(no subject)

[worththepowder]

With a surprising resemblence to the time a board of turnip-headed captains determined to rob me of the luxury of a commission and to return me to the cesspool of midshipmen, my c#%^ of a typist has denied me a story in favour of flinging me into this pit. I intend to make the best of it. I see young Snotty and Kennedy have already arrived. They know my rules, though I'm hardly acquainted enough with this place to see where they will need be enforced. Above all else, however, I demand the best. Not necessarily your best behaviour, or anything intangible of that sort, but your best material possessions. I'm fond of spirits, good food, clean laundry... whores, if you've got 'em. You will provide, even if it means surrendering what you thought was yours. I'm sure young Snotty can explain what happens when you fail to render unto me.

The bint who types for me says I must formally introduce myself. Mister Midshipman John Simpson, at your service, and may God have mercy on your soul. I had an unfairly brief cameo in young Snotty's book Mister Midshipman Hornblower. I trust you will make me more welcome than C.S. Forester did.

And despite what the 'films' suggest, I do not answer to Jack.