"Seems we traded one for the other, eh?"

Long Patrol Log, 10/15/19

HARES ABOUND Jinora, Riley, Terrence, and Varus.

Atop one table on the far end of a room sits a small pile of papers with a few empty plates scattered about it. Having refilled his mug with mint tea, Terrence was making his way to it, meandering as he took a sip with one paw and looked over an old report with his other. Bumping into another table, thankfully empty, he looks around quickly and finished the rest of the trip back, paying more attention to his surroundings.

Sometimes one doesn't need to be reprimanded to get on meal cleanup duty. Riley had volunteered, throwing on a smock apron and carrying around a shallow wooden trough. She sweeps by tables, picking up leftover dishes and occasionally setting the trough aside to wipe a table down. She's moving to the cluttered one, beginning to pick up the empty dishes. "Yeh done wit' everything?" Riley asks, noticing Terrence making his way back. She motions to the empty plates.

Blinking, Terrence glances first from the hare to the dishes, then back again. "Eh, yes." He says, setting his mug down. "Thanks, private." He adds as he sits down, setting the paper with the others. After a moment, he looks Riley over. "Say, I don't think I've made your acquaintance yet. Cpl Terrence Cadwallader, at your service, wot!"

Riley begins to pick up plates, making sure to clink them down into her carrying tray gently. She doesn't seem to try and engage with him anymore until he speaks again. "Mnh?" Riley hums, her ears picking up a touch and her whiskers lifting as she smiles vaguely. "M'Riley Whorlbuck, sah. Private First Class, and the mountain's finest dish picker'upper." Another plate is lowered slightly into the wooden trough. "Yeh want more food while y'work? Still a stack o' cauliflower an' cream pasties in th' kitchen."

Did someone say "cream pasties"? That's Jinora's cue. The Major is trudging into the dining hall at the tail end of things, it would seem, and a beady, desperate stare falls on the current spread of vittles. 'I will cut a beast if they get in the way of her and dinner' those eyes say, though her mouth, instead, gives a cheery grin of greeting to a dish-stacked Riley.

Returning the smile, Terrence says, "Thanks, but no thanks - I've been learning to quit while I'm in terms of food, wot. Plus...well..." He tilts his head towards the kitchen. "I'm rather sure if I were to walk in there I'd be pressed into service cleaning, eh?" Chuckling to himself, he takes a long draft of his tea. "No offense t'you, of course."

Did someone say "cream pasties"? That's Jinora's cue. The Major is trudging into the dining hall at the tail end of things, it would seem, and a beady, desperate stare falls on the current spread of vittles. 'I will cut a beast if they get in the way of her and dinner' those eyes say, though her mouth, instead, gives a cheery grin of greeting to a dish-stacked Riley. "Dish duty again, Private?" She teases, angling to slip towards the food itself and, with a plate in paw, begins to pile it obscenely high. She'll have to make a second trip just for the cream pastries. The Major, while perfectly capable of taking meals elsewhere, still prefers the comraderie of the mess - and it is thus that she drops to a seat nearby where Terrence and Riley converse.

Riley is about to answer Terrence when Jinora interrupts. She scoops up her trough, turning an ear before following with a twist of her neck. "It's like she can hear through rock solid walls, but only when yeh talk about food," Riley snorts, slicking her ears back and setting the last of Terrence's dishes into her arms. "If it's between volunteering here or th' leveret classes, I pick here every time. You know that." Riley's nose wrinkles and she starts for the long, low cut window into the rock that offers a glimpse into the kitchens and from the kitchens out. "Cleaning is nearly done," Riley announces, mostly to Terrence, as she pushes the wood trough to the service counter and rolls her shoulders. "I'll get'cha those pasties, Majah. Wouldn't mind one m'self." For just a few moments, Riley pops into the back, coming up on the other side to pull the trough over to the water basins. Talk amongst yourselves!

For a moment Terrence seems as if he's about to jump to attention at the major's appearance, but he relaxes, nodding to Riley. "Oh? Are they indeed? Feel like that's a new record..." Sitting down, finally, the hare watches the private go before turning to Jinora. "Hello there, Major. Don't suppose you remember me, wot, its been a few seasons, eh?"

"Private, yer th'wind in me sails." The Major doesn't hear Riley's comments about food, her ears, and stone... But it doesn't make them any less true. "'Course I remember yah!" The Major balks, giving a good natured chuckle. Everything in her demeanor screams 'off duty right now', and she doesn't go pursuing petty breaches of conduct. If she had a beast flogged every time they didn't salute her in the mess hall, she'd have time for little else. "They've assigned ya to me bally unit. Now go grab a mop an' start cleanin' up with Private Whorlbuck." She gives a pause just long enough to see if he is hopping to it, before giving another laugh. "Kidding. Eat yer food. I've no intention of doin' anythin' else." And she tucks in with the verocity of... Well... A hare.

There's a brief moment Terrence ponders the outcome if he doesn't jump to it, before her words put him at ease once again. "Well, I got no food right now, major, though I suppose if one were hungry enough they could, well," he waves towards the small pile of papers, "Eat these...doubt that'd be good for my digestion, though, eh?"

"We've all taken *munch, munch, munch* a bite'r two of *slurp, snorf, sssshhhurk* papah work in our day, Corporal." Jinora grunts out between mouthfuls. "Doesn' make it go any faster, m'afraid." There's a sympathetic half-smirk given to Terrence and his work, but then she shrugs. It's the burden of Corporal - all parchment and training, no fun.

Clanking and dish scrubbing is heard for just a minute or so before Riley returns with a plate of the pasties. Her paws are damp, and a few soap suds still cling to the fur around her wrists as she delivers the plate to Jinora. "At least one of those are mine," she warns before flopping down into a seat next to Jin and across from Terrence. "Any sort o'work yer doing we can help with, sah?"

Offering a shrug, the corporal responds, "Not really - just correcting and clarifying some of these ol'things, but thank you. Admittedly its partially my fault I still have some today, wot! Got distracted looking over an old piece about some battles some time ago, well, doesn't matter much now, does it? " He finishes his tea, pausing as he sets the mug down to look at the plate. "You know what? If you're willing to spare one of those, it could help a bit, wot." He says with grin.

"If I could promote based on cream pastries, ya'd be brigadier by now, Riley." Jinora assures the doe, immediately snatching one such pastry from the plate. At Terrence's suggestion, she gives a cream-clogged gurgle of laughter and pinches a second one free as well. This one is offered over to him. "No good work ever got done on an empty stomach, wot!"

"I didn't make them," Riley snorts at Jinora as she picks one up and bites into the flaky crust. She looks to Terrence and winks, reaching for the plate and sliding it over. "Pasties taste bally good, sah. Can't blame yeh." She munches another bite of hers, stands, and takes his mug. "Mint?" she says without waiting for the answer. Hare noses are no slouches. "Yeh have honey with yer tea?" Riley calls over her shoulder as she saddles up to the table by the serving area with the large clay pitchers of tea, beer and water. 

"Why, thank you." Terrence takes the offered pastry in one paw, picking up a nearby quill with his other. Underlying a section of the report, he absent-mindedly takes a bite of the pastry as he does so. "Oh!" The hare says around a mouthful, perking up, looking from major to the private. "Well, whoever did make these," Terrence swallows, "Should be...and yes, yes it is. Or, well, was. And yes again. It's a terrible sweat tooth, I have."

"Make it two!" Jinora calls cheerily over her shoulder, towards Riley and her tea errand. "S'nothin wrong with a sweet tooth - ya had th'rosehip brew they 'ave at the Tavern sometimes? Comes in th'summahs and tis -" She puts her claws to her lips and makes a 'chef kiss' gesture. "We'd be a Patrol run by cooks if hares could promote with their stomachs."

"Two teas!" Riley pipes up, grabbing a new mug from the pile and dumping the tea from the pitcher into the mugs. She makes a mental note as she dumps honey in both, holding out Terrence's out further as she returns. "Yours, Corp," she says cheerfully, "an' yours, Majah." She sits back down, digging into her pasty once again. "I can't cook, alas. Guess I'll just have t'deal with being a private with as little responsibilities as possible." The sigh comes across as a joke and Riley wilts into her seat dramatically. "All of the free time! Wot's a hare t'do?"

Giving a dry chuckle with a rueful shake of his head, Terrence says, "I have, actually. Offered to pay for my squads drinks! Worst mistake of my life, wot!" He accepts the refill with gracious look. "Thanks! And as for bein' run by cooks, well, I'd barley well think we'd never have trouble with insubordination or any trouble in our ranks ever again, wot."

Laughing, Jinora stands. "Aye! That's th'truth. But punishment by cooks? Ya ever been flogged with a wooden spoon? S'not pretty." Her chuckle prevails as she reaches out to relief Riley of one of those mugs. "Suppose I should get some work done tonight. Enjoy yours, kids!" The major calls over her shoulder, and is lost from sight.

"Volunteering for kitchen duty also keeps the wooden spoon floggings at bay," Riley points out as Jinora gets up. "Ah, see?" she says to Terrence as the Major departs. "I am now done with my kitchen duties. Now I am done for the day. Ready for ordahs in the morning, but the evening is mine." She stretches, exhales gratefully, and chews the delicious mash of cauliflower and cream.

Giving a pointed look from over his spectacles from papers to private, Terrence writes in a correct spelling. "Good for you. Unfortunately some of us beast must slave away into the wee hours of the night, wot!" Smirking, after a moment, he adds, "Of course I'm jesting, well, for the most part, at least...Enjoy the free time while you have some is my advice!"

Riley and Terrence are at one of the smaller tables off to the side of the large banquet setting. The chambers are mostly empty, but there is food and drink set up for those dining later than the usual dinner time. Their table is full of Terrence's work, and Riley is still in a kitchen working apron. "Free time is something I've got in spades," Riley says, eating at her pasty with a vigor to it. Kitchen work is hard! Another pasty is snagged and immediately set into. "M'a night owl. Work is for the day, though." She stretches her legs out and reaches for the... "Blast an' fluff. Need a drink, dun'I?" The doe leaps up, making for the water and drink table. She bypasses the tea and goes for a flagon of beer. Pouring it, Riley looks over her shoulder. "Need 'nything while m'up?"

That's certainly a good time for Varus to stroll in. He's had a *day* and a half. The elder hare is reading over a sheaf of papers, as he makes his way toward the food to snag himself a late meal. His wife would certainly disapprove, but she's at their home in Halyard. Spotting the two younger hares, he harrumps. "Corporal Terrence... Private Riley... Evenin'."

"No, I'm good with boring ol' tea!" Terrence calls, raising his half-full mug. "Honestly," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, "I remember when I would say that, eh, wot? Now look at me." An almost pathetic laugh escapes him. "Oh!" The young corporal waves over at the elder. "Good evening, sah!"

Riley is returning with her beer, nodding to Varus as he enters. "Sah. Sitting down for a spotta an' a bite," she says, motioning to Terrences tea, the plate of pasties, and the other bits of food around. "Well, beer for me, at least. Care t'join?"

Varus casts his glance over Terrence. "Y' look like yahr Da," he remarks, whilst he nods to Riley. "Join you? 'M not sure tha's propah. But per'aps we c'n ovahlook that." He pours himself a mug of ale, and picks up a plate of pasties for himself.

Dipping his head forward, Terrence replies, "Yes, well, er, thank you, sah..." The hare seems a bit uncomfortable with Varus' observation. "Well, our major just left us, she did. Seems we traded one for another, eh, wot wot?"

Riley looks bemused. "Oh, aye! Seat is still warm wit' that majorly essence." Her whiskers twitch with a cheeky wink at Terrence. She pokes the rest of her pasty into her mouth, chewing happily at the warm, delicious bite. The runner doe rolls her head to the side to stretch out her neck muscles. "Ran too much t'day t'think straight. Halyard twice over. Good workout, though. You lot do 'nything more exciting? Could use a good yarn with this beer." Riley lifts the mug up for emphasis.

Varus harrumps. "Majahly essence?" He doesn't sound entirely convinced or amused, but he sits, regardless. "I 'ad ta look ovah the trainin' evaluations for the newest class o' recruits. Not entirely wot I considah a good time, wot. But, it's necessary, so I buggah on. And wot are you doin', Corporal?"

Terrence simply blinks, looking down at the pile of papers. "I'm afraid not anything worthy of telling. Leastways not if you don't count hours and hours of correcting errors a good yarn, of course." He gives Riley a wink in return. "There's always at least one bloomin' private who can't tell the difference between a report and their napkin, wot!"

"I dunno, sounds fun," Riley insists to the older hare. "Get to see what the future of the patrol looks like. Shape 'em up. Make 'em know what it's like tah be a patrollah!" Says the runner who is currently stuffing pasties down her throat and washing it with beer. "You an' Quinten mus' get along, Terrence. You know ol' Quinny, eh? Always in the library with a book stuck t'his nose."

Varus harrumps again. He is full of harrumping this evening. "While y' make a bloomin' good point, Private, the problem is that most of these potential recruits are... Well, Green is puttin' it lightly. Unlike seasons past the majority we're lookin' at were not raised in th' Mountain. They 'ave no idea wot they're in for. It's troublin'."

"Seems like a persistent problem, I'd say." Terrence moves on to a new report, clicking his tongue as he looks over it. "Summer before last my squad all were rather, well," crossing out a word, he says with emphasis, "Underprepared, to put it lightly, wot."

"Th' old mountain lines are dying out," Riley says, a bit of seriousness that isn't like her creeping into her tone. "Lookit me. M'th' very last Whorlbuck an' we've been patrol hares few before my great grandparents could even remember." Her teeth click on her flagon's rim and she glances between the two. "But I'll take greens over nothing. If y'need help with th' sorry lot o'em, Majah, jus' ask."

Varus nods, laying aside his stack of papers. "Will do, Private. I know yahr reputation for whippin' the recruits inta shape. You'll make a fine Corporal, wot." He takes a long swig from his flagon. "Alas, that isn't mah decision, is it?"

Dipping the quill in the ink bottle, the corporal spares Riley a glance. "That's true -my mother and I are all that remain of the Cadwalladers, and even then we're newer, relatively speaking, of course. Plus the fact she'd rather I didn't exist, well," Setting the quill down, Terrence looks up from his work. "I suppose it's not, sah, but I'd also say the problem isn't just green recruits, but, well, I've been paying attention to the reports of the bigger battles in recent seasons, and, er," He swallows, "It seems we've been taking far too many casualties than we should be - like that one last autumn, all but the badger lord and a hare were left standing...."

"Sounds rough," Riley says with a sympathetic glance at Terrence. She falls quiet as he mentioned the battle. The doe stands up, finishing her beer, and collecting any of the mugs and plates that the table is done with. "Corporal? How dare you," the runner jokes at Varus, offering him a smile. "I'll be a private until th' day I die, mark my words. Speaking of..." she steps away from the table, bowing to them instead of a salute... hard to do with arms full of dishes. "I am off t'enjoy my wonderfully free evening, officahs. Do take care and I shall see yeh around!" And with that the doe skips off to shed the dishes and her apron in lieu of a fun filled evening of cards in the rec room.

Varus stares at his flagon, as if contemplating it. He nods, as Riley departs. "Th' Patrol grew arrogant," he says at length. "It pains me t' say so, but it's true. We grew so confident of our abilities, that we marched right off into a massacre." He shakes his head slowly. "I've since voiced mah concerns." He finally takes another drink of ale. "Mah son was there. In Mossflowah. An' thank th' fates 'e survived. An' y'know why 'e did? Because 'e disobeyed a direct ordah. An' I 'ad ta punish 'im for it... We don't see eye to eye, I'm afraid..."

Watching the private go, Terrence is quiet for some time, digesting the major's words. "The squad I was with," he starts, "They were all there, and so too was my father. Arrogance was a soft word for him." Finishing his tea, he puts down the mug gently. "I feel like many hares here think personal glory and whatnot are worth the lives of others, especially in the recruits..." Another bout of silence falls before the corporal gazes over at Varus. "Sah, if you don't mind me asking, what's your son's name?"

Varus bites into a pasty, before he replies, "Adrian. Corporal Adrian Swiftbuck. 'E's a Runnah... An' 'e's mah second eldest... Mah eldest... Well, 'e passed away." The Major doesn't elaborate. "At any rate, I 'ad 'oped that Adrian would follow in mah footsteps an' be a Fightah, but 'e insisted on bein' a Runnah. It caused... A disagreement, between us. Our relationship's been strained for a few seasons now."

Terrence gives a mirthless chuckle. "Sounds a bit like my family - though I hadn't wanted to join the patrol in the first place, wot. Wasn't till my brother died in an accident that I came back and joined up...More for him than any other beast." He leans back, paperwork forgotten. "I don't think I ever formally met your Adrian, but I've seen his name from time to time in, well," The corporal waves to the pile.

Varus nods. "And you wouldn't. He's not in th' mountain. 'Asn't been for months now. 'E an' Private Montgomery 'ave been away on a mission of recruitment. His... punishment, f'r disobeyin' a direct ordah in th' heat o' battle, wot. We could 'ardly demote 'im, aftah all..."

"On that far flung recruitment trip, wot?" Terrence says, "I remember seeing the first notice of that, way back when." He peers at the major over his spectacles. "It's been at least since the spring since they left, right?"

Varus mmms. "Yes, it has been." He counts on his fingers. "Almost nine months. They're likely in the far South by now. I believe that was their general direction." He sighs, setting his empty flagon down on the table. "You 'ave mah condolences f'r yahr Da and brothah. I remembah yahr Da bein' a smaht up'n'comah many seasons ago. Tha's likely around th' time I was, too, ta be honest..."

Shrugging, the corporal says, "I suppose he was, and it would make sense. I fully admit I was a bit lax when it came to listening to him tell tales," Terrence looks at his lap, biting his lip ever so slightly, "I regret that now, of course. And thank you -" He bows his head towards Varus,"-You have mine as well, for your oldest..."

Varus raises his empty mug. "Thank you. 'E was a good lad..." The Major goes silent. "'E was, howevah, quite sickly. 'E was too young, I'm afraid..." The hare shakes his head. "Anyway... Will you be observin' the trainin' exercise in th' Marshes this Thursday? I am sure it'll be utterly routine..."

"I will." Terrence nods, "If only to make sure the hares don't go off and eat some random mushrooms and keep their feet in proper order and all that, wot. Swamp-foot's a nasty thing..." Starts to collect all the spread out papers, he puts them into a neat stack. "I just hope some of them have taken to heart the saying, 'wet feet are dead feet,' wot."

Varus snorts. "One should bloody well 'ope so. Just wot we need is a bunch o' green recruits losin' their feet." He shakes his head. "Ah well, I imagine I'll go along as well, if only ta make sure mah own patrol don't die..."

"Well," Terrence grins, "I daresay Sergeant Greg has a good enough head for all those beasts - I'm sure he'll mention it." Tapping the pile against the tabletop, he sets the papers down again, now perfectly laying atop each other. "I'm actually looking forward to it, myself. It'll be the first time since last autumn that I'll be out officially in the field again, wot!'

Varus quirks a brow. "That long, eh? Well then... Yer a sensible beast. Y' might not be in mah Patrol, but I do look forwahd to workin' wi' you. I think you've th' makin's of a fine officah, t' be honest..."

Terrence looks a bit taken aback. "Really? Well, thank you, sah! Look forward to working with you as well." Tapping his finger on the table, he adds in a more sheepish voice, "As for how long it was, well, lets just say it was because a punishment of sorts. I'll say er, well, managed to get a fish drunk on some very expensive wine with some mates, and leave it at that, wot."

Varus looks mildly surprised. "Well, well. That's a new one f'r me." He shakes his head. "Y' must've gotten it *extremely* drunk t' be punished that... Severely." He looks over his stack of papers again. "An' it must 'ave been truly expensive wine..."

"Yes, well," The corporal rubs the back of his head. "I won't comment on our soberness in the matter, either. And the particular barrel may or may not have been saved for a certain badger's nameday." Terrence smiles, his cheeks red. "Honestly I don't remember much else and have been, well, too scared to look at the full report, I have, wot wot. Though," the hare falls somber as he says, "I did take the full blame for it all - the others got off with barely a slap on the wrist, and, well, went off to Mossflower soon afterwards..."

Varus visibly winces, and shakes his head. "Ah, yes... Well... At least *you* are still 'ere. Tha's all that mattahs, wot..."

Terrence nods slowly, relaxing against the back of his chair. "Yes, I suppose that's true..." He looks down at his paws, falling silent.

Varus nods resolutely. "I'm goin' t' watch yahr career with interest, Corporal. Very keen interest." The Major is quite serious now. "Yer not in mah patrol, but that's beside th' point..." At that, the older hare stands. "F'r now, though, I need t' be gettin' some shut eye here..."

Nodding again, Terrence corks the ink bottle, saying as he does so, "Right then, Sah, thank you. I need to some myself, wot." Then, while picking quill and papers up, he grabs his empty mug. Bringing it over to the dish bin he deposits it, saying over his shoulder, "Really, thank you, Sah! Have a jolly good night!"