Archie Kennedy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simplestgift) wrote2012-04-23 06:00 pm
simplestgift) wrote2012-04-23 06:00 pm
Entry tags:
Thirty-One Bells: [Action/Written]
[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.]
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.]
no subject
What can she say that he, in such a desolate state, would truly believe? No amount of comfort can warm away self-deprication, no matter how much heart such words of hers may bear. What can she say?
How could she begin to help him see that he is no less dear to her?
She envelops him, heart fervently beating against her ribcage, her thinking just as wild in pace. It isn't about being delicate. It isn't about avoiding anything that could hurt him. It's finding a way to show him that her love is not given without understanding and acceptance, and is not naive. It is about proving that her loyalties will remain with him, along with her heart. He needs to know these things. He needs to understand.]
I wish it had not happened, my Gentle Lieutenant, but nothing about you has changed because it had. Along with my heart, you have myself and all my loyalties. I refuse to judge you for the actions of another man, and Archie, my dear, I refuse to let you think my love blind because of it.
[She takes a deep breath. She won't beg him, but she really does wish to just look him in the eyes and ask him, Please?]
no subject
He exhales long and does not inhale for some time, until he can be sure he can do so quietly. Closing his eyes results in tears being knocked onto his cheeks, and the game is up. The next time he exhales, it’s in two chest-heaving, voiceless sobs. With the next breath, he finally begins to calm down. It’s not a forced collection of himself, but an actual easing of his spirit.
Then, he looks at her. His voice is thick, low, but calm.]
Do not mistake it, Elizabeth. It was a crime. That I was forced to commit it does not mean I did not commit it. At least…no, I understand why I would say differently to someone else. I understand why I would have been safe from the law. But Elizabeth, for the love of God I cannot accept it. Not for myself.
[His composure falters. His face crumples, and he buries it against her shoulder.]
no subject
[She lifts a hand to stroke the back of his head, lightly combing through his hair as he leans. She doesn't mind, wishing nothing more than to encourage his catharsis. What ever he may need to purge this.]
Yet if we are to speak of crimes, perhaps it is I who need to name mine.
[We are both guilty.
She doesn't need to state it, but there's a reminder in what she does say. She's a pirate, a treasonous creature who ought to have, and nearly hung for her crimes. She doesn't know if she could name them all, but she would begin to.]
no subject
no subject
While she doesn't truly understand, she can see why he would not be able to accept what had passed. Still, it seems he can't quite grasp her acceptance.]
So you cannot accept it. Then refuse to, and banish it. Refuse any thoughts that bring back those shadows, and remind yourself... or perhaps understand for the first time that those shadows can hold no power over you if you refuse them.
[Archie Kennedy is far more than the evils that plagued him as a midshipman, and Elizabeth Swann easily believes that she would be the first to swear it.]