greenjacketed | SHARPE'S AMMO ⚔ VOICE

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!action,
!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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Not all ships are much like military ships- I know the one my father often used was a great deal smaller. Better suited to short trips.

Oh, I started out on a simple cargo ship. East India Company. Bloody Captain surrendered us to the French before our lads chased'em off and won us back. The second Captain was a friend of mine. Asked me to jump ship and sail with his crew for a spell.

And did you choose to do so?

It were supposed to get me home faster.

[ and, perhaps, he was chasing a woman... ]

It 'was'- [A beat, a soft laugh.] I'm sorry. I shouldn't be correcting you.

[ chagrined: ] And I shouldn't be chewing the fat with a yard to clear up. If you'll excuse me, Miss Adele?

Call me if you need anything- or if the limbs cause you as much trouble as they've caused me.

[ out of (most) of his uniform and with the axe in hand, he still offers her a shallow bow. it's a formality born not of breeding but of careful versimilitude. of watching d'alembord and price and leroy and how they treated society. d'alembord especially -- with his easy grace and charm. sharpe could only hope to mimic it. ]

Aye. As you wish. [ and with that, he straightened to his full height. and then he swaggered his way to the other side of the house for a good hours' work. ]

[She's never quite certain how to take such gestures; at one point she might have but it's been long since lost under all she learned to become, as Sharpe called it, a bloody butcher. A proper reply escapes her at the moment, so all it is she can do in return is nod and watch him head off, the dull, rhythmic thud of an ax at work filling the air as soon as he sets about it.

After an hour or so she'll come back out, a pitcher of water and damp rag in hand for his comfort. She may spend a moment or so just watching Sharpe work before she thinks to announce herself. ]

[ and as he worked, he sang:

and here's to good health to the 95th rifles
the first in the field and the last in the fray
when bonaparte's army is banished and beaten
they'll talk of the 95th winning the day.

hagman himself had come up with those fine words of praise. the song was wrapped around a bitter memory, hopelessly entangled with the memory of his own spanish lady. but it's a good steady song to keep him company as he works.

he brings the axe down hard on one of the last remaining tangles of felled branches, splitting it and cracking it apart as he steadied the mass of wood with his boot. but soon he feels the odd prickle of being watched; sharpe leaves the blade where it's stuck and turns to look at the surgeon. ]

Nearly done, miss.

[His voice was warm and rough, bu she found herself appreciating it just as much as the figure he cut whilst toiling away. True to his word he'd handled the bulk of the mess quickly- a good deal more than she might have managed were she to continue on her own.

When he turns, she offers a half nod and lifts a glass for him.]

A bit of a respite, Sharpe? You have been at this for some time.

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