greenjacketed | SHARPE'S AMMO ⚔ VOICE

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!voice

SHARPE'S AMMO ⚔ VOICE | ACTION

[ despite muddy vowels and yorkshire drawls, sharpe's voice is remarkably calm when it bursts across the journals in the morning. he needs something to take his mind off other aspects of his life. and so -- this is the major speaking, not just the man: ]

Good day to you -- to the New Feathers and the old alike. My name is Sharpe. And as I understand it, ammunition is scarce in this place. For any in need of bullets, I'll have a pretty pile of cartridges as soon as I'm done rolling'em. I don't much mind sharing. [ a pause. ] They're 0.61 inch lead balls with a greased patch. But if that won't do, missions are a fine way to requisition more shot. The points are worth spending. A soldier can hoard his ammunition if he likes, but all the bullets in the bloody world can't improve a piss-poor shot. For that? Practice is what's needed. [ and practice is what he wanted.

oh and he might as well ask: ] Any soul got an axe I can make use of? Only for the day.

[ after bungling his way through any on-book communication, he'll get to work; with certain social turmoils still troubling his soul, he certainly needs the distraction. first, he'll be keeping busy behind the barracks. stripped down to his braces and cavalry trousers, he clears excess brush from the treeline and puts to good use some of the trees that were downed by the recent storm. moran mentioned a firing range and sharpe wants to see this dream realized.

the afternoon brings a small change of scenery. he will later be sitting by the fountain, rolling cartridge shot. the powder can get messy; as such, it's a job he prefers to do outdoors. the added ability to people-watch doesn't hurt, either.

hell. if you're lucky? you might even catch him humming. ]

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[ he notes those welts and comments on them in a distant, idle manner: ] Looks as though you could've used some help sooner than this.

[ his boots stop at the foot of her porch. ]

[She lifts a shoulder.] I have endured worse.

[A moment to finish her water and she stands, drawing the ax up as she does so.] Others had their own yards and lives to tend to.

As a man without a yard, I must protest. I would've gladly tended to yours.

[ this conversation was veering uncomfortably towards the land of accidental double entendre, and so... ]

The blade? [ he holds out his hand. ]

Even if you had no yard, you have your own life and worries, yes?

[She offers the ax haft first to Sharpe and nods around the corner, turning to walk in that direction once he has the ax in hand]

The worst of it is around back.

I've no batallion and no job. They didn't deign to invite me into their war and so I suppose the only worry I have is my lack of life.

[ he lifts the axe and sets it gently on his shoulder. ] I'll let you know when the work is done.

There are the voluntary missions that pop up now and again; and the standing missions for which they always need more men. It is no work, nor is it steady work, but it would be something.

[It doesn't sit quite right with her, leaving him on his own to deal with the mess that was the fairly large stack of stripped, chopped, and ready to be chopped tree limbs spaced out behind the house.]

Aye. I've been on one already. And I leave my name in their raffle.

Better you than a six year old. How it is they choose their draftees is beyond me.

[ his expression grew cool. ]

That's the trouble with conscription, ain't it.

Were it a random selection- it would make sense. It would be comforting- bu I cannot help but think their choices very deliberate and it's all the more unsettling for it.

...Some people go often, don't they?

On the drafts? I believe so. This past one is the first I've been present for, so I cannot say for certain.

...And how'd you fare?

I wasn't called. Nor was I in the village.

[Oh how the French love to run. And she'd run quite well, quite far. Right into a storm.]

[ he squints. ]

Mission?

...

[Don't make her say it. She knows how much of this was cowardice now. Still. She answers.]

Maiden voyage of the Britannia. We were on the sea when the storm it and the raid began.

...You? With the Navy boys?

[ a soft scoff. ]

The ship needed a surgeon, I needed...to not be here. [A beat, then her voice drops in tone, becomes stern.] They were polite enough, and skilled enough to see us through the storm unharmed.

A ship is not where you should want to spend your leisure time, Miss Adele. It's far better to be on land.

I grew up on the coast, Sharpe. I spent most of what little leisure time I had on a ship. Not a military vessel, but- I've always found the ocean soothing.

And I grew up near the bloody Thames but you don't see me careening towards narrowboats. [ ah. that was a slip in his honesty, there. ] The only thing that's filthier than an army camp is a navy ship, I'm afraid.

Odd, I found it terribly clean and orderly- up until we were sailing through the hurricane. But most anything can be forgiven when organization is put aside in the interest of not capsizing.

Of course it was clean and orderly. Their ship has a handful of men where it'd normally have a stinkin' lot of them. Not to mention they weren't at sea for long.

But a navy ship after months and months? A floating midden.

I can only imagine. Actually- I think I would much rather not.

[She represses a shudder.]

As bad as my time was, I'm sure it was worse for the poor sods actually posted to the ship. I was only a passenger.

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