simplestgift: (I need a hug.)

In light of my new duties as first lieutenant of the LES Britannia, impending matrimony, and being bloody terrible at running a foodhouse, I shall soon retire as the owner of Cloud Nine. I'd like to continue to work a few shifts, of course, but the club will need new management. Which brave soul will shoulder the task?

-A. Kennedy

[Action only: He is enjoying the last night of the voyage, simply meditating upon the lovely roll of the ship beneath him. It's chilly out, and he can see his breath, but he doesn't mind, wrapped up tightly in his heavy wool greatcoat. Softly he sings a song swallowed by the night, evidenced mainly by the mist of it in the air around his lips.]

The maiden, oh, the maiden oh.
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!
So early in the morning,
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!
A maid that is young,
A maid that is fair,
A maid that is kind and pleasant, oh,
So early in the morning,
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!
simplestgift: (Concerned or thoughtful)
[Mr. Kennedy is sitting in Good Spirits. Since he got sick of trying all the different types of Scotch in a vain search for one that tastes like it was made in the eighteenth century, he's settled on something someone called "Romulan ale," unfortunately expecting it to be something like real ale. It's not. As a result, he's singing a sea chanty rather mournfully to himself.]

When I was just a little lad, or so me mammy told me
Away, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe
That if I did not kiss the girls, me lips would grow a' moldy
Away, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe

Away--ho! Haul away, we'll haul away together
Away, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe
Away--ho! Haul away, we'll hold for better wea--

[He stops, then puts his head down on the bar. Maybe it's not the same without a bunch of off-key male voices barreling in on the familiar bits. Either way, someone's a bit homesick. And drunk. Then he gets an idea and opens his journal.]

Does anyone wanna learn a song?

Oh, and Jilly! I found paints! You should come and get them. Maybe when I'm less drunk, though, this thing called Romulan ale being very bad for you, by the way. They're in my quarters. When would you like them? Oh, and Mr. Scott, I've also got something for you. Don't let me forget, because...

[With that, he just stops talking. He'll be in Good Spirits for most of the night. At some point, he'll have to stumble home. The invite is open.]
December 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 2012
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