simplestgift: (Nose scrunch.)
Appointments and messages for Luceti.  Please title, tag, and date appropriately.
simplestgift: (Disappointed)
Am I playing Archie well? Am I playing Archie crappily? How badly do you want to give me ice cream? These are the vital questions to be answered in the comments. Anon comments are enabled.
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: (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: (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: (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: (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.]
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
Page generated Oct. 18th, 2017 01:50 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit