The next day Fury woke slightly groggy, but wired, so he was good to go, however he didnt feel like going to the stag do, because he’d had to put up with a f ton of normies and they tend to drain him more than anything in his life. But he promised. They were his friends. And he never breaks his promises.
For privacy reasons, Fury decided not to share details about the Stag Do itself.
However some personal Fury Highlights, summarized:
-Fury’s ring finger ended up bleeding and bandaged
-He got to ride shotgun in a Tesla, that a friend just rented for the weekend-Rode a bike in London, to Shoreditch, drunk ASF of his mind, and almost got into a fight with a pajeet on a bike in the middle of the street because he didn’t want to let him pass – many such cases
-Got a couple IG contacts
-Got kicked out of the club again. Reason: “Harassment”. Fury claims he didn’t touch anyone this time. This is now the reason why Fury just decided to walk all around town with his hands behind his back like Gamebred Masvidal. Too much Sauce for these losers.
So after Fury said his goodbye to the Stag and the rest of the mates who stayed over, he was off to a fresh start, the sun was out and the energy was there and Fury could feel it and he loves to run and gun it straight off the bat, fresh in the morning, his friends were too slow and he could sense it and he was already out the door. Then he realized two things, well three, but one (or one and two) he needed some Camel and cola. Which he got, as he waited for the bus. The bus was the latter thing, because he realized he had ended up so far EAST of London, he was in fact now close to Greenwich.
And the list that had ONLY about five things to do in London, was go see the Nelson’s Coat, in the Maritime Museum. He’d seen a viral tweet about it, and it just oozed not only sauce, but history. But even moreso, glory.
Smoke Camel, drink Cola, it was in a glass bottle, Fury day after drinking, couldnt care less, slapped it up, pop, as the cap flew off, pinging off the metal pipe which was holding up some construction work. Smoke, drink, wait. Bus came. Hopped on. Short ride, seven stops, just a short fifteen twenty minute ride.
Fury gathered all his wits. Centered himself a bit. Micro nap. Three seconds eyes closed. The usual bit. Some would call this meditation. Which Fury had been doing for more than a Decade. He can whip it out. When it is needed. Fury felt a bit of focusing on his internal realm would be nifty right now.
He got there, and got out, and the sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day through out. Spring in London, or rather almost summer. Hot. Fury smoking ended up at the University, wrong building, and wanted to pet a Shiba Inu, fluffly but he was shy, hehe, so Fury headed off to the right area, with all the museums, fuck Fury thought, so many sh to see, so little time. But most recently he was like Quality over quantity, and just focus on the sh you really really like and just dive in. The coat he wanted to see and dive into.
He got to the Maritime museum and he went straight up to the first floor, and there he saw a nice café. Why not? Pit stop, first. Was gonna be his first coffee of the day which is VERY important.
The girl behind the counter was cute. However too busy with her soy beta cuck coworker talking about a third person guy, prolly named some Weesh name like Kenny or sm sh. Fury is in full fury mode, he is in no position to go the extra mile for pleasantries. However he stays polite. Gets coffee, green tea, croissant. Prolly shit overexpensive, London babbyyyy – Fury remembered some thot shouting as he had boarded off Kings Cross, which applies now, too, bit Very differently.
Why coffee, green tea, croissant. Croissant are just delicious. Extra Keto. Esp the crunchy butteryness, first thing in the morning, first thing down the hatch, bliss. Coffee for the caffeine, jet fuel straight into Fury’s veins. Green tea, L-Theanine, which counterbalances the stimulating effect of caffeine. A dampener of sorts. A relaxant. Thus the perfect saucy combo, a pick me up if you will for this blissful Sunday morning.
After war, always a bit of peace. Since Fury had set prolly a PR of getting kicked out of a club, was to be expected do in soy beta cuck ville…
Fury was gazing at the aft, or stern, or lol bow of a ship. Above which letters said in bold: SOUTH WING. Left to the ship was a doorway where Fury was about to head, stairs up, to the Nelson Navy Nation Section. Fury mused upon the alliteration, and it rolled nicely over the tongue. Someone put in effort into that copy. Fury smirked inwardly.
Also gazing at were the little children playing with such wanton abandon and innocence and glee that only kids can, and they felt to radiate even harder than the rays darting in from the glass ceiling.
Fury could feel it was a warm Summer’s day and he loved it, and it was bright, too, and the museum was so quiet, so peaceful, even though the kids was manically cackling and play fighting and stealing eachothers little boats. The floor was the world, a continent, and the ships were basically there to maraud and plunder and pillage the boat. Ofcourse some kids got left behind. LOL. Which let them to crying, which made them call mommy and run back to her as they had their coffee at the tables all around Fury, which slowly start to fill up.
Fury was downing the tea now, because the croissant and coffee were long gone. He was a man who enjoyed fine things, but also fast things. Not per se because it has to be done fast, but because he more pressing matters sometimes. Which in this case was Nelson and his coat.
After Fury was done, he got up and cleaned up after himself and headed to the doorway beside the ship. Up the stairs. Then he saw a sign. Nelson.
Then glass doors. Which alerted him at first, but he thought it very logical. If you think about it. This is all about paying respect, hooamage. The compartmentalization, the sectioning off of things, the masterpieces, the preservation of it all, the signs right before you are about to witness the Glory. Shit’s gotta be respected.
Once through the glass, the journey back in time began. The pieces were not positioned in the most strict professional way possible. Tbh, they were just left and right, a bit gung-ho, to Fury’s taste. Which was ok, for now, and this time, he was still in the post drinking after buzz warfare chaotic run and gun mode anyways.
This all made him select the pieces more haphazardly anyways and just go with his gut. What resonated with him on such a fundamental level.
He started reading a bit where Lord Horation Nelson was from, where he was born, his timeline, up to fighting at Trafalgar, where he met his fateful demise.
Then he saw a portrait of him. After seizing a city in Nicaragua.
Then Fury witness one of Nelson’s dress coat. With a saber, a ceremonial sword. NOT the coat Fury came for…
And Fury thinks that this is where the Nelson Glorification began…
Fury doesn’t pedestalize, but the Glory was palpable. Strange. The man long and gone and dead, yet however transcending through history his legacy could be felt.
The coat just oozed respect. The description said it was for formal wear. As was the sword. It was dull. It was beautiful, decorated and almost jewelry. Very feminine. Perhaps more fitting of times then.
But imagine, just rocking up with this frog coat. Which was decorated to the tee. Emblazoned with Orders, these little tokens, again of respect, but of Vanquishing your opponents, and they yielding, offering you these totemic representations of how powerful you were. You, as leader, and then your army behind you, and behind that your Nation. That’s power. And Fury could feel that.
Then there was the knife-fork contraption funny little thing, which was made specifically for Nelson because he lost a hand. So he wanted to be able to prick and slice with one hand. Fury thought that knork (?)/fife (?) thing looked damn handy and wanted one as well.
Besides that there was a lightning rod. A trophy of war. Nelson took from a French boat he destroyed. It was ugly as hell, but the sight was beautiful. Glory, war, the works. Above it was a painting encapsulating said moment in history. It looked pretty damn spectacular. Fury could tell they put in a lot of work in this artful propaganda. Optics over anything.
After that it was the piece de resistance…the Nelson’s Coat, with the bullet hole in it.
Fury documented it on both film and photo, but what he experienced he could neither put truly in words, nor could he explain his through mood or state of mind he was in. He could not describe it other than he saw a warrior’s demise right in front of him, and it was glorious.
The coat was very similar to the one Fury saw before. A question darted through his head, how do we know this one is the real deal, how did they salvage it? Does it matter…. The hole was to be seen, and patched up and stuffed and supported by artisans and museum experts. Nelson was wearing one hell of a fancy vest that day. The description said this was NOT his finest wear. Which made Fury smile as hell. This mf went into battle all dressed up to the f NINES, and he could’ve died even looking better! Now, that was sauce!
Again the Orders, on the Left chest side of the Coat, and Fury read the description what they went and he started to feel it…these tokens were all of capitulation of the enemy. Nelson was a bad ass.
If the first coat oozed respect, then The Coat oozed Immortality. Think about it. Trafalgar square, Nelson’s Column. Erected for him, in his name, for his glory. Memento mori. And the coat truly is the real memento mori. Mean he died in the bloody thing. Maritime museum, could have been called Mausoleum, albeit a spiritual one. Bit morbid if they’d kept his corpse there. Wonder where his bones are…
Fury took one last glimpse of the Coat, the Hole. The story on the sign. Took it all in, and then left the section. And as he made his way down, back on the first floor he saw a sign. Trafalgar. Turner.
Damn, Fury thought. Didnt know that one existed in the first place, much less that it be in this place, too. Lucky me. We ball.
So down he went to the ground floor, in a strange spot, right beside the intersection to the entrance and the shop, he saw a small secluded chamber which housed the Turner.
From the corner of his right eye Fury saw a very attractive thin caucasian woman. But he didnt give her that much thought since he had realized the day before in the National Gallery that once on a Museum Mission the beauty of most women pale compared to the sheer splendor of the Masterpieces, which ironically were all painted by men.
The chamber was again closed with glass automatic doors. Sign first. Fury read.
The Battle of Trafalgar, Turner.
And in he went. A couple things fired off in his brain, exploding and radiating, and striking like lightning, but also smoldering like lava, too many sentiments and thoughts, but the uncanny thing was just the very first thing he noticed which was ofcourse optics.
The room was pitch black dark. Orchestrated perfectly in such a way, to lure your vision to what lay dead center. Illuminated. This huge master painting by Turner.
To be fully honest there were writings to the left, and right. However these detracted from the full focus one is meant to give the center piece, Fury mused. However free stuff, free intel, so he took it in first.
Like appetizers. To the left a glass casing with a musket rifle, not THE weapon that killed Nelson, but he would’ve been slain in battle with a very similar model. That was cool.
To the right, there were some quotes and tidbits about Turner and the story around it, and contemporaries of him, about him and the painting. And of Nelson and his warriors. Who fought like Lions. Fury felt that.
Then Fury looked straight ahead at the vibrant beige yellow pinkish painting. Naming colors wasnt Fury’s expertise, well he is friends with true painters, so… but he could tell Turner went for a more pastel colored approach. Maybe add a nostalgic whimsical romantic subtext to the whole ordeal. Which fits the narrative that historians have been complaining that Turner didnt do the true story justice enough; missing crucial historical details.
But Fury ignored such humbug. Mean, it was clear that George VI (or IV?) knew EXACTLY what he was doing. He chose Turner. Turner also knew Exactly what he was doing.
This was to tell the story of the Great Battle of Trafalgar. So what if its embellished here and there. So what if some things are left out. People know of it, partly because of this masterpiece. Mission accomplished. Optics, the name of the game.
Fury was enjoying himself a tad too much as he realized when the crowd started coming in. And the strollers. And the babies. And the crying. If he’d been a bit faster, in enjoying, however that may be possible, haha, he’d have the room all by himself, but now he was interrupted in his train of thoughts and emotions and vibes by chattering NPCs and cute babies who wanted attention…
Fury crossed his arms and stood dead center in front of the painting. That’s when he got lucky.
An alarm went off. To the right and up. A red light was flashing too. The noise was not hard, but most defo not soft, people got annoyed and actually started leaving the chamber. They were prolly scared that they touched the sign or the fence in front of the painting. Or that they did something wrong in general. They got scared shitless and vacated the premises and this pleased Fury very much so.
He got how they felt tho. Persecution complex, everlasting. But Fury just stood there, arms still crossed. Like a statue. He thought, What are they gonna do, kick me out? Again. It made him laugh on the inside. He’d never been kicked out of a museum before. That be the first. One sympathizes with such masochism, and shooting for Glory.
Then the alarm slowly died down. Lucky again. Now he had the Trafalgar all for himself and in peace and quiet. He took one last look at the battle, the ship, the men on the ship, and the mayhem all around the big bloody ship that prolly belonged to Nelson. The juxtaposition between the red alert just now and that happening for ever on the ship struck Fury funny, but not so significant. He’d been on a wild goose chance ever since March, for synchs and signs of the Cosmos. Farfetched, sometimes.
The second he left the chamber of Trafalgar, the moment his foot crossed the threshold between the glass doors and the rest of the museum, he saw the striking good looking woman again and Fury didn’t hesitate for one breath.
From the corner of Fury’s left eye he saw beside her a man to her right, Fury’s left, and he completely ignored the bloke, however he did acknowledge him. Game theory. Psychology. Quick wave, nod, hello, and then straight to the girl. Fury way too fast and old fox for this shit.
Girl had blank facial expression, but that was bout to change, Fury thought to himself gleefully. He had a nice little ruse. hehe.
“Excuse me, miss,” Fury said. “I think I heard an alarm go off in the room of the Trafalgar.”
Briefly she looked at her colleague, and said something along the lines of she was right, she had heard something.
Actually that was why Fury approached her at all, in the first place, because he saw her mouthing something to the guy, and making finger and hand gestures to the room, with signs of concern on her face and Fury struck while he thought he had the chance.
She was intimately connected to the museum, because her body was already moving and Fury brought her to the room, they entered, but as soon as they entered ofcourse, the alarm had stopped.
Therefore she knew that there wasnt anything pressing going on really. Well other than the fact Fury wanted to talk to her. Fury, too, however, was being congruent with it all. He too was tied to the museum. First the coat, the glory, and know the Trafalgar, and the vibes the painting gave him. He was not really lying, he had figured he’d at least tell one of the people working in the museum, to make sure they check up on the ventilation system or whatever was beeping.
He cared and the girl could tell.
Fury said what he thought, Alarm has gone off now, but its there in the corner. Red light was going off, and beeping hard.
She said thank you and that she’d pass it along. Her eyes were full of wonder seeing such passion of a man for the arts and the museum.
Fury said, You seen the Trafalgar before?
She laughed, Ofcourse. I work here.
Well that doesnt mean you must have seen it, right?
It’s a marvelous piece, I really love it. Such energy from it. Its my first time here, maybe that’s why its so special.
Yeah I agree, she said. I remember the first time I came here, just now. It was with my mother and we had so much fun.
Fury liked her a lot and she was stunning and he could tell she was drifting in the past when she said that. A distant gaze in her eyes. Recalling. What was interesting, he thought, was the fact she brought up her mother.
Then her walkie talkie went off, she said a few quick words, muffled the thing a bit, not off.
Bubble burst, Fury realized she was on the clock and he was here for one last night, and he was in no need to rush any of it and so he motioned towards the exit.
Back outside in the bright light of the museum. They chatted a bit more. Fury told her he actually came for the coat with the hole, as she recommended him to see it. She even gave him special insider tips where everything was and Fury said thank you with a smile.
He asked her name. She gave it. Pause. She asked his back.
They said goodbye.
And Fury said, Ill be back.
Then he left, straight to the museum shop, bought a journal, was the first thing he saw, and he always buys journals, and given his most recent Odyssey, his was filling up, so why not buy one here.
He left the museum and walked in the sun, towards the heart of Greenwich and realized this was a beautiful part of London most people dont talk about. A hidden gem, perhaps. Who knows. Because it was still quite crowded, for a Sunday. Sun was out and there was a man playing guitar and singing.
His singing was very mediocre, Fury had seen way better, but his timbre was exotic and the song he was playing was something like the Redemption song, that and the sun and the scenery made it look all the more fitting.
Behind the guy there was the Cutty Sark. A big bloody ship. Fury had no idea what the hell the thing was, what his history was. Uncultured or cultured Fury was, he had only been in pubs ALL around the world with the exact name Cutty Sark and had only now realized, Oh it was a hooamage to this thing, right here, in London.
Fury mused fondly how uncultured he still was, but just loves to call other people out about their uncultured streaks.
Fury saw a small market, small little stands lining a mini square. He saw a table beside a Jamaican Stand which was playing Soul music. That sh hits different, and was the type of music Fury has listened in a distant past. Very distant. So he just sat down and because the tables all had fresh coconuts, he ordered one as well.
Fury smoked, sat, and listened to the Soul music, which was actually a live radio station tuned in and broadcasting this live. Perhaps from Jamaica. As he smoked, he drank Coconut water, it was fresh, as he had just heard the guy chop the damn thing, machete, and now he was just closing his eyes. Taking in the nicotine and the nutrients and the sun. Replenishing from all the debauchery he had been pulling off the last few days. Weeks. Months.
People walking by saw him being his immersive self, and queued up, Fury reckoned he gave the guy a couple extra five to ten customers, just because he had coconuts on the table. Enjoying himself, the sun, the soul, the smoke.
In that moment and even after the fact Fury desired to stay in that specific spot and moment in time longer. Perhaps for ever. But that ruins the fragility of the moment. Only through the juxtaposition of a peaceful moment with the more run and gun lifestyle, only through the contrast value is sprung from it.
A woman besides Fur was feeling it, smile on her face, taking in the sun. Jamaican food on the tables, coconuts. Nodding along to the soul music. Fur asked her some directions because he had to get back to the center of London.
She pointed towards the tunnel, and they bantered a bit.
Fury gave as much as he took, and took his leave.
The entrance to the tunnel looked archaic. Much like from Fury’s hometown, think pre world war two.
The tunnel had a spiral staircase going down. At the lowest level, you had one big tube. A big cilinder style tunnel, extending forward all the way, to the other side of the Thames.
Perhaps frightening if you give it Too much thought. Fury didnt. Because he used to build tunnels just like this. He looked at the wall, the stones, the keystones and was extrapolating, thinking, piecing together how they mustve built the tunnel. All the while walking at a brisk pace.
Fury felt he had lost a f ton of time at the museum and Cutty Sark and just smoking and enjoying himself in the sun and listening to tunes and drinking coco water.
Not lost, that it was in vain, people take that sh way to serious, but lost, as in theres one thread, the main, and you dont deviate too much. Because if Fury does, he’ll go ballistic once more, and who knows he ends up in some other country or some sh, once more.
Main course, main thread.
The walk was like a fifteen thirty minute walk, Fury didnt even check the time, it was decent and when he’s traveling walks are the exercise so he doesnt care.
Other side, same deal, up the spiral case.
On the other side he was one minute away from the light rail, he forgot to get a ticket, but he didnt mind, no one checks. From there he rode it couple stations to a station, that had a connection with the Jubilee line, from there he could ride it all the way to Knightsbridge Station.
There was the Bulgari Hotel, with cigar lounge, by the famous Davidoff of London owner, Edward Sahakian. Fury inside didnt care that much for such lofty names and had only heard of it by recommendations. But still interesting to see. Mean, it was on the list. And the thing had only five things. So this had to happen.
Fury throat and mouth were all raw and ashy tho, so he’d have to refrain himself to just one, but given the place he was going to, the budget, it was gonna be fine.
After some picturesque cute little London alley, Fury found the hotel. You could not miss it. The whole environment changed to. Luxury. Aka rich. haha.
Fury, for once, was actually underdressed. Well, he’d come straight from the Stag party and hadnt been back to the hotel ever since… he’d been living it up, like an absolute animal the nights before. And he’d still come out unscathed. The trench had drip enough. He had sauce enough.
Fury entered the Bulgari.
[Fury will return.]