Twenty-Fourth Evolution of Sail - a foreign port

[shakenandlimp]

[OPEN SPAM]
[Bush is in no mood to make much of Amsterdam. In a better one he would have made himself very merry in the right district--in this mood, he avoids intoxicants (at least while ashore) and women of negotiable virtue.

On the first day, at the behest of Bleu, he can be found in various museums, looking none too appreciative of most of the art.

Largely, he spends his time shopping -- finding the admiral's supplies wherever he can, and trawling bookstores for something to delight a young man laid up and convalescing. Something greek, maybe, something very clever.

The one thing he does for himself is to take a walking informational tour of some of the canals- in English, the guide tells how they were cut out, and points out shipping-- he feels mingled distaste and wonder for the metal-clad, oil-burning ships.]

[SPAM FOR HORNBLOWAH]
[He does summon a smile and all his good cheer for a once daily visit-- with a hot coffee and food from the city-- to the sickbed of Lieutenant Hornblower. Forced good cheer and a stern, friendly presence got him walking again, and he will apply the same medicine to the younger officer now.]

Comments

[SPAM]

[punched_hitler]

[Steve, on the other hand, is in said museums of his own volition - and enjoying the experience, even if he feels a little guilty taking the time off. Not that he's against taking time off, but now seems like it shouldn't be the time to do it.

But here he is - and he spots Bush, looking like he'd rather not be here. He can't help but smile, because it's a look he's seen on a lot of people's faces in art museums, before.] You look like you'd rather be pretty much anyplace else.

[SPAM]

[shakenandlimp]

[Bush is very much at a loss. He had been vaguely aware of art on land, of oil instead of carvings, needlework or scrimshaw that were more common at sea, and he had unconsciously classed it into two groups. There is good art, in which flowers look like flowers and people like people and the ships are not carrying too much canvas for the painted weather. There is bad art, loving pencil drawings with lopsided faces or leaning barns, ships with every inch of canvas spread in a storm or the colours flying counter to movement and wind.

Now, exposed abruptly to Modernism in all its varieties, he has been forced to make a new category: there is good art, and bad art, and damned untidy art.

He is no abstract thinker; he is currently trying and failing to make anything of Lady at a Poster Column, and he turns with a suspicious expression on his face.]

I don't understand the thing.

[And there's an expression, albeit one of the heart, not the face, that Steve's also likely heard in museums before.]

[SPAM]

[punched_hitler]

[Steve can't help but look sympathetic - yeah, he's heard that one before, but he can understand it, given what Bush is faced with at the moment.]

It's not so much your idea of traditional art as a statement, actually. Sort of... an appreciation of the dynamic motion of "modern life," with a healthy dose of cubism thrown in.

[Yeah, it's a poor explanation, but it's a start, at least. He grins understandingly.] Cubo-futurism isn't for everybody. If you want to see cubism at its best, we should find you some Braque or Picasso.

[SPAM]

[shakenandlimp]

[There were words in that explanation that only registered as dumb syllables to Bush, but he is used to that, at least, knowing Iris as well as he does.

He tries to look as if he understood, and nods.]

I will take your word for it, Captain, you know the thing better than I. I am at your disposal, so long as we don't leave this museum-- I am with Miss Bleu's party and it'd be rude of me to vanish.

[SPAM]

[punched_hitler]

[Thankfully, Steve kind of recognizes the look on Bush's face - and more so that kind of response. So he tries again:] Well, what kind of art do you like, Captain Bush? We should probably start there and work from that.

[Although he grins at the mention of Bleu;] I'm definitely not surprised she's here.

Re: [SPAM]

[shakenandlimp]

I like flowers in needlework. A neat painted ship in smart check or with a bright trim. Well done pictures of the sea. Scrimshaw-- you are army, I suppose your men never did do scrimshaw. Carving upon ivory or whalebone-- our jacks use it to pass the time, on a ropeyarn Sunday.

[SPAM]

[punched_hitler]

[Steve smiles helplessly, shaking his head.] No, no scrimshaw - and carving never was my area of expertise, anyway. But I'm pretty sure we can find you some ships and seas in here that you might like, and work out from there.

Unless you're really enjoying the cubo-futurism.

[Spam]

[whatthewrackspurt]

[Luna, on the contrary, is ecstatic to be traveling, hidden in plain sight amongst Muggles. She sits on a bridge overlooking one of the canals, and waves to Bush as he passes by]

Hello over there! You've not seen a troll around here, have you?

[Spam]

[shakenandlimp]

..no, I ain't, and shouldn't expect to, either.

Are there often trolls in the netherlands?

[Spam]

[whatthewrackspurt]

I think so. It's a pleasant country for them to go on holiday.

Are you sure you haven't seen any? They're quite distinct. About twelve feet tall, on average.

Re: [Spam]

[shakenandlimp]

No, miss, I believe I should have noticed that. I have been watching the boats and ships.

[Spam]

[whatthewrackspurt]

[Luna's head turns, to look out over the bay]

Watching them do what?

Re: [Spam]

[shakenandlimp]

Come in, come out, unload or make past the bridges...

They are not what you'd have seen in my day.

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Horatio, for his own part has been slowly sinking into a kind of fatalistic acceptance of his current state. Since the unnatural calming effect of Dillon's touch wore off, the thought of eating has left him feeling nauseous, so he's had little motive to leave his hammock, even when he's able to do so.

The majority of his time he spends reading or sleeping, and when Captain Bush arrives at his cabin, he is drifting lightly through the latter.

There's a flask of cold water within arm's reach, and Horatio is drowsing with a book resting open on his stomach. The thin blanket that he brought from the renown is pulled over his injuries, concealing them, while leaving his uninjured arm and shoulder bared.]

[shakenandlimp]

[Bush raps his knuckles on the door before he comes in, carrying a cup and a plastic bag over his wrist.]

Afternoon, Lieutenant. Slugabed, I see. Well, here is something that will wake you up.

[Bluff and natural. Only he is still the poorest play-actor; he is really sorry about Horatio's wound and it does show even when he means it not to.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Horatio rolls over, huffing sleepily as Bush enters. The smell of coffee is enough to rouse him somewhat though, and he pushes himself a little more upright in his hammock.]

Apologies, Captain. I must have drifted off without realizing it.

[He can't ignore the pity in Bush's voice, but it's impossible to begrudge the Captain for it either. Right now he cuts a pitiful figure indeed, and he's only himself to blame for it. The smell of coffee is strong and rich though, and it's distracting from his self pity.]

How do you find the port, Sir?

[shakenandlimp]

Oh, it is all very dutch-- thank goodness the wars are long over--and very 'modern'. [That is complete honesty, at least.] The food is not so bad at all but it is damn'd crowded like everyplace is in the godforsaken years of two-thousand-and-something.

Still, they are convenient places, these cities. Our lists from the admiral are half fulfilled.

Here-- to wake you. It is only a paper cup, I am afraid, but it is that oiled paper they like so much. [He passes over the coffee.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

What does that mean? Modern? Is it like the Barge?

[Bush could have brought the coffee in a plastic sandwich bag, and Horatio still would have jumped on it. He reaches out to accept the cup, and cradles it close, breathing in the scent of it. He takes a sip before it even occurs to him to thank Bush. He gives a small groan of contentment, and the muscles in his injured shoulder shift and flex, as if he'd be cupping both hands around the drink if he could.]

This is delicious. Thank you.

[His gaze flicks back up to Bush.]

Have you bought anything for yourself?

[shakenandlimp]

Not quite like the barge-- but many of the same conveniences, how houses are warmed by air from all over and not just a fireplace, the running water, the electrical lights lit all day and night. It's the time many of the folk we know are from. I shouldn't think it is very far from Roderick's age, for a one, or Stephen Hart's.

It is crowded-- by Jove, they pack cities the way we pack the tweendecks-! And the cost of things would make a saint take his oath. But it is the admiral's money and I don't have qualms about spending it.

[He smiles-- beams, really-- at Horatio's reception of the coffee.]

So you are very welcome. I promise I have had my one already, and some pretty tolerable food as well (for being foreign). Also I am looking for cold weather clothes-- speaking of which, that blanket is damned insufficient for the season. I shall find you a better one tomorrow.

[rhapsody_in]

[One museum is not nearly enough for Bleu, and by the time three o'clock rolls around the first day she's kept Bush in the Rijksmuseum for two hours. She shares anecdotes about the various artists whose works are on display regardless of his interest, and turns to him with a smile on her face.]

Do you have a favorite artist, Captain?

[shakenandlimp]

I do not believe I could name two to choose between them, Miss.

[He says that without shame; he has been at sea and does not think he has failed in his duty by not appreciating the state of art.]

[rhapsody_in]

[She's going to have to show him some Turner.]

How about a favorite painting, either here or at home?

[shakenandlimp]

Er. There was a bunch of tropic birds at a pool, I liked that quite a bit.

[rhapsody_in]

Oh, that one! Weird-looking things, weren't they? Have you ever seen birds like that one with the strange crown?

[shakenandlimp]

No, gracious-- is it a sort of heron, d'you think? Ah, but that beside it is a flamingo, and I have seen them in the Caribbean-- they stand about in marshes, great fleets of them, such a shocking red they are. And it was a very handsome pelican, too.