Idle Minds (Open)

[Bog]

On the whole, the city of Danbury didn't have much to offer. The only importance this city had lay in its willingness to provide the Continental army with supplies. Beyond that, there was next to nothing for a lad like Adam Starling to consider worthwhile. So, naturally, he resented that his regiment had been tasked with protecting the place.

There were taverns, of course, but the men had been expressly forbidden from visiting them. Colonel Stark was not about to let anyone even attempt to mix drink with duty. It was a damned pity. A tankard or two could make hours of standing sentry that much easier to bear.

The main road through the city led, eventually, down to the Post Road. It was a wide enough avenue and required six men on rotating shifts to adequately guard it. Three at one end and three at the other. There were others stationed at various points around the city's outskirts, as well as within the city itself, but all Starling knew was that road sentry duty was the worst.

Stopping every cart, wagon, carriage, and horse that passed to check for travel papers was tedious in the extreme. Daily traffic was steady and often extra men had to be sent for to help. The only bearable part of it all was that, at night, the road traffic fell away sharply.

Of course, staying awake at night with nothing to occupy his mind was a trial all its own. Starling stamped his feet and, yawning, paced across the width of the road before pausing to listen to the sounds of the night. Nothing but the usual passing racket of nocturnal creatures. Turning, he paced back again. Right then, he almost hoped for something to happen. Anything to relieve the boredom.

[drake]

Jean-Luc had been painting for two days straight, and was supposed to deliver his works of art to a woman who lived a few blocks away from where he currently worked. Now, in the middle of the night, the Frenchman resorted to carrying his four paintings in a wooden box. It was somewhat grueling, seeing Jean-Luc wasn't exactly the strongest of all men. The streets were almost empty, save for the Patriot troops who had been stationed at every street corner in the city of Danbury. Most seemed bored with their current assignments and duties, and Jean-Luc did his best to at least cheer them up a little. He wasn't exactly rooting for the Patriots, but he wasn't against them. The same went for the British, who were attempting to keep their colonies. It was exciting, the Revolution. A new country was being born, and there was the Frenchman, caught up in the middle of it, Jean-Luc thought passing another block. Once again, there were six troops stationed on the street, three to a side.

Just as he made on his way to pass the troops, three dogs proceeded to bark at the Frenchman, and ran past him. He jumped back in surprise, dropping his box of paintings as he did so. Jean-Luc groaned, and began gathering his paintings, which had fallen out of the box and onto the dusty ground. "Ugh, les chiens fous. Maintenant, je dois nettoyer soigneusement la poussière de mes peintures..." he muttered in French. He took a minute or so to slowly pick up each painting, one by one, and carefully place them back into the box. Jean-Luc grunted as he lifted the load once more, and walked towards the troops, who seemed to be awaiting to search him. Or so, that's what he thought. The Frenchman forced a smile and nodded, waiting to see what the Patriots would do.

[Bog]

It was the sudden outbreak of barking that grabbed Starling's attention away from an attempt to discern the precise species of an owl hooting just off the road. Annoyed that the dogs had not only distracted him but spooked the owl, Starling stepped back toward the road. The dogs subsided somewhat, enough for him to hear a human voice muttering in an obviously foreign tongue.

The husky Vermonter was instantly on his guard. He settled his musket to the Charge, his thumb resting against the cock, and snapped out, "Stand and be recognised, there."

It was difficult to see the traveller's face or anything distinctive about him, for he was still mostly in shadow. The light from the lanterns hanging from their poles at the roadside wasn't strong enough to reach more than a few feet and this fellow was just beyond the pale circles of light.

[drake]

Jean-Luc nodded and did what the Patriot ordered him to do. He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Hello, there. Sorry if I caused you any trouble, " The Frenchman squinted a second, his eyes getting used to the lantern. "Those damned dogs made me drop my paintings, I apologize if I disturbed your duties." He took a step closer and laid his box of art down, then took off his tricorn. "I am Jean-Luc Garnier, perhaps you have heard of me?" he said, pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow, wondering if the troops had indeed heard of him. Jean-Luc had his hand in many jobs, such as architecture, art, and engineering.

He was wearing expensive clothes, yet the paint and ink stains were quite obvious, scattered all around the fabrics. The Frenchman examined the troops for a second then averted his gaze back to his paintings, wondering if the dust had damaged them in any way.

[Bog]

Well. At least however this fellow was, he spoke English. Heavily-accented English, perhaps, but at least it was understandable.

"Papers," Starling said shortly, not having the slightest idea who 'John-Luke Garnyer' was but not caring. It was apparent this fellow was some sort of gentleman though. That coat was too well-cut and the shirt's ruffles too fine to be a common man's. A gentleman, then, but one showing rather too much interest in Starling and his two comrades.

"Takin' a good look are you?"

His suspicion was increasing, however slowly. There was something not right about this bloke.

[drake]

Did he appear too observant? "Désolé, désolé," Jean-Luc said softly, slightly putting his hands up in an apologetic manner. "I was just... observing what you men were like, I apologize if I seemed curious in a hurtful manner." The Frenchman then nodded, ruffling about in his coat, looking for the papers he had been showing to every patrol on almost every street corner. "Ah, yes, here they are. I believe everything is in order..." he said, extending a crumbled piece of paper towards the troops.

Jean-Luc then waited patiently, wondering on about an irregular theory of his on muskets. For some reason, they had always fascinated him, the way the mechanics worked together. He then began studying the troops once again, like a book. "What are your names?" Jean-Luc asked. Might as well start a conversation, he thought.

[Bog]

Starling stood fast while one of his comrades stepped forward to take the crumpled paper. At least one musket was to be kept level on any traveller who acted suspiciously, especially at night. This fellow sure qualified as suspicious.

"What about our names?" Starling was beginning to honestly dislike this gentleman. What did he care about the sentries' names?

Corporal Fernley grunted. "Fernley, Starling, Hasting. And you're John-Luke Whatever."

Thank you, Corporal, Starling thought sourly. The big private eyed the gentleman warily and added, "Stuff your observin', mate. What's so interestin' 'bout us, 'less you're a spy?"