What else can he say, staring down the face of his Captain who is being far more gracious even now, scolding him as he is. The realization that he's put this man in such a cramped position only serves to make the guilt worse. Yes, he's done exactly what a steward should avoid at all costs, and made trouble for Crozier, when he needs no more than he has already.
"I will not make this mistake again."
Now he feels so very much the green hand in all of this. In some ways he's always felt it - working on a ship without truly working on it in the way the other men do. He takes immense pride in his work, but the calluses on his hands won't at all match his Captain's, or the Lieutenants, or any of the deck hands working night and day in the chilly mist of the ship.
He tears his gaze away, to the floor, to the dull scuff of his boots after a frosty day on deck. It would be miserable to take the lashes, but it isn't anything he hasn't stomached before, as awful as it was then on the decks of the Racer. A green, sky-eyed boy desperate to help his family, easily drawn in by the wrong crowds at first.
"If it's the lashes you feel I deserve, I can weather them, sir. The pain is temporary, even if it feels it might not end at the start of it all. I don't deserve your clemency, and I will make every effort to prove your trust in me isn't misplaced."
A little desperate there at the end, the tiniest edge of something so wildly serious turned near pleading. Not for his own safety or for his own protection, but instead begging to keep Crozier's faith in him, or at least a chance to prove himself after.
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What else can he say, staring down the face of his Captain who is being far more gracious even now, scolding him as he is. The realization that he's put this man in such a cramped position only serves to make the guilt worse. Yes, he's done exactly what a steward should avoid at all costs, and made trouble for Crozier, when he needs no more than he has already.
"I will not make this mistake again."
Now he feels so very much the green hand in all of this. In some ways he's always felt it - working on a ship without truly working on it in the way the other men do. He takes immense pride in his work, but the calluses on his hands won't at all match his Captain's, or the Lieutenants, or any of the deck hands working night and day in the chilly mist of the ship.
He tears his gaze away, to the floor, to the dull scuff of his boots after a frosty day on deck. It would be miserable to take the lashes, but it isn't anything he hasn't stomached before, as awful as it was then on the decks of the Racer. A green, sky-eyed boy desperate to help his family, easily drawn in by the wrong crowds at first.
"If it's the lashes you feel I deserve, I can weather them, sir. The pain is temporary, even if it feels it might not end at the start of it all. I don't deserve your clemency, and I will make every effort to prove your trust in me isn't misplaced."
A little desperate there at the end, the tiniest edge of something so wildly serious turned near pleading. Not for his own safety or for his own protection, but instead begging to keep Crozier's faith in him, or at least a chance to prove himself after.