captainhornblower | Sixth Dispatch

[Horatio Hornblower possessed a naturally quiet disposition. He preferred thinking to speaking more often than not. He was also often considered to be... "prone to melancholy" if a friend were speaking, "ill-tempered" if described by others. The two traits engaged and furthered one another constantly. When he thought for long periods of time about things that were not an imminent battle, his spirits sank. The worse his mood, the more he thought.

To stimulate the mind and make its burden easier to bear, Hornblower walked. Paced. The length of a quarterdeck suited perfectly, but Hotspur was long out of reach. Even the damned Retribution would have answered, but it, too, was far away.

Instead, he walked the length of a small wooden bridge over and over. That it was a known haunt for a particular pirate had either not crossed the Navy man's mind or had been dismissed. The click of his heels across the planks made him feel more at home. His solemn, focused expression remained unchanged with every step he took and every turn made to walk the path again as his customary hour became three.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[with her health much improved, Jilly's taken to walking again. Under McCoy's watchful eye, she'd relented to wearing a jacket to keep off the rain these past few days, but it hadn't stopped her from going out anyway.

Besides, watching the rain from indoors felt melancholy...but being out in it, that was something else entirely.

She's in a thoughtful mood herself, though more peaceful than pensive, when she catches sight of a form pacing on the bridge. The height is wrong for it to be Jack, but it's only when she's closer that she actually recognizes Horatio making his way back and forth over the small space.

Curious...and maybe a little concerned, she'll make her way over to stand by the railing...not quite in his path, but not quite out of it, either]

[Horatio Hornblower wrestled with a hundred different thoughts and worries.

The idea of a mutiny here. His friends. The people he was responsible for. How many innocent lives might be dragged into this insane action? How many people would die? How many people would be considered ringleaders and punished? What would become of those who joined but were not killed?

It was with these thoughts in mind that he did not even see Jilly where she stood. He did not run into her, but their shoulders clipped. He swore under his breath and turned.]

Pardon, I--

[The canned apology stopped, and he ducked his head sheepishly when he saw that not only had he managed to clip someone, no. He'd knocked into a woman. And Jilly at that.]

Miss Jilly. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.

[she'd sidestepped the worst of it, and his apology gets a smile and a soft laugh as she shakes her head] I'm not surprised. Where were you? Because wherever it was was definitely not here.

[Where were you?

The question strikes him. Not as peculiar, no, though that was his second thought. His first (and then third) thought was how appropriate the question was.

Because, as she had said, he was not in this place. Not while he paced.

When he answered her, his voice was low, contemplative.]

Somewhere between Renown and Hotspur, on the quarterdeck.

Was it a good trip? [there's still an air of teasing, but there's concern there, too. There was no missing the pensive nature of his stance or the distance in his eyes]

[He has to think about it.

To be back on the Hotspur... He'd like nothing more. That is precisely what he longs for. To have Hotspur back beneath his feet, spokes of the wheel in his hand, to hear Matthews on the bosun's pipe when he came aboard, to be back on his ship.

But the Renown... Dark and treacherous, the woodwork laced with blood and pain. He left that ship long ago and has always tried to never go back, even in his mind, yet he often finds himself there when he sleeps. It occupies a place as dark as or darker than Justinian in the recesses of his mind.

Was it a good trip?]

Are you well, Miss Jilly?

[The pause isn't long, but it's telling. It hints at the conflict that his dark eyes hide so well, and she doesn't press. While she's willing to follow her friends into those dark places, she won't intrude. So she lets him change the subject, nodding a response]

Much better. Len's even stopped making faces when I leave the house. [well, not entirely. But it was near enough that she figured it counted]

How about you? What has you out walking in the rain? [for her, it was second nature. But there weren't too many others she'd met who actually liked standing out in it for longer than they had to]

On Hotspur, I would take to the quarterdeck every morning, rain or shine. Six to eight bells.

[Habit. And a way to calm his fraying nerves, recollect his scattered thoughts, and try to make some sense of them.]

[she understood habits and routine. For all that her life tended to take on a chaotic edge, she took refuge in the comforting day-to-day repitition of her schedule.

Here, where they had so little structure, it wasn't hard to see the appeal.]

How long have you been out here?

[He stops to think and cannot be quite certain. Without the bell, his internal clock cannot be sure it's right.]

What time is it?

About noon. I was originally planning on swinging by Good Spirits for lunch, but walking sounded nice.

Then it has been three and a half or four hours.

... That's a long time to walk the same little bridge.

I've had much to think about.

Come to any conclusions?

Only a fool would act against these odds.

[A pause.]

But there is no choice but to make the gamble.

The Malnosso, you mean.

...Have you talked to Archie, yet?

I intend to soon.

I just... need to figure out what to say. To him. And Mister Bush. And Mister Wellard.

I heard you had someone else from home.

[her head canting slightly to one side] You think they won't agree? Archie, at least, is every bit as furious with the Malnosso as you are. As any of us are.

I am not certain they will rely on me to make such plans. All three were on the Renown.

[she's quiet a moment. Thinking. She can make the connection. His previous mutiny. Archie's death...

But she's seen the way Archie looks at him. William too, for the little time she's had to know him. She can only imagine this Wellard must be the same]

Maybe.

But they respect you. I don't think that'll change with this.

Sixth Dispatch - [action]

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