YEEHAW! cheers Oddey, really appreciated. i've been waiting to put the next one up for some time, and it will get a hell of a lot better. i hope so anyway. it isn't going to just concentrate on one character.
Chapter 2
Johnson awoke the next morning, late. He didn’t have a bad head as he was used to nights like the one before, or he just didn’t notice anymore. He rubbed his brow, sitting upright on the bed and shouted to his wife, wherever she was.
“Why didn’t you wake me, woman?” He yelled nastily. “Now the sergeant’s gonna find out about this.”
He heard Mary reply somewhere out of the room, but Johnson didn’t hear her. Once he stood up he felt a pang of pain from his whole hand and recalled having it crushed the night before.
“Where’s my damn breakfast?” Johnson yelled again, and actually heard Mary reply this time.
“I’m stripping the sheets, John. Mark wet the bed again.”
“Well that boy is gonna get a hiding when I come home. He’s ten. He shouldn’t be doin’ that anymore. Actually, he should be working by now.” Johnson said as he felt his trousers to see if they were dry; they were.
“Your too pissed every night anyway. And the Monarchy aint gonna find out about Mark if the watchmen don’t come ‘round.”
“Shut it, woman.” Johnson said. He was sick of her undermining him. She should know her place.
Johnson walked out of his hovel and up the street towards the wooden barracks. He still had his sword attached to his belt in a sheath, and wasn’t surprised the men from last night didn’t take it; it was blunt and the edge was covered in nicks. The only sharp thing he had was his dagger, which was also sheathed. But all of this equipment belonged to the Monarchy. Like everything else.
After passing through the wooden gates of the towns barracks, he saw that the majority of the townspeople’s men were assembled in the courtyard directly in front of him. He tried to join the ranks undetected, but Johnson was quite old, and wasn’t one for stealth.
“Oi! Who’s just walked into the ranks like a scrawny rat?!” The sergeant barked, striding over, his chainmail jingling and belt holding back his gut.
“Johnson, sir.” Johnson replied, knowing not to test his patience.
“Trust you.” The sergeant said, meeting Johnson face to face. “We don’t cater for old bastards that turn up late for company inspection. You want me to get the sheriff down here?”
The sergeants grey eyes looked unforgivingly into Johnsons dull ones. He looked back at him and said; “No sergeant.”
The bully sergeant shoved him back with his gloved hand and strode back to the front, where the corporal was standing, looking bewildered as usual. He was a simple lad.
“Alright.” The sergeant shouted. “Company dismissed.”
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