[identity profile] undeadkennedys.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] coquaigne
[begin voice post]

[Murmured, nearly inaudible.] H--Horatio? The pain, it's--

[A long pause, marked with fumbling noises, and then a sharp intake of breath.] Lord, that's a grand spread--hm? [A beeping noise.] "Recording"? Recording what? [The sound of a few keys being hit, essentially at random.] What is this thing anyw--

[end voice post]

((ooc: Wakes up at a buffet with a laptop. SO MUCH FOOD. SO CONFUSING. Will get better at writing Archie when it's not midnight-thirty.))

Date: 2010-04-16 05:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Probably this should be answered first, 'cause it's kind of important. He bows his head, avoiding Archie's eyes,] No, if the captain is present here at all, he has not made himself known to me.

[After that, he doesn't quite know what to say. It seems untoward to ramble on about venison when a more pressing matter has been brought up, and then let down.]

Date: 2010-04-16 05:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush proceeds to provide Archie a pained look, and shuffles over to get the both of them seated comfortably. For his part, he is hardly famished, having had broken his fast at dawn with the others aboard the Hotspur, and can wait before grabbing food off God's tables.]

Not very long after- That is to say, in the year two. [Cough cough cough. Smooth, Mr Bush.] He was demoted when we made peace with France, though as that lasted for about as long as you'd imagine, he was made captain again soon after.

[Practice and force of will keeps Bush's voice steady through all of this. Archie deserves to know.] He is married, with a child on the way, he tells me.

Date: 2010-04-16 06:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
As happy as he ever is. You know better than I. [Though Bush's smile, weak, but present, betrays him.]

[At the subject of himself, he gives a curt nod.]
I am his first lieutenant aboard the Hotspur... His only lieutenant. It is a sloop.

Date: 2010-04-16 06:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Glasses clink, and Bush drinks down some ale.] I thank you, sir. And am sorry to be the bringer of... [Well, it isn't exactly bad news.] Such poor favors. [Right.]

[Finally, something does occur to him. Querulously, he looks to Archie's abdomen.]
But, are you not in pain?

Date: 2010-04-16 02:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
He has. And he owes it all to you. [That was comforting, right? This game is hard :|]

[Here, he lets through a smile, attempting to raise the mood, a feat he has about as much experience with as swimming.]
That is entirely the best news I've heard all day, Mr Kennedy. [However forced and awkward the delivery, he means it completely. Archie should not be pained, after his death.]

Date: 2010-04-16 04:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Heaven is only awkward if you're alive, is what Bush is pretty sure of. There is no training for meeting up with dead comrades again.]

I should imagine it is rather worse than being stabbed, yes. [Twice. Oooh.] But enough of this dark talk, you have eaten? [He looks to the blinking computer machine wherever Archie left it.] And figured out those contraptions far better than me; I had to beat it into submission.

[Brute force: a staple of His Majesty's Royal Navy.]

Date: 2010-04-16 04:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[And if you're Thinking On Death, you may as well have the resident expert about, should you not?]

After ship's rations since I went to sea, I doubt I'd be able to tell if it were prison food. [Bush does that almost-smile-twinkly-eye-thing that Real Men do when they're in the Navy, and wanders over to the buffet after releasing himself of his coat, sword and pistol on a chair. There shouldn't be any Frenchmen in Heaven, right?]

[He looks back, shrugging, while piling some roast pork onto his plate.]
Of course I did, it was making the most horrible screeching noise.

Date: 2010-04-17 12:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush doesn't answer, biting into the food, his answer is obvious in how quickly be begins to eat. After finishing off a drumstick, he nods his head, giving a grunt of concession.] Haven't eaten like this since I made Lieutenant.

[After recovering from the bout of gorging himself, Bush throws a dismissive look towards Archie's computer.] At the time, it seemed the perfectly right course of action, Mr Kennedy.

[Cough cough cough cough serious face is serious.]

Date: 2010-04-17 01:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush just frowns at Archie, giving his best eyeroll without actually rolling his eyes (because that would be undignified). It's all in the slant of the eyebrows.]

[Though he starts a bit, once Archie makes the screen suddenly and predictably change!]
What did you do? [Yes, he is glaring at the computer, what of it?]

Date: 2010-04-17 01:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush narrows his eyes, trying to get on eye-level with the machine.] It doesn't seem you've managed to break it, if the... color is any indication.

Google... Perhaps it is the French?

Date: 2010-04-17 01:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
Don't ask me. I know how to make it shut up, and that's that.

[Bush looks over at Archie for a moment, nodding. He didn't know Archie knew French, but it's not that surprising. Plenty of officers know.] Mayhaps you should try... touching it again?

Date: 2010-04-17 02:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush nods, the face of seriousness. Given a task, completing it is obviously the most important thing.]

Doubtless I'd wager on trying some of the unknown symbols, Mr Kennedy. [He leans back, finally, in his chair, surveying the scene from afar.]

Date: 2010-04-17 02:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] yrobtsvt.livejournal.com
[Bush quite happily leans back again, sour-faced, to rub at the spot on his forehead where he's been assaulted. He shakes his head, slow and dismissive, to any apology, but stands after a moment, noting:]

It seems the only option left is to press every spot on that thing and see what it does. I'll leave you to that. [Brb, getting more food.]

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a medieval mythical land of plenty.

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