There's gotta be a reason that I'm here on Earth [OPEN]

[pointofhonoria]

Who: Honoria Crabb & you!
What: Crabb's goin' through it but aren't we all
When: January
Where: Many places on the ship
Warnings: Nothing really to start off, added as we go
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets I am comfortable with either style.


1. The changing of the seasons never changed my hurt [calgona gym]

It's not the first time Crabb's fallen back on Calgona to try and work out some of the pure restless energy and the directionless anger that plagues her, in times of stress, but it's been a while since she could be found going at the punching bag quite so viciously. This is, perhaps, that for once the anger isn't entirely directionless; it's aimed inward, worming its way deeper into her chest and muddying her thoughts. The wrapping on her fists isn't as well-done as it usually would be, but even the dull stinging as the force threatens to tear at her knuckles doesn't stop her.

It's this, or... or she doesn't know what. So, this it is.

Though in moments where she's not quite so caught up in her head, you might find her figuring out how to use the martial arts training dummy that she had the pleasure of having to drag up here herself from sundries earlier this month. It's not the first time she's used something like it, but Bastrop only showed her how to once or twice and that was months ago. It occupies her mind in a different way, she has to think more than just mindlessly wailing on the bag, and she can't deny that's a help.

2. So what's it worth? What's it worth? [library]

The fancy, infinite notebook is, really, meant to be where she works on her attempts to properly document the story of Lavender Jack and various other cases that she and Ferrier have worked on over the last couple years she was at home. And it's not that she's not working on that, in dribs and drabs when she can find the will to bother, but it's clearly not what she's doing most days this month. Not going by the way she's scribbling random notes in some personal shorthand, mumbling to herself, all the while frustrated.

More often than not, everything new she's scribbled down doesn't last long. She tears the pages out, balls them up and throws them aimlessly across the room. They end up all over the place. Maybe one hits you as you're walking by, or standing obliviously in a different aisle where she can't even see you. Not that her seeing you makes much of a difference, she probably isn't going to notice to apologise anyway if you don't say something.

3. Worth another shot of whiskey and another sip of gin [tauva]

The fact of the matter is, Crabb feels like shit. It just doesn't feel like she has a damned thing to contribute, anymore. What good is a brawler with nothing to fight, and who wouldn't stand a chance against those with abilities far above her own even if she did? What good is a detective who has no experience with either the modern world most people recognise, or the magic that controls every aspect of their lives and keeps them bound here in the first place?

Coming up on nine months aboard and she's died twice, been possessed once, and has done, frankly, nothing of use. She can only blame circumstances knocking her off her game for so long before she has to wonder if she's not so much knocked off her game as no longer has any game to climb back on.

Even in situations that should bring her as close to her element as she can get, like investigating the murders or the trial, she finds herself with nothing to show for it but a Goddamn migraine. She can't even protect the people she cares about. Either she's too late, or she's not there, and yes she knows it's Goddamned ridiculous to blame herself for the month she spent possessed but it's hard not to. She should have been there and she wasn't, all because she couldn't defend herself against some magic-y bastard.

All she has going for her is her 'doggedness' and let's be honest, what good is that with no direction to aim it at all? And as unlike her as it is... she just doesn't know what the Hell she's going to do to change that. She feels utterly impotent, lost and out of her depth and there's no easy way out.

So she goes through the motions. She goes through every day in a shallow mimicry of her routine, and then she finds herself time to sit alone in Tauva, nursing glasses of cheap whiskey that reminds her of simpler times when just picking a direction and kicking through anything in her way was enough. And unfortunately for her and her desire to keep this from anyone else, she looks about as miserable as she feels.

4. Another drop of poison that is slowly sinkin' in [wildcard]

Find me at bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam#5757/in the discord.

Comments

2

[crushed_pearls]

A crumpled-up ball of paper goes sailing back right onto the desk, with no one around who might have thrown it. It lands right in front of Crabb.

It's got a glossy sheen, like magazine paper.

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb jerks back just a little in surprise and automatically glances around for who's throwing things back at her. Seeing no one... she squints suspiciously at the crumpled paper and picks it up to look at it, but does not try to un-crumple it.

[crushed_pearls]

Definitely magazine paper. Who crumpled this? Where did they get a magazine?

[pointofhonoria]

More suspicious squinting. You'd think after Erin showing her new trick off by turning into a bike she'd connect some dots here, but not yet. She just sighs and attempts to un-crumple the ball to see what the Hell is even on it.

[crushed_pearls]

There is a Sports Illustrated style pinup of Erin in a swimsuit.

The picture waves happily. "Hiiiiiiii love!"

[pointofhonoria]

"Jeezus—!" The motion and voice almost startle her enough to drop the paper (Erin????) entirely, but not quite. She still slumps dramatically in her seat as the initial surprise wears off, though, laughing and covering her face when the warmth inevitable hits. "...hi, petal. What in God's name...?"

[crushed_pearls]

"Well you see, I came for books and saw you all wrapped up in your head." Erin lounges on a log in the picture and wiggles. "Thought I might ask what you're working on. Talking through creative problems can help y'know?"

This doesn't explain the salacious picture but shhh.

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb huffs a faint laugh, shaking her head. "That explains maybe half of this whole thing, at best. And not one bit 'a that half is why you had to be a piece 'a paper at all let alone lookin' like— like that, Christ."

She's still flushed in the face. That probably isn't going away any time soon.

"I'm not really workin' on anything proper, anyway. Just..." She sighs. "I dunno, really."

[crushed_pearls]

"I'm hearing that I need to be less clothed in this public space to jog your brain."

[pointofhonoria]

"Erin!" She drags her hand down her face, the colour's only getting darker. Goddammit, these are unfair tactics. "God's teeth, there really ain't much to jog. It ain't my writing stuff, anyway. S'just random notes, ain't of any actual use or purpose."

[crushed_pearls]

"And yet you seem awfully upset about it love. Talk to me. Speak your secrets into my high gloss paper." Erin's voice softens. "Lemme be here for you."

[pointofhonoria]

"This is a real weird way to have any conversation, y'know that right?" She gestures vaguely at the paper, at the same time slumping further in her seat. "Look it ain't— it ain't anything important, seriously. M'just... stuck in a loop, that's all. Happens from time to time, that."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin just puts her hands on her hips and 'glares' from inside the paper.

Crabb and Daisy are too alike sometimes.

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb groans, head dropping back. "I really dunno if I can have this conversation with a piece of paper, petal. Never even mind the look, on top 'a that."

She's not sure she can have this conversation at all, really, but she also knows Erin isn't going to just back down without her giving something.

[crushed_pearls]

"Fine then."

The paper hops up, floats gently down to Crabb's lap - and turns into a fully sized, and fully dressed, Erin, arms wrapped around Crabb's neck and snuggled close.

"If one more person who's clearly not fine tells me they're fine," Erin murmurs softly, "I'm gonna turn into a broom and not turn back. You're always there for me. Tell me your troubles or prepare to sweep this ship."

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb sighs, but she wraps her arms around Erin and gives her a squeeze. Despite her continued reluctance, she does sound fond. "Alright, alright, can't have you starting a new life as a Goddamn broom, I s'pose..."

She chews at her bottom lip. God, she really doesn't want to get into this, it doesn't matter and she's just going to get to hear the same thing she would and has said to someone else feeling like this even though it won't stop the feeling.

"Look, I told you, m'stuck in a loop. I'm— I dunno, feeling a little like I'm wading against a current with no idea where I'm even goin'."

[crushed_pearls]

"Mmm...any idea where you would like to go?"

She's going somewhere with this, promise.

[pointofhonoria]

She has no idea how to answer that without heavily implying the sense of uselessness she's trying to avoid mentioning. "Hhhh. I dunno. Somewhere that actually matters."

Even that's dancing close enough against the line that it feels too close, but it's better than 'somewhere I can actually be of Goddamn use'.

[crushed_pearls]

"Mmmmmkay so it's lesson time." Erin gives Crabb a kiss on the cheek. "If I say the words 'grand strategy' to you, what do they mean?"

[pointofhonoria]

"Uhhhh. God I dunno, probably not whatever you're thinkin' of. I ain't the one who handles strategy stuff. Either I'm wingin' it or I'm doin' what I've been told by one of the folks with the head for the wider picture."

Little does she know how much the her at home will challenge parts of that self assessment, but...

[crushed_pearls]

"This is why I bring it up. You say you're not strategic, but detective work is strategic. You're just lacking some language." Erin nestles in closer, clearly Comfy. "Grand strategy isn't a grade, it's a scope; it's the level at which you identify your objectives and policies, or in other words where a person or organization decides who they are. Your Lavender League's grand strategy revolved around protecting the small, saving lives, and punishing the corrupt. Let's start there. What do you want, and not want? F'rinstance I'm betting you're not willing to sacrifice the passengers for freedom."

[pointofhonoria]

"Maybe it is, but it ain't the same as what Ducky and such do, y'know?" Vague gesturing with one hand before it settles back with the other around Erin.

She was listening to the rest, though, though she's still not a hundred percent sure she's going to be keeping up when the question of what she wants feels like a jam in her thoughts. "No, 'course I ain't."

[crushed_pearls]

"Alright. Jot it down. I will not be leaving your lap, you are my chair now."

[pointofhonoria]

"How'm I s'posed to write when you're between me and the table, eh?"

There is a lot of careful manoeuvring involved in her being able to even get at her notebook, and then Erin's just going to have to deal with her lap being a temporary table because Crabb's arms are not that long.

It feels a little ridiculous writing this down but she does anyway, in her personal shorthand again.

[crushed_pearls]

"There we go, one goal marked. Knock out the easy ones love; it'll get the brain juices flowing."

Gentle and unstoppable, like the rain. Something is wrong and Erin will get to it when she gets to it.