@ luceti ; as if he'd ever get castmates lol

[greenjacketed]

My lady,

Beg pardon, but I do not see the point in canvasing this spot for any of my men. [ or women, lest he ever let himself dream of seeing teresa again. ] Not a one of them would like life in that village -- nor like the wings neither. Not even Harris. And as it is my duty as Major to look after their interests, I must insist. Don't try and tempt a single rifleman to Luceti. Especially not...

[ a taut, brassy silence. it's finally broken when sharpe's formal tone erodes and he argues more casually: ] Look, you. I'm doing bloody well fine without Harper. I don't need him or anyone else to brew my tea. And no, I don't need him to make certain I don't muck things up with with Miss Carpenter. I'm perfectly capable of wooing a woman without my Sergeant Major in attendance. I'm not tied to Pat's apron-strings.

[ wait -- did he just say wooing? blast it. blast it all to hell. ]

...Give it a rest, ma'am.

-- Major Richard Sharpe

Comments

[fairytaling]

If you don't want her canvasing for men, then what about canvasing for women?

[greenjacketed]

There are no women from home I should be wanting to see, ma'am.

[fairytaling]

Oh, don't call me ma'am, it makes me sound old.

[greenjacketed]

[ he eyes her fair skin and her good health.

and sighs. ]

My lady, then?

[fairytaling]

[ grins ]

I could get used to that, Major.

[greenjacketed]

Does my lady have a name?

[fairytaling]

She does. [ she tries to sound magnanimously ladylike. ] Amy Pond.

[greenjacketed]

[ a stiff (but good-natured) bow. ]

At your service.

[fairytaling]

[ her eyebrows are very up and amused and pleased ]

What does that mean, anyway, 'at your service'? Are you literally at someone's service, and is there - I dunno, a hierarchy or servicitude?

[greenjacketed]

Why, Miss Pond. It is both an officer's duty and right to provide for a lady in any instance.

Well, never say never!

[godsaveireland]

Wings, is it? Would you be feelin' all right, sir?

oh my god! /fainting -- also pardon me while i nervously edit forever

[greenjacketed]

Bloody hell, Pat!

[ he hides his relief behind a burst of sharpe-ish belligerence. ] Of course I'm feeling alright. There's nowt wrong with myself. It's everyone else who's gone mad. Wings and all.

I was so happy to see a Sharpe that I couldn't resist!

[godsaveireland]

[Don't worry, he knows that you've missed him.]

Where do the wings come into it?

i've had him at luceti for two months now; he's a blast.

[greenjacketed]

[ it's a sad state of affairs without you, patrick. he makes his own tea and fetches his own meals. utterly pitiful. and let's not even get started on how poorly he's been socializing... ]

It's a queer trick of the place, Harper. Each prisoner gets a pair of blasted wings. [ his are brown; they're close to the rich wooden colour of the baker rifle's stock. ] A whole village of would-be angels. [ and then -- because he can't stop himself from poking some measure of fun at his friend and sergeant: ] A papist's dream.

[godsaveireland]

Sounds like a nightmare to me. It takes more than a few feathers to make an angel.

We'll find the rest of the lads and get you out. We've faced worse odds, so we have.

[They'll worry about the wings later. Though asking ]

[greenjacketed]

[ quietly -- and as a confession he wouldn't dare give to any other man: ] I've been waiting to wake up, Pat. It's like that bloody death house in Salamanca.

[ a hard swallow. things turn light once again as he tries to take a swipe at the many sailors found in town: ] I've got a load of navymen to keep me company, Sergeant. It's unbearable. Could do to see the men again and give the sea-bastards a glimpse of real soldiering.

[godsaveireland]

From what I've heard, these places always seem like a bad dream.

Sailors. With wings.

God save Ireland.

... can any of them hold their drink? [Because it sounds like the sort of place the requires copious amounts of alcohol.]

[greenjacketed]

And there's only a blighted Admiral there and all...[ a bitter laugh. ] There's a bar in the dead centre of town that you'd take to, Pat. Fine brandy in stock and all for free.

And a man what seems to be a fixture of the place. A pirate, he says. Can hold his liquor well enough. I'd sooner drink with him than the naval officers.

[ as ever. ]

[godsaveireland]

Free brandy? Maybe the place isn't so bad after all.

[Patrick has clearly picked the right thing to focus on.]

[forashilling]

[ ooc; I found this late in RPS and I am being utterly shameless and I do not care. You are fucking glorious. ]

[ There's suddenly a tent behind you, and the smell of hot brandy. ]

If ya don't want tea, sir, do you mind some brandy? Fer the fever.

[greenjacketed]

[ ooc; LATE DOESN'T MATTER i am so happy hiii. ]

Pat...[ a huff of distant relief; he turns. ] Brandy'll do, aye. It'll do.

[ sharpe slips his rifle off his shoulder and takes a solid seat on the less than solid army bench. ]

[forashilling]

[ And Pat obligingly sits on the other side to balance him. ]

Now sir, sip it slow and tell me what's all this 'bout wings.

[greenjacketed]

[ he lifts the thin metal cup -- warmed by hot brandy and his own wide hands -- for a deep drink. it burns but the burn is pleasant. comforting. ]

Not much to say of them. They're bloody odd and I had to have great awful holes put in my jacket just to fit'em.

[ that, you can imagine, had ticked him off most royally. his poor rifleman's jacket. ]

[forashilling]

[ Pat blinks very, very slowly. He reaches out and carefully places a hand on Richard's forehead. Okay, no fever. He holds it there in hopes of being batted away. That would be normal. He likes normal.

Wings and the talk of them? Not so much. ]

I gotta say, sir, you ain't like any angel I've ever seen.

[greenjacketed]

...Harper. [ sharpe starts off with a warning growl in his voice. god in heaven, he needs and respects patrick but he won't shy away from barking should he feel it necessary. ] I'm right as rain. Fighting bloody fit.

[ he pushes the intruding hand away but his tone remains sour. ] None of us are angels. Just prisoners.