We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors...with a soldier

[simplestgift]

Who: Norrington (abidinglaw ), Hornblower (captainhornblower ), Sharpe (greenjacketed ), Bush (wouldntbetonit ), Kennedy (simplestgift ), and Wellard (bravelad ).
What: Officers' dinner.
When: The 23rd at four o'clock
Where: The captain's cabin of the Britannia
Summary: Archie's feeling like recapturing some of the magic officer dinners used to have when Aubrey and Maturin were here.
Rating: A is for Awkward, B is for Bonaparte, C is for Cinnamon, D is for.../shuts up

So Archie isn't Aubrey, but he's tried to make things warm and have lots of good food.  He's done pretty well, but his attempts to replace the captain of which he was so fond aren't perfect.  The beef is, perhaps, just a tad drier, the pudding a teensy bit too moist, and other such nitpicks, but hey.  One of you try it.

Comments

[greenjacketed]

A quirk of the corner of his mouth. The flags, yes. He remembered the flags. The frantic running of the flags. Up and down. And little Mister Collier noting them all.

"At Trafalgar, yes. As I said -- was a mistake." He inclined his head, inviting the Lieutenant to finish his inquiry.

[simplestgift]

"You couldn't tell me what it was like? Which ship, and who was the captain? This is three years after my time, you understand."

[greenjacketed]

"Madness, as battles often are. That part don't change. I was on the Pucelle with Captain Joel Chase. He listed many of ships and their captains, but..."

An apologetic shrug. "It was eight years ago."

[simplestgift]

Archie tries to recall something from eight years ago as a frame of reference. Eight years ago, he was in prison. Forget that.

"Things do fade." He knows how silly it is to make that statement as if it is sage wisdom, but he can't think of anything else to day. He takes a sip of port wine. "You're from further along than any of us, you know."

[greenjacketed]

"Dunno what else to tell you and yours other than we're still very much at war." Of course they were. Even on the verge of pressing into France, he didn't feel like the end was near. And parts of him didn't want it to be.

But his answer was bleak, and so: "We have'em on the run. Last I heard, the Peer's preparing to march into France."

[simplestgift]

"Eight years since Trafalgar? You're close enough to the end." He thinks about this. "War since '93, almost incessantly. You must be sick of it after twenty years."

[greenjacketed]

Sharpe lowered his fork.

"I soldiered through all of them, Lieutenant. All twenty of them."

The meaning was slightly obscured but ripe for the picking: Richard Sharpe knew very little of any other life. It was entirely likely that a world not at war would not be very welcoming to a career private turned career officer.

[simplestgift]

Funny. Archie was sick of war after just three years of it. He had his times where he got back into the swing of things, but always seemed to lapse back into brief times when he was perfectly willing to starve on half-pay or leech off his parents like a louse if it meant peace.

"I believe you. It wasn't a criticism."

[greenjacketed]

He shook his head; he could never, it seemed, manage to communicate his point effectively.

"No, see...some of us aren't good at anything else." Sharpe frowned. "Not that I care to see it continue. I'm not so bloody minded as that and I never hope to be."

[simplestgift]

"I wasn't good at anything else, either." He pushes a bite of steak around on his plate before dropping the fork. "Some similarity between the richest and poorest, I suppose. Since coming here, I've had to learn to do other things, else I'd be driven mad."

[greenjacketed]

Poorest. It cut closer than he expected it to but...it wasn't as though he could hide it, could he? Still. His eyes widened for a split second and his stare dropped to his glass.

Sharpe reached for it. Drank deeply.

"I hear I should learn how to cook a proper meal. Looks as if you've already done that."

[simplestgift]

Archie hadn't meant specifically Sharpe, although he picks up the reaction with alarm. After a second, he glances away, face reddening at his faux pas.

"I've done my best. Dunno if one can call it proper."

[greenjacketed]

"...It's grand," he found himself backwardsly trying to reassure the lieutenant. "Especially to a man who'd been on army rations up until two months ago."

Not...exactly the truth. Given he'd been invited to court and had dined with the Prince of Wales not long before arriving here. But it was close enough to the truth.

[simplestgift]

A light laugh. "After living on biscuits that move and water that lives, anything would seem grand."

[greenjacketed]

The tension brought about by suddenly understood class differences dissipated only in minute amounts. Allowing Sharpe small, tight smiles.

"Eight years ago, maybe, but I still remember weevils. As much as I do despise a meal like this, Kennedy? I never complained about being invited to the Captain's table. His nosh was much less...living."

[simplestgift]

"It's what happens when one can afford to pay for some of one's own food." Another sip of port. He's always been good at making friends, even surrogate uncles, among the men, he just has to remember how he did it. It's easier in Luceti, where very few are class-conscious at all. "It can't last for ever, though. After a trip to the Indies and back, or if supply's been interrupted, the captain's eating the same fare as everyone else." And so are the officers of the ward room, who often pool resources to buy special things as well.

[greenjacketed]

"...On the Calliope, many of the wealthier passengers were certain to, err, provide." It had been oddly potluck, on that EIC ship. And Sharpe had been fortunate to have Pohlmann there to invite him to many a meal with Captain Peculiar Cromwell.

"But -- aye, the navy ship? The Pucelle? Things were different on her."

[simplestgift]

"It's always different on board a navy ship. Lives at stake and all." He swirls the port in his glass. "It makes those in command believe even the worst conditions perfectly acceptable so long as they're not the ones suffering from it."

[greenjacketed]

...A retort of laughter. Comradely, almost. Sympathetic. "It's no different in the army, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Colonels wanderin' about with chairs and velvet and gold in their chests. Trying so hard to make each new tent like their London townhouse."

[simplestgift]

"Presumably they are able to stand up in these tents." Blink blink. "I was in a land engagement once, with the army, but I don't remember sleeping. Major Lord Edrington very possibly had a tent much like the one you described."

[greenjacketed]

Of course he did, Sharpe thought. The clue was in the lord.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you? Sleep. Whilst engaged. Or -- some would. Knew a sergeant who could sleep through a whole battery of French guns.

How'd you fare, then?"

[simplestgift]

"Oh, I couldn't possibly say we were set up for failure. To do so would border on treason."

[greenjacketed]

A sigh. "Might as well say it, Kennedy. We've no provosts here to hang us and so I'll hardly shy away from saying I've lived through some of the same."

[simplestgift]

"You won't take offense? Then we were set up for failure. Either that, or Admiral Hood is one of the greatest fools we have in the Navy, and we've no shortage of those."

[greenjacketed]

"Offense?" A shake of his head. "No. None at all."

Sharpe was no stranger to the army setting him up for all sorts of failures. Problem was, he kept overcoming those obstacles. Succeeding anyway. Sheer willpower kept him clinging to a social ladder that many would see him kicked off of.

"Tell us what happened, Lieutenant."