simplestgift: (Hidden anger.)
Elizabeth Swann has gone home.

[That's pretty much all he can manage. People needed to know. He won't answer any messages until very late tonight. In the meantime, he is pretty much going to wall himself up in his house. Not in his room, though. His room still smells like her.

He found her wedding ring. It was lying on her night stand yesterday morning when he first woke to find her gone.

All things considered...he's not doing as badly as he might be. At least, he's convincing himself of that. Trying to. They always knew this was a probability, after all.

But that didn't make much of a difference in the end, did it?]
simplestgift: (Disappointed)
[Archie is going to head into All Passions today, in desperate need of a dress uniform. When things are slow at work tonight, he'll speak a message.]

Is there anyone in the village who could perform a wedding? A priest or other official? I'm...getting married.

[He sounds a tad stunned about it, too. Even if it's been over a month since this was decided.]
simplestgift: (Please stop shitting me.)
 Perhaps the message from my superior was too subtle, but he would like to open the Britannia to anyone who would rather be away from the village if the threat the Malnosso have given should come to fruition.  He would like you to work, as we are short of crew, but work could mean practically anything from cooking to needlework to carrying buckets to hoisting, anything you can think of.  You needn't sign up as part of the crew.  We do have at least one cannon to provide some defense.

We sail tomorrow.  Any who wish to come aboard should be there by eight o'clock in the morning with whatever belongings you wish.  There is more than enough room.

[In other words, they're offering to take refugees.]
simplestgift: (z Childe Archie)
[In the morning, a boy luxuriates on the grass, turning the pages of a book at a rapid-fire rate, devouring it like a piece of birthday cake.

After the noon hour, he’s on the mountain near the bath house, listening for Kipinn.

Around three o’clock, he’s at the docks, in your boat, pretending to have adventures. He can’t make it as far out as the Britannia, unfortunately, because he’s too small to sail the quarterboat out by himself. He still casts some longing looks at it.

In the evening, he suddenly learns what day it is. That’s enough to deflate him some. Solemnly, he speaks over his journal, huddled on the couch in house 36.]


I’m nine years old today.

[Actually he’s twenty-seven, but don’t tell him that. It’s a little depressing to be away from everyone you love on your birthday. Still, he’s Archie, and Archie can (almost) always cheer up.]
simplestgift: (Help to keep your mind off the pain.)

[A man clearing his throat.]

This is Mr. Kennedy. Ginia...Miss Ginia Solana has gone home, as you know, and left me the club. Now she’s gone, musicians on our schedule are a bit scarce. I could also use a waiter or two. Or three, I wouldn’t mind, especially if they could help at the bar on busy nights, or nights when I am gone. [A pause, then his tone goes falsely cheerful as if he’s impatient with his own awkward long-windedness.] In short, for which I am clearly untalented, if any of you possess a musical skill, I should be very glad to have you perform here. There’s nothing quite like music to lift a spirit, and Cloud Nine is the one place in the village which has it regularly. We should all be grateful to hear yours.

And I know waiting on tables is scarcely anyone’s ideal way to spend his or her evening, but it could be worse. Exchanging idleness for music usually turns out in one’s favor. I’ll be happy for the help. I did begin as a waiter myself.

Now I’d like to address the sailors and would-be sailors of the village. The Britannia has lost a few of her crew—sent home—and I know there are sailors here who’ve not spoken up. I’d like to know why, that I might dispel any concerns. We’re not asking for exclusivity, if that’s the trouble, and it’s been made clear time and time again that we are not a military vessel. If there are any doubts, it is better to ask. Even if you’re not a sailor, you’re welcome aboard. Thank you for your time. We set sail in May.

[Filtered 86% to Nami]

I’d like to ask you especially, Miss Nami. Your skills and experience are second to none here, and we would be honored to have you.

[He’ll spend the daylight hours wandering the woods and all over town, keeping an eye out for a certain young midshipman the rogue Malnosso took. At one point, he’ll head to the smithy to see Hiccup and Sokka. In the evening, he’ll be working the bar and kitchen at Cloud Nine, and bringing food to tables when he must.]
simplestgift: (Thinking.)

[Today, Archie is on the beach. He has a couple of homemade instruments with him that might look odd to someone who isn’t a sailor—a quadrant and a sextant. He also has a gigantic container, the type one might bring on picnics with lots of family, with some drink or another inside. Spread out on the dock is a tattered blanket, two large books lying open, and scattered forgotten foodstuffs and folded blankets. The one object which never leaves his hand is a watch.

Anyone with any sailing experience would see, when he’s using the tools, that he’s determining the sun’s altitude at varying times of the day, probably as a way to check his current latitude. He’s especially focused when the sun is at its zenith. He jots down observations and calculations in a small notebook.

Usually an experienced lieutenant wouldn’t sweat this much over a routine, but Kennedy always did this as little as he could even back home after moving from the midshipmen’s berth to the ward room, and hasn’t done it since coming to Luceti over a year ago. As the Britannia’s undisputed first lieutenant, however, he is suddenly worried he won’t be able to do this at all after so little practice. Therefore, he has to prove he can do this, as much as he hates it. Always he checks his watch, measuring the time throughout the day and night. This is why he brought so much coffee.

At around six in the evening, when he’s finished plotting his position upon the planet or given up on it, he’ll send out a spoken message.]


[To Elizabeth Swann; filtered 78%]

Elizabeth? The sun is about to set. Would you like to meet me at the docks?

[The next morning, he jots down his findings on the journal network. First is a set of numbers schoolkids and navigators could recognize as latitude and longitude.  Then:]

A solar day here is the same length as one on Earth. On the other hand, our position doesn’t correspond with anything that would make sense on Earth. At least, not to my reckoning. I plotted it while standing on the beach, where there used to be a desert till it was flooded. Nevertheless, aren’t all planets possessing of different solar and lunar days? Why should this one correspond exactly with the one I’m from?

Have I done something wrong?

Besides assume the existence of Greenwich upon this planet, of course. Perhaps Luceti should be reckoned the prime meridian when we make further observations about the longitude of other locations?

[There is no way to determine whether or not the Barrier provides too much refraction of light for the measurements to be accurate, either--something he hasn't really considered, even though he's plenty aware of the phenomenon.]
simplestgift: (Laughing with a friend.)

[It's around ten or eleven at night when the transmission begins. Two voices, Kennedy and Bush, are sounding decidedly sloshed. They are, in fact, sitting at the bar in Good Spirits, because how often do you get to introduce someone to Romulan ale twice and see their reaction the second time like it had never happened before? Only if said person went home and came back and doesn't remember the first time. Due to this, Kennedy sounds considerably more sober.]

Your attention, everyone. Mr. Bush has something he would like to say.

Yes, yes I would.....What was it again Kennededy?

Begin with "my profoundest apologies." And-and end with...with the hair thing.

Ah! Right, right. *ahem* My sensherest apologies to the ladies of Lusheti....I like all of you and your is - hair - is very pretty.

Nunno, William, it's...the envy bit, that was nice. Do add that in.

I envy all of your hair.

And how silly a man are you?

Extremely, Kennedy. Siller man there ever was.

Now recite an appropriate verse.

Help me think of one.

What about, "O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!"

It is.

And...why is that, Mr. Bush?

Hm?

Why is it a woeful, woeful, woeful day?

This isn't England and there's no naaavy. Missthenavy.

And...that's the only reason you insulted the crew, isn't it? Just want things to be like they are at home?

Mmhm.

...Do you need a bucket to vomit into?

Please.

[OOC: This is a joint post with [personal profile] wouldntbetonit]

simplestgift: (Unsure smile.)

Cut for introspection. )

[Today, Archie goes to the smithy to ask a favor of its weapon smiths (OOC: dibs go to Hiccup Haddock). In the evening, he brings home a bottle of Madeira and a ham to cook before work. Tonight, he'll be working the bar and tables at Cloud Nine.

Eventually, he speaks over the journals, tone light and warm but professional.]


This is Mr. Kennedy.

Any member of the crew of the Britannia is welcome to come with me to tour the ship in the morning. She's quite a handsome woman and I'd very much like you to meet her.

For those who've not yet heard, Britannia is a sixth-rate man of war with the capacity for twenty-two guns, but no actual guns. She carries enough sail to cover her namesake, so she's fast, and nimble as Jack jumping over a candlestick. Winter isn't the best time for sailing, but once things warm up, Captain Hornblower will be taking her out on her maiden voyage. As his first leff--first mate, I'm responsible for hiring the crew, so do speak with me and not with him if you wish to join.

[A pause. Then, he speaks very softly, with many sentiments wrapped up into two words:]

Thank you.
simplestgift: (Hidden anger.)
[Archie has barely been around town lately, but he does appear in town this afternoon, dashing about to various shops and stores and picking up various one-use items and lots and lots of groceries. He seems to have one thing on his mind.

Later, he'll sit at the fountain and send out the voice message:]


This is Mr. Kennedy. If anyone is in need of me, I shall be at the beach house for most of the week. You can reach me there or on the journals.

Moreover, Mr. Hornblower and I are wondering if anyone would be interested in helping to build a ship. A sloop-of-war, to be specific, with room and ports enough for eighteen or twenty-two guns. I cannot claim we have a practical use for itm besides exploration, but it would be something to do. We have the plans drawn up, and all we need is enough hands to make it possible. We would be grateful for any help at all.

[After this, he'll be walking back to the beach house, where he's been babysitting Jack Sparrow since yesterday.]
simplestgift: (Please no.)
[He'd won her a stuffed penguin. She'd been hanging on his arm and squeezing it with a giant grin on her face. Everything felt, finally, like it was going to be okay. Like this trouble between them since sleeping together was just a little thing.

He turns away to grab a strawberry daiquiri for her, still holding her hand. When he turns back, she's gone.

He wanders Lucetiland for a while, looking for her, shaking, still holding the drink, but he knows what's happened. When someone dematerializes while you are touching them...

She was just there, grinning, cheeks rosy. The warmth of her hand hasn't quite faded yet.

He sits on a bench in the middle of the park, staring into space, and nothing in the world draws his attention until, mechanically, he draws out his journal. He's shaking too badly to write, so he has to voice it, and he sounds weak.]


Dawn Summers was sent home.
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