major richard sharpe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenjacketed) wrote2012-07-08 02:24 pm
greenjacketed) wrote2012-07-08 02:24 pm
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. ]
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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You think her a guileless, blameless creature by virtue of her being a woman?
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And a bloody surgeon.
[ so of course not. the man has standards. however: ] It don't mean I care to a person insulted.
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Trouble with surgeons...? [Deets, please. He does enjoy a good story.] Do you fear she shall cut you into hundreds of pieces when you are at rest?
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[ a man who survives an army death-room doesn't care to go back under their knives. ]
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There are other means of healing wounds that do not involve relying on a surgeon's help... and which are more effective.
[A bit of devil's art could cure what ailed someone. Well, so long as one hadn't exhausted their magic.]
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Not interested.
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Harry, yes? >:3Matter-of-factly:]It might interest you... should you find yourself in danger of losing a limb. Or at death's door, Heaven forbid.
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Do you mean to say that you would rather suffer or die than to accept aid?
[His smile broadens slightly.]
Or is the thought of finding yourself indebted to me that... bothers you?
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[ not even touching the last bit. ]
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[A rhetorical question. He chuckles lightly, as if fighting doesn't matter much at all to him.]
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[ he's not so idealistic as to think otherwise. ]
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[What? It's an amusing image to him.
He'd seen a few creatures who'd thought to bail in the midst of battle and were promptly done away with. A part of following Lord Dracula's orders, of course - but Isaac would be lying if he claimed not to have taken a sort of delight in ending their lives.]
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[ except the poor buggers in the line. sharpe had the benefit of being a skirmisher. he was permitted to think for himself. ]
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A what?
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[He'd have expected someone with more heavily muscled build, had that been the case. Then again, he hadn't much of a sense of how Sharpe looked underneath- - ahaha. ...Well. A Forgemaster can imagine, can't he?]
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