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The Hammock Launderette
Welcome, my dear seamen, women and Wellard, to the Hammock Launderette. Open 24/7. Bring in your clean hammocks and we'll get them back to you dirty, pink and traumatised. Not to mention crawling with fleas.
So why would you come here then, you might wonder. Well, I can explain. We are no launderette at all, we are a clandestine opium parlor, just don't tell anyone. We bring you all kinds of pleasures, promise.
Please be careful; on the left you may find our dear Horatio, on the right Archie... "Archie?" *Poke* Thinks he's a chicken right now, oh well... Wellard is missing in action in the back somewhere. He is one of the few people we present with dried apple-leaves, since he doesn't notice the difference anyway.
Don't try this at home, my friends, opium dissappeared for a reason, It kinda melted your brain. Yes, Archie, you are a good chicken. ;)
Signed,
The HammockFlea
Little note: This page does not contain any slash, even though sometimes allusions to the genre are made. If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen and use this link
Grand Turk in Ostend
Hornblower's familyalbum
Archie's familyalbum
Wellard Worship
We could call this fanfiction. But that would be an insult to the profession... My first Hornblower story.
Run! run away from here! Far, far away from here! Hornblower (related) links.
Ship Ahoy!
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