Kortrijk, Vlaanderen, post Sharpe's return from the bar with DJ

[mm_chanter]

the lights in the farmhouse are at a relative low; less than friendly eyes may still be on the place from the outside and besides, night's coming on. the main room - it might've been a proper living room at some point, but it's full of mismatched chairs, at least one table, a battered radio and its share of spare assorted equipment now - is far from empty of people. Some cluster together in threes and fours, some sit alone, quite a few are in and out as errands demand. Conversations are as low as the lighting, but just as present.

"{day wasn't a total loss,}" one man says from his position in a chair backed against a wall - it's the taller, heavier one who'd taken it upon himself to search Sharpe for weapons. The square-jawed woman turns away from a paper-scattered length of tabletop long enough to roll her eyes at him in what looks like exasperation rather than disagreement, but doesn't comment in words.

"{Room wherever,}" says the medic's younger brother, gesturing with one arm at the haphazard seating. "{for now. Anybody tries to get a debrief together and it's off, though. Not sure how much sense that makes, but that's how it tends to go.}"

Seba doesn't know Sharpe's history, after all. that's a fair assumption not to make.

Comments

[and_far_away]

Sharpe grins back and shakes hands, with a fleeting glance at the radio.

"{Richard. Nice to meet you, Seba - the other Sebastian was here first, eh?}"

[mm_chanter]

"{Believe it or not,]" Seba says, thoroughly ignoring the radio for the moment, "{he was. For the variation on my name, blame my dear older brother, wherever he's gone. Him and a few of the others. By the time they dragged me in, the obvious nickname was already taken, and--oh well. Not that I mind it.}"

For a man who was ostensibly dragged into things, Seba sounds remarkably unbothered.

There's another second or so of voice communication on that radio, fainter this time, then it too is gone. From the sound of it, the set's tuned in on comms traffic, though whether friendly or hostile, it's hard to say.

[and_far_away]

"Older brothers are good at that", he agrees. "Nicknaming and dragging you into things."

[mm_chanter]

"{That's the truth,}" Seba chuckles. "{Don't ever ask him about the nickname I gave *him* when we were kids. 'S what I get for being too young to properly say a thing. Oh hey, speaking of trouble--oy! Sylvain, c'mere before I start telling stories about you to the new arrival.}"

the medic's just emerged from the passage to the makeshift infirmary. He obligingly detours in his brother and Sharpe's direction, though he's looking somewhere between amused and slightly uncertain. "{Should I be worried?}"

[and_far_away]

"{Depends what the stories are", Sharpe says easily. "Or what Seba might decide to make up.}"

[mm_chanter]

"{Oh lord,}" Sylvain chuckles, dropping into a chair on Sharpe's other side - it's not the wooden crate. the next person gets that one. "{I'm in trouble. Don't believe anything he says.}" The last is to Sharpe, a little to emphatically to be anything but a joke.

Seba's snickerfit subsides after a few seconds, and then he turns to his brother with a straight face. "{How're Dries and DJ? For that matter, how're the other two?}"

[and_far_away]

Sharpe looks to Sylvain, waiting for that answer as well.

[mm_chanter]

"{Makosa and Florian,}" Sylvain says, "{spark out, and I don't blame them. Florian's got every reason, and DJ--who wouldn't be? Jeroen's okay, though if anyone's seen the walking stick somebody said was in one of the closets, let me know? He'll be climbing the walls next. Dries...}" Here sylvain winces faintly. "{He's asleep, at least for the moment. He'll be fine, but I feel for him, believe me.}"

Seba winces too, hissing a breath out between his teeth. "{Ouch, yeah.}"

[and_far_away]

"{At least he'll recover}", Sharpe says quietly. "{Even if he won't enjoy things much until he does.}"

[mm_chanter]

"{Exactly,}" Sylvain agrees, and he's a little more emphatic about it than, say, a civilian unfamiliar with this sort of thing might be. "{We know it, and he knows it. But no, it won't be enjoyable for him for a while.}" There's empathy in the older brother's expression, fading to quiet seriousness as he turns to Sharpe.

"{And what about you?}" Sylvain starts, but Seba cuts across him. "{Already started some of that, brother mine. He's like Andy and DJ; couldn't stand on the roadside sort of thing. Soldier, he said.}"" Sylvain doesn't say anything in response, but his head tilts just slightly in a silent request for confirmation from Sharpe.

[and_far_away]

Sharpe nods.

"{Once. I gave the army twenty-odd years, then I retired... until now. I've been living nice and quiet, growing apples.}"

[mm_chanter]

"{A person can only stand so much,}" Sylvain says. It's part empathy, part agreement. Another man might make something black-humored out of the turn this conversation's taken; Seba's looking like he might go there. Sylvain doesn't.

"{None of us expected to be in a maquis at the start of all this either,}" the medic goes on. "{I came to Belgium to learn. But... seeing everything that started to happen, what else could we do? From the sound of things, you know what I mean.}"

It's not that he's making assumptions, really. It's that he's making perfectly reasonable ones. The trouble is, Sylvain can't know how much Sharpe doesn't know.

[and_far_away]

Sharpe is quite capable of bluffing a conversation along when he has to.

"{I do}", he agrees. "{You were a student, then, before this?}"

[mm_chanter]

What'd we say about Sylvain being more likely to trust than, say, An-Sophie? Well, it still holds. The medic doesn't bat an eye. "{I was,}" he agrees, "{and I'm not the only one. We're from all over, though.}"

"{You're not going to insist Brama and Lore came from the universities too?} Seba chuckles. Sylvain throws a look at his brother that's half grimace, half grin.

"{Only if I want to be flattened by one and eyerolled to death by the other,}" is his answer. "{Over there,}" he clarifies for Sharpe's benefit, nodding in the direction of the square-jawed woman, who's now in conversation with the older olive-skinned man from earlier. They're bent over the far end of the table, black and grey heads bowed.

[and_far_away]

He gives the two of them a curious once-over.

"{Just happened to be in the area when all this started getting bad?}"

[mm_chanter]

"{Brama did,}" Seba answers. "{Lore's Flemish for life, and she'll tell you as much. If you can believe a businessman and someone's best office staffer could end up doing what we do--well. No worse than a bunch of students doing it. Or a farmer.}" He cuts a not unfriendly look at Sharpe. "{Like I said before. Curse that pesky conscience.}"

[and_far_away]

"{Does make life difficult, having one}", he agrees wryly. "{And I knew a teacher, once, turned one of the best soldiers I ever served with.}"

[mm_chanter]

"{I can believe it,}" Seba says, while Sylvain nods a bit thoughtfully. "{Sergeant type, I'm gonna guess?}"

"{Uh-oh,}" Sylvain breaks in, eyes on the grey-haired man who'd been talking with Lore. He's now on his feet and angling their way. Seba spots what his brother's looking at and winces. "{Ooh, here comes Brama, speaking of. He'll give you the fourth degree, forget the third. Want me to go and head him off?}"

He's halfway out of his chair as he speaks. The medic isn't.

[and_far_away]

"Rifleman. I made him a sergeant in the end, though", Sharpe tells them, heedless of what that gives away, then straightens in his chair as Brama approaches. "Got to face it sooner or later."

[mm_chanter]

"{Too late, back in a minute, Brama! Just a second.}" Seba's out of his chair already and talking over his shoulder as he goes. The last few words are to the grey-haired Italian, not his brother and Sharpe.

Sylvain breathes out on a near-silent chuckle. "{He's doing you a favor, mostly,}" he says. Beat. "{*You* made him a sergeant?}" He doesn't press the point other than to add, "{Don't tell An-Sophie that.}"

Given what these two have talked about already--well. Could that be a reference to past betrayals, or just some sound advice given An-Sophie's skill with that pistol of hers? Heck, maybe it's both.

[and_far_away]

"{Not a fan of officers?}" he says wryly. "{Neither was I, most of them. I was raised from the ranks, and they didn't like me much either.}"

[mm_chanter]

"{Not a fan of... well.}" Sylvain looks as though he's choosing his words carefully. "{You're not the first veteran we've known, is what it is.}"

Okay, so that is probably a reference to something said before. "{I suspect a different nation's service, though.}"

[and_far_away]

"{You said something about that earlier}", he remembers. "{About why An-Sophie doesn't trust me. Someone infiltrated you?}"

[mm_chanter]

Sylvain turns to look Sharpe full in the face at that, though he's not seated entirely sideways on his chair as yet. "{You get to the point,}" he says, and if there's a little surprise there, the fact that he's a touch approving is also going to show.

"{Not infiltrated, exactly,}" he clarifies soberly. "{Betrayed. We had another American with us once, besides Makosa. We *thought* he was okay. Not so much, though.}"

A hard-edged frown like that doesn't suit this man's face at all.

[and_far_away]

"{Never been one for needless words}", he says with a shrug and a crooked smile, though that quickly vanishes. "{What did he do?}"