simplestgift: (I need a hug.)
[Written:]

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: (Heroical)
[It’s been over a month since Archie Kennedy died and had his worst fears realized.

It’s been over a month since his first seizure in almost eight years.

Ever since, he has barely left the house, barely spoken to anyone. But last night, he opened the window before falling asleep. Somehow, it made all the difference.

In the prison at Ferrol, it had been a drink of water, soothing his parched mouth and throat and letting him sleep easier so he woke hungry. Eating strengthened him, and he slept even better after breakfast, waking with the strength to live the rest of the day. Little by little, small things, and most of all Horatio, had coaxed him back into health and the belief that things can be good again.

Today, it’s the sun and a light breeze waking him after a long sleep. Fresh spring air and the promise of warm light make him want to leave the house at last. So after showering, shaving, and trimming his hair, he dresses in something decidedly civilian but still native to his period and steps outside.

Anyone who sees him as he wanders the village, if they knew him before, will notice he has lost a good ten or fifteen pounds in the last month, and is pale as a ghost. Others might see how loosely his clothing fits him. Provided no one intercepts him and makes him eat first, he starts at Seventh Heaven with a hearty breakfast platter, regaining his appetite as he replenishes the nutrients in his body. Feeling much better, he heads to the barracks for some shooting practice, then his own backyard to try to get back in shape with swordplay. The drills Jack taught him are even more exhausting now than they were when he first started, but the exercise feels good for about half an hour.

After another shower and a quick library trip, by which point he has reached a somewhat manic state (he’ll be going back and forth between manic and depressive in the months to come), he walks out of the grocery store with what seems to be enough food to feed Kent (or possibly Rhode Island, if you’re American). He then spends the rest of the afternoon cooking up a Proper British Dinner on board the Britannia the way Jack Aubrey used to do. A simple message alerts his housemates, James Norrington, and, as an afterthought, Richard Sharpe, to dinner in the captain’s cabin right around four o’clock, promising wine, cider, and brandy, steak and turnip pie (but not for you, William), salmagundi, lobster, spinage toasts, a shoulder of beef, asparagus, mushroom catsup (which resembles Worcestershire sauce), a spiced steamed pudding, and peach tarts with heavy cream. The leftovers, he will take to Jack Sparrow at his house.

Boy needed a calling. This may as well be it.

After cleaning up and washing the dishes and an impromptu nap in the grass behind his house with an open book on his chest, he thinks he has finally worked up the courage to visit Jilly at House 7 and Buffy at Good Spirits and write a message to Amelia McFly to meet him somewhere. Time to come clean about some things. Telling Horatio about recent events lifted a huge weight from his chest, so maybe telling everyone else will enable him to fly.

Lastly, he writes a message to Elizabeth Swann to meet him behind house 36 and to wear something comfortable. When she arrives, there will be a campfire in the backyard, and Archie will have a bottle of whisky and makings for s’mores.

Feel free to run into him at any point during the day. Housemates can catch him in the morning and late at night as well as at dinner.]
simplestgift: (Lost in thought because I have to be)
[Archie Kennedy opens his eyes with his back against something hard, his wings spread out over solidness even as he grows aware of the prickle of grass underneath him. He is curled up on his side, wearing new feather trousers and shivering horribly. He hugs himself for warmth, and movement brings the rain to his attention. He is soaked.

My God, what did I lose? His hand grasps for the St. Michael pendant Horatio gave him for his birthday last year, only to find empty air.

He left it at home.

His wings twitch, and he twists to find himself pressed against a tall rock, probably near one of the lakes. His disorientation in full swing, he doesn’t even bother to try to figure out which lake it is. He sits up, waits for the world to stop whirling, and takes a shaky, hasty inventory.

Arms and legs. Nose and ears and eyes. Touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. Ten fingers, ten toes, a wild mass of blond hair unbound and sticking to his damp neck and forehead.

What did he lose?

Still trembling, he curls against the rock and tries breathing for a bit.

Memories, maybe? Any holes in his memory? How is he to know?

Horatio. He remembers Horatio, thank God. Buffy, Jilly, Jack, Leonard, Elizabeth. Father is Finley Kennedy, mother is Elspeth, siblings Finley, Neil, and Abigail. His grandfather pushed him into the Navy. His first ship was the Swiftsure. Is everything important there?

Off on a mission, and now he's back as if he'd never left. Nothing hurts. The only pain now is in finding out what he paid to come back to life. And in telling…

No. He is not going to tell Horatio about another instance where he wasn’t able to protect him, especially from death. He can’t call for help, because anyone who finds him in this state will know, and no one can know.

His wings shiver, shaking off water, then wrap around his body as well as they can. He’s always so inclined to forget they exist, but they do help to stave off the rain and warm him a little. Then, weakly, his knees threatening to buckle under him, he stands up. It’s a long walk home, and he has to make it alone.

The next two hours pass in a haze as he finds the road and follows it, limiting himself to two thoughts every quarter-hour if he can help it. After a while, he doesn’t feel especially cold anymore, which he vaguely knows from his first appearance in Luceti is a bad sign. Sheltering in the tree village won’t help him get dry when he’s already soaked, so he continues at the quickest pace he can manage. It’d be even worse to die of hypothermia just after coming back from the dead.

In the village, he steals quietly toward the clothes shop, shivering hard and pale as a ghost.

It’s going to have to be a matter of putting on the face again. No one can suspect something is wrong. Those who aren’t scornful will be compassionate, and he doesn’t think he can take compassion right now.

The door to house 36 opens very, very quietly, and the lieutenant slips inside as if he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s there. As quickly as he can, he’ll find the St. Michael pendant and slip it on.

It takes some time, but in the evening, over a cup of tea in the tea shop, he writes on the journals, shortly:]


I’m back from my mission.

-AK

[At night, he goes out for a drink. He doesn't make it to Good Spirits.]

[OOC: First chronological tag goes to Amelia, last to John Watson.]
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: (Warm smile.)
[The night is chill and quiet, and Midshipman Archie Kennedy falls asleep hoping never to leave this place.]

Cut for introspection. )

[Before bed, he writes in the journal. He does not sign his name, but the camera catches a soft smile on his face as if a weight has been lifted.]

If I am silent, let it be because I do not wish to speak and not because I am afraid to be heard.

More introspection. )

[After cooking an unnecessarily fancy breakfast for himself and his housemate, he writes again on the journal network, in his happy delirium forgetting to stay anonymous.]

It appears I have come up a bit short lately, but welcome to all new feathers. You should be told that if ever you feel unsafe in your own home for any reason whatever, you may speak with someone at the Welcome Center and you will be placed in a safe home for as long as you need.

Moreover, it is a bit late in coming, but those of us more accustomed to 'old world' traditions will be hosting a Christmas feast and ball on December the First. Ungodly early, of course, but we did not wish to compete with the new feather season round Twelfth Night. All are welcome to attend, but we ask you arrive in full dress--formal clothing. Anyone willing to volunteer to help with cooking, decorating, or music would be most welcome.

[After realizing his mistake and fretting for a bit that he wasn't anonymous for the first announcement, Archie will be knocking on the doors of house 7 and the beach house for some unannounced visits. Catch him in between if you like.

OOC note: Any IC questions about the ball that have been answered OOCly can be handwaved if you prefer.]
simplestgift: (Glowing with pride in you.)
This is Mr. Kennedy. The Britannia, Luceti's new sloop of war under command of Captain Hornblower, is finished and for all purposes ready to sail. Unfortunately, as she cannot sail herself, Captain Hornblower is in need of a crew.

Not many are required simply to sail her. A half dozen at least, although we should prefer more. We do not expect exclusivity--in Luceti, there is no point. If you are already part of another crew, you are welcome to remain a part of that crew and sail with us as well. As the winter months are approaching, we are not likely to weigh anchor for some time, so there will be plenty of time to train recruits who have no sailing experience.

Thank you, and I look forward to any questions you may have.

-A. Kennedy

[He's using the "Lt." less and less nowadays in his signature.

Tonight he'll be working at Cloud Nine. He'll be home late.]
simplestgift: (Carefully hidden thoughts.)
[Filtered from known villains and Grell, 100% unhackable]

[The handwriting is disguised and the picture is obscured.]

For the benefit of the new feathers: if you feel unsafe somehow in your own home, you may go to the Welcome Center and be placed in a safe house until you can get back on your feet. There does not have to be a reason. Even if you have returned from a kidnapping and do not wish to be alone, this is available to you.

[/Filter]

[Later, another written message, without the picture obscured.]

To anyone who volunteered to help build the ship:

We will begin work on Monday, at eight o'clock in the morning.  We will meet at the fountain and walk from there.  It'll mostly be cutting and transporting lumber at first, I'm afraid, and that includes building a cart to transport the lumber in.

Thank you,

Lt. Kennedy

[Then, written more hastily a little while later:]

If anyone has stories about Dr. McCoy, I should like to hear them.

[Today, Kennedy is stopping at the grocery store and the smithy, hoping someone with experience at the forge will be up to the challenge he has in mind.

Tonight, he is back to work at Cloud Nine, mostly waiting tables and looking fairly miserable. It's his first night of work since Dr. McCoy left, and since he dislikes the job anyway, he's not doing great at it tonight.

Before he goes home, he will stop by house 7. He will be home late.]

simplestgift: (I need a hug.)
[Filtered from known villains and Grell, 100% unhackable]

[Written in a disguised hand, with the picture obscured.]

To anyone who is new, I would like to let you know that if, for any reason, you feel unsafe in your own home, you may go to the Welcome Center and ask to be placed with someone known to be safe until you are back on your feet. There does not have to be a reason--perhaps you were kidnapped recently or someone is threatening you. You do not need to tell why.

That said, I am in need of more women as volunteers. If any of you have a spare bed, your help would be most welcome. Even if you can be dispatched as a bodyguard, we would be glad of your assistance. A trusted member of the community must be able to vouch for you.

[/Filter]

[Tonight Archie will be waiting tables at Cloud 9. When he gets off, he will take an unusually long time coming home. At some point, he'll be perched on one of the docks on the ocean, staring blankly out to sea, oblivious to the world.

There isn't really one specific reason. It's everything, really, from the draft to William's disappearance. Archie is as bottled as they come, and...

Bottles.

Around one in the morning, a gunshot and shattering glass is heard. This is because Mr. Kennedy has set up a line of empty bottles from the night club on the fountain and is using them for target practice. Wine, beer, as long as it's empty and glass it gets used. If you are having difficulty sleeping because you keep hearing gunshots and shattering glass every thirty-one seconds (gotta take time to reload), this may be why.

For housemates, he'll be at close to three in the morning, looking like he's gotten a little bit of something out of his system.

He will then, late at night, make a voice post.]


If anyone would like to play a game of whist during whatever you call your midday meal tomorrow, you would be welcome. I cannot vouch for my cooking, but I'll make a game attempt.
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.
simplestgift: (Uneasy)
[Filtered against known villains and Grell, 100% unhackable]

[The handwriting is disguised, and the picture obscured. The message is as anonymous as possible.]

If there is anyone returned from a kidnapping or being threatened who does not feel safe in his or her home, speak to anyone at the Welcome Center and they will direct you to a safe place to stay until things are better.

If you wish to volunteer to house someone, you will need a reference from a trusted member of the community.

[/Filter]

[A few minutes later, he uncovers the camera and starts a new message, spoken this time.]

Alexis Rodgers has been sent home. At least I assume as much--no one has seen her and her flat is empty. It's good.  She was very homesick, and...

[A pause. There's nothing really to say after that. He doesn't sound greatly distressed, but there's definitely a certain melancholy.

He'll be at the library this afternoon, and Good Spirits tonight. Missing Dawn, mostly. He'll occasionally walk through the item shop, killing time looking for little gifts to pick up for her.  At some point, he'll go see Ingrid in the clinic.  In the evening, he'll pay a visit to Jack Sparrow's house on the beach.  He's there to see Horatio, of course.]
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