simplestgift: (Don't you understand?)
[Last he knew, Archie Kennedy was lying in his cot on board His Majesty's Frigate Lydia, in the surgeon's cabin. No one really remembers falling asleep, do they? But when he was falling asleep, he was very warm. It's the cold that wakes him.

When he opens his eyes, he's lying in a bed of grass. Overhead is a pale blue sky, and November bites the air.

He's back. After more than three years, he's back.

He sits up, shivering, and looks over his shoulder. The wings are there again. He's had a good long break from them, but there's something that is both thrilling and horrifying about their existence. Beside him, folded nicely, are civilian clothes, on top of which lies his journal. He dresses quickly, but only so he can stop shivering before his shaking hands open the journal. He speaks with a stammering quickness, voice unsteady.]


This is...M-Mr. Kennedy. [Using his real name in front of everyone has come to feel very wrong.] I've come back. I've come back, and it's been three years. How long has it been here? Who is still here? Elizabeth?

[He'll wind up both at house 36 and house 7, desperate to see sorely-missed faces. Later, much calmer, he makes another announcement, this one writen.]

It has come to my attention that it is November already. On December the First, beginning at four o'clock PM, as happened one year ago in Luceti, there will be a Christmas ball and feast. I will require help with the food, setting up, and cleaning after. Anyone wishing to attend may do so, so long as they are properly dressed. This year it shall be held in the Battle Dome.

[OOC: Archie is returning from his mallynap believing he went home for three and a half years, somehow alive and with memories of Luceti. He looks no older, but he's definitely thinner and his hair is no longer than shoulder-length now, so he does look somewhat different.  Have fun.]
simplestgift: (Neutral as Archie gets)
[Archie spends the first half of the day moving new furniture—stool and chairs, mostly—to the Britannia. Something about getting stuck in your own ship and having to burn the furniture for warmth in the galley stove makes one run out of furniture. While he’s in the store, he finds an item that delights him—a wooden box with Horatio’s name engraved on a brass plate on the lid. He’ll happily take that home, yes.

It’s less than a week till Christmas, so he’s going to clear the snow off the front porch of house 36 and sit outside to try to make a wreath out of hemlock and holly sprigs. It is not going well. He’s unaware of the mistletoe overhead.

In regards to his find in the store, curiosity will get the better of him before Horatio returns home. What is in that box?

He finds out. It’s not pretty.]


Not pretty at all. )

simplestgift: (sidelong sarcastic)
[Kennedy comes to himself lying on his side in the grass, his wings splayed haphazardly, a slight breeze causing the feathers to flutter. He lies still for a moment, watching without thought the grass as it ripples softly before his eyes. Then he remembers that he was taken.

That explains this.

It begins to come back to him. He'd glimpsed the cages and panicked. They'd jabbed a needle into him then, and everything had gone soft, then black. He remembers nothing between then and now, and nothing is what he'll search his memories for. The blackout is a blessing, even if it is unsettling. It would be worse to remember.

He's in his own clothes--shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and trousers--and his journal is lying nearby, because clearly the Malnosso are paragons of courtesy. He rolls onto his stomach to reach for it when he hears a clear tinkling sound.  He reaches for his throat. There is...something, very much like a collar. No, it is a collar of steel links with no clasp, and hanging from it is a bell.

A bell he cannot touch. It rings when he moves, but his fingers pass through it. No matter what he does, he cannot keep it from sounding.

Apparently someone at the Malnosso facility is a wise guy who eavesdrops on certain conversations and thinks he's pretty damn funny.

Okay. So no audio. He grabs the journal and writes instead.]


I'm here. How long have I been gone?

-A. Kennedy

P.S. Horatio, do tell me one of you fed the cat.
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