Archie Kennedy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simplestgift) wrote2012-03-18 01:51 pm
simplestgift) wrote2012-03-18 01:51 pm
Thirty Bells: [Action/Written]
[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.]
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.]
[ action ]
he doesn't seem to be having much success, as evidenced by the steady stream of oaths tumbling out in a heavy yorkshire accent.
not to mention how he doesn't seem to be watching where he's pacing and striding and rifling. ]
[action]
Eventually, he can't resist.]
I'm s-sure the rack is doing its b-best, sir. Using that sort of language at it is only going to m-make it less inclined to cooperate.
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[action]
Sleep on the ship? Or simply up and about early? With Horatio, one or both is completely likely.
He finds Archie as he enters the parlour, his course set for the kitchen. (There is evidence that at least one of the men living in the house has tried their hand more than once at cooking during Archie's absence, though the captain still half wishes this place had money so he could make the too-smart investment of a proper steward.) When he sees his friends, his dark eyes immediately light up. Some of the typical melancholy that makes a home there and always lessens when Archie is near does as it ought and fades. His lips curl into a slight smile, and he changes his path immediately, heading for his friend.]
Archie!
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[Voice]
Welcome back, Archie!
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no subject
The written message...something's odd about that. This was meant to be safe, but it hadn't been a library, and Archie usually reserved written announcements for drafts, crises, and formal addresses to the whole village. But then, this could easily count as the latter, and she's too excited about him being home for it to be more than a passing emotion, barely registered. It's Archie.
She answers in kind, with her distinctive, hasty handwriting, signed with a little doodled twig man]
Where are you?
[better to ask than go running over half the village looking for him. He'd greeted her with a hug. She planned to do the same.]
no subject
[Simply and swiftly written. But the camera captures a smile on his face.]
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[written]
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[written] Filtered 80%
[written] Filtered 80%
[written] Filtered 80%
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(no subject)
[ action ] 1/2
Which is standard fare, nothing unexpected or too disappointing. Mister Kennedy is off on a mission, after all.
Don't mind him, just wiping his feet and walking straight through to his room. That is where his journal is and all.
Not that he. Forgot it when he left. Or anything. ]
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Know what, the journal can be picked up later. BACKTRACKING. ]
Mister Kennedy!
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[Action]
She quietly clocks out, having plenty of hours as is, and walks to his table.]
Archie-san? It's been a while since I've seen you.
[--aha. Journal. Manners first.]
Oh-! I hope I'm not disturbing anything.
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Sayo. It's good to see you.
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John Watson?
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[written]
--JS
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-AK
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[voice now]
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[action]
Amelia turns, following after whoever she saw. She'll just have to order something warm for lunch.]
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[Action]
[Bush comes across him just as he arrived back at the house. He's pleased to see him returned! As pleased as one could expect William to muster. Still, he smiles. That counts for something.]
Back already? We've hardly had time to miss you.
[trollin' trollin' trollin'...]
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[Please no please no. He'll break plates, he'll hate every moment.]
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[ written ]
[ she doesn't even sign it. oh well. the loopy, girlish handwriting might be unmistakable by now. ]
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