eachdraidh | (sharpe's locket) ♖ video: open to all courts

(ACCIDENTAL VIDEO)

...Bloody hell.

[ the locket is propped open on richard sharpe's lap. it catches the lower half of his face and shows a steep-angled frame of one green-jacketed shoulder as he works: trying to transplant a second charm from it's own chain onto the locket's. why carry around two bleeding necklaces when they can be consolidated?

but the chain slips in his calloused fingers and he swears a second time. bugger. ] I should sell it. [ he talks to himself. ] Or else let Pat handle the fool thing. He likes talking. Talks enough for the both of--

[ again, something tumbles; slips; goes awry. sharpe drops another string of strong oaths. ]

╍ ╍ ╍

(PURPOSEFUL VIDEO, LATER THAT DAY)

Who in Caer Glaem's got some scissors I can borrow? [ he doesn't want to ask the damned fairies; don't make him ask the damned fairies. he'd rather the damned fairies didn't even exist! ]

And while we're at it -- [ huff ] -- speak up if any of you poor sods are British army. Either bloody court.

[ he can't yet decide if it will be a windfall or a disaster if he and patrick are the only poor bastards to find themselves absent without leave from their own army. a windfall if he finds some he can order around, he supposes. and a right pain in his arse if he comes across anyone whose rank exceeds his own.

and lacking in many graces, major richard sharpe fails to identify himself. he just sits and glowers at the locket with a scarred face and an impatient expression. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Razor or a knife works just fine in a pinch.

[he squints at the man,]

You picky or somethin'?

Edited 2014-06-20 03:18 (UTC)

Christ, no! I'm not picky.

[ yes. yes, he's very picky. particular, more like. fastidious. but only in a few quarters of his life. all else is blood stains and beard stubble. ] And so if I were on the march I'd use anything short of my own sword to do the job. [ because why waste a good sword on hair? ] But I ain't on the march, am I? So I may as well ask.

[only calling it like he sees it, sharpe. he squints at him for a moment, but doesn't say a thing on how he thinks the guy is lying about being picky.]

Good luck with that.

[if it were ben, however, he'd use whatever he could find. he's used to poverty, used to lack of resources.]

[ and sharpe himself is no stranger to poverty. how could he be? growing up in workhouses and rookeries and dirty london streets. certainly, there'd never been scissors back then. nor had there been any available when he'd been a private -- though for a long while they'd not cut their hair but grew it long and pulled it painfully around a queue. pasted it with flour and water.

oh, but when he'd had his promotion! things had changed. expectations had changed. and although sharpe was not about to hire a servant or buy himself a horse, he does allow himself liberties. he does not squander his rank. ]

They're only bloody scissors. It's not like I'm asking for the crown jewels.

[now, that makes him crack a smile. he may have been a bit too serious about it, and he's working on that. he shrugs off sharpe's response and shrugs.]

Lighten up. Some fairies'll probably have scissors lyin' around somewhere.

Edited 2014-06-25 03:14 (UTC)

Bastard fairies. [ he grumbles. ] Would you trust their metal?

[there's a small pause as he considers, then he gives a slight nod.]

Got no reason not to. Probably got some fairy magic to trick you with, though. Bet they'd mess that mug of yours up.

[ ben finds his button. the damned fairies and their damned magic and like hell he's letting any of them do anything to him. ]

My mug's already been plenty messed up by buggers worse than these fairies. [ actually he can't be certain. dodd was a bastard fit to be hanged, aye. but he wasn't quite as confounding as fairies were. ]

Never would have guessed.

[he's pretty sure that fairies -- at least these fairies -- aren't too bad, when it comes to fending them off. all he needs to do is swat them away and they get the picture, if not with a little sass thrown back at him.]

[ hmph! ]</small -- At least they throw good parties. I suppose.

Only good 'cause they got food.

[otherwise he wouldn't bother showing up. he's pretty sure not many people would, unless socializing was someone's ideal party.]

Aye, lad. Exactly my thinking. Only don't forget the spirits.

[ but sharpe had probably drank too much that night. far too much. into an unhappy grief-stricken stupor. he's been doing better, lately. ]

That, too.

[it's the only reason why some stuck around, as far as he's concerned. they drink until they can't, hoping it's not real, while the rest of them are stuck between being too shocked to function and hoping they'll wake up.]

Strong drink. It's the best friend any recruiting party's ever had. I'm amazed we didn't drink deep only to find golden coins at the bottom of our cups.

[ben raises his brows and lets out a laugh, though it's just that: one outburst that happens once in a blue moon.]

That'd be somethin', huh? Wish that sorta thing happened every day at home.

[because he would really rather be home right now, no matter how awful things are there now-- it's where he belongs. he has too many things to do.]

Is that not how they get you where you're from? [ shillings at the bottom of the glass: not golden, not really, but enough money to trick a man into selling himself into soldierdom. ] Recruiting sergeants like to buy lads a mug and when they reach the bottom they find they've already taken the King's Shilling.

[he frowns a bit, shaking his head.]

Nah. Nothin' like that as far as I know; that's some load of crap, if you ask me.

Most of the army is crap, lad. Crap and shite. And that's just shovelling up after the officers' horses. [ says the officer. but hey -- he refuses to keep a horse. ]

[that makes a lot of sense, sharpe. talking smack about your job-- it surprises ben, at least a little, because he knows that everyone talks crap about their jobs, but ... he's never heard a soldier complain.

mostly because he's never been around a soldier.]

What the hell are you doin' workin' for the army then?

I ask myself that question every bloody day. [ his smirk is slight. ] The reason's either long and complicated or simple and trite. Which would you care to hear?

I don't care -- [he weighs the options, canting his head,] short, I guess.

They pay me to do what I'm good at.

[ that's pretty short, right? ]

How good's the pay?

[which is probably not the most appropriate question, but he's curious.]

(sharpe's locket) ♖ video: open to all courts

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