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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[Horatio catches the bag and, upon Archie's explanation, immediately has it open. He puts on the shirt first, then the shoes. And, after some thinking, goes back to stuff the journal in the bag. It's witchcraft and he doesn't trust it, but it might be useful.

He's back by Archie's side in seconds.]

It was January last I knew.

[Nearly three years to the day, and he'd been faced with the prospect of once again being on a ship without either of his friends.]

[Archie's smile fades a little. March is a bad enough month, in general. He doesn't like to think about hating January, too. But instead of talking or dwelling on that, he walks through the sand with Horatio at his side, as it should always have been.]

It's May here--you'll have to get used to it. Be grateful you skipped the worst of the winter.

[He can't help it. Walking beside Archie and hearing that remark makes him laugh. It just feels so natural.]

Can't be worse than an English winter. [Another chuckle.] Or a French one.

[Besides, suffering through bad weather would have been a small price to pay to have toasted the new year with Archie.]

[For all that they both must be, on many levels, different people by now, this is the most comfortable rhythm to fall into again, as if they'd never been separated.]

Not worse, but it seemed interminable after having been in the West Indies. I was beginning to wonder if spring would ever arrive. I can't tell you how it gladdens me, Horatio, that you've arrived with it.

[...Even if, yeah, Horatio's a captive here now. That little fact seems so far away.]

The West Indies.

[He's not fond of certain places there, certainly, but the tone in his voice is nothing short of longing. After all, on a ship sent there, a man could expect to spend months-- years without seeing England.

Which is horribly selfish, but Horatio can't bring himself to mind when talking to Archie.

All of his desperate writing in the journal about finding an escape? A way back to serving King and Country? All that has been forgotten-- temporarily.]

I was sure I'd never see you again, Archie. Thank God I was wrong. Thank God.

[Thank God I was wrong, too. I had nearly lost hope. But saying it out loud seems redundant, somehow, as he beams at his blood brother. Instead, he clasps his shoulders more tightly and slaps him a bit on the back, overwhelmed with joy. After allowing himself a brief, giddy headrush, he delves into the "news" aspect of the scenario he's been imagining since he came to Luceti.]

The Atropos? Have you made post-captain now?

[Horatio's hand has found its way to Archie's shoulder closest to him, and he squeezes a bit at the slap on the back. For now, there is no hesitation to his words, and he laughs.]

Just before the new year. [He should be more concerned about his next words, but it doesn't matter right now. Nothing matters except who he's getting to tell this to.] Never even got to see the Atropos. My orders were to report to Plymouth to fit her, but... [He gestures with his free hand to the area around them.] Never made it there.

[Archie could tell him that he will make it there, eventually, but he doesn't want to look into the future right now. Right now, everything is perfect.]

My congratulations. You always were a captain, even when you were a midshipman.

Thank you.

[He smiles, less joyful but no less sincere, and half steps closer to Archie. His voice lowers, but the warmth in it does not diminish.]

Could've really used your help.

[That strikes most of the smile from Archie's face.]

It sounds to me as if you did very well without it. [Still warm--you know he believes in you more than anything, Horatio--but it's true that Horatio did very well since the last time Archie helped him. Nevertheless, Kennedy would do anything right now to have been there for his friend.]

[Horatio sighs.]

I'm afraid I've done rather poorly, actually.

[He'd suspected an ally, carried a traitor aboard his ship, mistreated an unsure midshipman, flogged an innocent man, been captured, lost said frightened midshipman, let a traitor escape, lost Captain Bracegirdle...

And that was leaving aside all details of his personal life.]

Fortunate enough to have favour with a promoted admiral, nothing more, I'm afraid.

[Yes, this was Horatio, all right. You couldn't argue with him when he was in one of these states of mind, but Archie's smile would be enough to tell the other man what he thought of all that rubbish.]

How is old Pellew? The same, I suspect, only greyer?

[Horatio couldn't help but smile at seeing Archie do the same. His thoughts could never linger too long on darker days when Archie was smiling at him.]

Vice Admiral now. Still very much the same man, though.

[Which, in Horatio's mind, was quite the compliment. He'd always held Pellew in very high regard, after all.]

I'd expect no less. [They've reached the door to the building, and Archie is considering what to do about not freaking Horatio out with the teleporter.] Erm. Horatio? Do you suppose you could close your eyes, just for a moment or two?

[Horatio just arched an eyebrow at the request.] What?

Just trust me, Horatio. You've only just arrived, and what's in that room--it isn't something I want to scare you.

[If all goes well, he can walk Horatio onto the platform, then back out of the building without Horatio knowing he's been transported miles and miles away from their current location.]

[That look? Scepticism. But it's Archie, so he nods slowly.] Very well then. [Only because it's you, Archie. He closes his eyes.]

[A moment later, Horatio will feel Archie's hand taking hold of his shoulder and guiding him forward as he opens the door. They will walk forward a few steps before Archie quietly warns him of a step. Up they go, onto a platform. Just a few seconds later, they will step back off, walk through the barracks, and another door will open.

Then, because it is inevitable:]

Welcome to Purgatory.

[It's simple enough, following Archie's lead. He might have done so as easily under Bush's hand or Pellew's, but only those three.

Only when Archie speaks again does Horatio open his eyes. The words are familiar enough to make him smile.

For a moment, another thought runs through his mind. The guide he was told to read had mentioned seeing those one had known, living and dead... friend and foe. Were there others? Old friends lost? Old enemies he'd hoped to be rid of? But Archie would have warned him if he were facing any of that. Unless it was after his time.

Silently, he looked around in awe.]

[Closing the door to the barracks, Archie is grinning like a maniac, just dying to give Horatio the grand tour, but he tries his hardest to hold it all in. It is possible that he has never been this happy in his life. Suddenly, Luceti isn't his consolation prize--it's home, and watching Horatio soak it in is just as satisfying as he'd imagined the last four months.

But he can't stand waiting with itching feet forever, so he beckons Horatio forward, face still split with the world's biggest grin.]

Come on. We live on the other end of the village, and you haven't even seen the best parts of it yet.

[Slowly, Archie's grin infects Horatio.

He can't help it. Seeing that smile, being with his closest friend... It's the happiest he's been in a long time. Archie's words only further his smile.

"We." Exactly as it always should have been.]

I can't wait. I want to know everything.

[Really? He hardly cares about this place. All he cares about is having Archie with him. If this place has given him Archie back? He doesn't mind it in the least, strange as it is.]

[So off they go, and Archie is suddenly as energetic and vivacious as the enthusiastic middie who introduced Horatio to his very first ship.]

The first thing you need to know about Luceti is that people come here from all over. And when I say all over, I mean they might come from the future, the past, or other worlds entirely. The result is a sort of hodgepodge of culture and technology, with a little magic thrown in--not witchcraft, exactly, but something more tied in with the world itself rather than devils. No one knows what brings us here, or how to go back, though people seem to come and go without rhyme or reason. Most people make the most of it while waiting their turn to be sent home.

So there's the chance of going back eventually.

[He should want to. And he does want to get back to his ship, men, and duty. But there is a sudden lack of haste in his need to return.

He's taking in everything-- or trying to. As Archie speaks, Horatio's head is turning in every direction. He's doing his best to look at all the sights.]

Not chance--inevitability, if most here are to be believed. Some have been here years, while others are only around for a few days.

The second thing you should know is that the village we're in is maintained by a group called the Malnosso. I'm sure you read about them, if you did what I told you and read the guide.

[Not chance.

Damn.]

I did, and a.... voice... from that book... thing mentioned them. [It was not a book. Books did not talk. It looked like a book, but it was not a book.] I thought they might be Italian. Or Spanish. Or French.

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