captainhornblower | Fifth Dispatch

Fifth Dispatch - [written]

Tuesday, 21st June

One possession of mine that I am quite eager to have back has yet to appear in the shops here. At least, I have not yet seen it.

If someone would be so kind as to suggest where I might look (if one thinks one shop might be more likely than another) or where I might find a replacement, I should be grateful. The pistol itself has no particular sentimental value, but I do prefer one at hand, should I need it.

[Horatio waits a second, studying what he's written.

Honest enough. He would like a pistol. But, he hopes, noticeable enough to catch the attention of someone. He knows nothing about the filters still, so he cannot hope to privately write to Grell Sutcliffe, and if he writes her name... The others will involve themselves.

Perhaps he can draw her into some communication with this.

Satisfied, he signs.]

Hornblower

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Guns never help.

[ a simple message. she doesn't even sign her name -- she didn't even really want to write anything at all, given how hard she has been taking giles' death. but she can read between horatio's lines and she is concerned. ]

I'm used to having my sword at my side and at least one pistol in my belt. I'd simply prefer the familiarity.

[The moment he saw that signature, he had to respond again. He just couldn't fight the urge.]

Hahaaah! Hornblower. It never gets old.

[she doesn't write or speak a response to this. She'd like to take it at face value, and there's no point in starting a public argument if there's actually weight to the nagging worry that this request sparks. But that doesn't mean she'll actually ignore it entirely.

She's been going home at night, but she's still been visiting Archie every day. Today, she waits before going in, sitting in the lobby with her sketchbook as she keeps an eye out for the captain. He has to show up eventually. She knows he wouldn't have gone home]

[...Hear that sigh? He tried to restrain it, but it did still come out.]

[And, sure enough, Horatio appears not ten minutes after the piece is written.

His purpose? A cup of coffee.

Another long night and day with little sleep, but he's remembered to eat more often than he's forgotten. Likely because now Archie can remind him. He's even slept more than he did last week.

It's progress for him, at least.

At present, intent on pouring his coffee (and praying that it's still fairly fresh), he doesn't yet see Jilly.]

[she lets him walk past her as she tucks her pencil behind her ear, shutting her journal and setting it aside. And she watches him come back with his coffee.

She doesn't speak. On the off chance he doesn't notice her and is jumpy, she doesn't want to startle him into spilling (she knows how much caffeine he's been surviving on). But she does raise one hand to wave at him...barely more than a waggle of fingers]

Edited 2011-06-21 21:10 (UTC)

[Horatio catches sight of the movement and turns his head fully. When he sees who it is, his expression changes from concentration-- with perhaps a twinge of the dark thoughts in his mind playing across his face-- to a gentler expression.

Or as best a one as he can imagine.]

Miss Jilly.

Mister Hornblower.

[it's a teasing response that she's honestly not feeling at the moment. Not with Giles's death and Buffy in mourning. Not with the clinic crowded and Archie at turns cheerful and morose as he waited to get out. But she still smiles. It's familiar.]

How is he?

Being discharged tomorrow.

[Which says it all to him. The recovery was obviously going well enough that Dr. McCoy would let him leave.]

I think that will do him good.

Oh good. Much longer and I think he'd have gone crazy.

[she looks him over, eyes lingering on that coffee cup a moment longer before raising back to his face]

...how are you?

[He tries to smile a little more.]

Much better, thank you.

Yourself?

Mmm...

[it's tempting to give the automatic answer. It's a dance they've been doing for the past two weeks after all.

'how are you?'
'fine. always fine.'

But she wanted honesty. She needed it, if this was going to be any more than a series of accusations and resentment.]

I've had better weeks. First Archie, and then everything with Giles...it's too much. [too much, too soon...except that there wouldn't have been any point where his loss would have been "okay"]

I'm...having a hard time with it. And I haven't been staying up at night.

[she nods to the cup in his hands]

[Giles, yes.

He'd heard something about that, though his focus had primarily been Archie. And moving. He supposed there was some regret on his part. Chaos in the city, and he'd stood at the outskirts rather than lend a hand, darting between the flat and a house to prepare the latter for his friend.

But the situation had been handled. At a cost, but that was the way of things.

It had not struck too close to home, and he'd been preoccupied with Archie's well-being. Future occurrences would not so escape his attention. That much, he could promise himself.]

I only met him briefly. A good man, though, and his loss is regrettable.

More than regrettable.

[She didn't have Buffy's grief, but it was grief all the same. And she was tired of it. Tired of friends being put in danger.

It's the kind of tired that soaks into her voice as she skips the rest. The back and forth and polite questions and even more polite answers]

What's the gun for, Horatio?

[He looks at her, watching. Grief, exhaustion. He knows them well, and she's seen him in the throes of his own.

Politely, he bows his head at her first words.

His glance up at her question is reserved.]

Familiarity.

[she, on the other hand, doesn't look away]

Is that all?

Actually, it might already be here at the smithy. We just tend to, sort of, make the guns a little less available.

[Occupational precaution.]

What else would there be?

Might it? I would be much obliged if you would check.

It's a well-made flint-lock pistol.

Protection. Or revenge.

[He actually considers the words and nods again.]

...Protection as well, perhaps.

I'd prefer a sword and pistol at my side.

And that's it? You won't go looking to start another fight?

You have my word.

[He won't volunteer that he might be looking to end a fight.]

[there was the nagging sensation of something forgotten, like she could sense loopholes waiting to be found. But the fact of the matter was that she was tired.

Not physically. The best part of the Malnosso's last experiment had been the fact that it had come with the gift of sleep. But the shock of Giles's death on the coattails of everything else had left her too drained to fight the determination of a man bent on one singular course of action.

The look she gives him is searching, before she nods, sinking back into her chair a little]

Good. Because there's been more than enough death and destruction already.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 8

Fifth Dispatch - [written]

[ written; filtered 70% ]

[ written; filtered 70% ]

[Voice] (placeholder, will be back tomorrow!)

[action]

[Voice]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[Written]

[action]

[Written]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

Re: [action]