Oh my missstake... I forgot we don't raissse the tablesss... the sssskeleton crew ssstill hasss to eat. So jusssst leave 'em the way they are." he stated, gathering up the stacked plates and bringing them over to the larboard side wash basin. Clearing for action soon... that would be something to see! Alleline heard that in a maximum of fifteen minutes, the ship was converted from peace to war time setting. It was a model of efficiency he had yet to see on any vessel, and thus, he was looking forward to the command.
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"Don't... belong here?" Ocean asked, blinking. "You don't feel as if you're supposed to be here? Now see here, just what's gotten into you?" he asked, positively puzzled by this.
"Doesn't feel like home..." He mused aloud, staring out a starboard gun port. The Calgarian coast was visible, off in the distance, its verdant shores stretching out endlessly on the horizon. Genoa was there too... somewhere. They were rather close to the Calgarian port, though he wasn't sure exactly where it was from here.
He pondered what Willard was offering him. The chance to make things right... amend things... but did he really deserve it? He was the dangerous one after all... the one playing with fire. Willard had no real infractions that were serious enough to warrant being passed over for promotion.
The ermine shook his head. "I don't think... that will work. The Captain knows I'm not qualified for it. I have an infraction now... one that would prevent me from probably ever being promoted. I guess... I guess I've just accepted that." he said softly. "I've just settled myself into the mentality that I'll never rise above this rank... it'll mean failing my order... but I guess I'll just have to find another way to serve them." he said.
He paused here, thinking. "I was the one that broke regulations... and put everyone else in danger. You only did what was right, after all. I thought you had me covered but... covering me wasn't the right thing to do, either. I guess I can't... blame you for it." he said hesitantly, still looking out the gun port. "Even if I can't help myself sometimes... maybe I'M the one who shouldn't be here." he said, turning and starting to walk off down the gun deck.
The clanging of two bells up above them could be heard, signalling the start of the Forenoon Watch. He quickened his pace now, wanting to get away from there. His walk turned into a jog, his heart caught up in the momentum of the crew making their way topside. They would need to report for duty now, after all. It was time to work. Ocean simply wanted to hide... to melt into the crowd. He knew that Willard was in his subdivision, so there was no real way to avoid him... perhaps they could talk during their task.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ladorak looked down at the helpful mouse. "Clean it, yes... LOAD IT, no." he said, shaking his head. "Far too young for that... and I don't want anyone actually getting hurt. Once we clear for action, the weapons' chests will be unlocked, and the ammunition will be available then. Not before." the ermine stated.
"I'll... have a marine fetch you an ammunition pouch once we clear for action." he said to Molly, thinking about it. As two bells sounded, he looked forward, at the bulkhead. "Well... it's time to head to work. See you in probably less than two hours at this rate." he said, giving his wife a smile. "Thanks... for being here as well. You don't know how much it means to me. That's one of the reasons I married you, after all." he stated, and moved out of his cabin to the bright morning.
Squinting a little, he looked out across the sea to the enemy fleet. That 80 gunner was starting to lag behind now... rather severely. Good! She was now so slow in fact, that the 36 gun frigate Inconstant had caught up with her. Captain Thomas Fremantle had tacked and ranged his miniscule ship alongside the mammoth two decker, within about 400 yards... or musket shot range of her.
This would be something to watch! The crew was filtering onto the deck now, finding their Midshipjack to get their assignments. Caden himself was just emerging, squinting badly from being extra sensitive to the sun. He wandered over to Ladorak. "That the Inconstant?" he asked.
The ermine nodded silently as he watched. "Here it comes... look! Look! Look!" he pointed excitedly.
Puffs of smoke emitted from the starboard battery of the frigate, the Rosferian crew powerless to return fire due to the wreckage of their topmasts obstructing their larboard battery... wreckage which they were desperately trying to clear. Soon, the distant booming of cannon sounded out across the waters to them, and the Rosferian vessel's side exploded in splinters and debris, her wreckage mostly being hit. Caden couldn't help but break out into cheering over this, and even Ladorak gave their brave little frigate a whoop.
"Well I won't say it's the smartest thing to do, as he's now fair game to the rest of the fleet, but I tell you one thing... Fremantle's got a solid gut, he does!" the ermine exclaimed. Frigates didn't usually engage ships-of-the-line, for the obvious reason that the bigger ships could easily sink the smaller ones. They were left alone so long as they didn't try and attack a ship-of-the-line, but Fremantle had just made his frigate fair game.
Filling her sails, the Inconstant stood on, passing the 80 gunner (the Ca Ira as Ladorak was now just barely able to make out) and began chasing after the rest of the fleet. Whatever his plan was, Ladorak knew not, but he only wished his own ship could go faster, as he wanted to get up there to support the gallant Fremantle. "That shall be us, soon." he commented.
Caden nodded, and turned to start gathering his subdivision, which, thanks to some reshuffling, was Selvis, Alleline, Willard, Ocean, Elle, and Spender. Carrow of course would be reporting to the ship's wheel to continue his understudy of the Quartermasters, and assisting them with day to day tasks. Scharnhorst, being a Gunner's mate, would have his own tasks to attend to.
"My subdivision, on me!" the albino ordered, motioning with his paws to his shoulders. "Right here! Seems we've got our morning off to a regular bang!" he declared, smiling now, as his subdivision began to assemble.
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Post by spender on Feb 29, 2012 11:18:32 GMT -5
"I don't know," Willard muttered. He honestly didn't. It was completely inexplicable. It just wasn't him at all.
He listened to Ocean as he finished up the dishes. It felt like the first time anyone had told him he'd done something right. More than that, however, Ocean had... well, not forgiven him. Not in those words. But if blame wasn't assigned, then was there anything to be forgiven? Maybe... maybe Ocean needed to forgive himself. Was that possible?
He hoped it was. He could use some self-forgiveness of his own.
"Of course you belong," he said. "Spender needs you... and for the first time, it looks like he belongs."
He rubbed his eyes, still waiting for the coffee to kick in. Did he honestly just say that about Spender?
...just wasn't him at all... But which him? Rivera, or Waters? Or was this feeling, this unexcitement, this lack of love, lack of comfort; could it be a third personality worming between? Yet another version of a Willard that wanted to stay on land, had grown accustomed to life in Calgary? Would it go away in time, or come back then and again? Should he listen to his feelings, if he didn't know whose they were? Being of two minds had not posed a very difficult problem before. Waters and Rivera mostly agreed on things, except for when they didn't, and the things they disagreed on could have been anyone's muddled thoughts on a subject. They disagreed on the difficult things, where right and wrong were fuzzy. If this third one—if there was a third one—was disagreeing with being at sea...
Then he'd have to kill it.
"For Pete's sake, I'm insane," he told the plate in his paws. It was the last dish. He put it away and hurried after Ocean and the others. No time to cheer the stoat up now, but he'd make sure to do something nice for him at the earliest possible convienience.
Spender was clapping his paws. He was certain if he clapped them enough, they'd make a different noise. He wanted to make a noise like the bells. But so far, his pawpads just made a dull thwap. Maybe next one... okay, maybe the next one... hrm, maybe one more... no...
He let Willard and Ocean guide him over to Caden and the rest of their group.
"H'rah," he burbled. "Di...di...d evurrryone have a, a good b...brrr...food? Hullo! Muh name is Sp...puh...ndurr." He held his left paw to his nose, trying to scratch it with the flat of his pad. "I think." He stuck his other paw out. "Let's be puhhlite and sh...share names and shake our paws. Did evurryone have a g...good brrukfust? Muh name is Spendurr."
The ferret smiled. Hadn't stopped, really, since waking up.
He looked the others up and down, trying to match words to their shapes. Caden: Fox? Ocean: Stoat? Selvis: Stoat? Alleline: Fox? Willard: Mouse? Elle: Badger? Spender: Badger? No. Ferret. Wait, who was a ferret? They were all ferrets? Or all foxes? Oh well. It hopefully didn't matter.
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Post by Carrow on Feb 29, 2012 16:08:42 GMT -5
Selvis nodded, making a note of that. His knowledge of geography wasn't all that great, he had to admit - he had a passable knowledge of how things were on the continent, but he'd read little and been told even less of places further afield. This was why he was glad he was travelling, however, as the best thing to do was to experience them at first-paw. He hadn't been any further east then Calgary nor further south than Ferlusan just yet, but knew this would change as time went on.
The weasel smiled when Alleline mentioned that the skeleton crew still had to eat - he'd forgotten that as well, but already had his mind on the work he'd need to do as part of Caden's subdivision this morning. "OK, sure, we'll do that," he said simply, standing up with his mug of coffee in paw, rapidly draining it. Carrow had finished his, and had also set it down, rubbing his paws eagerly, as he now knew he'd be needed on the quarterdeck soon. No matter what lay ahead, life on the ship still went on.
Alleline went off and attended to his Mess Cook duties, meaning that Selvis, Elle and Carrow were left. The weasel was looking forward to working with his albino marten friend, and grateful for the fact that his fellow mustelid had been able to get Ocean and Alleline transferred to his subdivision. Spender would be around too; it seemed to the longtail that the ferret still didn't know who he was, so that was neither here nor there. He was unaware of Willard's crisis as well, but the least weasel had helped him out over Christmas, in a way, so he wanted to return the favour if possible.
His ears perked up as two bells sounded, signalling the start of the Forenoon Watch. Scratch that, then - he'd be needed there in a matter of moments and not just 'soon'. His promotion meant that he no longer worked under Caden in any way; he was no longer part of his albino companion's subdivision, and, truth be told, he was having trouble getting used to that, especially as that meant he now saw even less of Caden than usual. They no longer ate or worked together for the most part, after all.
Carrow was glad he'd been offered the promotion, and even more pleased that he'd mustered up enough courage to take the thing, but he'd known that there would be a trade-off, and it seemed that in exchange for that, he'd had to give up working with Caden, Selvis and Elle. He knew that he'd see all of them later, but he wasn't sure when that would be. He didn't know if he'd be needed on the lower gun deck when they engaged the enemy, and he was unsure when he'd be eating again either.
"Good luck this morning, you two," he said softly to the pair of mustelids. "I'll see you later, whenever that may be." He turned and left, heading for the ship's wheel, which he knew was in front of the mizzenmast on the quarterdeck. Just then, as he came out on deck, his attention was caught by the frigate firing on the Ca Ira. The noise was impressive, and his head turned to investigate what had happened. It appeared the frigate had fired on the Rosferian vessel, thus making herself fair game. He shook his head in wonderment at the bravery of its Captain.
Speaking of brave Captains, he caught sight of Ladorak, and Caden too, so he smiled and waved to them before going on his way. He wanted to make sure that he wouldn't repeat the rather embarrassing mistake he'd made a while ago of loitering on the deck and not coming forward to present himself to one of the Quartermasters when required.
That had been as a result of general anxiety about his position, but he seemed much more confident about things now - relatively speaking at least. He hoped he'd be able to quell his nerves about the upcoming battle enough to focus on the job at paw. He soon reached the quarterdeck and made his way out to the mizzenmast there, where indeed, the ship's wheel was located. He smiled at, as well as gave his best salute to, the rat Quartermaster he saw. "Cerinus Apodemus, reporting for duty, sir," he said gently, gulping a bit. All he needed to do was focus on what was ahead of him for the next while.
Selvis, meanwhile, responded to Caden's order straight away, heading over to him and smiling at what a commanding presence his friend was becoming. He saluted. "Right here, sir! What will we be doing this morning? I know we'll be clearing for action sooner rather than later, but what needs to be taken care of before that?," he enquired, tail swaying behind him in an eager manner as he waited for Alleline to arrive. He noticed Spender then, and shook the ferret's paw a little, smiling at him. "Hello, Spender. I'm Selvis; and yes, I had a good breakfast. Thank you for asking," he said as brightly as he could manage, though whether this would get much of a response, he knew not.
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Post by Ladorak on Mar 1, 2012 0:08:16 GMT -5
"Midshipjack Caden Fugate." Caden introduced himself to Spender, though did not offer his paw. The ferret had to learn to respect him after all, and not treat him as an equal over time. Alleline joined them a few moments later, coming up on deck after drying his hands. He threw a salute to Caden, who nodded, and addressed his gathered assemblage.
"Well, I for one, had a very good breakfast." the marten announced. "I hope you all did as well. As per morning routine, and in preparation for the upcoming combat, as it seems inevitable at this point, we're going to be working down in the hold. The shots, having lain in their lockers as long as they have, have been rusting. We can't very well be firing rusty shots, after all. So, here's what we're going to do. Cleaning detail, divided up into scourers, painters, and carriers. We have six here, so we can divide into two each. Let's head down to the hold, then!"
He moved past them, leading the way, Ocean of course helping to guide Spender. Caden made his way to the main companionway, as the shot lockers were located along the trunk of the mainmast down in the hold.
He started down, leading the way for his subdivision. Alleline was careful not to slam his head into the beams as they moved down to the upper gun deck (he was much taller than the others, after all). Not stopping, they continued moving down, passing the boisterously eating skeleton crew on the lower gun deck, and to the orlop deck to pick up some supplies.
This was Caden's new living area. He spent some of his off time down here, and all of his meals and sleeping were done on this deck. It was without light, being below the waterline, and while it had the occasional strong smell from the bilge, it was roomy and was not cluttered with guns on either side. It also afforded some measure of privacy as well.
They headed forward now, toward the various storerooms at the bow. Some of the warrant officers had cabins up this way as well, though those were strictly off limits of course. Caden did not yet need to stoop to walk this area (only in the hold did he have to do that), but Ocean certainly did, and Alleline most definitely had to. Caden picked up a lantern that was hanging from the overhead beams, and carried it with him to light their way.
Passing through a door as a marine sentry stood aside, the marten led the way into the Gunner's storeroom. Here were kept all tools of the trade of the Gunner. Pawspikes, sponges, worms, ramrods, flints, powder horns, and any cleaning equipment that was essential for maintaining the upkeep of the guns. "OK... let's see..." He said, looking around in the dim light. "Gather a bottle of scouring fluid... rags... black paint and brushes... and shot baskets." he instructed, exhaling as he'd gotten it right (or at least he was sure he had).
The crew dispersed around him to start gathering up the supplies. It was useless to try and steal any supplies from these storerooms. Regular checks were made by the Gunner and his mates (or whichever warrant officer was in charge of which storeroom), and if anything was found to be askew from the master list provided by the Purser, it was quickly found, either misplaced or stolen, and the offender was promptly punished, though Ladorak had very few problems with theft on his vessel.
Ocean grabbed a paint can and a few brushes, stacking one on the can, and pawing the other to Spender. Alleline gathered a few rags, and soon, they were all back around the Midshipjack. Making sure everything was there, Caden nodded, and led the way out of the storeroom, the sentry moving back into place to guard the entrance.
The slant of the deck was to starboard, as they were currently on a larboard tack. As Caden was heading back aft, he was leaning slightly to his left, that being the starboard side of the ship (starboard and larboard NEVER changed if your perspective did. It was always taken from facing forward or toward the head of the ship at all times). Taking the stairs down to the hold, it was absolutely pitch black down here, as the light from the lower gun deck at least partially trickled down to the orlop, but almost none of it reached the hold.
They came out right near the stump of the root of the mainmast, and Caden hung his lantern overhead for them. "All right, shot lockers are right ahead of you! Open 'em up, and let's have at it!" the marten instructed. "I'll go and get some more lanterns for some light. Three teams. Spender and Ocean, you'll be scouring. Willard and Elle, you'll be painting, and Selvis and Alleline, you'll be using the baskets to carry the shot up to the shot garlands. I know the upper gun deck is pretty slim right now on extra shot, so start replenishing the garlands there, and be looking for any that might need filling on the weather deck and lower gun deck as well. Also, if you see any rusted shots, as there are bound to be, take them down with you and we'll get them cleaned and painted." the albino delivered his orders smoothly, as if he'd been practicing for some time.
It would be like an assembly line in a way. The rusted shot would be scoured with rags, then painted over with a coating and black paint, and finally, the cleaned and painted shot would be brought up to the shot garlands. The shot lockers were giant, wedge shaped bins that flanked the mainmast on either side down here. They could be opened from the top via lids, and contained scores upon scores of solid shot, along with bar shot, grape shot, and chain shot in some smaller lockers, though Ladorak almost always fired solid. Most of them were new, as Ladorak had replenished the stock in port, but there were still some of the old ones leftover, and they needed cleaning.
Caden turned, and vanished back up the companionway, returning a moment later with two more lanterns, which he promptly hung overhead.
"Well now... let'ssss sssstart taking ssssome sssshot up, yesss?" Alleline asked, opening the locker up and looking inside. He began to take the eighteen pounder shot out first. The other lockers around the mainmast held the twenty-four and twelve pounder shot respectively. The monitor began laying a few out in the basket, which was made of thickly knotted rope, strong enough to support the weight.
Ocean began setting some shot down on the deck, rolling one over to Spender that was rusted over. Opening the bottle of scouring fluid (which contained a good chunk of vinegar), the ermine tipped some out onto a rag, held it out to Spender, and then did the same for himself. "Here... like this." He showed his brother, beginning to rub the rag over the rust stains. "Keep rubbing hard until it's all gone, then give it to Elle and Willard. They'll paint a new coat on it." He explained. He set to work on his own ball, putting some elbow force into it, wiping that brown crud away before he rolled it over gently to Willard. "There you go. First one's up!" he said, and retrieved another from the locker.
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"Welcome, Quartermaster's mate Apodemus." the rat Quartermaster threw back a salute. "Just in time to help me out and learn about steering the ship." He explained. The Captain hovered close by, as this was his post after all.
"Now usually, it's one Quartermaster and one mate steering the ship, whereas the others are off duty or at the bell. We also have to tie up the troublemakers to a grate for flogging... if there's going to be a flogging, but there aren't aren't any scheduled for today." the rat explained. "If we're in heavy weather, more mates or other Quartermasters will be called to assist us in battling the wheel. There are four of us on the ship. and four mates to assist them."
"First thing to keep in mind." the rodent went on. "Is constantly listening for course adjustments from the officer of the watch, which at the moment is the Captain, or the Master. Now we have what we call a binnacle, right here." he patted a wooden housing directly in front of the wheel, with a glass case on it, through which could be glimpsed the ship's compass. "So if I hear an order 'come about to course 280 degrees', well, we have to turn the ship either to larboard or starboard to meet that heading, until the compass tells us we're on the right track. Since we drift with the wind, the compass won't always stay constant, but we just keep it as close as we can. And always, always, always, repeat the order given to you. 'Coming about to course 280, aye sir!' is what you'll usually say. This ensures you heard them, and that you understood the order."
"Second, always keep an eye on the sails." he pointed up with a claw. "They're filled for a larboard tack now, and we're on what's called a beam reach, or the wind coming directly perpendicular to us. If we're sailing large or on a broad reach, the wind is coming mostly from behind us, over what's called our quarter." he pointed off the left and right diagonally toward the stern. "Directly behind us is called a run, or sailing before the wind, also called bearing up. A close haul or hauling to the wind is sailing as close to the wind's origin as you possibly can get without stopping the ship and putting her in irons, or in other words, having it come directly over the bow. That's a bad thing... we don't ever want to be in irons." the Quartermaster cautioned. "Can't make any progress that way, and risk getting stuck as well."
"If the wind suddenly shifts on us, as it's very prone to doing in the Mediterranean, you'll have to adjust course rapidly and accordingly, to ensure it'll always fill the sails. Of course, the officer of the watch should be noticing this as well, but just in case, shout out the new direction of the wind to alert him."
He placed a paw on the rope wound tightly about the "drum" in between the two wheels. "This is the tiller rope. She runs all the way down to the tiller on the lower gun deck, and controls it from here. Now... which way do you turn the wheel if you want to head toward the enemy fleet... to larboard in other words, as if say we were going to tack?" he asked, posing the question as Carrow's first real knowledge of what he knew of the tiller and its operations. "So if we're turning larboard... we turn the wheel which way?"
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Post by spender on Mar 2, 2012 0:26:38 GMT -5
Spender sniffed his rag. It fairly burnt his nose; he sneezed. Then he tried to put it in his mouth. Something about the smell just felt right. Like greasy newspapers and wicker baskets... and a word, swimming on the tip of his tongue, glossy and scaley...
Well, the rag wasn't very good to chew. He tugged it out and tried to copy Ocean, rubbing his ball with it. What a very heavy ball. Oh, hey, the colour was changing! Neat. There. All done.
He pushed the shot away as Ocean had done—not towards anyone, however. And as it rolled, the half that had been settled on the deck was visibly unfinished.
"I'M DONE!" he bellowed happily.
Willard flattened his ears and concentrated on the shot he was painting. Elle or someone else would have to go get the one Spender rolled away, and punish the ferret for such a shoddy job.
Ugh, this was so gross... his nice white paws were all black and sticky! This should have been Ocean's job. He could at least use his tailtip as a brush and no one could tell. Bother. If his glasses started slipping, there would be nothing he could do but ask someone else to push them back up.
"Do you ever wonder," he said, trying to stir up conversation to keep his mind off the paint, "why we all have different tails? Why there isn't just one kind of mustelid. Why everyone's got different fur patterns and molting habits. Why weasels and stoats are so plain, but some can change, while ferrets and martens are so colourful, but don't? I only get one kind of brown, but Spender gets twenty shades of it all over. And beech martens are different than pine martens, even though they look nothing like the trees?"
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Post by Carrow on Mar 2, 2012 10:31:48 GMT -5
Selvis nodded, smiling as he received orders from his superior. Painting, scouring or carrying - he wondered which task he would be given, and with whom he would be paired. He viewed each task equally, as he'd tried his paw at each of them last year, and even if the scouring was still the most unpleasant of the three, he was able to pawdle it now at least, even if he'd often gagged while carrying out that particular operation.
He followed Caden as the pine marten led the way down into the hold, bracing himself for the darkness which would engulf them all soon. No matter how many times the longtail had worked down there, it hadn't made it all that easier for him to see in such a dimly-lit space. His eyesight was good, but it still took him quite a while to adjust to those surroundings. Over to the main companionway they went, and Selvis tried to keep relatively close to his albino companion as they began their descent.
The weasel also found it difficult to be any less impressed with Caden's new living quarters. Sure, every now and then there was an unpleasant stench down here from the bilge, but the upside to that was he had a considerable amount of living space. They were headed towards the Gunner's storeroom at this point, and when they reached it, Selvis was quick off the mark to carry out the instructions given to him by Caden. He saw Ocean take a paint can and some brushes, while Alleline opted for retrieving some rags, so he fetched a bottle of scouring fluid and some shot baskets, before returning to his friend.
The pine marten nodded his approval, and then headed aft, leading them the rest of the way down into the hold. Selvis steeled himself, as the inky blackness which would greet them down there could still be more than a little unnerving at times. They finally reached the pitch-black hold area, and the weasel sighed softly in relief as Caden hung his lantern overhead for them, before giving out his instructions. The mustelid quite enjoyed working with Alleline, and he smiled when he was told to do exactly that in carrying the shot up to the shot garlands.
Still smiling, he moved over to the lizard. "Sure, let's do that!," he said enthusiastically, peering into the lockers before deciding to take out a few more eighteen-pounders, placing them into the basket until he was sure that it was full, before starting on one of his own. "Heh, it's nice that you should be able to do something you're rather well-suited to. I've seen you work and you seem rather strong," he complimented the monitor lizard. "As for me, well, I do what I can. At least I'm able to lift these things, so I'm good for something," he said with a chuckle, starting to take out more eighteen-pound shot for himself, and soon his own basket was full. "Shall we head up, then? We're to start on the upper gun deck, I believe," he said, always ready for some good physical work.
He glanced backward to see how the others were getting on. Willard was saying something about tails. The longtail was quite fond of his own appendage, of course, but he didn't have the time right now to respond to the least weasel, as he had a job to do, so he left it. He'd also noted Spender's work: the shot was still half-rusted, and from the ferret's exclamations it was clear he didn't seem to notice. Selvis had to do all he could to stop himself from shaking his head. What use would Spender be if he was this slipshod with the simplest of tasks?
--
Carrow nodded silently in response, his tail twitching a little as he listened to what he was going to be required to do this morning. Why haven't I brought something on which to take notes?, he thought anxiously, before consoling himself with the thought that he could only realistically have done this when he'd woken up - he did indeed have a small notepad, and shortpaw notation was better than nothing at all, but he'd have to try his hardest to remember what he was told, at least for today; next time he might be able to write it down.
The mouse found that softly repeating his fellow rodent's words after he'd finished speaking. Taking a beat to pause was the best thing he could do under the circumstances, so he tried that after the rat Quartermaster had explained to him the role of the Quartermaster and his mates on the ship, and where they could be found, before seeing if he could recall everything that he'd been told. "Got it, sir... sometimes we have to tie up troublemakers to the grate for flogging... four Quartermasters and four mates... if they're not at the wheel, they're either off duty or at the bell."
OK, he thought, that was helping even more than he'd thought. There was no time for reflection though as information continued to come thick and fast. The field mouse was finding it slightly difficult to keep up, but this was a major improvement on how things had been before, and he'd adjust further as time went on. Apparently he was progressing, and that felt good. "Always repeat the order given to you. Yes sir," he said gently, before repeating the example response to the order in a slightly stronger voice. "Coming about to course 280, aye sir!" He knew he'd need to be louder than that in a real situation, but he didn't want to startle anybeast else up here, so kept his voice down for now.
The rat then barraged him with sailing terminology, and that left the younger rodent scrambling to keep pace with the Quartermaster's explanations. Things like this were the ones he was finding most difficult to comprehend, but he didn't have any questions as it was all being explained to him well enough. He settled for repeating after the rat, hoping this would help things to stick in his mind.
"A beam reach is the wind coming directly perpendicular to us. Broad reach is wind coming mostly from behind us. A run is sailing before the wind. A close haul is sailing as close to the origin of the wind as one can get without stopping her... and having wind come directly over the bow is putting the ship in irons, and that should never happen because we could get stuck." He let the rat go on to explain what he should do to ensure the wind always filled the sails, and again, the mouse nodded. "If it shifts, shout out the new direction of the wind to the officer of the watch, just in case... right, I think I understand now," he said in a slightly bashful manner.
He was asked his first question of the day then, after being told about the tiller rope and what it did. His brow furrowed thoughtfully. He couldn't be sure about this, but to him, the question didn't seem as straightforward as it looked. He decided to give it a go anyway and see if he was right. In all honesty he reckoned he probably wasn't - he was still getting to grips with things like these after all - but he was going to hope for the best. "Hmm... OK, let's see. I think that the tiller moves in the same direction to that of the wheel, but I'm... not sure about the rudder... I think that goes the opposite way, so... if we wanted to turn to larboard, I think we'd... turn the wheel to the right...?," he tried in a hesitant voice, wincing inwardly.
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Post by Ladorak on Mar 2, 2012 11:59:42 GMT -5
Unfortunately for Spender, Caden shared Selvis's views. Useless ferret. How can you NOT accomplish a simple task like this? The navy has no room for sputtering babies after all The problem Caden faced was that he had a job to do... and that job required it being done in a timely manner. Judging from their distance between the enemy fleet and their own vessel, they'd be on them in less than two hours. Meaning he only had half the time he usually had to get his work done. And here was Spender. Holding it up. Causing the work to break down.
OK... he wanted to play it that way, that was fine. "Seajacks Alleline and Frenate... take Spender up with you to the upper gun deck. Ocean can't be expected to do all this on his own, after all, so here's what we're going to do. Since landsjack Cielciosk is incapable of his task, he'll be put on even simpler work. Exchange him for landsjack Burton who's currently working the bilge pump. He seems a bright enough lad after all. Inform the Midshipjack supervising those duties that landsjack Cielciosk will be in his subdivision for this watch from now on."
It was rather backbreaking work, as the bilge pump was a giant contraption that resembled a pawcart on a railroad, but with enough beasts working it, it wasn't too bad. Hard on your back after awhile, and it was generally only reserved for the stupidest of the crew (or those who'd been "blacklisted", i.e. committed multiple infractions). "Landsjack Burton will replace Spender on this task."
The sucking noise they could hear forward was in fact the bilge pump in operation now. Every day before noon it had to be pumped out, as ships weren't completely waterproof after all, and always accumulated their share of water, the Agamemnon more so than usual as she'd been constructed of green timber. That task always fell to the least lucky of beasts, but there it was, all the same. Spender was fairly strong and of fairly limited intellect, and thus, the job was perfect for him.
Caden also intended to inform Ladorak about this, and recommend that Spender NOT work on a gun crew. "All right mate, you heard him. Ssstand up. We're going for a walk." Alleline said, picking up his heavy basket of shots.
"Make it quick, please." the marten said. "We can't fall behind on this after all. Thanks." Alleline nodded, and ensured the ferret walked ahead of him on this one.
Ocean sighed, reached out, and took Spender's unfinished ball. Keep this up and you'll be thrown off the ship, he thought silently as he began scouring it down. There was stupid yes... and then there was just infantile intellect. Spender was unfortunately just a jot above that. Borderline useless to the ship, in other words. If he couldn't pawdle himself... it really was pointless to keep him around, as much as the ermine hated to admit it. The worst part of it was, Spender wouldn't understand why his job had suddenly changed (and would probably forget it in the next few minutes), but that basically confirmed the ermine's point of view. He just wasn't suited for this right now. If he couldn't understand WHY things were happening around him... then what was the real difference between him and a very young kit, aside from size of course?
He looked at Willard now, and pondered his inquiry. "And why don't I change color in the summer?" he asked now, staring off into space for a moment. "I've always wondered if I'm secretly related to the Poynts" he mused, smiling. "I mean they do the same thing. They're in ermine all year round. What makes us do that?"
He rolled his ball over to Elle now, and started on another after reaching up into the bin and sitting back down cross-legged. Tipping the bottle up, he doused his rag with more fluid. Spender had tried to eat the rag. While that had made Ocean smile, and even almost laugh, he realized Caden ws right. He couldn't think off the top of his head of a single crew member on board that would even think the rag was palatable. Spender was in a very solitary league of his own.
"Some say it's how God made us." Ocean said, wiping the shot down. "We're all unique... though of course, there's much debate over who was made in His image and who wasn't. Maybe He was having fun when He got to the mustelids. I think it's good we all look different though. I just know I'm a stoat, and probably wouldn't change it."
I may look different... but at least I have a brain Caden thought, glad that Spender was gone. It was nothing personal, but he had to move his task along. He held out a rag for Willard to take, so that he could wipe his paws down (though not like it mattered, as they'd be fairly black anyway from the tar he'd been touching on the ratlines and shrouds everyday when he went aloft). Caden remembered those days fondly... his crippling fear of heights... getting his paws all black from the tar, and learning how to properly salute so that it wouldn't show to the officers. Being aloft was fun work... he'd eventually grown into it, and sometimes missed his old life... but this was his new life now, and he had to adjust. It seemed... overwhelming sometimes, but he was genuinely trying to do his best.
"What do you think, Jal Waters?" Ocean asked, landsjack Burton suddenly appearing on the stairs.
"Landsjack Burton reportin' for duty!" the burly masked civet said with a salute.
"Start assisting Jal Sleet with the scouring. We need to make up for lost time!" Caden ordered, and the civet nodded and moved to sit opposite of Ocean.
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"Here... have fun!" Alleline pushed Spender toward the bilge pump with his tail. The Midshipjack in charge of this subdivision had been told by the two the situation down in the hold, and had promptly relieved Burton of his duties, telling him to get down there on the double. He then began showing the ferret how exactly to stand in line with the crew on one side of the pump, and basically just go up and down... up and down... up and down in order to keep the pump operating. With a crew of four on each side, it was simple work.
Water was suctioned up through copper pipes three decks down, and brought up here to pool into the copper basin, and then flow outward to the scuppers on the upper gun deck.
"That ferret... totally hopelessss." the monitor hissed as he moved off down the crowded and noisy gun deck. Most of the crew milled about here on their time off, though right now, the starboard watch was running through paw-to-paw combat training with the Master-at-Arms, and lined up in neat rows. Some were doing gun drill as well under the watchful eye of the Gunner and Scharnhorst, but weren't actually firing, as Ladorak had ordered that all powder and shot be conserved for the upcoming battle.
"Ah... here we go." Alleline pointed to some very empty holes in the shot garlands around the main hatch. "Thissss ssssection needssss replenissshing." he gratefully set his basket down, and began to fill up the empty hemispheres. Light streamed in from the open hatch above them, the mainmast towering overhead, the sails billowing and filled rather smartly in the wind. It was a very bright and pleasant place to work on the ship, and right now, Alleline wouldn't trade this for anything.
"I jusssst don't sssee how one can be that denssse. You mentioned he had an illnessss or ssssomething that made him that way?" the lizard asked, on his knees as he slowly worked around the garland. "I mean... I can't read or writesss worth a damn but... him? He can't even walk without tripping over hisss own tail." the goanna rolled his eyes, taking the shots up two at a time (one in each hand) and setting them down in the empty slots.
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"Correct you are!" the rat exclaimed. "You'd turn the wheel the opposite direction of the way you want the ship to go. If the wheel gets shot away in combat... we have two alternate methods of steering. With the rudder chains... which are up on the poop deck near the taffrail. They're chains that run down to the rudder on either side, and pulling on them causes the rudder to move in the direction you're pulling... meaning the ship will go in that direction, because it turns whichever way the rudder's facing."
"The last method is to go down to the tiller and move that by paw... but that requires quite a lot of beasts to do that." the Quartermaster stated. "Once again, like the wheel, you'd be pulling the tiller in the opposite direction of the way you want to go. It's basically a giant stick, with you controlling one end. If you move the front to the right, the back end will go left, and vice versa, correct?" he asked the mouse now. "That's how the rudder and tiller operate." he explained. "Just think of it as a stick you move."
"You're learning then, I see." The Quartermasters would be keeping their eye on Carrow to see how fast he picked up on everything. If he spent too much time learning, then another job might be best for him other than Quartermaster. But if he got it down, he'd eventually make the job, once the Captain deemed him ready.
Off in the distance, Ladorak was watching the Rosferian fleet. The frigate Inconstant had shot on ahead, though it seemed as if a Rosferian frigate was starting to bear up now, and head down upon Fremantle and his command. The 120 gun flagship was continuing to back her sails as well, and slowly drop down her line to reach the disabled 80.
The ermine Captain was silently urging his ship forward, trying to get every ounce of speed out of her. They NEEDED to join that battle! Captain Reeve behind them in the Captain was doing an admirable job of keeping up, and they were clearly leaving the rest of the fleet behind. "Quartermaster! Check course to 280 degrees. Let's haul our wind."
The rat nodded at Carrow, and pointed to the compass. "Adjusting course to 280 degrees, aye sir!" he shouted out, and motioned for Carrow to grab the other spokes of the wheel to help him turn it. Slowly, the brought it to the right, as they were turning more to larboard now, or just north of west in terms of their heading, as 270 was due west.
"Now... I'm not expecting you to know how far to turn the wheel to get the ship to move, but you'll catch on. You'll just get a feel for it... you'll know how far to turn the wheel, and unless the Captain calls for 'hard-over', you won't be spinning the wheel all the way in any one direction. See how the compass is now changing... and the bow is turning?" he asked. "Let's straighten her out now." the rat began moving the wheel back to its centered position.
"So as you can see... we're heading just a little north of west now, with the wind generally coming from forward, so pretty close hauled. That's about as close hauled as we can get it." the Quartermaster explained. With the wind coming from the southwest, they were about fifty degrees off the wind, which was ten degrees closer than most warships were capable of. But Ladorak knew his ship, and how close he could sail her to the wind.
The Boatswain down below began shouting out orders for the crew on deck to turn the yards as far to the right as they could go, in order to more fully catch the wind coming over the larboard bow. The crew heaved on the lines, slowly turning the yards to match what the ship was doing.
"That's the Boatswain's job to make sure that the yards are set properly as we adjust course." the Quartermaster murmured in a quieter voice. "He's in charge of everything having to do with the masts, sails, and yards, as you well know."
"Also... something you said earlier. The bow CAN face the wind... but generally only if you're backing your sails... like the Rosferian flagship is doing in order to achieve backward movement, or... if you're tacking, in which your bow passes through the wind... which we're going to HAVE to do in order to chase after the Rosferians. We'll have to adjust course to more southeasterly to follow in their wake... and in order to keep our momentum, a tack will be required."
"A tack you have to be quick on... because as you said, you risk getting into irons, or being pushed back the way you came, which is called missing your stays, in which case, we'd have to try again, but that costs us valuable time, so while it's OK to miss stays when tacking without an enemy nearby... with an enemy close at paw, it's vital to not miss your stays." the rat outlined. "Following so far?" he asked, as three bells sounded out, and the half hour glass was upended.
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Post by spender on Mar 3, 2012 2:28:32 GMT -5
Spender beamed with wide-eyed wonder as he was led away. "O-kay, goodbye!" he whispered, waving at the others. He chewed on a claw as Alleline prodded him onward.
"I d...did a gudd jub," he said. "I finish furrst. Woo!" This sailing stuff wasn't hard at all!
"Here... have fun!"
"O-kay!" He waved at the departing lizard and took up place at his new job. Have fun... yes, he could do that. He squinted at the cieling. Possibly. "Hullo," he said to the others at the pump. "Muh name is... Spendurrr. Let's shake our paws and be puh-lite."
"How's about you just push?" a blobular rat grunted.
"O-kay! Woo." After a few minutes, Spender began trying to make the noise of the pump with his mouth. He stopped suddenly and looked to the rat. "Wot is fun? Do you ha...have some furr me?"
"I think you've had enough already, mate..."
"No... that is called purrkchops. I HAD A GUDD BRUKKFAST!"
"Oi! Keep it down..."
Willard kept his head down. He couldn't be embarrassed for Spender if he couldn't see the ferret, right?
He gave Ocean a rather odd look when the ermine suggested he might secretly be related to the Welkin royal family. Could he be? He had a point. But didn't they keep records of that sort of thing? In fact, what was Ocean's history at all? Willard didn't know much about the pasts of any of the crew; he avoided the subject so he wouldn't have to talk about his own. But... could Ocean have been a... mistake? No: to suggest anybeast from the royal family would have an affair like that was a damnable lie. It stuck in his throat and conflicted with his national pride.
Great, now he'd never stop thinking about this mystery!
"What do you think, Jal Waters?"
"I think," said Willard, after Burton had settled in, "That the idea of being made 'in His image' refers to our souls. It is the one thing that is the same in every creature, even ferals—they just lack the brains. But souls are spiritual, not entirely physical, at least, not in the same way... Somewhere between dreams and reality. God doesn't have any other image, unless you refer to His son in the context of the Trinity, that they are all three the same. But that would suggest that any species different has no chance at salvation. In any case, I would like a longer tail."
He thumped his short least weasel tail on the deck behind him, a quick ten-tap rhythm. Then again, having a longer tail meant he wouldn't be able to do that as fast.
He also added, a little quieter, just to Ocean, "I don't think he knew there was another side of the shot. He only saw what was there in front of him." He turned over the shot he was painting, to finish the other side.
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Post by Carrow on Mar 4, 2012 15:50:38 GMT -5
Selvis, too, was aware of the limited time with which his pine marten friend had to work, and stumbling blocks like Spender’s seeming incompetence just would not do - there was even less room to move in a scenario like this, after all. Even if the ferret wasn’t getting in the way of the longtail’s own work - fates forbid he should ever do such a thing in this state, he thought - things needed to be moved along, and he was happy to faciliate his superior officer.
Saluting and nodding, he smiled. “Yes, sir.” He let Alleline lead the way, making sure he brought up the rear so that he could correct Spender’s course if he got confused about where he was going; in his current condition there was a high chance of such a thing occurring, it seemed, but the weasel hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They began heading back up the way they had come, Selvis finding that he was still well able to lift these baskets of shot, even if he was only now settling back into things after a considerable amount of time on land.
They dropped Spender off at the bilge pump, and Selvis’s urge to shake his head in disappointment became too strong. Even for Spender, this was a new low. He’d never liked working back when he’d been… his old self, but to see him relegated to bilge pump work - and he was well aware of the significance of such a thing - was oddly disappointing. It wasn’t like he had sufficient knowledge of his surroundings to actually function on a normal level. It was strangely disconcerting seeing him like this.
He wasn’t going to dwell on that. As it was, Spender had no idea of the weasel’s very existence, and the mustelid had other things to deal with. They set off up the gun deck, the longtail unable to resist commenting on the ferret - it had to be said, even if his goanna friend had no idea of who Spender had been, or what he had been like, before the accident: “I thought much the same of him back when he still had his wits, to tell you the truth. He wasn’t good for all that much except getting himself into trouble, from what I saw,” he revealed to Alleline.
Looking around him as they walked, the weasel noted that Scharnhorst was lending a paw with gun drill, and keeping an eye on those members of the crew who were involved. He appeared rather confident about it, and the mustelid made a note to enquire as to how the zorilla had found it, whenever they got the chance to talk next. He stopped and looked up when his companion gestured to the empty hemipsheres into which the shot needed to be placed. Selvis grunted slightly as he too placed his basket down on deck, before crouching slightly and starting to lift the shot out of the basket.
The longtail didn’t realise the goanna was thinking of the exact same thing as him, but he couldn’t resist commenting on the rather pleasant surroundings in which the pair now found themselves. He talked as he worked. “I’d be lying if I told you I’d ever thought much about this before, but I rather like the look of where were are now. I know that saying this is quite ironic considering the conflict we’re headed towards, but it’s rather peaceful-looking here. I don’t think that’s ever struck me quite so much as it’s doing right now. She’s beautiful, our ship, and I don’t mean just when viewed from afar.”
He smiled as he continued to fill up the holes, adopting a similar approach to Alleline in using both his paws. His ears twitched a little as he concentrated on what Alleline was saying about Spender, and he nodded his agreement. “Neither can I, but then I was hardly expecting his illness to take such a toll on his mind, leaving him with literally just about enough sense to actually remain aboard this ship. I wonder how much longer he’s going to last here, to be quite honest with you. You saw him there, a few moments ago - looks to me like his days are numbered.”
He paused to reflect a moment as Alleline asked about the illness that had almost completely destroyed the ferret’s mind. “He does indeed suffer from a condition… but, so I have heard, it was picked up by him in a way that he would be rather… ashamed about if he had his wits about him,” he continued, his voice softening slightly as he spoke. “Yes, well, you’re still of considerable use, as your physical strength is quite impressive and you look to be as sharp as a tack.” He smiled again, directing it at the goanna this time. “Spender used to be strong too - in body, that is. In mind he was never the most capable, but he can’t manage very much now after being ravaged in that manner. It’s not his fault - fundamentally speaking, at least - but that’s the way things are now, and if you ask me I’m not sure he can find his way back.”
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Carrow smiled slightly, relieved to hear he had gotten that question right. It was only a small victory, but it was a victory all the same and it did a considerable amount to help ease his nerves. "Turn the wheel in the opposite direction in which you want the ship to go," he repeated quietly. Or, in other words, turning the wheel is not as straightforward as one might think, he added mentally, knowing this would help him to remember the procedure.
He listened closely as the rat Quartermaster went on to explain the alternate methods of steering the ship. From the look on the field mouse's face, it was clear that he was focused and paying as much attention as possible. One involved the rudder chains, and the other had to do with the tiller. Just think of it as a stick, he told himself. Well, that was helpful, especially as he had trouble visualising these things at the best of times, but images like this would help the older rodent's instructions to stick, and he'd take whatever assistance he could get.
His smile became slightly more bashful as he received that small compliment from the Quartermaster. Even if he wasn't used to receiving praise, it worked a hell of a lot better than constant discouragement, and he'd had to deal with enough of that in his life to know when he was doing a good job. His large ears twitched slightly as he heard Ladorak's voice, instructing the rat to check course to 280 degrees. His attention was drawn to the compass by the Quartermaster's pointing paw, and he kept a close eye on it for a few seconds while the ermine Captain's command was repeated by the mouse's superior.
He grabbed the other spokes and lent a paw - well, both paws - with turning the wheel, guiding it to 280 degrees, though of the course, most of this work was done by the Quartermaster. He listened as the rat resumed his guidance. It was true, he didn't know how to read the wheel like that yet, but he was sure he'd get used to it at some point. He nodded when asked if he could see how the compass was changing. "Yes, sir, I do." The bow was turning too. At the rat's request, Carrow helped to straighten out the ship, ears twitching again as he was informed of their present position.
He nodded as the rat explained the role of the Boatswain; Carrow knew it, of course, but it helped to be reminded of it, especially now as he was working in a different context to how things had been before. He continued to nod at intervals as the idea behind tacking was explained to him. Under such circumstances, the bow faced the wind, or when the ship was backing her sails - a quick glance at the movements of the Rosferian flagship helped to drive the rat's point home.
He smiled when asked if he was following. This was tough work, but he was enjoying it; he was much better at keeping up now than he had been when he'd started work... almost two years ago? Really? Had it been that long? Nodding again, he spoke. "Yes, sir. We have to be quick off the mark with an enemy nearby, and we have to maintain our momentum when tacking, at all times, but missing our stays is acceptable when there's no danger present," he responded, sounding a little more confident at this point.
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