SHARPE'S TEA ⚔ WRITTEN | VOICE | ACTION

[greenjacketed]

[ he's snug in a corner of the tea shop, with both a brew and a book in hand. the tea is strong; it's uncreamed and unsweetened, and yet it still somehow lacks the bite he's grown accustomed to through flanders, portugal, and spain. instead, this mug is as lightly spiced as the mugs he'd nursed on lonely nights in india. he'd been so much younger, then. and so much more foolish.

another sip and then it's time to get to it. in practice, his message has an intended audince of very few. but fear of his own sentimentality demands that he not approach anyone directly. and so he writes publicly, his script slanty and rough. unpracticed. it takes him a long time to carve out even a brief sentence: ]

Won't be around for a few days --- heading out, took the bloody shilling, got orders to march, &ct.
-- MJR R. SHARPE

[ he loops his pencil 'round the ampersand a few more times, chagrined by its childish slopes. he's no writer. not by any man's account. he's a soldier, he thinks. he knows when to kill and when not to kill, although that line was painfully blurred on the just-passed draft. he should know how to follow orders and protect the colours. but what on earth is a soldiering man to do with orders he didn't understand and no colours to speak of? it gives him a notion. a question, at least.

switching to voice: ] I suppose the village does not have a flag of its own, eh? Don't seeem proper. Perhaps it would've done no good in that last [ shit-hole/dungheap/disaster ] battle. But in future...?

[ he hesitates. he waits. and he lives his day as anxiously as any other day spent waiting to be deployed. a mission, this time? aye. perhaps it'll sooth his nerves and erase from his mind the bloody great cock-up of vaskoth. finally -- if the journal or the tea-shop won't do, feel free to encounter him elsewhere. he's bound to be in good spirits come the evening -- but he bloody well won't drink a drop. not the night before. ]

Comments

[the_other_leblanc]

So long as I keep my head down and hold my tongue I may very well manage it, Major.

[She leaves her glass on an empty table and starts for the door. She didn't need the drink anyway.]

Have a good evening.

[greenjacketed]

For your sake, I hope you're back to rights by the time I've returned...

[ it's a quiet message. a way to let the woman know that he was leaving, so she needn't be kept in the dark upon the moment she reverts to here older self.

it's only polite -- and otherwise he's left to lift his glass in a silent salute. ]

[the_other_leblanc]

[She should keep walking. It isn't any of her business that he's leaving. There is no reason whatsoever for her to be curious, and less reason for her to act upon that curiosity.

And yet...

Merde.

She pauses not far from him, kicks herself for it, and turns to regard him.]

...how long is it that you will be away?

[Neutral enough.]

[greenjacketed]

[ he's still on his feet. but -- at least -- he drains his glass. the carbonation burns his tongue. ]

A few days, lass. That's all. Just a quick jaunt to straighten out some rebellous folk and we'll be back in less time than it takes for a loaf of bread to go off.

[the_other_leblanc]

If the old pattern continues, I'll likely yet be young upon your return. If it has changed as much as it seems to I may be as you remember.

[Honestly, she hopes that this is over and done with soon. This continued hopping about has become more draining than it has fascinating.]

You will be [Careful could be insulting, capable was presumptuous, and there's a reason she does not go out of her way to speak to many people.] cautious. Yes?

[Rebellions did not tend to go smooth.]

[greenjacketed]

...I'll be a soldier, Miss Adele. No more and no less.

[ understatement, really. ]

[the_other_leblanc]

[That should be enough. Is enough, really and she's slow in her reply. Choosing her words carefully.]

The two are not quite so mutually exclusive, are they?

[greenjacketed]

I suppose that depends on the orders.

[ for there are men ordered to their deaths, in war-time. not just chance-deaths or maybe-deaths. certain-deaths.

forlorn hopes. ]

[the_other_leblanc]

They...may not be so dire if it is so small a thing you are being sent to handle.

[But things had a habit of escalating- at least in what she knew of rebellion and history. It wasn't much, what she knows, but it's enough for her to be wary.]

[greenjacketed]

That is a hope that I share with you, Miss Adele. I've taken and I've defended small towns before; let us look forward to this on being no more than that.

[the_other_leblanc]

I am not at all certain what it will be worth, Major but...I do hope you return safely.

[greenjacketed]

[ why -- he wonders -- are the french so bleeding impossible? only children -- children younger than this version of her -- and the self-pitying tend to preface well wishes with their own lack of salvation.

sharpe fights to suppress his scowl. ] Aye. Me, as well. Grown damned well attached to the place, I'm afraid.

[the_other_leblanc]

[Not all the French, just this one. Well. Perhaps most of the French. A good portion of the French...alright all of the French.

Her back straightens a bit at the tightening of his expression.]

That is understandable, despite it's strangeness this place can be somewhat endearing.

[greenjacketed]

And you truly remember nothing of your proper stay here?

[ because he's impressed if it's managed to endear itself to her,otherwise. ]

[the_other_leblanc]

Flashes, now and then. Nothing coherent, nothing that lingers.

[Nothing horribly pleasant as of late either.]

[greenjacketed]

...Can't say whether that's for the best or not, Miss Adele.

[the_other_leblanc]

What little I am told is vague and ominous. I am not certain what to make of it.

[greenjacketed]

Do you mind...do you mind me asking what it is you have been told, ma'am?

[the_other_leblanc]

Not to ask, more often than not. To not worry because I and those I know have come out alive in the end.

[greenjacketed]

It's...maddening. To learn your own fate and to risk it not matching up with your...[ knowledge ] expectatons. They're likely right not to tell you.

[ he's likely wrong to have told her as much as he has. ill-mannered, at least. ]

[the_other_leblanc]

I heard it once when this began. It was...maddening is a good word for it at the time. In retrospect it made it a bit easier to cope with what I was told. I don't blame them for telling me, or for keeping what they know to themselves. I would be unsettled either way.

[She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath.]

Though I would like to know a bit more on the matter of my husband aside from 'you're well rid of him'.

[greenjacketed]

...Can't help you with that one. [ with a huff, he got tired of all this standing. he sat back down. ] Never heard much of the man. I never asked and you never offered to mention much. Which...I suppose is informative enough.

[the_other_leblanc]

A habit in my family: Ignore past unpleasantness and do not speak of it. [Be it death or divorce- honestly she is not certain which she would prefer at this point.

After a moment's consideration she sat across from him again.]

It's a foolish habit.

[greenjacketed]

Is it? [ a sharp shrug. ] Wouldn't know. Haven't had a family long enough to develop any habits at all. But I can't see it working any different than a company. You do what you have to in order to march onwards.

[the_other_leblanc]

It leaves things to fester. Not as apparent as an actual wound but the concept is similar- leaving it be for too long is not healthy. It only ever leaves us sour and miserable. We march on, yes, but it rots the heart.