Lt David Long (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
contentwithoutcommand) wrote2013-05-04 10:07 am
contentwithoutcommand) wrote2013-05-04 10:07 am
First Tackle : written
[David has had... three days. He's taken three days living with his sister to sort out where he is and what's going on. Which, as far as he can tell, is all very vague.
Of course, a woman like Faith can't be expected to have any sort of reckoning of points of longitude and latitude, and he doesn't have the tools required yet to shoot the sun to take his own calculations. He is most certainly not in England or the West Indies, though. Of that much, he can be certain.
The Journal is his biggest contemplation. He's watched it, these last few days. He doesn't understand most of it, but he has seen how it can used to address letters and even speeches to the general population. How the latter works, he doesn't know. Really, how it works in general is a mystery, but he understands the written form best.
There's no telling who will read what he writes as he finally takes up a pen, so he's careful with his wording. Around him are about twenty sheets on which he's practiced before committing himself to this.]
The fourth of May.
[No location, he doesn't grasp that well enough yet to make that distinction.]
To whom it may concern:
[There may be an admiral or commodore or post-captain in this strange place, but he can't be sure, so a more general heading will have to do.]
I arrived here on the first of May. After making a basic of study of the area, I proceeded to the north where I found a village. It is the only one according to local information. I established a residence and read what is provided by way of documentation. I have since collected my possessions that have arrived: my uniform, my pocketwatch, and my telescope.
My ship is lost, my crew unaccounted for, and the fleet far out of range of communication. I write this dispatch in the hope that it might be received by someone in a position to answer it.
I am, most respectfully, your servant,
D Long, commander of His Majesty's Sloop Hornet, R. N.
[The strangest dispatch he has ever written, David thinks, but it will do. It might also give him some indication if there are any brother officers here, if any of his crew or squadron have suffered the same fate.]
Of course, a woman like Faith can't be expected to have any sort of reckoning of points of longitude and latitude, and he doesn't have the tools required yet to shoot the sun to take his own calculations. He is most certainly not in England or the West Indies, though. Of that much, he can be certain.
The Journal is his biggest contemplation. He's watched it, these last few days. He doesn't understand most of it, but he has seen how it can used to address letters and even speeches to the general population. How the latter works, he doesn't know. Really, how it works in general is a mystery, but he understands the written form best.
There's no telling who will read what he writes as he finally takes up a pen, so he's careful with his wording. Around him are about twenty sheets on which he's practiced before committing himself to this.]
The fourth of May.
[No location, he doesn't grasp that well enough yet to make that distinction.]
To whom it may concern:
[There may be an admiral or commodore or post-captain in this strange place, but he can't be sure, so a more general heading will have to do.]
I arrived here on the first of May. After making a basic of study of the area, I proceeded to the north where I found a village. It is the only one according to local information. I established a residence and read what is provided by way of documentation. I have since collected my possessions that have arrived: my uniform, my pocketwatch, and my telescope.
My ship is lost, my crew unaccounted for, and the fleet far out of range of communication. I write this dispatch in the hope that it might be received by someone in a position to answer it.
I am, most respectfully, your servant,
D Long, commander of His Majesty's Sloop Hornet, R. N.
[The strangest dispatch he has ever written, David thinks, but it will do. It might also give him some indication if there are any brother officers here, if any of his crew or squadron have suffered the same fate.]
Action
[SPARTAN-023 gets to notice the confusion, followed by translocation sickness, but she doesn't react. These were all strange circumstances they were all brought to, and seeing the beach first-hand -not by a long travel, but by teleporter- would have been quite an experience.
Her visor turns to her side.]
... Took me a while to get used to it.
[Then, her arm extends to the boat that led to the Britannia in the distance.]
Action
Long takes a few moments, regaining his balance and letting his stomach settle itself somewhat, before he really looks around. He sees the boat near the shore and the ship in the distance and has to smile.]
Action
[Which SPARTAN-023 honestly does, but it's counterproductive for everyone here.
The Spartan lets him have a moment to look at it. She knows the trouble of being away from home, and your entire culture, so the sight of a ship of his era is a welcome sight. A reminder of where does he belong.
For her part, she doesn't know if her real rank even matters anymore. All in all, Captain Adell's last order to her was to live for herself.
She sets herself in front of one of the row-boats, as if ready to move it up front.]
I'm too heavy for the two of us to share a rowboat, or to push it and then get up while you're in it. We'll meet up in the Britannia.
((OOC: Sorry to bug you, but in this odd case, would it be what it's done?))
Action
Of course, ma'am. Daisy. [It's hard to correct himself, but he does. After all, he's a stranger here, and she's certainly military. So, he'll... try and adapt.
He touches his hat politely and then heads for the little boat with the oars.]
Action
When they arrive, SPARTAN-023 gets her rowboat up, and if she arrives earlier, she helps David Long in doing so.]
Action
Overall, she's well cared for. He can see that at once. His eye also picks out every fault in her maintenance. Little things that build up without daily sweeps of her. Still, it's no worse than any other ship lying in harbour. For a long while. She certainly needs detailed care, but the overall has been done quite well.
Which deserves remark.]
You have done an admirable job of taking care of her.
Action
[The armor sets both of her black hands behind her helmet, removing the locks with a hiss of oxygen... and actually revealing the human beneath. A young, blond girl with long hair, nonetheless rather tall.]
I didn't feel right using her. I felt it would be better for someone of the Royal Navy to claim it. I think that's what they would have wanted.
Action
If she's in need of a captain... I'd be honoured, certainly.
Action
Thank you, Captain. You will take a better care of her than I will.
Action
I'm very grateful for the opportunity. Thank you.