simplestgift | One Bell: [Written/Accidental Video] No Gallows Can Touch Me

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One Bell: [Written/Accidental Video] No Gallows Can Touch Me

[Written in a shaky hand]

I don't know if anyone is really out there. I seem to be caught up in a tree. In my defence, the tree looks worse than I do. I think I am winning. However, it is very cold and windy up here, and I can't seem to make it down on my own. I've heard about safe falling, but the only guideline we have about falling in the navy is "don't do it." If anyone can see this, then, I need your help. In the meantime, I'll keep writing, if you don't mind. It's just about the only way to keep moving up here.

I am Lieutenant Kennedy aboard His Majesty's Ship the Renown. If you'll believe it, that used to mean something. You may call me Kennedy (with or without the "mister"), or, since I suppose it makes no difference here, just Archie. I've answered to both. While I am sure you are dying to hear the endlessly dull story of my life and death, my literary skills are limited by my half-frozen fingers and my ability to manipulate this infernal book. Maybe later.

I can only hope this place has a decent glass of whiskey somewhere. I have a headache. Probably a permanent one. Not to mention I'm aching in body parts I actually did not have before. I suppose I should be glad to be alive again. Maybe that will come later.

Damned wings. I've no idea what to do with mys

[Accidental video: a flying shot of, well, mostly a grey-and-white blur as the book falls from the tree. A man's fingertips, nearly blue with cold, pass just in front. There's a dismayed shout and the sound of tearing cloth as the journal thumps to the ground, lying open. Barely visible in one corner is a very cold new feather, barely hanging on to a tree branch far above the ground. His pants seem to be caught and tearing. For a moment, he freezes with his arms around the branch, breathing heavily. Seconds later, he chuckles as if he just got a joke. He can barely be heard when he speaks.]

Looks like I d-didn't escape a hanging after all, H-Horatio.

[After a few more wheezing, half-hysterical chuckles, he goes very quiet.

The rest of the shot is of a location just outside the west side of town, north of the river.]

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[Relaxing a bit more. Well--forcing himself to.]

Aye, they've a folk music festival not far from there. I've never had a chance to attend...

[Small talk with a dead man. Well, this was the best he could do. And having spent enough time on an ice planet, Scott knows that keeping a cold man walking and talking are important factors in keeping him alive.]

[Same look.]

You've never been to Clowburn, have you? [pause]Where are you from, exactly? San Francisco is Spanish, but I've never heard of--I don't think...you're not from my world at all, are you?

[The clothes may have FINALLY tipped him off. Give the man a break. It's really cold out.]

There's only one Scotland, mate.

[That should answer any doubts, Kennedy.]

Then where is San Francisco?

Tell you what, lad---once you're patched up a bit? I'll show you a map. [Scott is puffing a bit under the other man's weight; the snow is deep enough to make it somewhat challenging. And, of course, Scotty's packed on a few pounds since landing in Luceti himself. Lots of free food will do that to a man who's been stuck on Federation protein pellet rations for three years.

Luckily, House 7 is close by.]

But, short answer? Northern California.

California is a Spanish colony in the Americas. What's a Scotsman doing there?

[Not suspicious at all, no. His knees buckle again, but he manages to keep his feet and continue limping along, though as they walk he leans harder and harder on his companion.]

Whatever he wants, of course! [That's a Scottish joke. He's got lots.]

No, lad--look here: something I've discovered about Luceti is that time and space don't figure here. By that I mean, people from different times and universes are gathered together in one spot. A nexus, if you will.

In my time, California is no longer a colony, and Spain hasn't been a naval power for centuries. And San Francisco's where Starfleet Academy is based, so I've lived there on and off for a few years now, since leaving home.

...

I can't believe I just made sense of that. At least a little. You'll have to tell me about Starfleet Academy. What year is it in your time?

[He wobbles and quickly loses his smile.] How much farther is it? Have we stopped moving?

For a dead lad, you're asking a lot of questions. [Huff, puff...it would help if...

Well, House 7 is just over there. Scotty pauses and fumbles for his journal, trying to balance them both as he does so. Once in hand, he jots a quick note to McCoy before stuffing it back in his pocket.]

We'd go a lot faster with help.

[Archie slumps against the Scotsman and, from there, slides down to sit on the ground. Idly, he notices that his feet are turning a very odd shade of purple.]

I think it must be very bad, Mr. Scott. I'm not very cold anymore.

[It should be comforting to know his grogginess hasn't completely taken over his common sense.]

[ McCoy catches the note jotted down for him and emerges on the porch of house #7 with a frown. it doesn't take him long to spot Scotty dragging along a new feather and rushes down the steps to meet them. ]

[Spotting his crewmate approaching, Scott feels a measure of relief.]

Doc! Got a live one, here! [Ironic.] His feathers are near frozen off, if I'm a judge!

[Excellent. The doctor. Archie curls up, bringing his knees up, resting his folded arms on them, and ducking his head. It's not very befitting a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, but it's warmer, and he's less concerned about his dignity than his survival.]

Come on, let's get him inside.

[Somehow, Scotty gets a hold of the naval officer beneath the arms, leaving the legs and those really cold-looking feet for McCoy.] Unfold, now, there's a lad. Where do you want him? Yours? Mine? Couch?

[Kennedy does unfold, somewhat painfully.] I can walk, [he insists, although his knee is swelling pretty quickly. Damn. Leeches make his skin crawl.]

Like hell are you walking in that condition. [ his cantankerous comes out of concern really, but he takes leg duty. ] Well, I'd really like him in the medical center, but since you brought him here? I think your bed will do.

[Who is an engineer to argue with a doctor? Scotty makes an acquiescent harrumphing sound and angles for the door.]

It's no good arguin' with 'im usually, friend. What the doctor says, goes. Though I'm sure we can get you some quarters of your own before long.

[He's used to cantankerous doctors. They're just usually the sort to tell you you're fine, get up and walk on your own two feet so I can feed you this awful tripe and send you back on watch you lazy ape. So Archie cooperates, as this means he doesn't have to blunder back up and trudge in the snow with giant blocks of ice for feet. Maybe he can finally afford to drift off.]

Aye, sir...

[ ah, he likes this one already. it's not everyday he gets someone who actually listens to him and with Scotty's help, gets him to his room. ]

[Scotty's room. The engineer has fixed it up considerably since he moved in back in the fall. There were no traces of the feminine decor that Uhura had preferred. A plaid bedspread covered the double bed, and a framed flag of Scotland graced the wall. Shelves were loaded with some of the equipment the communications officer had left behind, in various states of repair or ruin, and on the dresser there was a scale model of the Enterprise, carefully glued and painted.

Anyone looking at the partly-opened closet door might glimpse a red Starfleet uniform hanging inside. Scotty preferred to go about in civilian clothes, though, while he was here. While the room isn't messy, it isn't exactly neat as a pin, either, but has a comfortable lived-in appeal.

It's easy enough to lift the freezing and injured Naval officer onto the bed, though Scott laments the fact that the blood is going to get all over the linens.]

Just like when that pirate was here. Perhaps House 7 should just open a new sick bay wing, while we're at it, eh?

[But his tone is cheerful enough. In the end, he's warm-hearted enough not to mind this so much.]

[There's only a little blood on Kennedy's rope-burned hands. His knee is not as swollen as it might be if he hadn't been out in the snow. He barely opens his sleep-heavy eyelids.]

Pir'tss.

[And his eyes drift closed again.]

What do you think I've been trying to do since I got here? [ McCoy retorts and shoves a finger at Scotty as he leaves the room, intending to collect his medical kit and treat these wounds. ] Get some blankets, nurse.

Aye, Your Honorable Worship. [If it wasn't a matter of the newcomer's health, Scotty probably would have gotten more touchy about that. But now he's rummaging in the closet and pulling a number of mismatched, random blankets over to the bed.] You get used to him eventually, Kennedy.

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