captainhornblower | First Dispatch

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First Dispatch - [written]

[The penmanship is formal, letters close together but not connected. Each letter is made of strokes, an almost calligraphy style-- which translates into broken letters with a modern pen.]

Thursday, 10th January, 1805

[A hastily scrawled question mark appears above the date a moment later.]

My precise location is unknown. [A long pause before more words are written.] My general location is unknown. My ship and men are missing. ~~God help me, what has happened?~~

[Notes appear in the margins, wind direction and estimations of its speed. The word 'drift?' and the beginnings of a mathematical formula are etched into a margin.]

I do not know how I came to be where I am. [Another margin note: 'wings???'] I cannot expect this to even be found, but I will record my observations. It is all I can do, and I must do something.

Currently on board vessel. [Another note in the margins:
'unoccupied
single mast
no flags
enemy?
ally?
neutral party?
abandoned?']

~~May the Lord have mercy on me.~~

[The signature is larger, even more carefully penned.]

Hornblower

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[A long pause, as Archie is trying to compose himself.]

Another world, where rules like time and death mean little.

[1805? Three years, oh God, almost to the day.]

World? ~~How~~ ~~What~~

God above.

It isn't easy to explain, and none of us are certain how it happens, but we're all taken here by a force we don't understand.

[His hand is steadying somewhat.]

What is your name?

[Well. Now the question is how much to reveal.

Might as well.]

Captain Horatio Hornblower, of his Britannic Majesty's Atropos.

[He'd never gotten his ship. Had been on the way to get it, actually. But. He'd had his orders, so he could call himself her captain.]

Edited 2011-05-06 02:01 (UTC)

[Captain. A swell of pride. Good for you, Horatio.]

Horatio, it is very important that you understand that you are not dead. It might be your first thought, but everyone here is very much alive. It is very important that you do everything I say, and everything will be all right.

[...The words appearing on the page have gotten quite informal.

This is odd.]

I thought I might be, but there's pain. Pain wouldn't be there if I were dead.

Remember that. Now Horatio, I need you to take the boat ashore. When you get there, I will be waiting for you to help you to the village.

[The witchcraft book with words appearing wants him to go ashore.

That sounds like a wonderful idea.

But he has no other options, now does he?]

Fine.

When you can, while you're waiting, look through this journal to find something called the "Newcomer's Guide to Luceti." It will explain everything.

[The handwriting is getting jittery with excitement.]

I'll wait for you on shore. If I'm not there when you arrive, wait for me.

I do not suppose my luck extends far enough that this "everything" covers how to leave?

[There's no response just yet. Archie is currently shoving a shirt and shoes into a bag and sprinting out the door, you see.]

[Getting to shore? Not too difficult. After all, it's Horatio Hornblower and a boat.

As soon as the boat is close enough to wade to shore, he's off it. He wants nothing to do with that folded flag in the cabin.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He still does not trust the magic writing appearing in the book, but he's found the guide. Back and forth he goes, flipping between it and the page he was writing on. He copies passages from the guide, adding margin notes as he reads.

This is not possible, and he's sticking to that.]

[Archie pads softly up behind, staring for some time at that familiar head of curls and finding himself suddenly hesitant. Who knows what changes could have happened to his friend in the last three years? It's possible Horatio is as bitter toward him now as Archie had been after two years in prison. Not to mention...surely Kennedy's wishes hadn't brought him here, so Hornblower couldn't possibly blame him for that. But how many other things could go wrong in this moment?

Only one way to find out.]

H-Horatio?

[Another margin note, the pen pressed a little harder than it needed to have been.

'Where is my sword???'

If he was going to be trapped in this witchcraft-filled place, he should at least have been allowed to keep his sword. On point of honour if nothing else!

Frustration, confusion, restlessness, worry, agitation. And that's the short version of "emotions running through Horatio's mind" right now.

But then. But then he hears his name. Not only that, no. He hears him say his name. Three years or three hundred, he knows that voice. But it's not possible. No matter what this "guide" says. It's not possible. He freezes at the sound, pen suddenly stopping.

Slowly, slowly... he looks over his shoulder. And stares.]

[Oh God, that face. Three years have hollowed out Horatio's cheeks, drawn lines that had only been suggested by shadows before. The bag drops from Kennedy's hand and he takes a few steps forward, then halts, waiting to see what Horatio will do. Demand to know who this impostor is? Deny his existence altogether? If Archie tried to begin explanations now, it would only overwhelm his friend further, so he'll only wait for now.]

[More calmly than he felt, Horatio set down the pen and book and stood, turning 'round to fully face the man.

Shock and disbelief were written on his face, certainly, and there was a certain glint in his eyes. Calculation. It was the same look as the man eyeing enemy ships, counting their guns and estimating their crew. Forming a plan of attack.

Archie Kennedy. Three years dead. Was he mad? Seeing things? Dead himself? All reassurances to the contrary on that were forgotten. But there was pain in his back. Pain that suggested this was all very real.

He finally spoke, voice quiet and with a broken quiver to it.]

A-Archie?

[Hopeful, breathless nodding.]

Yes, Horatio. I'm here.

Archie.

[Madness be damned. He doesn't care. He can't care. Mad or sane, it's Archie. Here.

A few strides is all it takes to close the distance, and not a word more is said. Instead, Horatio moves to wrap an arm across Archie's back and seize his opposite shoulder to pull him into a tight embrace.

Tight enough that one might wonder if he plans to ever let go.]

[Archie has the breath knocked out of him before he can properly react. When his hands come up to grasp Horatio's shoulders from behind, it's more to correct his balance than anything else, at first. After a second of this contact, though, he clasps his arms around his friend and releases a breath he'd been holding for the last four months.

It's real. He's really here.]

[Horatio's own breathing is shaky. Part of him is trying to make sense of everything. Another part couldn't care less about logic or sanity or duty.

He has Archie.

...And for the moment? That is all that matters. Every other thought can be shooed away. He manages to speak, voice still unsteady and very hushed.]

Archie. God above. How did you get here? [One hand moves to touch Archie's face, the tips of Horatio's fingers in his friend's hair.] Are you hurt? [After all, last he saw Archie, the man was dying. Dead, actually, but he's trying not to really let himself think about that.] For the love of God, how-- [A squeeze on the shoulder he's still holding with his other hand.] It doesn't matter. No. It doesn't matter.

[And for some reason, Archie is laughing. Because that's what you do when you're joyful.]

I'm all right, Horatio. I'm all right. I was brought here same as you, four months ago. [He catches sight of Horatio's wing color and laughs again.]

[The state of shock is starting to wear off. Starting to. But he hasn't let go. Hearing Archie laugh, though, makes him smile.]

Four months?

[Three years dead and here for four months. ...He'll worry about possible implications for him later.]

God.

Archie.

It's good to see you again.

[He's regained enough control of himself to sound like he's simply greeting an old friend who, through entirely mundane circumstances, he has not seen in a long time. ...But he still hasn't let go.]

[Still laughing, because the sentiment is so ridiculous. It's good to see you again, spoken to a dead man now three years his junior after previously being a month his senior. He's also laughing because Horatio isn't letting go, and he isn't sure why that's funny, but it is.]

I've missed you. [Understatement of the century--Archie was sure he was unraveling without his friend there, though he'd held up much better than he'd expected he would, thanks entirely to his friends here.] I've a room ready for you, in my flat. I'll introduce you to the town. She's small, but she's as close a thing to home as we have here.

I've missed you too. [His voice breaks again in the middle of the statement, but he doesn't care. There's no need for formality with Archie, for trying to present a blank front. It's Archie.

Finally, he chuckles at hearing about a room ready for him. He wonders if he was expected. If Archie had known that he was coming. But he'd ask later. He'd worry about everything later.

For now, he finally lets go, takes a deep breath, and smiles. He struggles with words for several seconds. Nothing sounds right, but it will do. What he actually says doesn't matter. His expression, looking at Archie, says it all. All the emotions and memories and doubts and reliefs.

For once, Horatio Hornblower is an open book.]

I'd like that.

[Laughing once more, a sort of wheezing chuckle, Archie flings an arm across Horatio's shoulders and begins to walk him in the direction of the building standing on the beach, which marks the exit point of the tunnel. How he's going to explain the transporter to Horatio, he's not sure. After a few steps, he picks up the bag and flings it at his friend.]

There's a shirt and shoes in there for you, although at least they had the decency to bring you in May. When I arrived in January, they had me stuck up in a tree on a windy day.

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