#ARC Lieutenant Indy

[flashthescalesian-art]

Indy, an ARC Lieutenant who has no business adopting younger troopers: *sees Glitch who got left behind by his unit*

Indy: This is my son now.

Fuse: Indy please. You already adopted my whole squad.

Indy: Perfect! Glitch can join your squad!

Fuse: Have I ever told you how much of a pain you are sometimes?

Indy: :)

[zealfruity]

The twink and twunk duo. They're close acquaintances/casual friends at best.

Mini bios and fun notes below the cut:

Tenai is a Jedi Shadow who likes to be left to their own devices and who generally doesn't like people. People generally oblige, since they're not al that likeable anyway. Tenai's good at playing a character though, and so when they have to, they can be sweet a honey and twice as smooth. Maybe it's why they're so unpleasant when they're allowed to be authentic. If one were to make the effort to get to know Tenai and be let into their own little world, one would find an unexpected soft side to them. Tenai is full of pondering phylosophies and odd little quirks that they themself have a hard time explaining. When they were brought out of their Shadow work for the war, they were very displeased, but recognized the importance of all hands on deck- the other Shadows could live without them just fine. Taking command of the 407th Recon Corp was a difficult affair, both for Tenai due to their lack of experience, and for the clones who were met with this rude little gremlin who keeps appearing ominously from dark corners instead of a regal jedi. They made it work though, and the late Marshal Commander Kibo had been too much of a tenacious sweetheart not to befriend. Tenai Tasiko is now one of the Jedi Shadows still helping out with GAR matters. They've grown restless from sitting around during peacetime, which is really quite un-Jedi like. Yes, this bothers them greatly. They've had a number of crisises from it.

Ishan Ri got the job in the GAR intelligence division not really of his own accord. His father was friends of an officer there and a firm believer that working as a librarian was NOT the right career path. Ishan's brief stint as a research/data analyst for his country government looked fine on a resume, and during wartime, you take any hand that you can get, especially if that hand is recommended by someone already working for you. Ishan stayed at the job partly for the pay, but also because he found himself finding a real sense of purpose in it, feeling like they were really helping people by providing intel. It was during his second year as an employee that the war ended. He kept the job to help with the post-war cleanup of slave empires and crime syndicates still operating in Republic space. It's during one of these cleanup missions that he meets Fives, an ARC Lieutenant of the recently founded 501st SOF Unit.

You'd think Tenai would be one of those gatekeeping emo indie music enjoyers, but if asked about what they listen to, they will go on a long explanation about how their chosen favourites are the best and how everyone should listen to them. They're a huge techno fan and a connaisseur of weirdly ethereal rap music. No one who asks Tenai about the type of music that they listen to expects this. If they were in a modern AU they would just wear a hoodie and a cozy sweater everyday no matter the weather. 8 times out of 10 there's a sleeveless turtleneck underneath because those rock. They're not particularly attached to their hair since they have to dye and cut it when doing undercover work that requires it, but they do take care of it as best as they can.

Ishan listens to pretty much any genre. It's just as likely to hear him rock out to agressive punk as it is to see him stare into the distance while Sufjan Stevens plays. Would know a lot of Just Dance choreographies only because Just Dance is fun and was Something To Do at house parties. The type to hyperfixate on singers/bands, do NOT ask him about these unless you're ready to listen for two hours (this is usually how asking Ishan questions goes honestly. The guy can talk if prompted). Very cozy modern librarian type of vibe. Think less messy version of Jon Archivist.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2/5

Book Blurb:

A queer, Caribbean, anti-colonial sci-fi novella in which a betrayed captain seeks revenge on the interplanetary empire that subjugated her people for generations.

Virika Sameroo lives in colonized space under the Æerbot Empire, much like her ancestors before her in the British West Indies. After years of working hard to rise through the ranks of the empire’s merchant marine, she’s finally become first lieutenant on an interstellar cargo vessel.

When her captain dies under suspicious circumstances, Virika is arrested for murder and charged with treason despite her lifelong loyalty to the empire. Her conviction and subsequent imprisonment set her on a path of revenge, determined to take down the evil empire that wronged her, all while the fate of her people hangs in the balance.

Review:

A queer, Caribbean, anti-colonial sci-fi gender swapped retelling of The Count of Monte Cristo? Here we go! The story follows Virika Sameroo who lives in a colonized space under the Æerbot Empire. She's worked hard to go up the ranks in the empire's merchant marine but when she's given the position of first lieutenant things begin to go wrong as Virika becomes accused of murder and those around her betray her. Now in prison and tortured... she plots her freedom and when she gets out revenge is hers. She has an empire to destroy, people to protect, and revenge against all those who had betrayed her on her mind. I am a huge fan of the Count of Monte Cristo, it's one of my favorite classics ever, so hearing it got a genderbent retelling with a queer character, I couldn't resist. This follows a lot of the original beats of the original story, which I appreciated, but definitely leaned heavier on the anti-colonialism story and departed from the classic, even the ending had me a bit "eh". I really wanted to like this but it just didn't have the magic or vibes that I was looking for in a new retelling of one of my favorite classics. If you are a fan of just sci-fi revenge stories that deal with anti-colonialism, I'd definitely recommend it for you!

Release Date: September 10,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and ECW Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 1): General Character Bracket 8

Chelli Lona Aphra | Identity: lesbian | Media: Star Wars Comics

Oh Aphra, where to begin. Honestly the best way I can describe her is that she’s Star Wars’ Vriska. She’s a “rogue archeologist” and in marketing material sometimes compared to Indiana Jones, but the only similarity is that she can feature in the same wacky stories about retrieving artifacts except with none of the mismatch between modern ideas about archeology and repatriation and Indy being the hero, because she specifically isn’t. She was originally created for the 2015 Darth Vader comic series, recruited to help Vader raise a force that would let him coup the Emperor. She was so popular she then got her own comic series, making her the breakout star of the Disney/Marvel Star Wars comics. The Fandom Menace can’t touch her.

Her comics have been a series of frankly strange adventures involving Force artifacts, Vader either working with her or wanting her dead, and double crosses that leave your head spinning. She has Thrawn level tactical abilities, but only for schemes. She is haunted by how her trauma born behaviors make it hard for her to maintain relationships and be a good person. She has so many exes it's an entire section of this tournament. Her most significant relationships have been with Sana Starros and Magna Tolvan. As of the end of the Spark Eternal arc, the comic seems to be leaning towards a poly ending with the three of them, but first Aphra needs to stop self sabotaging.

One of Aphra’s greatest achievements was at the end of her 2016 comic run, where she trapped Vader in a PTSD flashback Force artifact on Tython and hacked his suit to allow her to erase Hoth from the Empire’s records. She did this for the sake of her loved ones who had joined the Alliance. Doing this gave Echo Base enough time to build up before they were found again that they were able to evacuate much more efficiently. That’s right, disaster lesbian love saved the Rebellion.

Brene | Identity: wlw | Media: War of the Bounty Hunters

Brene is a member of Boushh’s queer found family. A fellow Ubese exile, she was the first one recruited by Boushh and became his lieutenant. A bounty hunter crew, they were hired by Crimson Dawn to kill the entire executive board of the Tagge Corporation. Domina Tagge was the only survivor of this attack, and for their lives and a promise of their exile being rescinded, they betrayed Crimson Dawn and got a new job working for Domina. They later defended Domina from a Crimson Dawn coup. Brene found Domina attractive when she was carving through Crimson Dawn operatives with her protoblade. She also makes bad jokes.

From the script notes shared by Alyssa Wong, she is “A small, cheerful, mischievous sweetheart” and “will steal your snack and eat them just to see how you'll react”

[city-of-ladies]

Jeanne Merkus - The “Joan of Arc of Serbia”

Jeanne Merkus (1839-1897) was a rich Dutch heiress. Her father had been Governor-General of the Dutch East Indies (present-day Indonesia). Orphaned at a young age, she was adopted by her father’s brother, a vicar, and became a devout Protestant. Jeanne was also shaped by her discovery of feminism and socialism. She thus started to distribute her fortune among the poor and the sick.

Jeanne’s first military experience was in 1870, during the Franco-Prussian war. She was present during the Prussian siege of Paris as well as the ensuing insurrection of the Paris Commune in 1871. She was maybe one of these women who stood on the barricades and took care of the sick and the wounded. In 1872/3 she made a trip to Jerusalem.

By mid-december 1875, she had joined the anti-Ottoman rebellions in Herzegovina. Her motives were religious, she wrote in her memoirs:“I did not wish to nurse wounded soldiers, but to help liberate Christian people, and also Christ’s land, from the sovereignty of the Turks”. Her goal was thus to liberate the Balkans from Muslim rule and ultimately “recapturing” the Holy Land.

Jeanne carried bandages for the wounded and gave ample proof of her fighting abilities. She skillfully mined bridges, lured a pair of Turkish soldiers in an ambush, tried to blow-up a Turkish fortress on her own. Because of her boldness, the enemy nicknamed her “The red devil”. She was one of the bravest fighters during the battle at Ljubinje in 1876. She was, however, captured by Austrians on Turkish soil, but later liberated.

In March 1876, she headed for Belgrade in Serbia, a country who supported the insurrection in Herzegovina, even if it meant going to war with the Ottoman Empire. Dubbed the “amazon of Herzegovina” and the “Joan of Arc of Serbia” Jeanne was a major financial benefactor to the Serb war effort. She was thus able to refuse a traditional female role as a nurse and was allowed to fight in the ranks. She wore a uniform adapted from the local men’s dress, with a Montenegrin cap over her curly long hair and a man’s cape slung across her shoulder. Lieutenant-Colonal Gruka Miskovic, who was at the beginning skeptical of her presence, would later say that she was a “shining example” of courage in action. 

(Jeanne Merkus in uniform, unknown artist)

If Jeanne was unique as a foreign woman, she was certainly not the only woman to fight in this conflict. Stana Kovačević notably disguised herself as a man in 1876 to follow her husband. According to press reports, her husband was wounded and “it became apparent from her grief for her good comrade, that she was a woman”. She was awarded a silver medal for her bravery. Vukosava Nikolić and Draga Strainović also did the same. Posing as a young volunteer, Draga had almost been rejected from the army due to her youth and appearance, but would later prove herself “very energetic” in performing her duties. Anonymous women also managed to get accepted in the army, though there is no concrete proof if the thought or not.

In June 1876, Montenegro also declared war on the Ottoman Empire. According to Jelena Lazarević, a feminist from Serbia, Montenegrin women followed the men, clad in military uniforms. She notably mentions the siege of the Turkish fortified town of Onogošt (Nikšić), where they courageously pulled wounded men behind the firing lines. A notable female fighter was Andjelija (Andja) Miljanov who, in 1876, by the age of 17, started to fight dressed in male clothes. A Viennese newspaper of October 12, 1876, gives the following description of her:

“Vojvoda Marko had no sons, and therefore he is accompanied by his daughter, who graduated with distinction from the Girl’s School in Cetinje. She is tall, lithe and slender and accustomed to all the heavy fatigues of a mountain war and jumps in her opanci (traditional leather footwear) like a chamois from rock to rock. Yet, she is a heroine as well. On 14 August, she had, under the command of her father, at the battle of Fundina, distinguished herself so much that the Kuči honored her with a very beautiful “puška” (rifle) as a token of remembrance of that day. In this battle she was all the time standing in the first lines during the deadliest fire, and participated in the memorable charge by the Kuči men against the Turks wielding a shiny sabre.”

Jeanne’s presence in the ranks greatly impressed foreign newspapers, but also shamed local men. She also expressed her preference for a republican government and criticized the Serbian commander-in-chief. This led her to be dismissed from the army. Jeanne then headed for the Danubian principalities (Modern Romania) where Russia had declared war on the Ottoman Empire. She offered her military services, but was only accepted in the army as a nurse.

After the fight ceased, she tried to go back to Jerusalem, but was faced with hostility because of her involvement in the Balkans. She fell into poverty and her family managed to bring her back to the Netherlands, where she died at the age of 57 in a Protestant nursing house in Utrecht.

References:

Grémeaux René, “Alone of All Her Sex? The Dutch Jeanne Merkus and the Hitherto Hidden Other Viragos in the Balkans during the Great Eastern Crisis (1875–1878)”

“Jeanne Merkus - the fatal muse of "Nevesinje gun"”

West Rebecca, Black lamb and grey falcon

Wheelwright Julie, Sisters in arms, female warrior from antiquity to the new millenium

[luxfurem]

@treppenwitzz​​ asked: i need all the deets about your bellatrix... ALSO ANJI i wanna know more about anji | MEME.

So... this ended up really long and therefore it’s under the cut! I sort of left out the “who they could get along with” part but I also feel like that really just depends on verses and such, so we can totally discuss that sometime  🥺🥺🥺

Bellatrix Lestrange

TW for mentions of alcohol, abuse, death and miscarriage

TROPES/ARCHETYPES: The Champion, Femme Fatale

Bellatrix is the very first muse that I officially wrote on indie, but also a muse that I’ve explored in the many group rps I’ve been in in the years before that. Because of that, she’s been through a lot of changing and tweaking over the years, but I like what I’ve got going for her now.

I’m absolutely a big fan of villain characters and I support the humanizing of them because in my mind, it is all the more terrifying that a villain could like the same things as you, could be like you, but be capable of such terrible things. I think it creates a frightening perspective that’s the quiet sort of terrifying, and it’s what I aim to do with Bella. I wanted to create a villainous woman who is powerful without being sorry for it.

I do want to stress that a villain doesn’t necessarily become worthy or deserving of pity or redemption because their story contains sad aspects. In the end, everyone encounters terrible and sad things in life, and it’s what you do with these experiences that matters. If you become bitter or vengeful, that is a decision, and the consequences of however you decide to treat the world after are not cancelled out because of the reason why you became this way.

On the one hand, she is this terrifyingly powerful witch who, despite her comparatively young age, climbed up the ranks of the death eaters to the position of lieutenant at Voldemort’s side, but on the other she is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s wife. I wanted to explore how these two aspects of her story intertwine, or, in some cases, clash.

My Bella is a bit canon-divergent in that I absolutely refuse to write a woman who’s completely submissive to a man, especially one that doesn’t deserve it. Of course, I don’t want to stray too far from her original arc in that I still believe she’s absolutely starstruck by Voldemort, but she is more interested in his abilities, his mind and his cunning than she is in him as a partner. It’s a different kind of infatuation, where she isn’t all too sure if she wants him or wants to BE him. In time, she settles with neither, and becomes his champion, instead. She’s a knight under his banner, a soldier under his command.

Much of Bella’s arc comes down to a dominant woman living in a society that doesn’t like dominant women. Pureblood circles are catered to the pureblood man, whereas the woman’s job, much like in societies of previous eras, is to bear a husband's children to continue the pureblood line. It’s a crude and sexist thing, and Bella wants none of it. From a young age, she rebels against her father’s firm beliefs in the way things are supposed to be, and rebels against her mother’s attempts to “guide” her back to how she’s supposed to be. She’s the feral child with the holes in her dresses, the scrapes on her legs from climbing trees and running too fast. Her long hair always tangled and messy. She knows that as a girl in the Black family, the highest achievement would have been to become matriarch, but even that wasn’t ever going to be enough for Bella.

When her mother dies, about two years after the birth of Narcissa, the matriarch of the Black family, Walburga, takes over the role for a short amount of time while her father drinks his grief away. After Sirius is born, however, even this steadiness falls away, as their aunt spends her full time caring for him and the second son, Regulus, born a year after. This leaves Bella to assume responsibility for her sisters at the age of 8. Her fights with her father, their temperaments going head to head resulting in situations I don’t really care to divulge about.

Once accepted into Hogwarts is where things start to divert. From one day to the next, her previously always messy hair is neatly combed back into a braid. Her clothes are pristine, not a spot in sight, and her sharp commentary is kept to a minimum. To all those around her, it seemed she had finally heeded her mother’s wishes, and embraced her place in society. But to those who knew her well enough, to her sisters and to her cousins, there was a stubborn fire burning behind those crow-black eyes, burning higher and brighter the more time passed. It was only a matter of time until the fire either consumed her, or consumed those around her.

It was at the age of 17, during her last year at Hogwarts, that Bellatrix was introduced to the Dark Lord. She’d seen him before, of course, but the Black family had stoically kept their stance on the matter of his campaign neutral, although this wouldn’t last. Her fiance-to-be, Rodolphus, who was a few years her senior, had already joined the ranks, and Voldemort’s actions could no longer be brushed off as a mere whim by the family. And Bella, who desired more than the life of a housewife, saw this as an opportunity to lift herself up.

I want to stress that I, as both a Tom Riddle and Bellatrix writer, don’t think their dynamic was of a romantic or lustful nature at all at this point in time, if ever. Voldemort saw the fire and the potential, and decided that he wanted both of these things for himself, for his ranks. She exceeded expectations and he decided that, if anyone was worthy to be his student, it was her. Over the course of the next two years, he trained her in the dark arts, eventually revealing her, at the age of nineteen, to be his new lieutenant. This was met with some resistance, of course. but Bella was quick to silence that. After all, she had risen above her station, and it had taken effort. She was not about to lose that to a bunch of butthurt men.

It’s also around this time that she marries Rodolphus, whom she puts through the ringer for months before and even post-marriage. She hated the idea of being passed from one man (her father) to another (her husband), as if she is nothing more than a possession. The marriage was arranged, and this bothered her, too, considering her lack of choice in the matter. And because she couldn’t exactly fight her father on it, she fought Rodolphus instead. On every turn, hoping he would be turned off and cancel it. After all, a man’s voice, even if he was only an heir, and not patriarch, still sounded louder than a woman’s voice ever would. But it only seemed to invigorate him, pulling closer the more she pushed. As if he were attracted to the fire, wanted to scorch himself just to stand in the light. He never forced her and he never would, even as she refused to let him into their marriage bed for months, even as she taunted him and ridiculed him. The marriage, in time, seemed to grant her a certain freedom that she never had as a daughter of house Black. She could go where she pleased, do as she pleased, pursue her position among the death eaters as she wanted to. She lost her wariness towards him, her anger. And eventually, she learned to love him.

Bellatrix used to be closest to her sister Andromeda. The two of them were, for a long time, practically inseparable, two halves of a whole. It was as if they should have been twins, and what one lacked, the other would possess. Where one went, you could soon expect the other to be. That was, of course, until Andromeda defected. When she did, Bella’s whole world collapsed. Her castle was captured from the inside, by sadness, by grief and by anger at the deceit. Because Andromeda hadn’t chosen her. Had chosen a “filthy mudblood” instead of her own sister, who had always cared for her, always been there for her. If Bella had had a mean streak, before, it was now full blown, a riptide that would destroy everything and everyone that didn’t get out of her way. She was devastated by the loss, and would never quite recover from it. This event had a huge impact on her view on muggleborns. Whereas before she allowed herself a certain tolerance, where she still viewed herself as holier than but limited her disdain to snooty looks and haughty comments, she now was actively hostile, threatening and garnering a reputation among the ranks of the death eaters for her ruthless, cruel actions.

During her marriage, Bella was pregnant exactly 4 times, but all 4 pregnancies ended up miscarriages fairly early on. It’s my belief that her problems stem from the inbreeding within the family and the English pureblood society in general. Contrary to her other beliefs on the woman in pureblood society, she was interested in being a mother and had the motherly instinct to go with it. Her not being capable of bearing children left her feeling devastated and hardened her heart. In AUs where she does have children, whether of her own or adopted, she develops a sort of caution, a knowledge that she isn’t just responsible for herself, but for this child as well. In these AUs, it keeps her out of Azkaban.

Speaking of Azkaban, I usually don’t write about her time there or really post-Azkaban, and this is mostly because I hate the narrative that she’s “crazy”, and I think it’s harmful towards people who have mental health problems. I believe, due to how Azkaban’s dementors suck the happiness out of people and how Azkaban looks like hell on earth, she suffers from a form of PTSD, but she is not “crazy”.

A few loose facts about her:

is bisexual but leans towards men

loves to write poetry, but she never shows it to anyone.

has a very low tolerance for alcohol and barely drinks.

loves coffee and can’t function without drinking it every morning

is obsessed with taking care of her hair. It’s long and dark and very well-maintained

loves to wear red lipstick

forced herself to learn to use her wand with both her left and her right hand

Anji Terryll

TROPES/ARCHETYPES: The Antihero, The Living Legend, The Reluctant Hero

Anji is actually one of my older muses, who doesn’t see the light of day often because I suppose the Skyrim fandom is sort of dead. On top of that, she’s a female oc. i don’t think i’ll need to explain this. Regardless of that and the lack of information I’ve put online about her ( which I actually seek to remedy by writing this ), she’s a quiet favorite who will never disappear from my roster.

I wanted to create a person who fate had been thrusted upon unwillingly. I wanted to create a woman who had never planned to do anything that didn’t benefit herself in life. Anji’s early life consisted of what was barely a life at the orphanage in Riften, where she watched the Thieves Guild lift jewelry from a man’s pocket with the man none the wiser. She never entertained the idea of being an honest worker, because she’d seen how the jarl treated honest workers. Of course, she knew that if she were to be caught thieving, the storm she’d call over herself would be worse, but that was only if she was going to be caught.

So she got herself into the Thieves’ Guild, worked her way up the ranks to Guild Master, before, near the border, she was caught stealing a horse and shipped off to Helgen, where the main story begins.

Anji is, from the start, reluctant about her supposed fate. She never believed in prophecies and rarely in Gods and now, everything was real, everything was true. And she was the main character of a legend. Thrust into a role she doesn’t think fit her. She isn’t who these people deserve, a thieving woman who serves only her own benefit. The people deserved a selfless knight, advocating for the survival of mankind, believing so wholly in oneself that they could overcome a legendary monster like Alduin the World-Eater. Someone who isn’t her. So she rejects her abilities, rejects her destiny, and pretends for months that she isn’t the one the Greybeards are calling from the Throat of the World.

And for a time, it works. For a time she can focus on the physical gain, the money she earns, the reputation. But in the back of her mind, the knowledge scratches at the door she keeps it behind. She sees the destruction the dragons are causing all over Skyrim, the terror of the people. The loss of morale. She tells herself that she decides to see what these Greybeards have to say, if only to tell them they’ll need to find someone else.

But she comes to learn that there is no one else. There is only her and her bow, and her lack of morale, against an ancient dragon.

Anji is the Reluctant Hero, the Unlikely Hero, not the woman you’d expect when one mentions the Dovahkiin. She’s slight and flighty, quick as a whip with her twin blades, relying on speed above strength. She prefers sneaking through the shadows instead of fighting her way through boldly and openly, and she never starts fights she can’t win. This doesn’t mean she won’t kill, and doesn’t mean she won’t use her powers, even for personal gain. She enjoys the power of the Voice and, as lore suggests, overtime grows more and more powerful (think: her voice can at some point burn the ice off a mountain), but she hates the responsibility that comes with it and will never fully accept it. She’s practical and quick-witted, more on the serious side of the spectrum, although she possesses a funny streak that only shows up in intimate settings ( think: close friends/guild/lovers ) or when she’s completely drunk. She observes each angle of a job or mission before proceeding, wanting to be ahead of each trap she might run into.

A few loose facts about her:

is bisexual but leans towards women

has absolutely no interest in bearing children, adopting is fine though

favors her bow over her twin blades

carries two daggers in each boot

In some verses she can be a werewolf for absolutely no other reason other than that i can

in modern verses she owns a martial arts school

Play smart not hard

[salamanderskin]

Any Port in a Storm, a Hornblower fic

In the aftermath of 'The Duchess and the Devil' Archie's self worth hits a new low, not helped by his seizure disorder and a nasty chill. Horatio isn't sure how to help, but he's willing to give it everything he has. 

The year is 1798.

The wind whistled through the rigging of HMS Indefatigable, whipping up spray from the sea like handfuls of gravel to join the sheets of rain which lashed at the deck. The great grey clouds that stewed overhead were so low that the horizon was blurred and indistinguishable from the shifting steel surface of the ocean. Although the weather was dramatic; the sails snapped and billowed like washing on a line in the irregular gusts of wind and the masts creaked with a sound as though the ship was crying out under the strain, it was no more than a seasonal squall of the kind almost inspected on this part of the passage back to England.

Every so often a wave would fling itself ambitiously onto the deck and add to the inch or so of water sloshing from side to side in mimicry of the greater ocean, but it was nothing a few men with buckets to bail with couldn't handle. The whole crew was on deck, working to take in sail lest they be driven off course, but without particular urgency; the ratings seemed in fairly good spirits as they wrestled with the great unwieldy sheets of canvas, while the senior officers in their navy jackets and white breeches could be seen moving efficiently among them, with one notable exception. It occurred to the lone figure who stood on the quarterdeck that he did not really, in truth, need to be there.

Horatio Hornblower was getting gradually soaked where he stood. He could feel the wind and wet chapping the skin of his cheeks where they had become unused to the sting of salt, yet he was glad of the taste of it on his lips for it meant that he was back in His Majesty's Navy. No longer on dry land, no longer imprisoned. It meant that he was home. The feeling of freedom he gained from feeling the deck tilt beneath his feet was well balanced against the unpleasant creeping coldness of rain sliding down the collar of his greatcoat, setting him to shivering.

He did not have to be out in the elements. There was nothing for him to do here; the young Midshipman who had obviously been hired during his absence appeared to have filled his shoes infuriatingly well, shouting orders in a clear, confident voice so that the mainsail was taken in just as far as was necessary for a mild storm such as this. Horatio noticed a few tasks done sloppily, which as Acting Lieutenant he would never had allowed, but he knew better than to undermine another officer's authority- it would neither win him friends nor aid the progress of the crew to give conflicting orders. Much as he hated to admit it, despite his long absence, Indefatigable seemed to be running like well-tuned, if somewhat drenched, clockwork. However, although he felt perfectly redundant standing and watching, Horatio knew the feeling would be worse if he were to go below and wait out in the storm in the berth he'd been assigned. Being a sailor meant you were never to lie idle when the wind blew like this. There was work to be done somewhere on the ship, there always was, so lieing in a hammock rocked by the storm would be as unpleasantly foreign to him as the Spanish coastline he had only too recently escaped.

“Mister Hornblower!” A familiar voice called him from his reverie.

The deep and commanding tones of a man well used to making himself heard over the dirtiest of weather made it clear that Horatio was being hailed by no less a personage than Sir Edward Pellew, Captain of the Indefatigable and a rigidly uniformed force to be reckoned with.

“Sir!” Horatio turned smartly towards his Captain, instantly ready for instruction, but the man remained sheltering in a doorway, an expression of disbelief visible from under his impressive bicorn hat.

“I told you that your party are relieved from active duty until we make port. Your presence is not required on deck.”

“I was just seeing-” Horatio began, only to be interrupted.

“Are you insane, man? Get below!”

Any hesitation to obey must have showed on his face, but Pellew had only to open his mouth to begin “That is an order, Lieutenant Hornblower” for Horatio to know that he had disobeyed his Captain as much as would be tolerated, and not without some relief he retreated to join his superior out of the rain.

“Despite your obvious doubts, I am quite able to run a tight ship despite the unforseen absence of one junior officer.” Pellew remarked as they walked together back in the direction of the Captain's quarters. His tone was cold and Horatio re-experienced the familiar awe he felt in the presence of the Captain. It was always coupled with a sense of unease in that Horatio could never be sure whether or not the man was joking.

Pellew seemed serious, though, when he asked “What is it about that crew of yours, Mister Hornblower? I just had to tell Midshipman Kennedy exactly the same thing. You both seem determined to catch your deaths to no obvious gain.”

“It won't happen again, Sir.” Horatio replied, almost but not entirely sure he had caught a slight twinkle in the man's eyes under his steely frown.

As they neared the berth Horatio had been assigned, Pellew seemed to wax thoughtful, lowering his voice somewhat. “I shall have to have a word with you about your Mister Kennedy, perhaps when we are docked.” As if responding to the promise of a safe harbour soon the deck lurched slightly under their feet. Pellew barely moved but to his shame Horatio found himself staggering, his legs unused to the motion of a ship beneath him and not helped by the cold rain which felt as though it had seeped into his muscles.

“Yes, now is perhaps not the time.” Pellew mused. “But we will reach Plymouth tomorrow afternoon. Now go and get out of your wet things for goodness' sake, man. That was a waste of a perfectly clean, dry uniform.”

“Sir.”

Horatio had no sooner touched his hat then Pellew was gone, heavy cloak flowing smartly out behind, leaving Horatio to wonder exactly when the fellow officer with whom he was now sharing a berth had become his Mister Kennedy.

* * *

There was a lamp burning in the tiny berth and its light made leaping shadows on the wooden walls  as the Indefatigable's restless motion set it swinging from the hook where it hung. Horatio stepped inside gratefully.

“Hullo Archie.” He said softly. “You look as wet as I feel.”

Archie Kennedy turned around sharply at the sound of his voice, as if startled, but visibly relaxed when he saw who had disturbed him. The warm glow lit upon a figure only a little shorter than Horatio himself and broader in the shoulder despite months of starvation.

Horatio could not help but notice that the lamplight was kind to Archie's tanned complexion, turning both the blonde hair and fair skin golden. His face still carried the hollow, haunted aspect Horatio had found upon him when they finally found each other after, but in the lamplight he looked better than he had in months and it was easy to see that he would make someone a handsome husband one day, God willing. He was indeed thoroughly drenched by the rain- his coat, hat and boots may have been set aside to drip but his navy-blue jacket showed black at the shoulders where the rain had soaked through.

There was a pause before Archie looked up and said, “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Captain Pellew ordered me off the deck.”

“Ah. You too. So it wasn't that he didn't want me commanding his men.”

There was a lot that Horatio could say to that, but he didn't. He recalled all too clearly the conversation they had shared as Archie lay nearly dieing in the sickbay of the Spanish prison.

“Well, don't you want to get back, hm? Stand on the deck of the Indie, hear the wind in the rigging-”

“-and hear how Horatio Hornblower rescued his shipmate from prison.” Archie had looked up at him from the sickbed, and those eyes, which had been glazed and misfocused suddenly lit right on him, blue and bitter.

“It won't be like that, Archie.”He had said.

But Archie had almost laughed, finding some warped humour in his own helplessness.

“It will be just like that.”

“Archie...” It was a soft, useless syllable as in their tiny shared berth on the Indefatigable, Horatio settled for touching his friend lightly on the arm when their paths crossed whilst setting their wet things to dry.

He never did know what to say when someone decided to bare their soul to him, and Archie's bitter comment made him feel more foolish than anything else. It wasn't that Archie Kennedy was disgraced- Captain Pellew had been grieved when he believed Archie lost in action and both grateful and amazed to find him still alive- but as long as Archie believed himself of no value, there was little Horatio could say to heal the wounds on his soul.

It was enough that Archie did not shrug off the gesture, and Horatio let that be a scrap of comfort as he settled into his hammock and tried to get warm enough for sleep to take him.  Despite the blanket he couldn't seem to shake off the chill of the storm in his bones, though perhaps it was only that the could hear the creak of the masts and feel the uneasy rhythm as the weather tossed the ship. Archie felt it too, Horatio could hear the even rhythm of the man's breath break and flicker with the chattering of Archie's teeth, though it could just have easily have been the sound of his own.

The storm seemed to be easing. The wail of the wind had died down so that it was possible to make out the rain drumming on the wooden sides of the ship like thoughtful fingers and the two hammocks swung in a steadier, more lulling fashion as the rhythm of the sea reasserted itself. Despite this, their brittle exchange had left Horatio with an uncomfortable awareness that something wasn't right.

This damnable bitter weather would do his friend no good at all, weak as he was.

“Aren't you cold, Archie?” He asked into the dark, meaning to offer his blanket. Archie did not reply, did not even move.  

“Goodnight.” Horatio said eventually.

Though Archie did not reply, when he reached instinctively for the man he found Archie's hand was also outstretched in the darkness. He took it and for a single, blessed moment he squeezed and Archie squeezed wordlessly back. As shivering cold seeped into blessed sleep, Horatio Hornblower decided to be grateful for small mercies.

* * *  

It was late afternoon by the time they made port in Plymouth and the sun was just struggling to break through a thick bank of white cloud. Horatio Hornblower was glad for the warmth of the rays on his face and he closed his eyes momentarily, breathing deeply of the cold, brisk air which carried all the familiar smells of the dockside.

As he looked to his companion he saw that Archie was doing the same. The light made Archie's hair glow golden and even kissed some colour into the man's palid face.

Any decision to walk further along the dockside was curtailed when first one drop of cold rain and then another fell onto Horatio's face and dripped down his long nose.

“I think we must take that as a sign and repair to an Inn. I have no desire to be soaked to the skin on two consecutive evenings.”

Midshipman Kennedy looked fit to argue, but then he shivered and nodded his head in resigned agreement. “I had really hoped my return to English soil might be a little more glorious” he said, ruefully.

“Come now, to the men on the Indie you appear to have returned from the dead. Let that be sufficient.”

“Aye. That will have to do.”

They walked along the main street in silence for some time, heads tilted down to keep of the worst of the rain. The orange lights of various establishments resolved themselves out of the gloom and dissipated again as the men passed them by, intent on finding an resting place at least one level up from the kind of grog-shop where the ratings were doubtless already drowning their sorrows. Horatio moved forwards with purpose, Archie a pace behind him as though they were already Lieutenant and Acting Lieutenant, but he supposed it was the first time in three years Archie Kennedy had been somewhere more crowded than the Indefatigable. After three years of foreign jails it was unsurprising that Plymouth was a little more than he was ready for.

As they moved onwards Archie fell further and further behind, lagging in pace as he looked around him with something between satisfaction and apprehension.

Horatio looked back with concern. “I fear returning to your duties so soon has overtaxed you. Dr Hepplewhite said-”

“To hell with Dr. Hepplewhite.” Archie said in frustration. “It's good for me to stretch my legs. If only I wasn't so damnably light-headed.”

Here Archie paused, those blue eyes looking away from Horatio with an anxious flicker of his eyelids. Such was the misfocus of his expression that Horatio wondered if the man was likely to take a fit, and if he did, whether Horatio could catch his friend before that blonde head hit the cobbles. However his fears were unfounded and Archie merely pinched at the bridge of his nose with a murmured “-never mind. Lead on, it's freezing out here.”

They only moved a few more yards, boots  splashing in the water pooled between the uneven cobbles, when he halted again, leaning one hand against a wall in a way that was clearly supposed to be casual. He seemed about to say something then shrugged, steeling himself to walk a little further and only opened his mouth to husk a cough into one fist and swipe the raindrops from his eyes with an dispassionate “Damn this rain.”

Horatio was at his side in a moment.

“Are you quite alright, Mister Kennedy?”

The man's answer was to suddenly dip his head into both hands to sneeze discretely, once and then a second time, shielding his face with his wrist.

“hp'Kff!” A breath. “Hffsch!” and a murmured “I beg your pardon.” before Archie faced him again.

“God bless.”

They walked a little further, turning down a wide street that Horatio remembered from a previous visit. On either side tall buildings listed up, their chimney pots making a forest of silhouettes against the darkening sky. A light wind blew the rain into their faces and made him turn his collar up and squint. It was nothing compared to a storm at sea, but it was chill and unpleasant. Behind him Archie did the same, repressing another sneeze into the back of his wrist.

“ht-chsch! - -Chsch!”

“God bless.” Horatio said again, paying full attention to his friend's plight now so that he turned his head to catch Archie's eyes, only to find them averted from him, hazily unfocused. Archie held an expression of exquisite irritation for a fraction of a second before his head was forced into his hands by another set of sneezes.

“Hp-chsch! Ht- chsch! Hffsch!”

“God bless you, Mister Kennedy.”

He noticed that Archie retained one broad hand gathered awkwardly at his face and when he drew a breath it was an unpleasant, damp sniff. The poor man sounded as though the rainwater had made its way into his very bones. Archie sniffed again, and then a third time.

Horatio kept his face fixed firmly away, determined not to notice his companion's embarrassing state but with a growing sense of irritation. For goodness sake, did the man not have a handkerchief to his name? Archie may have been out of society for some time but even in prison he had always been a gentleman. Yet before Horatio's frustration could fully form itself out of nebulous distaste, Archie addressed him.

“Thank you. Could you-” The voice was low and awkward. Archie was not looking at him, either. A pity then that he had a frog in his throat and had to start the sentence a second time.

“I don't suppose I could trouble you for your pocket handkerchief, Mister -snf- Hornblower?” he said sheepishly.

Suddenly Horatio understood- as a prisoner of war, Archie had lost everything but the uniform he had stood up. And there he was doubting the man's propriety! He could have kicked himself.

“Of course, Mister Kennedy. Here-” He produced the requested item from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pressed it into Archie's hand, averting his eyes as the man blew his nose wetly.

“I seem to have misplaced mine somewhere on the march across France. And to think I hadn't noticed the loss until now.”

The gentle flippancy of it made Horatio smile even as he shook his head, tutting teasingly “In that case we shall make repairing the situation our first priority tomorrow morning.”

Indeed, the hoarse edge on the man's voice, coupled with that damp, persistent sniffling made Horatio suspect that this action might be necessary for other reasons than propriety alone.

* * *

Since their time as midshipmen together, the two had long been used to sharing quarters that were less than pleasant, not to mention that less than a week ago they were still sharing a tiny, filthy cell in a Spanish prison. Horatio's newly acquired Lieutenant's pay furnished them with a good deal more space than they had been used to over the years, but he hardly noticed the clean wooden floor, or the double bed which was absurdly spacious to those used to consecutive hammocks, so relieved was he to get himself and his companion in front of a warm fire. Horatio moved instinctively to its warmth and spread his hands in an attempted to rub some life back into his deadened fingertips. He sudden heat, though gentle, made his joints feel as though they themselves were burning as he flexed his fingers.

Meanwhile, Archie alighted on one of the two rather thread-bare wing chairs which flanked the grate. He seemed excessively drained by the walk up the stairs, the trek across town and the force of the elements- his face was pale and despite the cold a little sweat dampened his forehead where it should have been protected by his hat. He'd loosened his stock a little and Horatio could see his friend's pulse flicker there like a butterfly under a glass.

Horatio removed his own hat, boots and coat in short order, before slipping out of his uniform jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

A sudden sound broke the quiet of the room and startled Horatio from his thoughts, but snapping his head around he realised that it was only Mister Kennedy coughing spasmodically into one first. Though it began as a husking clearing of the throat, once he had started the man seemed hardly able to stop. The sound went on too long, and Horatio did not much fancy the tight, painful sound as it shook his friend's shoulders, doubling him over where he sat so that he braced one arm against his thigh to steady himself.

“I beg your pardon, H-horatio-” Archie tried to say, but the words seemed to prickle his throat and only set him coughing again, harder and more deeply than before.

“Water?”

Without waiting for a reply, Horatio crossed the room to fill a pewter mug from the jug which stood, as he had hoped, on the narrow dresser. Archie took it from him and gulped gratefully, the shudders subsiding, though Horatio thought he could see Archie suppressing a wince at the first, painfully overeager swallow.

“There...” The word left his lips and Horatio was surprised at it, meaningless and as such, useless, as it was.

He patted Archie's shoulder again, once more possessed of the need to reassure himself that Archie was real, was truly alive and, warm and solid beneath his fingers. Archie seemed to the relish the touch, too, relaxing against Horatio's body for a luxurious moment where the man stood beside his seated form. Those blue eyes drifted closed.

“Better?” Horatio asked at last. His words broke the spell and the other man straightened somewhat before bending down and beginning to untie his boots.

“Yes, thank you. You'll have to excuse me Mister Hornblower, I don't know what's come over me.”

Had Archie Kennedy always taken refuge in formality, or was it a recent defence upon finding himself back in the navy now that his closest friend was a superior officer? Due to their close friendship, he'd been wont to employ Horatio's title and full name with a hint of irony, but was that what was happening here?

“Shh. Come on, Archie, get those wet things off. You're making me cold just looking at you.”

Much as he hated the necessity, his friend responded to a direct command better than to any amount of hinting, and looked down at his damp jacket as if for the first time. He was soon stripped to his shirtsleeves and drew his chair closer to the fire.

For a long time there was stillness. Horatio bustled about the room; receiving his sea-chest when it was brought up for him and donning his other jacket, retying the stock at his throat into a neat knot that would keep out the weather, he found his eyes were drawn again and again to the figure by the fire. The warm light was kind to Archie's boyish features for all that it picked out the shadow under his eyes and cheekbones. It turned his hair to true gold and Horatio noticed now that the curls were over-long around his friend's face. Perhaps Archie would allow him to cut it? The thought of such closeness, of an excuse to bury his fingers in the silken stuff, made him smile.

Archie seemed to catch him staring, and there was surprise in his eyes to see Horatio standing over him in full midshipman's uniform.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I am to meet with Captain Pellew at six.” Horatio said, mustering all his formality and newly-acquired Lieutenant's authority not to add “to discuss you, I expect.”

He didn't need to add that information to see Archie's expression close down, the haunted, bitter look acquired in prison washing over his usual open expression.

“I dare say the Captain will want an opportunity to congratulate you properly. After all, not only did you pass your Lieutenant's exams with an act of supreme courage in saving several ships of the royal fleet, you rescued all your men from a Spanish prison along with a handful extra. You're certainly back on form.”

Sarcasm would be too strong a word, for that was a strategy Archie Kennedy would never resort to, but there was certainly a resigned edge to the praise. When had the man learned to be so bitter? Horatio answered himself- perhaps during the beatings, or when you were to preoccupied to even  notice him trying to kill himself.

“It's more likely he wishes to dock my pay to make up for the loss of La Reve.” Possible, though not likely, indeed. Horatio hoped that saving a handful of prisoners considered missing in action would outweigh his losing the first ship he had ever been in command of to the Spanish dons. “I shan't be gone long. Do you want to walk along the dock with me, get some fresh air?”

“I'm fine here.” Archie said. Then, “I've got in the way of your successes enough of late.”

The bitterness in the man's voice made Horatio want to shake his shoulders, whilst the equal and opposite resignation sparked in him the desire to clasp his friend to his chest. Archie coughed again and touched a hand to his throat in a delicate, unconscious gesture before running it frustratedly down the bridge of his nose.

“... I didn't mean that.” He said at last. “I'm not myself.”

Before Horatio could respond, Archie's breathing hitched audibly and he turned away again, fishing Horatio's handkerchief from his pocket just in time for him to smother a sudden sneeze into it.

“hp-chsch!”

“God bless y-” Horatio offered, but Archie only interrupted him with another.

“Chsch-uh! Hd-Chsch-uh!!

The breath he let out afterward was heavy and tired-sounding, and he did not dare remove the cloth from his face but glanced away from Horatio awkwardly. Horatio, who had winced at the way each release seemed to tear through his friend's throat, found now to be a convenient time to go and retrieve his boots from the other side of the room. He had never much liked blowing his nose in front of people either.

When he returned, Archie had composed himself but he looked more tired than ever. Something about the discomfort on his features wrenched at Horatio's heart- Archie had been getting well and looking so much better, but today's exertions had brought all the gauntness he had found on the man's face in the prison cell back into his features, even if only to a lesser degree. Archie was fine, he was alive and well and here in the room with Horatio, and Horatio was being ridiculous, but the distant expression reminded him of that day when it had rained, and a preoccupied Horatio had heard Archie's voice fade out of the conversation only to turn around and find the man unconscious.  Through his own neglect and selfishness Archie had nearly died, and Horatio would never, never let that happen again, he- Horatio mentally shook himself. Why did the man resting by the fire, his broad chest rising and falling with restful breathing, conjure in him such a wild, desperately protective streak? He was being absurd.

He thought he recognised the stuffed-up cadence of his friend's voice now, though- the rasp of it made him want to brew a cup of hot tea with honey- and the reaction unmanned him. He longed to put his arms around Archie, to smooth his hair as he had done so easily when the man had been feverish and shaken by nightmares back in prison. For no logical reason, sharing affection then had been permissible, inevitable even, and he could not restrain himself, but then he never could, not with Archie. Until now.

“God bless you.” He said again, now that the man seemed to have finished, and then, feeling faintly ridiculous “Archie you- you sound as though you're catching a chill.”

The man made to protest, but he was shivering now despite the warmth of the fire, and his first attempt at speech came out so hoarsely it nearly set his coughing again. Eventually he said,

“It would be just my-” Half way through the admission, the man's usually well enunciated voice took on an airy, congested and thoroughly ticklish quality and he interrupted himself with a desperate, resigned “excuse me, Horatio-” After giving his warning the desire to sneeze seemed to back away, teasing his senses such that he did not dare lower the handkerchief from where he held it just in front of his face. “-just my- hk'KSSCh!”

“God bless you. You're shivering.” Horatio observed, crossing the room again to stand by his friend's side.

“I congratulate you on your perspicacity, sir.”

That was a favourite expression of Captain Pellew's, harking back to the time when they had only just been transferred to the Indefatigable. Archie had always had a keen eye for a foibles of superiors, and an actor's talent for mimicry, and his bright wit made Horatio grin now as it had then.

“You should be resting.”

“I think I'll read a little first.” Archie said.

“Is there a law which keeps you from doing that in bed?”

“Perhaps not,” Archie's voice was light enough as he said it but waxed serious as he turned to look at Horatio, eyes narrowing. “But I cannot let you go to the Captain, Horatio.”

Horatio swallowed. Could Archie know that the Captain intended to discuss Horatio's exploits and thus Archie's too?

“Why's that?”

The man's tired face lit slowly into the grin he knew so well.

“Because you look as though you slept with your head in a sack. Come here.”

Horatio laughed in relief as Archie rose and directed him to the newly vacated chair, returning a few minute's later with the comb from Horatio's seachest.

Horatio schooled his body to relax as cunning fingers loosened the strip of black silk ribbon which was standard-issue for an officer in His Magesty's Navy, and draped it over the arm of the chair. Archie took Horatio's dark hair in one hand, working the comb from root to tip in a motion that was rhythmic and efficient without ever being rough.

The simple touch took him back years. In his days new midshipman he had relied on the more experienced Archie to tie his pigtail for him, and in truth he still didn't have the knack of it, for all he had been forced to learn the skill when he believed Archie lost in action. During those first cold weeks after Archie's “death” every time he wrestled with the ribbon was a painful reminder, the cramp in his fingers from repeated attempts beating a muted counterpoint to the ache in his heart.

“I might have to pull.”Archie said sympathetically as he leaned in to get to a stubborn knot in Horatio's curls, so that his words were accompanied by a rush of warm breath. The other man's breath touched the sensitive spot behind Horatio's ear in a way that was deliciously ticklish, sending bolts of lightning running down his neck and side. It was only then that Horatio began to remember how his younger self had enjoyed having the older boy tend him in this way, how good it was to have Midshipman Kennedy run his fingers through Horatio's hair each morning. When they were in prison, with Archie so sick, Horatio had repaid the favour but that hadn't been the same. Of course he would tend a friend who was ill, and Archie would do the same for him, that went without saying. Something about this touch was different. He was a grown man now and didn't need Archie's help to keep himself presentable, but Archie himself had offered this assistance, this affection, as small as it was.

“Ship shape and Bristol fashion.” Archie said at last, when Horatio had placed the hat firmly on his head and straightened his rain-soaked lapels as best as he could. “You look-”

His features slipped into the expression of confused anticipation which was now familiar. His eyelids fluttered and the corner of his mouth twitched in an expression that appeared so distinctly ticklish that Horatio knew his friend could not hold his composure for much longer. Archie's hand made a curious gesture, cast briefly towards his pocket in frantic desire for the handkerchief until he seemed to realise, mid-motion, that there was no way he would get there in time. Instead he hovered it infront of his face as his breath drew an agonised, preparatory “hheh”  before his body flinched in on itself like a book snapping shut.

The result was an appropriately sharp “ngkTSCH!”

The man's expression in the aftermath was one of perfect, miserable frustration, yet Horatio knew instinctively that it was not directed at himself. Archie seemed to feel that the events of the last three years had used up some store of weakness and left him loathe to express even a fraction more, though his body compelled him to it. Horatio did not much like the sound of repressed, husky coughing that the outburst generated, nor the moment of dizzy disorientation in Archie's eyes as he straightened himself, already apologising.  

Alas, time was fleeting, and with an eye to his pocket-watch Horatio contented himself with an affirming slap to Archie's shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, finding nothing more succinct to say than a conciliatory “Get some rest.”

If there were things unsaid between the two men that hung in the silence as the door shut, Horatio studiously ignored them, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders against the next challenge of the day.

* * * *

Upon entering the Inn, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. There was no chaos, no musketshots, no crowd of people, none of the sights and sounds of carnage to which Horatio Hornblower had been hardened by way of a career in the Navy, yet the sight that greeted him was enough to set his heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest.

There was a small knot of people hanging around in an awkward fashion and at their centre was a wing-chair containing a slumped figure in naval uniform. The low light of the parlour glinted on brass buttons, on a tangle of golden hair hanging loose and upon the creamy skin of the man's throat where his jacket and shirt had been opened, evidently to give him some air.

“Archie?”

Horatio needed only to take one pace into the room to see that his suspicion was correct.

Archie's limbs hung loose and heavy, his head tilted right back to rest on the back of the chair in such an uncomfortably unnatural way that it was obvious he must have been carried bodily into the room and bundled into the chair by a well-intentioned, though clumsy, stranger. At the sound of his name he lifted his head a little to meet Horatio's gaze. The heavy torpor of his movements coupled with a familiar slackness of his features told Horatio all he needed know.

He turned to the bystanders for confirmation, lighting on the man he recognised as the Innkeeper.

“He had a fit?”

Horatio intended to explain in as few words as possible that Mister Kennedy was prone to fits on occasion but that they passed quickly, and providing he hadn't injured himself in the process the man would be himself again very shortly. However, he wasn't given a chance. The Innkeeper took one glance at Horatio's uniform and rounded on him.

“You, you're his mate what's sharing his room? Frightened the life out me, he did. Just walked out the door, took three paces and fell straight down on the pavement jerking all over the place. Has he been drinking?” The question caught Horatio off guard. “Drinking? No. It's-”

The man wouldn't let him continue. “Can't you snap him out of it? I thought he was dead, he went that still, and that's bad for business. Puts the customers right off. Hit his head a good crack too.”

The Innkeeper showed no sign of ending the tirade he had started, indeed he seemed to warming to his subject, appealing to the few bystanders that Archie's behaviour was both deviant and inconvenient for a man who has a business to run. His impertinence was infuriating but not so urgent as Archie's need and to this end Horatio allowed the words to wash over him as he came to kneel beside his friend. He spoke Archie's name again, more insistently, and Archie gave him a weak smile. He looked a state; his expression was glassy and fixed, his skin greyish against the white of his shirt whilst a cold sweat stood out in beads across his face.

“I happened again, didn't it?” Archie said. His voice was firm but slightly slurred, murmured as though his lips were too heavy for him to move.

He sounded resigned rather than surprised, and who could blame him. Horatio had hoped that after that last, painful episode in prison, Archie had somehow grown out of the fits he had suffered as a younger lad. Evidently Archie had felt the same way.

“It seems so.” Horatio replied as casually as he could.

He moved his fingers gingerly across Archie's face and into his hairline, sifting through the golden silk of his hair to see if he had indeed struck his head in falling. The hair on one side of his head was damp and gritty with dirty water, where he must have lain in a puddle, and as Horatio's fingers navigated Archie's jawline they found bruising already coming up swollen and red, and a lump a little behind the man's ear from which a minute trickle of blood painted his fingers. He winced in sympathy, but truly it was nothing a cold compress wouldn't fix.

The Innkeeper became aware he was being ignored and got Horatio's attention with a hand on his shoulder.

“Shall I send for a physician?”

Horatio looked at Archie, who shook his head fractionally, eyes signalling an urgent no. Doubtless he just wanted the drama of it to be over as soon as possible, and Horatio could empathise with that.

“There's really no need. I am sure he shall be quite well within the hour. ”

“I don't mean to take a liberty, but 'you didn't see him kicking and moaning like 'e was possessed. Gave me quite a turn, he did-

Horatio's patience finally snapped.

“You do take a liberty, Sir. I will take Midshipman Kennedy to his room.”

Something of the Captain he would one day be was in Horatio's voice. Both the Innkeeper and the few onlookers dispersed and left two men alone in the parlour. Only then did Horatio kneel on the rug to look his friend in the eye.

“Can you stand?”

Archie nodded, allowing Horatio to loop an arm around his back and help him upright. With only a little weight on Horatio's arm the two made their way up to their room.

They were forced to stop, half-way up the stairs as Archie stiffened against him, turning his head to sneeze away from them.

“hh'KFffschuh!' Archie had no force to give it but also none to contain it and the release makes them both stagger. He doesn't even repress the sound, just turns his head weakly away in soft, wet exclamation. “--hh...Itschhuh!”

Horatio braced this time to keep them steady. “So you're still doing that?”

Archie looked up to confirm “...'fraid I haven't ---iiht-KFFSchh- haven't stopped.”   

They paused until Horatio was sure that Archie was indeed finished sneezing for now, before resuming the short journey upstairs. The fire had warmed the room nicely and the beds looked inviting as Horatio helped his friend lower himself onto one of them. Archie took his own weight on his hands and lowered himself to slump on top of the covers, shoes and all. His eyes were closed.

Horatio hovered, hands twitching anxiously at his sleeves.

“I- do you need anything? What can I do?”

Archie's shoulders moved in a minute shrug and his eyes opened, blue as the ocean. Even half-comatose after a fit his smile managed to be self-effacing.

“I'll sleep. Don't look so worried. You should be used to me by now.””

As he spoke he half rose, kicked his boots off against the foot of the bed and started on his jacket. The man moved as if still in a dream and his fingers fumbled with the brass buttons. Horatio came to his aid without being asked. Archie shied minutely from the the man's deft touch and Horatio could feel him steeling himself not to protest as he was undressed down to his undershirt.

Silence fell like a reverie induced by their proximity to each other, broken only by Archie's congested breathing. He did not meet Horatio's eye and turned even further away when ticklish coughing overtook him again.

“Hmm. Definitely catching cold, on top of everything else.” Horatio thought out loud.

Archie shrugged, sniffling back congestion to murmur, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Come on, get under the covers. I'll have them send you up some tea.”

“I- thank you.”

Archie did so and there he remained quiet for the rest of the evening. He managed to drink the tea, laced with a dash of brandy that made him splutter, then true to his prediction fell back into the heavy, drugged-seeming sleep which usually followed a seizure.

Horatio did not find rest so easy to come by. As twilight darkened into night he lit a lamp, a maid came up and stoked the fire to a bright glow and he sat in its glow, trying to read. The rain began again. It came in fickle flurries that waxed and waned as they were buffeted by the whims of the sea breeze. Again and again the noise drew Horatio's attention from the page and left him staring first into the middle distance and then at his sleeping companion. Archie had turned his face to the wall and was snoring softly. His breathing sounded hoarse and painful and every so often he would snuffle himself into half-waking only to relax again.

Lieutenant Hornblower listened to those sounds for a long time, nursing a sympathetic ache in his chest at every sound of discomfort. Eventually the lamp burned low, the fire was nothing but hot coals and the mounting shadows made even the pretence of the reading impossible. Only then did Horatio change into his own nightshirt and climb into the other bed. Sleep took a very long time to reach him.

* * * * *

Horatio Hornblower did not know how long he had slept, only that something had awakened him.

The rented room was dark when he woke and the red glow in the grate provided a little heat but only the barest suggestion of light, such that room appeared in shades of black and crimson. His eyes and mind adjusted to the strange room at the same time and he realised what had woken him- the sound of the man in the next bed first crying out and now coughing convulsively.

“Archie-? Archie, are you alright?”

Hortaio looked over at the next bed and the huddled shape under the sheets. After a moment his friend rolled over to look at him, his head half-shrouded under the covers for warmth. Mister Kennedy was awake, then, but breathing as though he'd been running. His hair was mussed and his face pale, eyes ringed with shadow. Evidently he hadn't slept as well as Horatio had hoped.

“Mmhm?” Archie made a thick, uncomfortable little noise as he spluttered his throat clear.

“You were thrashing about.”

The man shifted. His voice was painfully hoarse. “I'b sorry, Horatio. I didn't mean to wake you. I think I was dreaming and then I-”

Archie paused, breath suddenly shivering. His every feature gathered in a quick, ticklish grimace and hung there until broken by a gasp of surprise as he shuddered with sneezes directed down towards the mattress.

““---hh! …iih’KFFSCH! --- iih'KFFSCh!--HFFSCHuh!”

“God bless you.” Horatio winced.

Archie tried to smile, tried to sniff and then just doubled into his cupped hands again. “uh-HFFSHu!...”

“And God bless you again.”

“I'b sorry. Excuse be.” Archie tried to blow his nose but only started coughing once more. He managed to splutter out “do we have any water?”

“Of course. Let me-”

Kicking himself for not having thought of it before, Horatio rose and filled a glass. He sat on the edge of Archie's bed to offer it and drew back the covers to take a better look at his friend.

At first Archie Kennedy drew back from the incursion of colder air then he breathed deeply in relief and tugged at the collar of his nightshirt. Horatio did not like the waxy cast of his skin at all.

“May I?”

He placed a hand on Archie's forehead, trying to gauge something. It was warm and moist with sweat but was it too warm? A quick comparison with his own dry cheek was not conclusive. The man had his head under the blankets after all. Damn it all, Horatio didn't know how to do this. He was more comfortable with a musket in his hand.

“Do you feel feverish?”

Archie considered, and then shrugged and shook his head. “I don't think so.”

Sitting up, his knees were raised to his chest and his blonde head rested on them as though he was too tired to hold it up. Under the white shirt his back kicked in and out with accelerated breathing, gradually slowing until the only movements were the tight runs of shivers that made his whole thin body shake. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew in closer, eying Horatio's own thin shirt as he asked-

“Aren't you cold?”

Horatio shook his head. “I think it's just you.”

He could only watch his friend shiver for a moment longer before his expression softened. “You look dreadful. Come here.”

Horatio rearranged the covers and swung his legs around so that he was the right way on the bed, half propped on one elbow with his head at the pillow end near Archie's own.

Those blue eyes were wide and surprised in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“You're taking ill and you won't sleep while you're shivering like that. I'm warm. Lie down.”

He actually had to give the man a gentle shove to get him to settle back on the bed. Even then he felt Archie wincing away from him, turning his head from Horatio's gaze and into the pillow as though afraid to look at him. Perhaps there was no wonder. It was difficult for Archie to trust to touch, even to friendly touch; Horatio had learned that when they were in prison.

“It's alright. It's only me, Archie, I won't hurt you.” Horatio tried to reassure him.

Archie did not relax. On the contrary he suddenly flipped over to present Horatio with his back, shoulders tense and drawn away from any contact.

“No-” he murmured. “I have... to...”

Horatio could almost hear the irritated squint taking over Archie's face, the ticklish twitch of his nose as prepared to- “--hh! Hd'CHsch!-CHSch!-CHsshhuh!”

He felt the tight quake of the man's shoulders as he seized into the handkerchief again and again. The sound was thick and congested and finished with a useless attempt to blow his blocked nose.

At length Archie resurfaced somewhat, enough to offer a hoarse. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. God bless you.”

But the sneezing must have startled Archie into wakefulness again and he refused to be soothed. “Horatio... you won't get any sleep if you stay here with me. Besides you might catch this.”

“I doubt it.” Horatio considered. “But I don't think turning over will make much difference at this point. We shared a berth all the way home. Do you want me to stay here?”

A pause. Archie Kennedy's voice was hesitant in the dark.

“I- Yes. Please. It's just-” He coughed. He was all but in Horatio's arms and yet his voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away. Perhaps from back in prison or from earlier times still. Horatio remembered how they were both relentlessly bullied on their first voyage together. He had shaken it off, but he doubted that Archie had. The words seemed to be coming from the mouth of the seventeen year old Horatio had met all those years ago, bloody and beaten and shaken by seizures in the night.

“-I'm tired of this. The fits, catching ill again. I don't mean to-”

He sneezed again suddenly, a ticklish, exhausted “ngkTSCH!” buried wetly into the crook of his arm. He let it serve as the end of his statement and simply sighed.

When Mister Kennedy kept his face averted, Horatio drew closer. It was only partially to offer his warmth. The tired, pained sound at the end of that sneeze ignited a curious magnetism in Horatio's chest that wouldn't be satisfied until he lay as close as he could be, with his breast pressed to Archie's back and their knees awkwardly touching. His face was buried in the nape of the man's neck and his next words were addressed to the blonde curls behind Archie's ear. He could feel his lips brushing cloth and flesh when they moved.

“You nearly starved to death, then half-drowned. Now you're under the weather. Is that really a surprise? None of that was your fault.”

The tenderness in his own voice surprised him.

Archie's shoulders shook, fractionally. He drew a tight, shuddering little sniffle which might have been related his cold and might not; one quick hiccupping sob, swiftly quelled. And because Acting Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower had no idea what to do about this, he lay quite still and counted the man's breath in and out. He never did know what to do when someone bared their soul to him.

The sickness, that he could handle. He wasn't much of a nurse but that at least he could help, and if that caring soothed some other pain for both of them, some ache that was present in him too, that was mystifyingly, intensely Archie, then that was to the good.

It didn't take long now for Archie to fall asleep, leaning back into Horatio's warmth. His breathing gradually stilled to a steady, not unpleasant snore that made Horatio fancy Archie's nose would be a burden to him come the morning. For now, though, he slept, and Horatio did the same.

END.

[marryat92]

I'm now finished with Peter Simple, which was a strong early Marryat novel, and far more polished than anything he wrote in his early career except for my problematic fave Frank Mildmay. (I absolutely adore that book and think reviewers never give it enough praise; please please talk to me about Frank Mildmay.)

Peter Simple is not autobiographical in the way that Frank Mildmay is, but it clearly takes inspiration and plot points from Frederick Marryat's real life. There are the now-familiar naval battles on the Mediterranean coast and prize-taking of the late Napoleonic wars (with a Lord Cochrane expy called Captain Savage), and much time is spent in the West Indies.

Both books are written in first person POV by the title character, which I think helps to keep Marryat's fourth wall-breaking habits in check. Peter Simple starts out as comically naive, but as time passes he becomes remarkably more competent and worldly-wise. He learns to stand up for himself without being arrogant or overbearing. Frank Mildmay, on the other hand, is a spiteful, jealous, and obnoxious brat from day one, as much as he whines about being corrupted by his naval service. (It's obvious that Marryat regretted making his most autobiographical character such a rogue, and he expressed plans to re-write Frank Mildmay although he never followed through.)

Whereas the reader is well aware of Frank Mildmay's beauty, humble Peter Simple doesn't dwell on his appearance. Most of what we know about his looks is that he makes for a very pretty girl, and young Peter attracts a lot of attention when disguised in female clothing. Mildmay and Simple are probably equally emotional— which is to say very emotional. They both have a habit of responding with tears when someone is kind to them after an ordeal. (I honestly love this depth of feeling in Marryat heroes.)

In a way, Frank Mildmay and Peter Simple read like different fictional versions of their author: scoundrel Byronic hero Marryat, and wholesome himbo Marryat. (Peter even gets a hated older brother named Tom, just like Frank! R.I.P. “Tom,” always getting killed off.) While Peter Simple predates Marryat’s acquaintance with Charles Dickens by almost a decade, it feels satisfyingly Dickensian in that a number of minor characters return at the end of the book with happy resolutions to their stories. (The opposite of The King’s Own, which appears to set up redemption arcs only to kill everyone off.)

I prefer Frank Mildmay as a character to Peter Simple, but Peter Simple the novel was more informative about day-to-day life in the early 19th century Royal Navy. Both books have an axe to grind about the unfair promotion of unqualified officers with powerful connections, even as their heroes benefit from “interest.” Mildmay is the son of a man “of considerable property” who secures him a place as a midshipman, and Peter Simple is the grandson of a character literally named Lord Privilege.

Another interesting point of comparison between Frank Mildmay and Peter Simple is the treatment of illegitimate children. The philandering Frank is shook by the tragedy of his illegitimate son Eugenio, and he’s almost murdered by the Bahamian girl living in “familiar intercourse” with him. It’s perhaps surprising that wholesome Peter Simple encounters a more positive representation of illegitimacy. The boatswain Mr. Chucks is proud to be the illegitimate son of a first lieutenant: “I had rather be the bye-blow of a gentleman, than the ‘gitimate offspring of a boatswain and his wife. There’s no chance of good blood in your veins in the latter instance, whereas, in the former you may have stolen a drop or two.” 

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Who’s That Earl by Susanna Craig

Love and Let Spy #1

 From the West Indies where Lieutenant Thomas Sutherland  hid his spying as a rummy beach bum to England then sent on by his commander to take up his new post as the Earl of Magnus he is not sure what to think or whether he will remain the earl or head back to spying. That said, seeing the woman he fell hard for seven years before does make him think it is worth staying awhile at the castle. That she might be in danger calls to his need to protect. The two still feel a spark but can they get it right this time?

 What I liked:

* Thomas: a good soldier, spy, and man – he knows he wants Jane but isn’t one to push or order and lets her realize she wants him, too.

* Jane: a woman w ho was treated badly by her family – I liked her ability to make a life for herself under difficult circumstances

* The supporting characters in the village – would like to know more about some of them.

* General Zebediah Scott – a great commander with an interest in matchmaking

* Aphrodite and Athena: two dogs that deserved to be happy, too.

* The second chance for Thomas and Jane – though I didn’t really feel their connection as much as I would have liked to.

* The comeuppance of Jane’s father

* Knowing that there will be another match made by General Scott in book two of the series

 What I did not like:

* Jane’s parents – especially her father

* The person sending threatening letters

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

 Thank you to NetGalley and Kensington-Lyrical Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 3-4 Stars

  BLURB

 Miss Jane Quayle excels at invention. How else could the sheltered daughter of an English gentleman create lurid gothic novels so infamous someone wants their author silenced forever? Fortunately, Jane has taken steps to protect herself, first by assuming a pen name, and second, by taking up residence at remote Dunnock Castle, surrounded by rugged scenery that might have been ripped from the pages of one of her books. Her true identity remains a secret, until one dark and stormy night... After years of spying for the British army, Thomas Sutherland doubts the Highlands will ever feel like home again. Nevertheless, thanks to a quirk of Scottish inheritance law, he's now the Earl of Magnus, complete with a crumbling castle currently inhabited by a notorious novelist. When the writer turns out to be the woman Thomas once wooed, suspicions rise even as mutual sparks reignite. As danger closes in, can Jane and Thomas overcome their pasts to forge a future together?

[uss-edsall]

For some time Pope’s 3-inch “peashooter” on the fantail was still firing at the hovering cruiser floatplanes when it could; this briefly held them at bay. Even the 4-inch guns, which had almost no real AA capabilities, were fired intermittently. This was good for the gun crew’s spirits, if nothing else. Soon enough, however, the scout planes recognized the old destroyer’s lack of defensive firepower and swung around to approach the ship from head-on, thereby negating the stern-mounted 3-inch gun’s firing arcs. They made twelve glide-bombing attacks—two by each plane—dropping their 60 kg bombs singly as they came in from the starboard bow. Pope was only able to fire on these flights with two of her .50 cal. machine guns and with three 1918-vintage Lewis guns as Blinn directed evasive action. Joe Sam Sisk recalled Lieutenant Antrim lying “flat on his back” on the deck looking up through his binoculars during attacks, doing what he could to help Blinn conn the ship. Nonetheless, the Japanese pilots were determined, and the ship’s weak AA defenses made her an easy target. The third attacker placed a bomb “close aboard off the port bow,” which peppered topside personnel with shards, wounding two men on gun number 1. This bomb also sent a fragment through the rangefinder, tearing a four-inch hole in it. Other explosions were of very low order and caused almost no real damage but left chunks of metal strewn over the upper deck. On the next-to-last attack, however, Pope’s luck finally ran out. On this, the eleventh attack, the biplane dropped its bomb accurately enough. The near miss hit abreast the number four torpedo mount (to port aft) where it exploded underwater. The blast cracked the hull like an eggshell, springing plates “for a considerable length and threw the port shaft seriously out of line necessitating the stopping of the forward (port) engine because of the severe vibration set up at once.” Below in the fire room, Bill Penninger was rattled by this explosion like the others stationed in the engine spaces. With the alarming vibrations soon worsening due to the high RPMs the turbines were producing, the men realized that “it was literally shaking the ship to pieces. The decision was quickly determined to secure the port turbine.” However, the loss in speed only increased the ocean’s ingress. Water then began pouring into the living spaces aft through the torn shaft alley. Despite all efforts, which included stuffing mattresses into the holed compartment and starting all bilge pumps and any auxiliary pumps that could be jury-rigged, this flooding could not be contained. The ship was now moving sluggishly with an odd fishtailing motion. Her stern 3-inch/23 cal. AA gun was silent. The “peashooter” had at last expired like a good warrior with the stubby barrel literally falling out of its slide onto the deck. Pope had also taken on a definite list, although to starboard, the result of a radical turn to avoid the last glide-bombing attack. In making that hard turn the ship had heeled over to starboard, and as Jack Michel recalled, “There we remained.” Pope never righted herself. In this precarious orientation she continued for some time, losing momentum and attempting clumsily on one engine to elude what came next: the level bombing attacks from Ryūjō’s Type 97 kanko.

In the Highest Degree Tragic: The Sacrifice of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet in the East Indies during World War II, by Donald M. Kehn

[goldistrash]

Indie, Semi Selective AU Tony Stark RP blog. This is a side blog, so mutual status is… wonky.

     Tony Stark is Iron Man, with no secret identity. He’s CEO and Head of R&D of Stark Industries, recently pulled out of weapons manufacturing and investing in tech and energy development. Stark Industries is an Internationally successful company, and Tony was a household name before Iron Man (though not entirely because of his deeds as a business man).

Early Life...

      For most of Tony’s early life, he was seen as a party playboy. Most of his life is chronicled in magazines and tabloids across the country in some less than flattering spreads. Typical lonely rich boy troubles, Tony didn’t get along with his father though he adored his mother. Though his father and mother weren’t particularly parental, he was raised by the family butler, Edwin Jarvis and his wife Ana Jarvis. He loved them dearly.

      He went to boarding school at seven where he met Tiberius Stone, who became his sometimes friend sometimes rival. At the age of 14 he was accepted into MIT where he met his best friend, James Rhodes, before graduating with several degrees.

Inheriting an Empire...

      When he was 18, his parents died in a terrible car crash, leaving him the sole heir to the Stark Empire. Tony balked at the responsibility at first, leaving the business empire in the CFO’s hands while he traveled the world for the next few years. When Tony turned 21 he officially inherited the company and his trust, and though he still was afraid of the responsibility, one of his experiences changed him and made him realize he needed to face this life head on.

      Though he would keep his reputation as a risk taking party boy, Tony tried to step up as the CEO of Stark Industries. He moved his home and the SI HQ to California, wanting to be close to the inevitable machinery and software boom he was sure would be happening. Possibly an unintentional echo of his father’s move to LA back in the late 40s in the pursuit of the growing cinema industry, Tony’s relocation of the SI headquarters was a much bigger success.  Over the next decade or so, Tony pushed SI into even bigger heights.

      Eccentric and seemingly content to ignore most of society’s rules, many people attributed SI’s success to Tony’s brilliant inventions and work in Research and Development.  And though it was true that Tony did prefer inventing and ideas over handling meetings and board rooms, he was by no means an inept business man. Knowing his flaws, Tony hired Virginia Potts as his personal assistant, and she was there where Tony wasn’t, and eventually became a close personal friend of Tony’s.

Going Down...

      Tony, though labeled a playboy, would more accurately be called a serial monogamist. Though he did have many relationships, most of them were of the steady variety. One such girlfirend was Sunset Bain.

      Sunset Bain was the daughter of Baintronics and Tony fell in love with her. He was trying to turn his image around, he was taking responsibility for his family’s legacy, he was committed to his girlfriend–even considering proposing to her. However, Sunset betrayed Tony by stealing company secrets for the benefit of Baintronics. Though Tony could’ve afforded the lawsuit, he didn’t pursue legal action, it’s unknown why.

     Instead, he seemed to drop deeper into his public persona. Though he’d been pretty straight laced with Sunset in the picture, without her Tony returned to public partying and salacious tabloid spreads, perhaps with a vengeance. He kept a grip on his company, but he hit a low period in his life.

Iron Man Origins...

     With the US in a(nother) new conflict on the rise and Tony’s reputation sinking (again) he was forced to put on more of a pony show than usual, planning a demonstration in person. This demonstration was the start of Tony’s journey as Iron Man. His convey home was attacked and his chest was damaged by shrapnel. He was taken captivity, where the Arc Reactor was inserted in his chest by Ho Yinsen, to keep him alive. Sometime during captivity, he built a proto-ironman armor and escaped.

     Once he returned to the states, he shut down SI’s weapons manufacturing, cut ties with the military and announced his new green energy initiative, though this caused a temporary falling out with long time friend Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes of the Air Force and Stark Industries stock to plummet. At this time, he finished the Iron Man Armor.

     An altercation featuring Iron Man occurred near one the SI plants, in which Iron Man battled another hulking iron figure, undoubtedly saving many lives. In the related press conference, Tony Stark admitted to piloting the Iron Man armour, and expressed his resolve to stick by his previous statements about SI’s direction. Supporting this, a company wide cleaning was held, and many senior members of Stark Industries retired early, with the exception of Obadiah Stane SI CFO, who was killed in an airplane crash.

Now...

     Tony goes on missions as Iron Man, mostly American-Based missions, coordinating with Police and Firemen to help in extraordinary situations.  Though he no longer makes weapons for the military, he has accepted defense and medical contracts. Since his company’s new direction, he has started several new charities and scholarship, and has announced his plans for renewing the Stark Expo.

     Tony Stark is Iron Man, 42 years old. He loves engineering, machines, loud music, space and discovery. He drinks a lot of green shakes.  He wants to do better in the world.

[flashthescalesian-art]

That awkward moment when you’re designing an OC’s arm tattoos and realize you drew the arm he actually no longer has because he’s an amputee. It’s not a big deal since he had the same tat on both arms anyway but yeah

[topbeautifulwomens]

#Richard #Burgi #family #jewelry #makeuplooks #modelo #motivation #naturephotography #rap #singer #viral #youtube

ICHARD was born on July 30, 1958 in Montclair, New Jersey. He is married to Lori Kahn, and they have two sons, Jack and Samuel.

For Richard, a strong interest in music and theater is in his blood. His parents and three siblings were interested in the performing arts and the Burgi home was a fertile environment.

Richard recalls, “…my brother and I had a detective agency when we were kids. We were really enamuch mored with these kids’ novels, the Brains Benton series. They’re rather obscure. They were, I guess, a thinking boys’ alternative to the Hardy Boys. Not that the Hardy Boys were idiots. But, I mean, these were really wildly constructed stories that these two junior detectives went through. So he and I had fashioned ourselves after Brains Benton and his partner, and had a laboratory and all these Erlenmeyer flasks – beakers and condensers. And we’d make this and boil that. And we had gunpowder, and we’d light fires in the basement. And it was total insanity. But the final straw, as far as my parents were concerned, was when… well, the house caught on fire one day. It got messy. So we had to retire early.”

After finishing school, Richard traveled throughout the U.S. and Europe. Though a career in acting was always one of Richard’s goals, it took a while for the goal to become a reality.

He finally ended up in New York City and began studying acting and gaining acting experience with commercials and cameos, which led to regular roles on several daytime dramas.

When Richard left Days of Our Lives, the co-executive producer said “Richard has such amazing timing, whether dramatic or comedic.”

A move to Los Angeles allowed him to read for different types of roles. A recurring role as Lane Cassidy in Viper led to a lead role in One West Waikiki with Cheryl Ladd.

His character, Mack Wolfe, was a man fighting demons, struggling to become a hero. “I think it was organic in that way to take him in that direction, because I think to watch people struggle through their dark ingredients is appealing. Going through it and out and up into a joyful, winning, positive, light area is appealing… and the possibility of sliding back.”

As Jim Ellison in The Sentinel, Richard played “a champion of the light, of the good, that’s where he is, that’s where I am in some way.”

Richard has been keeping busy since The Sentinel ceased production in 1998, beginning with a guest spot on the popular CBS drama Touched By An Angel as well as appearing on E! Entertainment TV’s Celebrity Homes feature. His character in the pilot of the short-lived 1999 FOX comedy, Action — action movie star Cole Riccardi — came back for a second appearance in the show’s controversial fourth episode, “Blowhard.” Richard guested on a 1999-2000 season episode of NBC’s comedy Veronica’s Closet as Veronica’s new beau Mark, as well as an episode of the popular NBC drama Providence as Dr. J.D. Scanlon. He also filmed a Fall 2000 episode of NBC’s Just Shoot Me, appearing as action hero Robert “The Nomad” Gallatin, and joined the recurring cast of the hit CBS drama, The District, in the role of Captain Vincent Hunter. He also appeared as the ill-fated Paul Donovan in the March 18th, 2001 ABC/Wonderful World of Disney feature “Bailey’s Mistake,” opposite Linda Hamilton .

Fall 2001 located Richard in the new FOX drama, 24, playing the part of Alan York/Kevin Carroll in the Golden Globe-winning drama’s first season. In addition to filming his eleven-episode story arc on 24, Richard entired filming the new “indie” feature film, “Wheelmen,” playing former hotshot ambulance driver, Nick Torino. “Wheelmen” is currently awaiting a distributor. Richard joined the recurring cast of the CBS drama Judging Amy in Spring 2002, playing the part of Judge Amy (Amy Brenneman) Gray’s ex-husband, Michael Cassidy. He spent most of May and June with the Matrix Theatre Company’s production of the Neil Landau-written “Johnny On The Spot,” playing dual roles, Fred and Sy. After appearing at the 42nd Monte Carlo Television Festival (July 1-6) in Monaco, Richard rejoined his “Johnny On The Spot” castmates for the July 20th Los Angeles finale.

Richard brought in Fall 2002 with an appearance in the season premiere of Judging Amy, once again in the role of Amy’s ex-husband, Michael. Head writer Barbara Hall revealed that the custody dispute between Michael and Amy would be a continuing theme throughout the season, which proved to be the case with three of his four episodes: “Lost in the System,” “People of the Lie,” and “The Best Interests of the Child” all dealt with and finally resolved the custody issue, while the most recent — “Marry, Marry Quite Contrary” — showed Michael and Amy as friends who still care for each other. In addition to his continuing association with Judging Amy, Richard returned to CBS’s The District in two episodes, appearing once more as Captain Hunter in “The Second Man” and “Good-bye, Jenny.” He has also filmed an episode of the “most watched” CBS show, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, playing paragliding instructor Rick Weston in “High and Low,” which aired December 12th. Richard closed out 2002 playing Lieutenant Womack in “The Message,” one of the final episodes of the FOX network’s Firefly, a sci-fi series from Joss Whedon, producer of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Though FOX decided to cancel Firefly before airing all of the contracted episodes, the show was temporarily snatched up by the syndication market; “The Message” aired on the UK Sci Fi Channel in July 2003.

Richard ushered in 2003 with his most recent episodes of Judging Amy and The District, and worked with producer Chris Thompson (Action) on a new pilot for the WB Network. The new show, a comedy titled Trash, was described as “Romeo and Juliet set in a trailer park,” with Richard playing Bud Blue, father of teenager Luna — the show’s Juliet. Unfortunately, Trash was not picked up by the WB for the Fall season.

In addition to his television work, Richard spent part of March and April in Ottawa, Canada, where he joined the cast of the Matt Hastings-directed “Decoys” as Detective Francis Kirk. Hastings described the movie as “‘American Pie’ meets ‘Species'” — a tongue-in-cheek sci-fi thriller set on a college campus. Next up was the long-awaited sequel to “Starship Troopers,” titled “Starship Troopers 2: Hero of the Federation,” from producer Jon Davison, director Phil Tippett, and writer Ed Neumeier. Richard leads the cast as the “hero” mentioned in the title — a tough trooper named Captain V.J. Dax. Principal photography ran from May 14th through June 20th. The film premiered on the Encore Action Channel, part of the Starz! group of Cable channels, on April 24th, 2004, with DVD release starting in May.

Richard enjoyed a brief flirtation with summer vacation, but was at work on “Jack’s Back,” the Fall 2003 season premiere episode of The District by mid-July, after which he headed to Sofia, Bulgaria to shoot “Darklight,” a sci-fi thriller designed by UFO Films for the Sci Fi Channel’s 2004-05 roster of original features. The ���Darklight” shoot ran from July 28th through August 20th. The last quarter of 2003 proved to be just as busy, with additional episodes of The District as well as a role in “Cellular,” a thriller from New Line Cinema starring Kim Basinger, William. H. Macy, Chris Evans and Jason Statham. Richard played Craig Martin, husband of Basinger’s character Jessica. Cellular premiered in theaters on September 10th ’04.

February 2004 found Richard once again at work on a major feature film — “In Her Shoes” from Fox 2000 and 20th Century Fox. The dramatic comedy stars Cameron Diaz (Maggie), Toni Collette (Rose), and Shirley MacLaine (Ella), with Richard playing the part of Rose’s love ’em and leave ’em cad of a boyfriend, Jim Danvers. The film is expected to premiere in 2005.

While waiting to film his remaining scenes for “In Her Shoes,” Richard worked on Point Pleasant, the pilot for a new “superall-natural” dramatic series. From producer Marti Noxon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame, and 20th Century Fox Television, Point Pleasant has been described as “a kinder, gentler ‘Rosemary’s Baby,'” and “a cross between Peyton Place and ‘The Omen.'” Richard plays Dr. Ben Kramer, a fortysomething husband and father whose family takes in the show’s lead character, a mysterious young girl who washes up on the beach one day.

Point Pleasant was given a 12-episode order (13 including the pilot, portions of which have been re-shot) in late August ’04 and went into production in San Diego in November. FOX launched the show on January 19th and 20th at 9:00pm as a two-part premiere, with 9:00pm Thursday becoming its official timeslot following The O.C.

May 2004 found Richard in New Orleans working on a film for Lifetime Television titled “Torn Apart.” The thriller stars Tia Carrere as Vicki Westin, Dale Midkiff as Jerry Bender, and Richard Burgi as Billy Westin, and premiered in late September ’04. Tia Carrere plays a doctor whose husband (Burgi) and daughter are kidnapped by a man (Midkiff) whose wife and daughter Dr. Vicki Westin couldn’t save. Instead of a ransom, Jerry Bender demands that Vicki decide on whether her husband or daughter will die.

Richard brought in Fall 2004 with a guest role on the new ABC series Desperate Housewives, where he played Karl Mayer, the philandering ex-husband of series star Teri Hatcher’s Susan Mayer. Next came a five-week shoot on the new Jim Carrey comedy, “Fun with Dick and Jane.” The film, a remake of the 1977 original starring Jane Fonda and George Segal, stars Jim Carrey and Tea Leoni as Dick and Jane Harper. The Harpers are a young couple who turn to a life of crime to pay the bills after Dick loses his job. Richard plays a new character, Joe Kleman (we’re uncertain of the exact surname spelling). The movie is slated for a June 2005 release in the USA.

The last quarter of 2004 saw Richard working on a second episode of ABC’s breakout hit, Desperate Housewives, before starting production on his new FOX series, Point Pleasant. The episode of Desperate Housewives, “Move On,” premiered just over a week before Point Pleasant launched on FOX. Richard also filmed an episode of ABC’s midseason drama Eyes sometime in late 2004, roughly concurrent with his work on Desperate Housewives. The Eyes role was intended as a recurring character, but Richard’s commitment to Point Pleasant prevented his continued involvement with the show.

The first quarter of 2005 found Richard still hard at work on Point Pleasant. Though FOX decided to cancel the show in late March with five episodes unaired, 20th Century Fox kept the show in production and finished all thirteen episodes. With the complete season available for broadcast, Point Pleasant aired in a variety of international markets. FOX later released a Complete Series DVD boxed set, as was done with Firefly. Late March found Richard being featured in launch promos for ABC’s Eyes, which premiered on March 30th. (Sadly, ABC pulled the show before Richard’s episode could be aired).

The second quarter of 2005 saw Richard finishing the last episodes of Point Pleasant in mid April and, roughly a week later, returning to Wisteria Lane and Desperate Housewives, where he took part in the season finale episode, “One Wonderful Day.” As it turned out, the finale appearance also served to reintroduce the character to viewers — by July, Richard would be confirmed as a series regular for Fall 2005. Richard started a six week feature film shoot in Shanghai, China in mid-June, where he worked on “Shanghai Red,” a joint venture between MAR de ORO Films and Shanghai Film Studios. Richard costars with Vivian Wu, whose husband Oscar L. Costo is the writer, director, and producer of the film. Richard plays an expatriate American named Michael Johnson. As described for us by Oscar Costo, “‘Shanghai Red’ is a dramatic film about the journey of a young, modern Shanghai mother Meili Zhu (Vivian Wu) who suffers the loss of her husband and how she comes to terms with her state of depression. In her murderous journey of revenge, Meili meets Michael Johnson (Richard Burgi), an expatriate American from Chicago escaping his own dark past. Even though Michael’s motives for being with Meili are originally laced with deception, he ultimately finds hope, love and honor through her.”

Late July 2005 found Richard home from China and once again at work on Desperate Housewives, this time as a series regular. As suspected, Karl spent the Fall 2005 season stirring up trouble on Wisteria Lane by becoming romantically involved with neighborhood vamp, Edie Britt (Nicollette Sheridan) while still pining after ex-wife Susan (Teri Hatcher). By the end of the season, Karl had secretly remarried Susan to provide her with medical insurance coverage while still stringing Edie along with a sham engagement. He had also been hired by Bree (Marcia Cross) to serve as her lawyer in her son Andrew’s emancipation case. Richard’s work as Karl was often mentioned in the press as a highlight of the season. Sadly, a reorganization of the Desperate Housewives production and writing staff led to a reprioritizing of storylines for the Fall 2006 season, which led to Karl being sidelined and essentially excised from the ongoing saga.

While waiting for news of his fate on Desperate Housewives, Richard spent the summer of 2006 working on movies and making public appearances. “Firestorm: Last Stand at Yellowstone,” a telemovie for A&E, was filmed in May in British Columbia, Canada. After a quick June trip to Rhode Island and the Newport International Film Festival, Richard was once again in Canada — Ontario, this time — to work on “In God’s Country” for CTV and Lifetime TV. August found Richard at the All*Star Cup charity golf tournament in Newport, Wales, and by October, he was hard at work in Prague, Czech Republic, on “Hostel: Part II,” the sequel to Eli Roth’s horror blockbuster “Hostel.” In addition to “Hostel: Part II,” Richard filmed a short scene for a Sweeps episode of Desperate Housewives, “Children and Art,” which has been his last appearance on the show to date.

2007 found Richard working on a mix of television guest spots and movies, beginning with three back-to-back episodes of NBC’s Las Vegas, which were filmed in January and aired in late February and March. A fourth Las Vegas episode — the conclusion of the previous season’s cliff-hanger finale — was filmed in May, after which Richard was once more Canada-bound for another movie role. “Thomas Kinkade’s Home for Christmas,” scheduled for a Christmas 2008 release, found Richard playing Bill Kinkade, father of famous American painter Thomas Kinkade. Richard filmed an episode of the CBS legal drama Shark in July, playing an unscrupulous plastic surgeon. The episode, “Eye of the Beholder,” aired October 7th.

Richard’s last role before the WGA (Writers Guild of America) strike effectively shut down television production for the rest of the year was in ABC’s Big Shots, playing billionaire adrenaline junkie Gavin Carter. The episode, “The Way We Weren’t,” aired November 29th.

Thus far, 2008 has gotten off to a slow start for Richard, due largely to the strike-related industry shutdown. He filmed a commercial for the 2008 Cadillac DTS DeVille Touring Sedan in mid-January which, as of mid-February, has yet to premiere. Now that the WGA strike has been resolved and television production resumed, Richard and his peers should soon be back at work.

Right now, Richard cherishes his time with his family. Marriage and fatherhood agree with him; in fact, they “changed my life around,” he says. “I’m more in love than I’ve ever been. I can’t imagine anything that surpasses this.”

Time with family dovetails beautifully with Richard’s other loves — music, surfing, nature and bird-watching. Richard is the proud owner of a vintage Buddy Miles drum-set and enjoys playing it whenever possible; during a Spring 1999 appearance on Access Hollywood, he revealed that get-togethers in the Burgi household often turn into impromptu concerts, with adults grabbing instruments and children singing along.

An enthusiastic surfer and nature lover, Richard spends as much time outdoors as possible, either at the beach or hiking through the hills with his family. Introducing his sons to the natural world is an added pleasure. He feels a strong connection to nature and is an advocate of environmental protection and preservation.

Richard was involved for a time with the Yellowstone Ecological Survey,an organization devoted to educating the public on the delicate Yellowstone ecosystem. The Bozeman, Montana-based organization is best known for its part in the reintroduction of wolves to the Yellowstone ecosystem. Richard now supports the work of the Surfrider Foundation, a San Clemente, CA – based organization which works to protect and preserve shoreline and coastal environments. “Life comes and goes, and I think we require to save our planet and not hurt it,” he explains. “I like to be proactive, but at the same time I like to work in a grass roots way and impact my environment as best I can.”

Richard is also an avid bird-watcher, an interest he discovered as a ten-year-old. Sharp-eyed viewers of The Sentinel may have noticed a variety of bird-watching books and framed bird prints scattered throughout Ellison’s Loft; many, if not all, belong to Richard or were selected by him. Perhaps the most noticeable is a National Audubon Society print on the wall of Jim’s bedroom.

Richard’s interest in and commitment to preserving the environment for future generations, his preference for “grass roots” work, and his passion for and devotion to the sea and the marine mammals common to the waters of his California home led him to the Pacific Marine Mammal Center, a Laguna Beach, CA – based, volunteer-run and funded organization which tends to the needs of sick or injured seals, sea lions, and other marine mammals. The RBFC is delighted to join Richard in his support of and interest in the Pacific Marine Mammal Center.

Name Richard Burgi Height 6' 1½” Naionality American Date of Birth 30 July 1958 Place of Birth Montclair, New Jersey, USA Famous for

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[festivalists]

Truth and dare

With Rahul Jain's MACHINES (2017) premiering at Sundance and Sanal Kumar Sasidharan's SEXY DURGA – at IFFR, this year has been marked by daring, different, truly independent cinema from India. BUDDHA.mov (2017), Kabir Mehta's much-awaited full-length debut selected for Tallinn Black Nights' First Feature Competition, puts a finishing touch on the festival season, and promises there is more to come. Yoana Pavlova asks the questions.

According to his Instagram profile, Buddhadev Mangaldas is a “Cricketer - Movie star - Luxury Real Estate Entrepreneur.” Initially titled BUDDHA.gram, just like that same Instagram username, Kabir Mehta's feature explores all these roles and parts of the Goa celebrity, yet soon the narrative spills over Facebook, Tinder, YouTube, Google, and even the real world. Sex as fitness routine, fitness routine as social media flux, social media flux as reality TV – it all molds into a .mov file, where the hand-held camera functions as a cursor and Buddha's pixelated eye sets a different order of meanings.

From BAD LIEUTENANT (1992) and ACTOR MARTINEZ (2016) to the Kardashians, Kabir Mehta's work easily accommodates visual, even gestural analogies, thus viewers are free to choose their own path of interpretation, or enlightenment. And when the glaring surface of Indian's high life meets the political nuances of the caste system, similarly to the director's highly acclaimed short SADHU IN BOMBAY (2016), it is the Western audience in the privileged position of weighting on, but don't worry – BUDDHA.mov has something to say about this too.

Yoana Pavlova: With the success of your short SADHU IN BOMBAY (2016), the term docu-fiction is already part of your portfolio, how do you relate to it? In BUDDHA.mov, you seem to follow up on the same premise – part documentary, part home video, part reality show, part desktop film à la Kevin B. Lee – what attracted you to this genre once again?

Kabir Mehta: Off late, I have realized that my approach to filmmaking has become one that questions the process itself. Not only am I interested in who or what is being watched, but also in who is doing the watching and how. There is something very exciting and real about messing up documentary with fiction. In BUDDHA.mov, this approach seemed even more fitting. The film explores the relationship between Buddha’s real and digital self… and as such, the form needed to represent this. It’s funny, though, that you mention Kevin B. Lee. Having never gone to film school, most of what I have learnt has been through material available online... a majority of which happened to be video essays by Kevin. The really great thing is that I met Kevin at the European Media Art Festival, where he was on the jury, and gave SADHU IN BOMBAY an award. Totally surreal moment!

YP: As we learn from the film, Buddha was apparently famous both in sports and on social media at the time you started filming him, what did it mean to him to be followed by a camera? To what degree would you say that the storyline is being catalyzed by your presence, by the very fact you were documenting the events?

KM: This is really interesting. When we started filming, Buddha was extremely excited to be in a film. To him, this was going to be an MTV-style documentary about the high-octane life of a sports star. In a way, for him the film was to become just another Instagram post. His knowledge of the visual medium often caught me by surprise – he seemed to know how to use it for maximum effect. This is when I would have to think to myself, is this really happening or is he putting it for me. It seemed to throw the very notion of film’s authorship up for contention. As filmmakers we assume our role as the author very easily. But now a new layer of tension seemed to emerge – the film that was in Buddha’s mind versus the one that was in mine. For a budding filmmaker like me, this was a tad mystifying, but it is what made it all the more fun.

YP: Among the many challenges of any docu-fiction production is the very organization of the material, what was the guiding motif while editing the footage? A three-part structure seems to emerge?

KM: I shot the film for close to a year and a half. But was putting it together as I went along. I would shoot for several days, go back to edit for a month, and get a sense of what I needed next. Then I would return to Goa and try to seek those moments and emotions out. It was this strange way of filmmaking where the editing dictated the shooting and vice-versa. It’s almost like I wasn’t trying to find pieces of the puzzle but create perfectly fitting new ones. Ultimately, however, the guiding motif was always the emotional arc of Buddha’s life. I was lucky to catch him in a transitional phase, with the highs and lows of almost a narrative film structure.

YP: Buddha is a personage we do not get to see very often on screen, especially in the arthouse or the indie scene. A wonderful commentary on contemporary masculinity and gender stereotypes, we gain insight into the personal life of a young man who, apart from the playboy cliché, can be also charming, sensitive, intelligent, preoccupied with public expectations. Could you please share your thoughts on the subject?

KM: To be honest, these preoccupations are more subconscious than anything else. It's almost in retrospect that these themes (which you have articulated so nicely) seem to emerge. But yes, broadly speaking, I find the depiction of gender and masculinity in contemporary cinema quite problematic. Even in arthouse films, gender politics inevitably gets boiled down to simplistic binaries, almost making it seem as if masculinity and vulnerability are separate, contradictory experiences. In BUDDHA.mov, I want to treat these experiences as one.

YP: BUDDHA.mov is a provocative take on today's mediatization of celebrity, and the autoeroticism of digital screens, yet it is like your own film is self-aware of the fact that it belongs to the same context. How do you see your role and responsibility as the person who actually manipulates images, thus creating this meta level of understanding?

KM: True, this is something I’m extremely guilty of as well. I am making a film about these themes and anxieties, but the film also has a Facebook page. We live in constant irony! The question of morality is a larger one, something that I’ve thought about a lot. At its most essential, cinema is an exploration of human condition. I feel that imposing my own moral codes would impede this exploration in the truest, most authentic way. I’d rather look at it like a child, free of judgement and fear, and go where my curiosities take me. I love that people are confronted with a moral dilemma when they watch the film – is this real? Is this staged? Do the people on camera know? Do they not? It’s in these grey murky waters that I want my films to live. Morality, I remember someone saying, makes for false cinema.

YP: Western audiences on the festival circuit would be most certainly tempted to project on your work their knowledge of buddhism, or of Bollywood cinema codes, yet how do you think that such a film would be accepted in India? Even with the local support you received already at Film Bazaar?

KM: There is no way this film could make it to an audience through the traditional theatrical system due to strict censorship rules. But what I am more curious about is how the film would be perceived, given that it doesn’t follow the tropes of even an arthouse Indian film. I’d like to believe there is an audience for it. Its reception at Film Bazaar has left me with a hopeful feeling.

[flashthescalesian-art]

Fuse: WHO THE KARK-  Indy: Whoa, language!  Fuse: I speak karking Basic!  Indy: ...

[flashthescalesian-art]

Shh, Loth Cat

After a skirmish, Indy is injured and waking up from anesthesia. Fuse comes to check on him. The normally calm, levelheaded ARC lieutenant is very much NOT levelheaded at the moment

Haven’t fully decided where this fits on my timeline for my major fic yet, but I thought it was funny, and it doesn’t spoil any major plot points, so XD

Don’t come at me for any potential medical inaccuracies please. It’s Star Wars, their medical stuff sometimes makes no sense anyways.

—————

“I don’t care! Where is he?!” 

Fuse winced as he heard his batchmate nearly shout when he entered the medbay. Dek turned from where he was tending a rather annoyed looking patient, a sympathetic but amused look on his face. “I have no idea what his problem is, but Patch can’t get him to calm down.” 

Fuse sighed. “Oh, who knows?” He glanced over toward where he could hear his best friend swearing up a storm as Patch scolded him, warning him there were shinies nearby. “Aside from being furious with me, how’s he doing?” 

“Oh, he’ll live,” Dek shrugged. “A busted rib and a good burn on his thigh, but nothing that won’t heal.” 

“OH, KARK OFF!” 

Fuse spun to look as Patch started scolding again. “Oh, would you kriffing calm down?! You’re asking to just be sedated again if you keep this up!”

“You’d better get over there before Patch kills him,” Dek muttered, turning back to his patient, who looked very fed up with the level of noise. 

Fuse sighed again and headed toward Patch. “Hey, Loth Cat, stop driving everyone up the wall before they kill you,” he said as he reached the bedside and was immediately glared at by a comically furious Indy. 

“Kark off, mir’sheb!” Indy growled. 

“Damn, what’d I do?” Fuse asked, now even more confused. Sure, Indy typically got rather unreasonably grouchy after anesthesia, but this seemed personally directed at Fuse. 

“Oh, you know what you did!” Indy shouted, despite the fact that it probably didn’t feel great to be yelling. 

Fuse shook his head. “No, I really don’t know what you think I did.” 

“Don’t play dumb! I know you aren’t that stupid!” 

“Indy, Fuse didn’t do anything to you, would you stop yelling?” Patch huffed as he prepared a syringe of something. 

“Don’t defend him!” Indy barked. 

“Ind, I really have no idea what you’re all riled up over. I’ve been with my squad all day.” Fuse couldn’t possibly think of anything he might have done to get his addled batchmate so wound up. 

“I’ve tried telling him that, but he’s not listening. I’m just gonna knock him out again so he won’t hurt himself,” Patch said under his breath. “This stuff won’t make him act like a psycho when it wears off, it’s just not strong enough for surgeries.” He jabbed the syringe into Indy’s shoulder, earning a loud curse. 

“Karking warn me before you do that!” Indy snapped before his eyes drooped and he went limp. 

Patch shook his head. “Idiot.” 

Fuse nodded. “And he says I have a short temper.” 

“In his defense, he’s not wrong, vod,” Patch replied with a chuckle. “I’d love to know what he thinks you did though. I’ve never seen him so mad.” 

“I have no idea, and he probably won’t remember either.” Fuse brushed Indy’s hair back gently. “The squad should get a kick outta hearing about this though. Glad I came to see him before letting them tag along. Don’t need Loth Cat here swearing at the kids. That might scare ‘em half to death.” 

Patch snorted. “No joke. Then he’d feel bad.” 

“He’d probably cry, actually,” Fuse chuckled. His batchmate was usually so calm and gentle that he was pretty sure accidentally screaming angrily at the shinies would upset him badly enough for him to cry. It wouldn’t be funny if it actually happened, but it hadn’t, so the idea was at least a little amusing. 

“I wouldn’t blame him. Poor vod has zero emotional regulation after anesthesia,” Patch remarked as he adjusted Indy’s blankets. “I’m just glad he doesn’t try to get up.” 

“Yeah, I imagine that would be even harder to deal with,” Fuse agreed. “Well, I should go let the squad know their lieutenant is okay, if pissed off about something he thinks I did.” He smirked. “They’ll probably come up with some theories on what he thinks I did.” 

Patch laughed. “I’d love to hear them.” 

“I’ll send you any good ones they come up with,” Fuse responded as he headed to the door. He’d bring the squad in later, once Indy wasn’t trying to pick a fight with everyone.