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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He just tightens his hold around Archie, nodding slightly.]

He is.

We lost touch. For about a year.

[...And he's just realized some of the politics Archie won't have known.]

There was a year of peace with France. England decommissioned a large amount of the Fleet.

I know.

...You do?

They have history books here, Horatio. To most of the people here who are from Earth, we are history, you know. Dawn is from the year two thousand and five, and American, no less.

Two thousand... [That will take a few moments to process.] My God.

[Archie's inner troll is enjoying this in lieu of any actual trolling. But not for too long--they've arrived, and Kennedy pushes open the door to the building.]

We're the very first door in here, Horatio.

[Horatio is operating in semi-shock mode, but he enters the door specified.]

It's...

[He turns around just inside the door to look at Archie, his smile unmistakable.]

This whole thing-- strange as it is-- is worth it.

You like it?

[Biggest grin ever. He's been waiting for Horatio to see the mural.]

A friend painted it.

[He can't help but smile wider, looking between the wall and his friend.

The mural has definitely made an impression.]

It's amazing. Quite an artist.

Her name is Jilly. She's from the nineteen seventies, and she's one of my dearest friends here. All I did was show her a painting in a book and told her what else there was to it, and there's the Indefatigable on our wall.

Makes it feel that much more like home.

[Archie beams for a little while longer.] Yours is the second room. Make yourself at home. I'll be back with dinner.

[Horatio looks back at Archie for a moment before nodding. He isn't about to appear completely pathetic by not wanting his friend out of his sight.

Instead, he heads for the door indicated. Turning back just slightly, he gives another smile.]

Thank you.

[A smile, a nod, and Archie turns to leave. Then he turns back around.]

Don't...go anywhere, all right?

[Horatio gives a faint chuckle, though one of understanding rather than amusement.]

I won't. I'll be right here.

[A half-smile back, and Archie disappears to the kitchen.

It's about ten minutes before he returns with bowls of beef-and-veggie stew, hunks of bread, and glasses of cold water on a tray. He starts talking before the door is even fully open.]

You should know I have brandy around here somewhere, and I can't think of a better occasion.

[And Horatio is at the door to assist the moment he hears that voice.

Was there a bit of fear Archie wouldn't return? Yes. This place is strange enough that this was a real concern. Simply because he doesn't know what to expect still.]

It smells wonderful. And--

[A grin.]

I think a bit of brandy sounds perfect.

[He hadn't had something this worth drinking to in a long time... which was awful to think, all things considered... but he didn't have to worry about all of those things right now.]

[A moment later, the table is set, brandy is poured, and Archie sinks into a chair, his joy simmering into a blissful, beatific contentment. Picking up a hunk of French bread, which doesn't seem so treasonous this far from England, he dips it into the stew.] Now. I want to hear everything. What's the news from home?

[Horatio tastes the stew, his smile never faltering. After a spoonful of it and a bite of bread, he considers the question.]

Just at Christmas, Bonaparte had an invasion force ready, planning to send it 'round at Ireland, then attack England from there. Thankfully, the ships never got out to sea.

[...Yes, he honestly assumes that "news from home" is a question for military matters.]

[It's not what Archie wants to hear most, but considering how long he's been waiting for this, he'll take it.]

Did you take part in this, then?

[Horatio will always consider his ship-- whatever ship it is-- his home. True home is on the Indy, but Hotspur was home enough.

And he is most certainly not ready to turn his thoughts to Maria enough to tell Archie about her. That is a long, long conversation he desperately wants to put off.]

I did.

[He won't mention being the only British ship involved in that particular incident.]

It brought a traitor to justice and dealt a minor blow to the French. I am grateful for that much, at least.

[A little more glowing with pride--Archie is sure Horatio is downplaying his involvement somehow.] What else has happened?

[Horatio fell silent for a moment, taking his time to dip a piece of bread into his soup and eat it. Then he took a drink of water.

Stalling? Yes.

Obvious? Probably.

Then, as he's considering his stew again, at least one thought strikes him, and he has to chuckle.]

When I first was given the Hotspur, Styles became my steward.

Styles?

[A slow, sad nod.]

It was as bad as you are imagining, Archie. Probably worse, actually.

I asked him for a cup of coffee. And he boiled it.

[Another sip of water. The brandy, in his opinion, requires a toast for the first drink... and he doesn't do well at toasts.

So he'll just... wait.]

First Dispatch - [written]

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