Fourth Casefile: Damage Control. [Voice/Written/Action]

[quicktoanger]

[Voice]

I paused, staring at the journal, not sure what to say for a moment.

What the hell do you say?

"Right. Sorry ab-"

Let's try this again without the accent, Harry.

"Right. Sorry about last week. If I was... off, or confused anybody, or offended anyone, or whatever."

I paused again.

"I lost the jacket, Richard, but did you at least get to keep the rifle?"

I sat for a moment longer, then chuckled.

"Least the hand didn't stay shot. Alright, I think that's it."

I shut off the feed and set to work on a filter. I suck at those, for the record, but this kind of needed to be said and was private, so...

Hell's bells, those things are more trouble than they're worth.

[Written- Locked to Molly Carpenter, filter at 2% 5% 6% 9% 9% 13 16% 20%]

Kid. Molly. I'm sorry about last week. Really, really sorry.
I never meant to
It was like I
Forget it. Look. Let me make it up to you somehow?

[Action]

That done, I tucked my journal in my pocket and went into town. I felt a pressing need to talk to people, which, let me tell you, never happens to me. Ever. Plus, there were a couple awkward conversations I wanted to have.

Comments

[greenjacketed]

It was harrowing. For what else did Sharpe have in this place but his own bloody mind? His rank meant little and -- except for last week -- is place in society even less. Of course, he realized, now Harry knew. Had even been in his bloody home to meet Harper and some of the men and see how unfair of a shake the Major routinely received from his commanding officers. And the quiet pride with which he accepted their guff. Obedient but strong.

And although the memories were fading, Sharpe himself could remember feeling proud of Blackstone. Dulled by his academic pursuits, perhaps, but a good soldier and a great Chosen Man. And for a week, he'd had a friend from home. Here.

It was hard to hold that against Dresden even if Sharpe still felt wary.

"...I think it still means a fair lot, Harry."

Longtag is long

[quicktoanger]

When he said that, it stung, a bit. All of the insanity in this village, and my opinion was one that meant something to him. It seemed he had classified me as on his side, in the general schema of him vs. the crazy. Which was good, because as far as I knew, I was.

I'd seen the sort of guy he was. I still remember that quite well. Noble despite his upbringing, brave to the point of foolishness, refusing to accept less than the best of himself. Never leaving anybody to face danger alone, even if they brought it on themselves, even if they had done him injury. A good man.

It stung because I hadn't told him. Couldn't tell him. I didn't think he'd kill me for being a witch or some silly crap like that, not anymore.

Now I just didn't want him to put me on the other side, in his head. This guy who respected me for whatever bizarre reason, who had proven himself, during that false history, that fake lifetime, to be all the things I tried to be myself. Only instead of looking crazy and addle-minded, he somehow made it look genuinely noble.

"Yeah, you're not crazy, Richard. It's this damn place that's crazy."

What can I say? Zen never really suited me in the first place.

[greenjacketed]

He ruminated on these words. Chewed them other. Tasted them; listened to them; turned them inside out.

"And we're supposed to stay here. Like pigs, penned in."

[quicktoanger]

"Not a whole lot to do about it, I guess. Be glad we got stuck with friends, with people who understand. But other than that, we really can't find a way out, can we?"

... Yeah. That tore it. I was going to find a way out.

[greenjacketed]

Stuck with friends.

Sharpe cleared his throat. "How's Miss Carpenter taking it?"

[quicktoanger]

"I haven't spoken to her."

I sighed, trying not to look as pained as I felt.

"I... when I was all Chosen-Manned last week, I didn't recognize Molly. And it... upset her."

[greenjacketed]

"...Poor lass."

He felt rather genuinely for her. For Harry too, in a way. He hated to see two friends at odds.

[quicktoanger]

"Yeah. I'll make it up to her, though. I'm sure she'll find some sort of suitable penance for me."

Oh, hell, I was going to have to stop drinking coffee for like a month, wasn't I?

[greenjacketed]

"...The womenfolk always do."

He muttered -- just to get his requisite dose of era-specific sexism into the conversation.

Oh, Sharpe. Never change.

[quicktoanger]

"... I kind of deserve it, in this case."

Wow. Note to self: If Murph ever comes to Luceti, keep her the hell away from Richard.

[greenjacketed]

"You believe she'll blame you, Harry?"

[quicktoanger]

"Probably not. That isn't the point."

I blamed me.

[greenjacketed]

"...Should I speak with her?"

He DREADED that.

[quicktoanger]

Oh holy hell.

"No. No, no. But I appreciate the thought."

Jesus, I just added a new nightmare to my portfolio.

[greenjacketed]

"...Wouldn't know what to say, anyway."

[quicktoanger]

"It's alright, I think. A little grovelling, some..."

I grimaced.

"... Orange juice with my breakfast and salad for lunch, we should be right as rain."

[greenjacketed]

"Orange juice? It's bloody lovely, mate."

[quicktoanger]

"Delicious, yes. Caffeinated, no. I need my morning fix, man."

[greenjacketed]

"I'll settle for a proper tea any morning."

Coffee. Blech.