Honoria Crabb (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pointofhonoria) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-01-21 01:15 am
pointofhonoria) wrote in come_sailaway2023-01-21 01:15 am
There's gotta be a reason that I'm here on Earth [OPEN]
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam#5757/in the discord.
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
1.
“I am unfamiliar with the training dummy you are using.”
no subject
Crabb steps back from the dummy and scrubs a hand over her face—she should really have a towel on hand, but she hasn't actually thought that far ahead—before glancing over at him.
"Not trained, exactly. Mostly self-taught," she answers, because as a general rule she doesn't even lie inconsequentially. "This thing," she smacks one of the dummy's arms, "is some martial arts training thing. Friend 'a mine used it lot more than I ever did."
no subject
He thinks for a moment, then adds, “If you do not mind, what necessitated you learning it on your own? I was self-taught for a while as well, although I received training later on.”
no subject
"Few things, really. Grew up pretty poor, just for one, so there weren't exactly money for lessons. And even if there were, it weren't considered particularly ladylike to be a brawler, back home. When I was a cop we were expected to be able to hold our own, mind, but beyond that..."
She shrugs. No actual training involved. She had to learn on the go. "Then I got caught up in this whole big mystery and was getting into scraps with people who didn't want the truth exposed. And you sure start learnin' fast when you got people tryna beat the crap outta you."
no subject
no subject
"Oh, uh." Well, that's a point of confusion she hasn't had come up before. "Police, law enforcement, dealing with crime and all that."
It feels like over-clarifying but she's not sure if the slang is all that isn't carrying over or not, the terms and concepts might be totally and utterly different for all she knows.
no subject
His own feelings on the subject are... complicated, to say the least.
no subject
"Knights, huh. Not sure if it's ever been like that in our history but, similar things, different faces I guess. I worked that job, God, going on 12 years by the time I quit. Signed up with good intentions, but serving the government weren't actually serving my country right, in the end, so..."
She shrugs a shoulder. She doesn't not note the wariness, so she's sort of... wondering what he'll make of that.
no subject
He seems relieved at that. Some of the tension ebbs away.
“I know many who have served as knights with the most noble of intentions. I do not know if it is the same, but there is a sense of glory to knighthood that many find attractive. But I have seen firsthand where that glory leads. Even though I myself have served as a knight for my own reasons, I am wary of those who speak first of fighting crime and administering justice when they describe the work.”
no subject
"Sounds all fine and dandy on the surface 'til you see where those priorities tend to lead folks, eh." Crabb straightens up a bit and starts unwrapping one of her hands to re-wrap it, for no real reason other than it gives her something to do with her hands. "I was a right ol' government goon, for a long time. Head full of stones and justifications for folks who didn't deserve space in my thoughts. Then I started seein' things from a new perspective and I was out within a year. Started serving the truth, and I've done more good for my country since I changed my priorities than I ever did before."
That is something she allows herself to be proud of. She figured out how to do what she actually wanted to do the whole time, even if she needed a push.
no subject
“That is admirable,” he nods, genuine in his words.
no subject
"It is, innit? One of the things in my life I've got no doubts about." The first wrap comes undone and she starts re-doing it. "Sounds like your priorities lie in a different place to those kinds folks who'd think 'emselves your peers, too."
She was always a bit out of step with the other officers even before she got some sense knocked into her, honestly. A rapid promotion that put her in a position of power she wasn't really equipped for didn't help with that, but. Some of it was just her.
no subject
He has been calling himself a knight here, and in truth he has modeled himself after certain influential Faerghan knights, but in the past he has always pointed out the difference between a knight and a vassal whenever there was confusion. In part because he still does not trust many knights, and they don’t trust him. He may have been in the army, but he never felt like one of them.
“What do you call yourself now that you are no longer a cop?” he asks.
no subject
"Well, besides just my name..." She's joking, bit of a smile on her face, but answers, "...Detective. I'm a detective. We root out the truth behind crimes, too, but the focus is the truth. We're as often proving someone was falsely accused as that they were guilty. Sometimes we ain't even focused on that at all, it's just about finding someone or something that went missing. Stuff like that. And we've done a lot of work that's directly against the government, either tryna get rid of corruption or just making sure normal folks don't get caught up in it. Truth and serving people who need our help."
no subject
no subject
"Been better for it, yeah. Had a good couple years of that work, at home. Me and my mentor, of sorts. Helped a lot of folks."
And now of course she's here, and she honestly doesn't feel like she's been living up to the title anymore.
no subject
no subject
"'Course. I miss home every day. Knowing we ain't ever going back don't help the homesickness. My friends and me did good work, and we weren't done by any stretch."
That's a bit of a deflection, really. But it's true.
no subject
“I understand the sentiment. There are many things about my world that I do not miss. But I had purpose there that I lack here.”
no subject
"...yeah, we are quite literally floatin' along without a cause, strictly speaking. Endless holiday with a side of death and all that." Of course, getting freedom is the goal, but...
When that feels so impossible for her to do anything about, personally, it's still not quite the same as having real work to do.
no subject
no subject
"Ain't that the truth. Didn't take a full day off in two years before this place, and not many before that. I ain't built for this much downtime."
You know because it's totally healthy never to stop working and she totally wasn't using work to run away from her messy emotions on recent traumas. Totally fine.
no subject
no subject
Crabb huffs a laugh. "Maybe. Sure is one way to make a person stop whether they want to or not."