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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Aye. [ he wipes his palms on his trousers -- they were grimey with sweat and sawdust -- and reached for the glass with his best approximation of a clean hand. ] A moment or two, mayhaps. A few gulps and then...

[ he casts a look back at what remained. a few unweildly branches he could cut a bit smaller and then haul to the treeline. but he'd piled some of the straighter pieces in a neat little heap. sharpe nods to them now. ]

That mess, there -- Adele? I don't suppose you'd mind if I took it with me. For building, like.

[Accustomed to being covered in blood and iodine, a dusty, grimy hand is the last thing that would bother her. She passes the glass along and looks out across the lot that's been cleared.] More than a few- you need to remain hydrated. I'll not have you ill from the heat while doing me a favor, Richard.

[The branches he nods to she considers a moment- Adele and Sabirel had hauled what they needed for the bonfire into Helios' shed already. Whatever remained was free to be taken.]

I wouldn't mind in the slightest- though I am curious as what you intend to build.

[ he drains the first full glass -- cool and sweet and clean god he loves the cleanliness of the water here -- in one go. eyes shut and nose scrunched, he takes a second to regain his breath.

then: ] There's a man interested in a proper firing range. Got me interested, too. And it seemed a shame to chop anything else down with all this strong, unwarped wood to work with. It needn't be planed or squared; we'll make do.

Even with the ammunition limited as it is here?

[What they choose to do with what's theirs isn't a concern of hers, not truly. But the potential for injury is something she must ask after professionally if for no other reason.]

Neither of you have made use of the Dome? It is not the same as having a range in the village- but it is a way of practicing without wasting resources. [She'll just. Not mention the overlarge wolf that would also be glad to not have the trees cut apart for building.]

[ a huff of a laugh. ] As I said before asking for the axe, my shot is simple enough to make. One of the lads at the smithy has already finished a lot. It just needs its powder and its rolling. Those newer guns are impressive but impractical in their bullets.

[ as for the dome? he merely shrugs. it ain't the same and he won't be entertaining an argument on that front. ]

The ammunition for my still missing revolver is beyond the smithy's ability to create- but more accurate for the complexity. [She shakes her head with a faint sigh. At this point she's given up on hit appearing, even if she found the holster months ago.]

So long as the range is clearly marked- the last I need is an influx of patients that wandered into the wrong end of it.

Edited 2012-07-09 16:23 (UTC)

Miss Adele. [ he's almost -- almost -- condescending. ] There's a recent we haven't asked the village at large to join us in this project. But put your worries at ease. Only one of my Chosen Men is a better shot than I and Colonel Moran belonged to a British rifle regiment of his own before retiring.

We don't miss and we're trained not to go off half-cocked.

[ only in the heat of battle did things get truly messy or sloppy. ]

I mean no disrespect for your skill, or Moran's. [She is simply accustomed to looking at things and expecting the worst possible outcome. Some wandering idiot ending up in the line of fire? Not impossible, here. Especially with the cycle beginning.]

If you say it is not something to be worried about- I shall not worry.

[ for a moment, his tone gentles: ] A battle is smoke and thunder and the grass on fire, Miss Adele. It's hard to see through and it's loud. But we rifles are the skirmishers -- we don't fight in lines and it's up to us to be deadly accurate in picking off the enemy officers. [ wryly, he quotes the song he was earlier singing. ] First on the field; last from the fray.

I ain't saying I'm the best shot in the army but it's about more than just shooting. I'm an officer, my lady. And I'd sooner resign my hard kept commission before I wilfilly and knowingly endangered a soul who hadn't already offered hisself up for the king's shilling.

[ he's talking women and children and civilians, of course. the enemy is a whole other kettle of fish. or: ] Unless, of course, the bastard's coming at me first.

[After a beat, she relaxes. Battle is something she's never seen- the missions were something else entirely. She's no frame of reference for it, not truly, and can't fully appreciate the depth of Sharpe's skill as she ought to nor his dedication to making a shot only to that which he aims. His word, however, is good enough for her. more than good enough.

Adele lets her hands drop back down to the tray she'd carried out to offer him the damp rag. Something to do while she sorts out some manner of a reply.]

Then I've nothing to worry about. My primary concern wasn't your ability to hold your fire- but rather the propensity for some of the villagers appearing where they most certainly should not be. But the odds of that are slim to nonexistent. It's a foolish thing to worry about.

[ grateful once again, he scrubs at his face with the rag. ]

Nah. Someone has to do the worrying, I suppose.

All the better that it's someone well versed in the art.

[ sharpe brushes sawdust off his linen shirt; he grows aware of his own odour -- one of manual labour. sweat and wood.

he takes a step back. ]

Worry a lot, do you?

Less than some, and more than most. Side effect of being a butcher, as you call me.

[It's a tired half smile that's offered in return.]

I see you've taken the word to heart. [ butcher. even if she's smiling as she says it, he does begin to regret ever calling her so. ]

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