There's a sailor who sings
Title: There's a sailor who sings
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Ok this is just a bit daft really. It's the result of thehappyreturn's suggestion that someone should write an Archie fic based on Brel's Port of Amsterdam. To me this conjured up a bitter LKU with Horatio off at sea doing the heroic stuff leaving Archie stranded in port drowning his sorrows. Far too sad for me. You can't keep a good plot bunny down though, so here you go. And just for esmerelda_t, I've included lots of bits of the cheesy translation of Brel that she enjoyed so much ;)
I
The sailor was not old. He had a face that might once have been described as handsome had it not been weathered by Atlantic gales and the harsher tides of time and fortune. His skin was tanned a deep bronze but there was a florid blush across his cheeks that belied an over-fondness for strong drink. But then he was a sailor, it was to be expected. The remains of a meal were strewn on the table in front of him. A pewter plate littered with discarded fish bones and hard crusts. The sailor belched softly and wiped greasy fingers down the front of his shirt. He stood up and hauled up his trousers, the front flap of which was hanging open on one side. He fumbled with the buttons, several of which were missing. The cut of the cloth was fine but the garments, like the man, had seen better days. A naval jacket of sorts was crumpled in a heap of grimy blue wool on the bench beside him.
The bar was one of the less salubrious establishments that crowded around the dockside of the port; furnished by a few rough trestles and benches and the usual assortment of whores who eyed the customers with expressions that ranged from desperation to resignation and all the way back again. An ancient seaman was seated in the corner picking out slip jigs, hornpipes and polkas on a fiddle. The music ebbed and flowed like the tide, one tune merging with the next without beginning or end.
The sailor was standing scratching his belly when one of the whores sidled over. He caught and lifted her hand with a movement of surprising grace. Then fixing the fiddle player with the haughty look of the persistently inebriated and gesturing seriously towards the whore he called for a waltz. "For the lady." The lady spat on the floor and smiled obligingly. There was little room to maneuver in the tiny space and the dancers, pressed belly to belly, navigated an uncertain course between the long trestles. Colliding with one of the tables they subsided on to the bench in a raucous tempest of laughter. The whore retreated to the bar, leaving the sailor to call impatiently for more drink.
II
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mr Kennedy! I've been scouring the port for you. What in god's name are you doing here?" Archie looked up at Horatio. He cut an incongruous figure in the dockside hovel with his proud carriage and pristine uniform. Two of the whores eyed him avariciously. Horatio ignored them. "Come away from here. Come, lets go back to our inn and dine." "Hmn? Oh sorry Horatio, I've already eaten." Archie looked up and smiled but his eyes had a slight unfocused sheen that Horatio recognised immediately. His heart sank.
Horatio frequently forgot that when all was said and done Archie was a Scot. However these maudlin moods that descended like harr without apparent warning were a forceful reminder of this undeniable fact. Horatio signed and sat down on the rough bench beside his friend. "Archie, what is it? Why are you here?"
Archie nodded across the bar. "Look at him." The sailor had started singing tunelessly.
Horatio frowned. "Archie there are men like that in every bar in every port across the globe."
"I know." Archie replied softy. "And I often feared it was my fate to join them."
Horatio's frown deepened. "Mr Kennedy you are a lieutenant of his Britannic Majesties Royal Navy, I do not think that will be your fate."
Archie was not willing to relinquish his sentimental mood without a fight. "But that's just it Horatio. You dream of honour, glory and wide open seas and end up a broken down drunk pissing in an alley and crying over what might have been."
Horatio rolled his eyes. "Come now, in a matter of weeks we sail with Captain James Sawyer. James Sawyer, Archie! Surely your prospects would not be brighter?"
Horatio's tone brooked no argument, and despite his stubbornness Archie knew when to beat a retreat. "Yes, yes Mr Hornblower. You are correct as usual."
As they left the bar Archie cast one backward glance at the sailor. He was singing loudly now roaring out a chantey with gusto. Head tossed back, nose to the stars, bellowing fit to swallow the moon. Archie turned and followed Horatio's straight blue back out into the night.
Note: I reserve the right to be rude about Archie's Scottish background. Anyone else who wishes to be similarly rude must provide documentary evidence of Scottish ancestry :P
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Ok this is just a bit daft really. It's the result of thehappyreturn's suggestion that someone should write an Archie fic based on Brel's Port of Amsterdam. To me this conjured up a bitter LKU with Horatio off at sea doing the heroic stuff leaving Archie stranded in port drowning his sorrows. Far too sad for me. You can't keep a good plot bunny down though, so here you go. And just for esmerelda_t, I've included lots of bits of the cheesy translation of Brel that she enjoyed so much ;)
I
The sailor was not old. He had a face that might once have been described as handsome had it not been weathered by Atlantic gales and the harsher tides of time and fortune. His skin was tanned a deep bronze but there was a florid blush across his cheeks that belied an over-fondness for strong drink. But then he was a sailor, it was to be expected. The remains of a meal were strewn on the table in front of him. A pewter plate littered with discarded fish bones and hard crusts. The sailor belched softly and wiped greasy fingers down the front of his shirt. He stood up and hauled up his trousers, the front flap of which was hanging open on one side. He fumbled with the buttons, several of which were missing. The cut of the cloth was fine but the garments, like the man, had seen better days. A naval jacket of sorts was crumpled in a heap of grimy blue wool on the bench beside him.
The bar was one of the less salubrious establishments that crowded around the dockside of the port; furnished by a few rough trestles and benches and the usual assortment of whores who eyed the customers with expressions that ranged from desperation to resignation and all the way back again. An ancient seaman was seated in the corner picking out slip jigs, hornpipes and polkas on a fiddle. The music ebbed and flowed like the tide, one tune merging with the next without beginning or end.
The sailor was standing scratching his belly when one of the whores sidled over. He caught and lifted her hand with a movement of surprising grace. Then fixing the fiddle player with the haughty look of the persistently inebriated and gesturing seriously towards the whore he called for a waltz. "For the lady." The lady spat on the floor and smiled obligingly. There was little room to maneuver in the tiny space and the dancers, pressed belly to belly, navigated an uncertain course between the long trestles. Colliding with one of the tables they subsided on to the bench in a raucous tempest of laughter. The whore retreated to the bar, leaving the sailor to call impatiently for more drink.
II
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mr Kennedy! I've been scouring the port for you. What in god's name are you doing here?" Archie looked up at Horatio. He cut an incongruous figure in the dockside hovel with his proud carriage and pristine uniform. Two of the whores eyed him avariciously. Horatio ignored them. "Come away from here. Come, lets go back to our inn and dine." "Hmn? Oh sorry Horatio, I've already eaten." Archie looked up and smiled but his eyes had a slight unfocused sheen that Horatio recognised immediately. His heart sank.
Horatio frequently forgot that when all was said and done Archie was a Scot. However these maudlin moods that descended like harr without apparent warning were a forceful reminder of this undeniable fact. Horatio signed and sat down on the rough bench beside his friend. "Archie, what is it? Why are you here?"
Archie nodded across the bar. "Look at him." The sailor had started singing tunelessly.
Horatio frowned. "Archie there are men like that in every bar in every port across the globe."
"I know." Archie replied softy. "And I often feared it was my fate to join them."
Horatio's frown deepened. "Mr Kennedy you are a lieutenant of his Britannic Majesties Royal Navy, I do not think that will be your fate."
Archie was not willing to relinquish his sentimental mood without a fight. "But that's just it Horatio. You dream of honour, glory and wide open seas and end up a broken down drunk pissing in an alley and crying over what might have been."
Horatio rolled his eyes. "Come now, in a matter of weeks we sail with Captain James Sawyer. James Sawyer, Archie! Surely your prospects would not be brighter?"
Horatio's tone brooked no argument, and despite his stubbornness Archie knew when to beat a retreat. "Yes, yes Mr Hornblower. You are correct as usual."
As they left the bar Archie cast one backward glance at the sailor. He was singing loudly now roaring out a chantey with gusto. Head tossed back, nose to the stars, bellowing fit to swallow the moon. Archie turned and followed Horatio's straight blue back out into the night.
Note: I reserve the right to be rude about Archie's Scottish background. Anyone else who wishes to be similarly rude must provide documentary evidence of Scottish ancestry :P