The whole ships descends into strange, quieted disorder as it tosses and turns in the great Arctic winds, but Jopson remains steady. Makes a point to, in fact, among his added work - working alongside the shipmaster to secure their food stores, collecting men to tie down bunks and shelves and all manner of breakable things that had been left out. Some are sent to the medic first and foremost, to keep any ill or underweathered crew members still in their cots.
It's plenty work, his job, on an average day at sea, but the frigid winds have far more in mind for him. He takes to the work, though, through the winds and strife - even if his mind sometimes drifts alongside the boat as she tips and turns. Drifts to Crozier, though he sees him daily, these events require more attention on all sides, not just a Captain's. But a hand on his hip provides a warmth he holds onto, acknowledges with a small, private smile, and away they go again.
Standing on solid ice after the fuss of the winds is strange, his knees and thighs waiting to adjust for a dip or a shift, muscles loose in a way that doesn't do him well on solid ground. All the same he's started to draw out stakes and tenting, taking careful count of everything so that each tent can be organized and arranged properly. Better to find the wind direction and set up with it instead of against it, anyway.
"It was only a matter of time before the sea let us know what she thinks about her voyage, sir," he smiles a little, already packing up what they need to pitch their tent. "But it is nice to know the floor won't be waging its own wars underfoot while we explore."
A small smile and of the items in the gig he takes up one of the rifles - meant for the captain, of course, but as any good steward, he will carry all things for him.
"And you, sir? I hope you'll let me shave you come morning since we've been unable the last week. It will be colder, of course, but I assure you that you'll feel all the better for it."
no subject
It's plenty work, his job, on an average day at sea, but the frigid winds have far more in mind for him. He takes to the work, though, through the winds and strife - even if his mind sometimes drifts alongside the boat as she tips and turns. Drifts to Crozier, though he sees him daily, these events require more attention on all sides, not just a Captain's. But a hand on his hip provides a warmth he holds onto, acknowledges with a small, private smile, and away they go again.
Standing on solid ice after the fuss of the winds is strange, his knees and thighs waiting to adjust for a dip or a shift, muscles loose in a way that doesn't do him well on solid ground. All the same he's started to draw out stakes and tenting, taking careful count of everything so that each tent can be organized and arranged properly. Better to find the wind direction and set up with it instead of against it, anyway.
"It was only a matter of time before the sea let us know what she thinks about her voyage, sir," he smiles a little, already packing up what they need to pitch their tent. "But it is nice to know the floor won't be waging its own wars underfoot while we explore."
A small smile and of the items in the gig he takes up one of the rifles - meant for the captain, of course, but as any good steward, he will carry all things for him.
"And you, sir? I hope you'll let me shave you come morning since we've been unable the last week. It will be colder, of course, but I assure you that you'll feel all the better for it."