Happy New Year, everyone! 🍾 🥂
Many thanks for all the follows, likes, reblogs, comments and chats over the last twelve months! ❤️ ❤️
(And to @amalthea9 for introducing me to Santiano; I’ve spent half my time listening to them this year! 🥰)
As I’ve not really been in the mood for drawing the last few days I thought I'd post a little piece I've written for Despatches this week. It's G-rated and set in my LKU, though I'm not entirely sure where.
Now We Shall Have The Turn Of The Year
The thirty-first of December isn't the best time to be stranded ashore, but Archie and Bush find a way to mark the date.
“Well, it could be worse,” Archie observed. “At least it’s not raining.”
Bush snorted, and poked their driftwood fire with the point of his sword. “No, that’s true. We’re completely stranded and virtually defenceless but at least the weather’s fair.”
“Sometimes, William, I swear you are an overcast day in human form.” Archie huffed as the cold wind chose that moment to remind him of its presence and he turned up his collar, scooting a little closer to the blaze. “Do you ever look on the bright side?”
He received a raised eyebrow in reply. “And which bright side would that be, pray?” Bush enquired. “It’s the middle of the night in December, we’ve no shelter and so far no one has acknowledged our signals. Add to that the fact that the admiral will probably be apoplectic when he finds out the ship is without three senior officers and I confess I fail to see any ‘bright side’ whatsoever. We’ll be lucky not to be court-martialled if we ever get back aboard.”
Archie reached into his waistcoat pocket to retrieve his watch and squinted at the dial in the light from the fire. “It’s not the middle of the night, it’s barely... well, would you look at that!” The minute hand had just ticked over the hour; the sight of this and sudden recollection of the date brought a smile to his face and he presented the timepiece to his colleague, who just peered at it.
“It’s midnight,” Bush confirmed, handing it back. “That’s hardly cause for celebration.”
“It is where I come from. Oh, just think for a moment,” Archie begged when he was given a blank look. “A minute ago it was the thirty-first of December, so now it must be..?”
“Oh.” Bush digested that information, and said flatly, “Happy New Year.”
“Thank you, Mr Bush.” It was all Archie could do not to roll his eyes. “Could you not perhaps summon a little more enthusiasm? It is Hogmanay, after all.”
“What difference does the date make? We’re still stuck on a beach in the dark, whether it’s this year or last. And what the hell is Hogmanay?” Bush demanded. “Something you’ve just dreamed up?”
Archie shot him a lofty glare. “I should be insulted by that. For your information, Hogmanay is a very important Scottish festival which welcomes the New Year. It’s actually more important to us than Christmas. Shid ald akwentans bee firgot, an nivr brocht te mind? Shid ald akwentans bee firgot, an ald lang syn?” he quoted in a rolling Scottish accent he’d picked up from his father’s head ghillie, grinning when Bush stared at him as though he’d grown another head. “What’s the matter? Don’t you agree?”
“I might if I understood what you were saying,” his friend replied, eyes narrowing in suspicion that he was being teased. “What was all that? I’ve heard more sense from Styles when he’s in his cups.”
“It’s Scots, you philistine! The land of my forefathers! Honestly, William, have you ever thought of learning a language other than your own?”
Bush shrugged. “Why should I need to?”
“Well, if you knew some French you might have been able to work out what Major Cotard was saying about you,” Archie muttered, adding quickly, “If you must know, to quote Rabbie Burns - ”
“Who?”
“A poet.” Archie sighed in frustration. Cultural conversations with Bush were impossible; the man never seemed to read anything but nautical textbooks despite Archie’s best efforts. “The poet, the one who wrote the words. I thought your sister might have heard of him, at least.”
The brow lifted again. “Maybe she has, but she doesn’t share such discoveries with me.”
“I wonder why? I said: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?” Archie repeated without the exaggeration he’d used before. Unfortunately, even with greater clarity of word Bush still seemed baffled.
“And what exactly does that mean?” he asked, forehead furrowing.
Archie considered. “I’ve always taken it that the bard is asking whether old times should be forgotten. When we sing it tonight we’re seeing out the old year and welcoming the new one, and we shouldn’t forget what’s gone before.”
“’Sing’? Someone has actually put that nonsense to music?”
“Indeed they have.” Archie started to do just that: “And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup! And surely I’ll be mine! And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne!”
Bush looked amused. “And the translation of that is..?”
“Basically, if you’ll buy me a pint, I’ll buy one for you,” Archie told him with a grin.
Chuckling, the older man shivered and huddled further into his coat. “I confess, I wouldn’t say no to one just now.” He glanced into the darkness beyond the fire. “I wonder where Horatio’s got to?”
“Oh, you know what he’s like. He can’t just sit still and wait; he’ll be prowling between those beacons he lit, trying to spot any reaction.” Archie threw another stick on the fire. “He’ll be back when he gets bored. Or cold.”
“Hmm.” Bush sighed. After a minute or two of silence he announced, “Well, I suppose you’d better teach me this song of yours.”
Archie blinked in surprise. “You actually want to learn? I thought just now it was nonsense?”
“And so it is, but we’ve nothing else to do. It’ll help to pass the time.”
“That’s true,” Archie mused. “And if we sing loudly enough it may even attract some attention.”
“Yes, but would it be the right sort? We don’t want to bring the French down on us, Mr Kennedy,” Bush warned, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.
Archie bit back his own smile. “No, sir, of course not.”
“Quietly, then. Now remind me: how does it go?”
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot - ” Archie began to sing in a low voice, only to be interrupted by a frown and a shake of the head. “What’s wrong?”
“In Scots,” Bush said, adding when Archie raised his eyebrows, “I thought you wanted me to learn another language?”
“To be fair, it’s more of a dialect, but are you sure? The English isn’t that much different, and - ”
Bush huffed impatiently. “Just get on with it.”
Archie did, and to his credit Bush tried; he didn’t have a bad ear for music and mastered the tune quickly but it soon became clear that the ability to manage an accent of any kind was beyond him and both of them dissolved into laughter as he mangled the words on his tongue, his initial embarrassment buckling in the face of Archie’s mirth. Despite this they soldiered on, though the song became more and more incomprehensible the closer to the end they got.
“No, William, it’s An there’s a han, my trusty feer! Now I know why you only speak English!” Archie exclaimed. “An gees a han o’ thyne! An we’ll tak a richt gude-willie-waucht - ”
“Don’t you dare call me Willie,” Bush told him in a dangerous tone, reaching for his sword. “Not if you want to live. And what the devil do geese have to do with it?”
Archie just shook his head, breathless as fresh laughter bubbled up, and collapsed back onto the sand. “Ach, Willie, gees a han here!” he said, waving one in the direction of his friend and explaining when Bush just gave him a hard stare, “A gude-willie-waucht is a good-will draught. A drink, you fool!”
“Is it really?” a familiar voice asked from somewhere nearby before Bush could respond. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”
Archie struggled onto his elbows and peered into the shadows to spot a vague shape a few feet away. “’Ratio! You’re back! Any luck?”
“No.” He could virtually hear Horatio’s frown. “And I hardly think this is appropriate behaviour for two of His Majesty’s officers, do you? Anyone would think you’d spent the evening in the tap room!”
“We’re just trying to amuse ourselves,” Archie replied, pre-empting the apology he knew would be on Bush’s lips. “I was teaching William a little ditty we Scots like to sing at this time of year.”
Horatio tutted and came forwards. “You sounded like a couple of dying cats. I’m surprised you haven’t drawn the enemy straight to us with all that noise.”
“We weren’t making that much noise - ”
“I’m sorry, sir. It was my idea,” Bush said, predictably, cutting off Archie’s protestations. He got to his feet, crossing to his captain’s side. “We should have changed the watch by now; shall I take a turn along the perimeter?”
After a moment’s contemplation Horatio shook his head. “No, sit down, Mr Bush. There’s nothing to be seen; I fear we’re stuck here until the morning.”
Nodding, Bush started to return to the fire but Archie held out a hand. “William, don’t move!” he ordered before the other man could take another step. “You too, ‘Ratio.”
“Archie, what on earth is the matter?” Horatio demanded as Bush opened his mouth to do the same. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait a moment.” Having reached for one of the sticks of driftwood they’d collected earlier, Archie scrambled a couple of feet towards them and as his friends watched, puzzled, used it to carefully draw a line in the sand between himself and the spot on which they stood. Once it was done he sat back on his heels. “All right; now you can come closer, but ‘Ratio, you go first and make sure you step over the line.”
He knew without seeing it that Horatio’s eyes had rolled heavenward so hard they were probably in danger of falling out. “Oh, for goodness’s sake, Archie - ”
“Over the line!” Archie commanded sternly. “And William, keep behind him.”
Despite looking as though they thought he was being utterly ridiculous they did as they were told, Bush hanging back so that his captain could cross first. Horatio grumbled under his breath as he joined Archie at the fire, holding out his hands to the flames before rubbing his arms briskly in an attempt to generate some warmth in the rest of his body. “Satisfied?” he enquired archly.
“Perfectly. We’ll have good luck now for the year ahead.”
Bush’s brow flicked as he stepped over the line. “Is this another strange Scottish custom?”
“It is: first footing. The first person to cross the threshold brings the luck for the year. I know that technically this isn’t a house and we don’t have a threshold, but it’s the closest we can get,” Archie said. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You should really be carrying coal or whisky, ‘Ratio. Or black buns. I don’t suppose you have any?”
Horatio made a show of checking his pockets. “Strangely enough, no. How remiss of me; I knew I forgot something when I got dressed this morning.”
“Coins?”
“I don’t bring money on shore raids, Archie. What would I need it for?”
“To pay an innkeeper if we’re stuck here for much longer?” Archie suggested. “I don’t intend to spend more than one night on this beach.”
Bush snorted. “Something to remember for next year, perhaps, sir.”
“Indeed.” Horatio’s forehead creased briefly, in either curiosity or confusion. “Why did I have to be the first over the threshold? Surely it wouldn’t have mattered which of us was the one to enter.”
“It most certainly would!” Archie retorted. “If you knew anything about such things you’d be aware that tall, dark-haired men are the preferred first foot; they’re the luckiest of all.”
“I’ve got dark hair,” Bush pointed out, sitting down. “Am I not lucky?”
“You might have dark hair, but you’re not tall, are you?” Archie countered and Horatio hid a smile when Bush looked disgruntled. “Horatio’s got at least four inches on you and that makes all the difference tonight.”
Despite his amusement Horatio still appeared to be faintly baffled as he took a seat on the sand between them. “But why tonight?” he asked. “What’s so special about tonight? Other than it being a complete disaster, that is.”
It was quite typical of him to have failed to mark the date; customs and festivals never had meant all that much in his case, and it was sometimes difficult to keep track of time passing when at sea. “It’s January the first,” Archie told him, and watched as realisation slowly dawned.
“Good grief, so it is. I hadn’t really thought about it.” Horatio’s expression darkened. “All the more reason for us to be back aboard; the hands will probably drink themselves into a stupor in our absence.”
“Not without your approval. Matthews knows better than that; he won’t authorise any extra rum without your express command. When we return we’ll find a crew who are the very picture of sobriety, I’m sure.”
“He’s right, sir, though they’ll probably be none too pleased about it,” Bush said. “Especially Styles.” Then the corner of his mouth curled upwards and with somewhat more enthusiasm than he had summoned earlier he offered, “Happy New Year, sir.”
Horatio ducked his head, and when he raised it again there was a smile in place of the scowl that had descended a few moments before. “Thank you, William. Let’s hope we have a better one ahead of us.”
“With you to bring us luck, sir, how could we not? I’d raise a glass to that, had I one.” Bush glanced at Archie. “But as I don’t... how does the song end, Kennedy?”
Archie hesitated. “In Scots?”
At the mere mention of singing Horatio grimaced and Bush shook his head. “I think for the sake of our captain here English might be better.”
“You just don’t understand the words,” Archie teased, and grinned when he just received a flat stare in return. “All right. But you can join in with the chorus.”
Relenting, Bush chuckled. “Very well, if I must.”
Horatio didn’t look any less pained but Archie raised his voice nonetheless: “And there’s a hand my trusty friend, And give me a hand o’ thine! And we’ll take a right good-will draught, For auld lang syne! For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, For auld lang syne!”
And, as if summoned by the music and to Horatio’s obvious relief, from somewhere in the distance came the sound of oars.
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Chapter 1 Notes: On Sea Shanties
Disclaimer: I am creating a tag for research notes, “Appendices” so to speak because I find it fun. Please don’t take me for an authority on anything. I truly do not know what I am doing. I just like information and notes and things, so just come down the rabbit hole with me - I have shanties.
A quick note on sea song vs. sea shanty
Modern usage, they are one and the same. The word shanty, however, comes from the word chant or chanties (as I use in the story), which accompanied the work of the day, whereas a sea song may be more any song that falls into the genre of maritime tunes.
Drunken Sailor
Sea Songs also took many forms and evolved over time, which makes what we are left with today incredibly fun! This poor sailor has had to deal with quite a number of unfortunate situations. From belly shaved with a rusty razor, thrown in the brig till sober, given a taste of the bosun’s rope end (Gordon would never), given a hair of the dog that bit him. Poor dude.
Easily one of the most recognizable sea shanties today (well....maybe before Wellerman suddenly became a thing. When did that happen????), Drunken Sailor is a great example of the nuances. It could be Weigh, Hey, and up she rises, which I tend to hear most today, but I’ve used “Heave, Ho, and up she rises” for the story because it helps represent just how the sea songs evolved from the chanties - a solid heave ho drawn into a tune as they sailors check rigging for the day.
Some Favorite Examples of Drunken Sailor:
The Irish Rovers - Spotify | Youtube
Blaggards - Spotify | Youtube
Assassin’s Creed 4 - Spotify | Youtube
Santiano/Santianna/Santy Anna/ Santiana
This shanty may actually be dated later than our story, as it as least from the 1850s, speaking to the Mexican-American War, but that’s not to say there weren’t other versions that existed pre-dating what we know. The French version is from 1961, recorded by Hugues Aufray, and it speaks of a ship traveling from Saint-Malo to San Francisco. So in this case, we have different stories completely. I’ve used the fluid nature of shanties to my advantage, inspired just how lovely the French version is. (Also I don’t know French but LOVE listening to other languages). It screamed our boy John.
The lyric John sang is just the first line from the song, as it has very few references to historical things that you know... are glaringly not 1770s. So my head canon to my own AU head canon is that the Tbird was docked in New Orleans at the same time as a French ship named Santiano. Beautiful. *chef’s kiss*
C'est un fameux trois-mâts, fin comme un oiseau - Hissez haut! Santiano!
Translated: It is a fine three-master thin like a bird. Heave-ho, Santiano! https://lyricstranslate.com/en/santiano-santiano.html
Some favorite Examples of Santiano - The Many Versions Of
“Santiano”
Hugues Aufray - 1961 -French - Spotify | Youtube
The Longest Johns (feat. SKÁLD) - French & Eng - 2021- Spotify | Youtube
“Santiana”
The Longest Johns 2018- Spotify | Youtube
“Santy Anna”
Alan Mills and Four Shipmates - 1957- Spotify | Youtube
”The Plains of Mexico”
Kacy & Clayton - 2016 - Spotify | Youtube
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Rules: Answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to get to know better.
I was tagged by @rosabella1315, thank you!! <3
1. Nicknames?
Pau (and various others as Paul, Lina, Paula, Pauli... idc you choose lmao but I like to introduce myself as Pau)
2. Name?
Paulina
3. Zodiac
Virgo
4. Favorite musician or groups?
Bastille, Coldplay, Owl City, Fall Out Boy, Nickelback, Evanescence, Simple Plan, Santiano, etc... idk, I listen to a lot of music actually so there’s no particular group or musician that I‘d prefer so these are some examples of groups- or bands (...I feel so stupid to ask but is there a difference between bands and groups?)
5. Favorite sports teams?
I’m not a big fan of sports I have to admit, so I don’t know any teams lmao.
6. Other blogs?
I don’t have any other blogs but I am on other sites so ima just link my Instagram, Twitter (there’s nsfw art tho!), and Ao3.
7. Do you get asks?
Yes I do sometimes. I want to thank everyone who takes their time to leave an ask, I really appreciate it! (As long as it isn’t anon hate lmao but in case anyone who does that sees this right now, I delete these kind of asks so you‘re basically wasting your time by leaving negative comments but thanks for your time anyway I guess.)
8. How many blogs do you follow?
About 550 or so.
9. Tumblr crushes?
I don’t have crushes as in... really crushing on them— but uh... I do have crushes as in... I absolutely adore their blogs/posts/art/writing and the person behind it seems really nice and I love them (AS A FRIEND OR FELLOW MUTUAL OR FOLLOWER-) and admire their work and would try to be there for them always. Am I making sense? I hope I do.
10. Lucky numbers?
4885. Lmao no, I actually don’t have one. This number is just the current word count of the first chapter of a fic I‘m currently working on (still need to finish that chapter and then I‘ll have to look for a beta reader but I‘m kinda scared to ask for one on discord LMFAO)
11. What are you wearing right now?
My pyjamas.
12. Dream vacation?
I wanna go to London someday with my best friend. Aaaand I really want to travel to Pompeji someday.
13. Dream car?
Nothing really, just gimme something comfortable and with enough space for more than 2 people and enough room for maybe 2-3 suitcases or big bags in the trunk and I‘ll love it.
14. Favorite food?
Atm apples probably. Apples and bananas.
15. Drink of choice?
Water.
16. Instruments?
Triangle.
17. Languages?
German, English, bad French, worse Spanish... and I can understand a little bit of Dutch.
18. Celebrity crushes?
Don’t really have one.
19. Random fact?
I sometimes realize I totally forgot to answer people and then I’m scared to just... slide back into the dm‘s. And then I get sad because I wanna write with those people and I miss them horribly but I was the one to randomly vanish for a whole month and I actually feel really bad for it but somehow it happens again and again. ;-;
20. Favorite ecosystem?
Uhhhh... forests probably. And grasslands, if I‘d have a horse... I don’t have one but I recently had this dream of me having a horse—
21. Favorite cat species?
I love cats in general. Idk what species exactly Ivory was (I actually think something mixed-?) but she was a gorgeous cat with really long and elegant legs. She was really clumsy tho. But still adorable, calm, sometimes playful and overall really gentle.
Tagging @rockmarina @samyistrying @drarryruinedme7 @april-thelightfury115 @aceveria @ohheavenlylord @parkkate @triggerlil @keyflight790 @practicefortheheart @xx-thedarklord-xx @qmortentia @nourix-png @jackofallplagues @fictional @teruyo @mslyramalfoy @sirene312 @big-draco-energy @cibeewastaken @latibaris (well, I tagged some blogs I normally wouldn’t tag because I‘m hella afraid of annoying anyone so in case someone wants their tag removed please tell me and I‘ll do that or feel free to just ignore this. I’m so sorry in advance!
And of course it’s up to everyone if you wanna do this or not, no pressure. <3)
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