Thirty Bells: [Action/Written]

[simplestgift]

[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.]

Comments

[ action ] 2/2

[theblogger]

[ John nearly bumps right into the other man when he comes to a sudden stop. He himself tenses naturally, unsure of what to think aside from trouble. Is someone already in the bar?

The former soldier takes his next step quieter, hesitantly touching the sailor's shoulder as he tries to peer beyond the other. But there's... nothing there. Or so it seems. ]

Mister Kennedy?

[ action ]

[simplestgift]

[It takes a second. Then, those vacant eyes blink as the soul returns to them, and the lieutenant draws in a quiet gasp as if he hadn't been breathing, or as if somewhat startled.]

Erm. As I was saying, I wouldn't worry about the conditions here. Practically anything makes these people cry oppression. [He blinks again, then looks bewildered that John has a hand on his shoulder.] Is something wrong?

[ action ]

[theblogger]

[ John's brow creases with concern - the eyes don't look right. But then the younger man is back, speaking as if he'd only been temporarily distracted.

What had happened? They'd been talking about the Malnosso and life in Luceti and Archie had just... zoned a moment. Some sort of trigger?

John licks his lips, draws his hand back slowly. His face might betray his sympathy and a flash of concern for a moment, but then he's shaking his head. ]

Sorry, I thought... Nevermind. My mistake.

[ Where did you go? ]

Let's have that drink?

[ action ]

[simplestgift]

[Archie bobs his head, smiling uneasily, then pushes open the door to the club and flicks the lights on. It's a fairly classy place, being designed by a woman from the 1950's, with a piano on the stage. Archie heads to the bar. Behind it, he rummages for about ten seconds before producing the very finest single-malt scotch--earthy, smoky, and aged twelve years. Two glasses appear, and as he sets them down, he squints at them a moment. Maybe it's the low light, but he sees dim haloes floating around them. He glances up. The haloes are around pretty much everything else. Blink blink.

Stay calm. It can't be that.

He opens the bottle.]

Rocks?

[theblogger]

No, thanks.

[ Seems like it'd be a waste. He glances around as he makes his way further in, but there will be plenty of time for a proper look once he sits down. He is most certainly seeing a noire film in the dimness, a beautiful woman standing on the stage or sitting on the edge of the piano, working the room with a smokey voice and a flash of leg. Easier to think of that than reveal any concern for what he thought might be a potential flashback. ]

Did anyone else you know come along too?

[simplestgift]

[He pours whisky into both glasses. Flashbacks do, apparently, look quite a bit like petit mal seizures.]

Not for about four months. Now I have a house full of 'em. [He takes a long sip, then sets the glass down and leans against the bar.] All men, all sailors. But we all fought together. [He looks straight at John, who surely understands what this means.]

[theblogger]

[ He's seen worse.

There's a nod of thanks again as the glass is set before him, a murmured 'Ta' before he takes a sip of his own. ]

Mm.

[ Definite quirk of his lips there. Something fond, humored, layered. Then his eyes drop to his glass, and maybe Archie recognizes that too - another sip, a moment of thought. ]

Is there an ocean here?

[simplestgift]

A bit of one. [The haloes are becoming more pronounced.] My comrades and I have built us a wee frigate. A real one, square-rigged with three masts, capable of carrying twenty-two guns. [He squints, reaches for the glass, thinks better of it.] The Britannia. Horat--Captain Hornblower was feeling sentimental when he chose the name. I rather liked it for the irony.

[His eyes narrow, nose scrunching very slightly.]

[theblogger]

That's one way to spend your time off.

[ There's the start of a soft grin, a twinkle of a comeback regarding the vessel's name, but that slacks off as things start coming together, circled around the scrunch of the younger man's nose and the memory of his blinking. Either Archie is trying to work his way into a sneeze... or something is wrong. John will risk the potential embarassment this time, though he tries to make it sound like a joke. ]

...Alright, mate?

1/2

[simplestgift]

Feeling...a bit queer.

[A slight glimmer in his eyes as if a light is coming on. Ignore the signs he might, and impossible as it may be to gain something from death instead of losing something, this is actually happening. Moreover, it would make the Worst First Impression Ever for this to happen in front of a new acquaintance--a military man, army no less!]

2/2

[simplestgift]

A bit...I have to...

[Panic is rising in his throat like a building scream.

A scream. Oh thank God they're alone and this isn't happening at Good Spirits!]

Don't be alarmed. Please. I-I'll be back in a moment.

[theblogger]

[ John sets his glass down. He can't see too well in the dark, but from what he can read in the shadows, Archie looks scared. ]

Alright, alright... Easy.

[ He's not afraid, but he is cautious, rounding the bar to open up the entryway as the other speaks, reaching for him. ]

Let's just... get you out of here. [ Away from all the glass bottles. ]

1/3

[simplestgift]

[Archie backs away, toward the kitchen doors. He puts a hand on one and begins to swing it open.]

2/2 I lied

[simplestgift]

[Before he's more than halfway through, two things happen at exactly the same time.

1. His body goes completely rigid.
2. He lets out a strange, guttural cry, an expulsion of barely-human sound. With no attempt to catch himself, he plummets for the floor.]

[theblogger]

[ Oh Christ. As the other man buckles, John lurches forward, barely clutching at the fabric of the other's shirt just as he falls through the door. He can't hold on long - Archie slips through his fingers even as the doctor leans forward to help ease him down. He will hit the floor unaided about a foot above it, with John butting into the doors after him, taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulders. A seizure, not a flashback. Absence seizures were a fairly rare occurrence. John hadn't seen many of them, being in the army where such a condition wasn't permissible, but he could have recognized it.

No time to really regret it now. That wasn't really how seizures worked anyway. It could have been worse; Archie could have had it on the stairs when John failed to notice the symptoms. As it stood, he was halfway in what appeared to be a kitchen, legs ready to be wedged between the swinging doors. John stepped through, eyes darting appraisingly over the area while his hands gathered the cloth at Archie's shoulders and pushed. The younger man would be dragged through the doors until his body cleared it. John was then clearing his jacket, wadding it thoughtlessly to try and provide some sort of cushion for the sailor's head. There was nothing he could do, unfortunately, other than to assure that Archie's spasms couldn't take him into dangerous territory. If he was lucky, the man really would be as promised, back in a moment. John observed until then, tense as he waited for signs of foaming that would cue him to roll the body, trying to tick off the seconds and minutes in his mind. ]

[simplestgift]

[No foaming, no incontinence. The guttural cry does not stop, but renews, so the seizure doesn't stop his breathing. For something so bereft of dignity, it's not as bad as it could be. The wadded jacket keeps him from banging his head against the floor, although it's not going to stay in place for long.

It takes about three minutes before he goes both lax and quiet.

Kennedy! I said wake Hornblower, not me and the whole damn ship!

He lies limply on the kitchen floor, only a shade less white than a corpse, eyes barely open and breathing hard.]

[theblogger]

[ It's difficult to watch, but John's seen worse. After the first minute, some of the tension in him goes lax and he simply moves to make sure the jacket stays with a nudge of his foot, or that nothing stands to fall on the sailor should he bash into something nearby.

When the younger man's body finally stills, John slowly sinks into a crouch, fingers moving to slip beneath Archie's chin to seek the pulse before his palm simply slips over one of the sailor's cheeks. He pats the other lightly, trying to help rouse him a little. ]

Archie? Can you hear me?

[simplestgift]

[The lieutenant's eyes close; a tear trickles from one and across his temple. He doesn't flinch at the touch, but one hand weakly sweeps up from under John's wrist to discourage it. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost a groan.]

Of course I can hear, I've got ears, haven't I?

[theblogger]

[ John shifts his hand away accordingly, having no good reason to linger. ]

Can you tell me where you are?

[simplestgift]

[His face pinches in irritation.]

Queen Charlotte's withered, sagging bosom. I'm a pot plant.

[Is that the sort of thing doctors expect when they ask dumb questions? At least he's not insulting him yet.]

[theblogger]

[ There's a huff of reluctant laughter at that. No, it's not quite what he's used to. The goal here is to help rouse the man out of his disorientation. ]

Would you like some water, then?

[simplestgift]

[Archie swallows, his stomach churning, but his throat sore from the yelling and his mouth tacky. Against the wishes of his rebellious belly, he nods.]

[theblogger]

Alright. Just rest a moment, then. I'll be back.

[ He returns to the bar to fill a glass with water and, as a second thought, picks up Archie's glass of whiskey. He sits next to the lieutenant this time, reaching to try and take him by the shirtfront to help him sit up, water glass in his other hand. ]

Up you come, mate.

[simplestgift]

[Archie drifted off while John got the water. Being shaken awake is like being dragged out of a pit of clinging quicksand. He feebly lifts his head and reaches for the glass.]

[theblogger]

[ John's hand moves from the shirt to settle on one of Archie's shoulders, trying to stabilize his propped-up positiont. Even if he lets the other put his hand around the glass, he silently keeps his own there to support and help guide it. ]

I'm going to take you to the clinic, alright? Need you to wake up a bit. I'm sure you've slept in worse places, but there's a perfectly good bed you can use there.

[ Not really why they're going, but. ]