And I'm tryin' my best to believe in the best left in me [OPEN]

[pointofhonoria]

Who: Honoria Crabb & you!
What: Mostly memshare
When: March
Where: Memories & the Serena Eterna
Warnings: Nothing really to start off, added as we go
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets I am comfortable with either style. The only prompt with any particularly notable risk of death is Prosperity Bridge, and only if things get screwed up majorly.


1. Oh your cryin's a test of the veins, of my fluid beliefs [4v1 fight, day she met Tom Broadfoot]

Gallery, in the dead of winter. New South Gallery Orphanage, or, more accurately the burned down husk of the old orphanage next door. The ground is covered in a thick layer of snow and there are children playing in places they shouldn't be, but none have strayed within the fenced off perimeter that Crabb is currently exploring.

She doesn't notice the arrival of four other adults until they're already there with her, two coming from the same gap in the fence she did and two more coming from behind her. The two men behind her are nondescript thugs she doesn't recognise, but the ginger woman and tall man are a different story.

"Y'know, I'm actually glad to see you two. Felt like I left a job half-done back at the bulletin—"

"Ooh, sounds like fun," the ginger woman taunts, "but I was thinking instead that Cork and the fellas here could go ahead and stomp you into something a little more lumpy. Something to show your boss at City Hall he needs to keep his beak out. And for me?" She pulls out a knife, holding it up like a demonstration. Crabb grits her teeth, already squaring up for a fight that only seems inevitable. "Well, see, I met this Lady back in the pen, and she's paying out large to anybody who can put another scar on that big face of yours. And I'm saving up for a new flat."

It's then that the four legbreakers move, and Crabb has to think fast to avoid getting killed right here and now.

2. When people burn bridges, the rivers, they don't seem to mind [Prosperity Bridge, the night it collapses]

Prosperity Bridge. Eight minutes to nine o'clock.

Prosperity is a hub for the rich socialites of Gallery. Fine dining, high-end shopping, a place to show off and be shown off to; a place for the upper crust to socialise and hold themselves separate from the rest of the city around them. A place that is mere minutes away from crumbling out from under their feet.

Unbeknownst to anyone here tonight, there is already a fight for their lives ongoing in the clock tower. A fight that will ultimately only end partially in their favour, preventing the bridge from collapsing quite as quickly as the Black Note intends.

Well. One person outside that clock-tower knows. Crabb arrives in a skidding frenzy, automobile coming to a screeching stop across from the tower and in front of an employee. She clambers out of the car, looking up toward the tower.

"E-Excuse me! Ma'am you cannot park your automobile here—" The poor employee protests, only for her to shut the door. "Ma'am! I said—"

But Crabb's distracted, listening to a strange, high-pitched eeeeeeeeeee sound coming from above, "Wait. Shut up. I know that sound—" Right then, a spiderweb crack appears between the 7 and 8 marks on the clock, and without a second more to waste Crabb turns and grabs the guy by his collar. "Listen to me. You gotta take me to your manager's office right bleedin' now. 'Cause there's a real good chance this bridge's minutes are numbered."

3. There's a violence I've found, in the regular things left behind [Margrave Ballroom Fundraiser, date with Tom]

The Margrave Building Ballroom. Extravagant and lustrous and filled with members of Gallerian High Society milling around discussing the latest theories about Lavender Jack, the Black Note and frankly paying very little attention to the supposed point of the evening: fundraising for the South Gallery Orphanage.

Honoria Crabb and Tom Broadfoot stand out like a sore thumb, sat where they are at the bar, dressed in police dress-blues and a cheap suit that don't match up to the glamour of those around them. Both even look like they feel out of place, sticking by each other and generally keeping out of the way rather than mingling.

"Cute," Crabb sneers, watching the politicians on stage. "Not every day you see a wolf making nice with a bear."

"Plenty of livestock to go around, I guess," Tom sighs, and Crabb snorts a grim laugh.

4. And I'm tryin' my best to believe in the best left in me [Bastrop Manor] (Sols will hop in to play Ducky, unless someone has any objections to a 3-way!)

It's two in the morning, and Crabb and Ducky are waiting for Bastrop to return from a mission, of sorts. Crabb seems fairly comfortable, here, with her police uniform's jacket shed, her tie tossed aside, and her sleeves rolled up where she and Ducky have been playing chess between cups of coffee. Speculative chatter about parts of the case has been most of the fare tonight, though Crabb's found herself drifting more and more into more mundane topics the more tired she gets.

They are the only people in this entire manor, hidden away in the canopy with a giant telescope and Bastrop's tools. The mansion is expansive and silent.

Until, of course, you arrive.

5. Oh this world is a mess [Blue Horsehoe Pub, mundane day]

In this memory, Crabb looks the closest to the Crabb that everyone knows from the boat. No police uniform, no skirts, just her go-to white button down, brown trousers with suspenders and her trenchcoat draped over the stool underneath her. Her tie is loosened a little and she's at ease, at the bar, wielding a glass of mid-tier whiskey and chatting occasionally with the tall, muscular blonde man who serves as the place's bartender.

It's a matter of business, more than it really is about relaxation; Ducky isn't here to come and gather information that Masters has picked up anymore, so while Johnny continues to run the high-society end of things, Crabb's taken to coming down to the Blue Horseshoe to see if there's anything they need to know.

It is, however, still one of the few things she does that comes close to taking any time off, during this stretch of her life. And there's space at the bar beside her.

6. But it's prettier, than what lies beneath [Serena Eterna]

Crabb is trying her best to hide the fact that this 'reality breaking apart at the seams' thing is actually shaking her up more than she'd be proud to admit. There's a part of her that can't help but wonder if this is her doing, at least in part, what with Friday MIA thanks to her actions and after she smudged the sigils in the first place. Sure, there's the whole feeding a corpse to a ghost thing, and who knows what else, but...

So, she's doing what she does best. Bury it in other work. She tries to keep track of memories she's been into or had entered, she tries to see if there's any sort of pattern (not as far as she can see), she even tries to dip back into her project writing up the story of Lavender Jack, but she's still a bit all over the place no matter what she does.

Find her in any of her usual spots around the ship, places like Windjammer or the Drunken Sailor, Tauva, the Library, the gym and sports deck, or just around.

7. Oh where do I go from here [wildcard]

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

Comments

4.

[crushed_pearls]

Erin is, once again, caught by surprise when she goes through a rift, right in the god damn floor. She has just enough time to register that she has eyeballs on right now before she hits a chair at the speed of Falling.

The chair, noisily, does not survive.

(Ffffuuuck us.)

Yep.

[pointofhonoria]

Maybe if she'd had a more graceful entrance she'd have stood a chance at getting out of sight before she was noticed, chance to come up with an approach that might be less startling. Maybe.

But no, she hits the ground by way of a broken chair and Crabb nearly spills her latest cup of coffee jumping out of her Goddamn skin, head snapping towards the intrusion. "What in the devil—"

[astraythought]

Ducky's immediately reaching for a kitchen knife. Oh, sure, she can be the polite housemaid when there's guests at the door, but this is a whole other kettle of fish. "We weren't anticipating company."

[crushed_pearls]

"I wasn't expecting to be company," Erin answers back, raising both hands from her spot on the nice comfy floor. "If I said I was a protean horror from another dimension is that gonna fly or did y'all still have Lovecraft?"

[pointofhonoria]

"What the Hell's that supposed to mean?!"

Crabb does not miss that Ducky has already armed herself, but some instinctive part of her still has her coming around from her side of the counter to put herself somewhere between the intruder and the smaller woman. It really is only force of habit that she's any good at moving quickly in that frankly impractical uniform skirt she's still in, here.

5. Oh this world is a mess || Doing two threads it warm in Hell

[crushed_pearls]

Erin steps through a rift quite by mistake (she really needs to stop leaning against walls) and into the front door of the bar, once again finding herself wearing human eyes. When she looks down at herself to confirm she makes a little sigh at the far end of the bar, and then looks up -

- and sees Crabb.

Mischief consumes her immediately. She walks over with loud steps and pulls up a stool right next to Crabb, offering an easy smile on that pretty face of hers. "What's a handsome lass like you doing drinking all alone?"

[pointofhonoria]

Despite the sound of her footsteps, despite the scrape of the stool, for the longest moment Crabb doesn't seem to realise that Erin is addressing her. There's other women around and even then, why would anyone be talking to her like that? Not even two years out from everything that happened with Cragen, quietly harbouring feelings for people on the other side of the world who she can no more imagine seeing her that way than bring them back...

It's only the continued pressure of eyes boring into the side of her head that makes her glance at Erin, realise that she's very much looking at her, and blink dumbfoundedly as she sputters out a: "—who, me?"

[crushed_pearls]

"Is there another stunning vision I'm looking at without knowing?" Erin teases. She props her elbow up on the bar and rests her cheek on her fist, still smiling that smile full of mischief. "I dunno how they do things in Gallery but let me drag you to America and you wouldn't drink alone again, lass."

[pointofhonoria]

If Erin thought the fluster that she earned from Crabb back on the Serena Eterna was impressive, it has nothing on the look of pure, flustered befuddlement that crosses her face now, jaw hanging open like a fish and face going the kind of shade Erin is more accustomed to seeing when they're already as far as the bedroom.

She even looks around a little as if she's going to find someone else this is all aimed at, or perhaps like she's trying to see where Masters has got to, but there's no 'rescue' to be found.

"I-I— um. Wow." She rubs at her neck, swallowing hard, utterly stumped on how she's supposed to handle this. "You— seriously?"

1

[redlightgreenlight]

Another memory, and though at first glance it seems a little more pleasant than others she's been in, Valdis refuses to take it at face value. Some people were slipping through a gap in the fence surrounding a burned out building. No one goes sneaking around such scenes with good intentions, and since she doesn't know whose memory this is, she might as well take a look.

She slips in behind them, quietly as possible, but they don't seem to be looking for anyone following them, more focused on the woman standing in the snow. Well, Crabb certainly sounds more bold here than on the Eterna. Though, here seems normal compared. But she's in trouble, and loathe to interfere, Valdis would actually like to talk to the Crabb of the past.

"This fight doesn't exactly look fair," Valdis says loudly, "Perhaps you should call a few more men and we'll see how many she and I can send to the infirmary."

[pointofhonoria]

The thing is, when the playing field is closer to even, this is how Crabb is: bold, and scrappy, and the kind of person who if she's going down, it won't be without a fight (and that, at least, is still true on the ship). In the second that it takes for anyone to actually respond to Valdis's arrival, Crabb gets one goon in the eye with her hat, lands an impressive right hook on the other, and has dodged Cork only to end up caught by the first goon as she stumbles back before the distraction kicks in and everything stutters to a stop.

Heads turn, Crabb's included even as struggles to shake the guy. Caroline Divvy, the ginger woman, is hanging back enough that she doesn't even have to step away from the fight, turning to give the new arrival a visual appraisal, brows raising.

"Oooh look at this one, pretty face and full of big talk. Look, lady, this ain't a matter that concerns you, so how's about you just step away and leave us to it, yeah? And we won't have to carve up that pretty face of yours too."

[redlightgreenlight]

Crabb is pretty handy in a fight after all. Why does the woman think she's so useless? Scrappy is far more helpful than what she's doing on the Eterna, maybe she just needs a little more confidence. Maybe Valdis shouldn't be such a tease. But, as she is discovering more and more with each memory, her rules aren't valid and it's becoming very evident that she knows nothing. Still, she does know how to be a sassy bitch.

"Perhaps my face is still pretty because no one has managed to keep up with me, care to see if you can?" Valdis looks the woman up and down and arches a brow, seemingly quite unimpressed. "You," She inclines her head toward the man holding Crabb, "You have until the count of 3 to release the lady and if you do so, I will leave your nose intact."

[pointofhonoria]

The goon's glances towards Divvy and Cork are so quick they're barely noticeable, but when they're done with he does not let go. He actually tightens the arm around her neck and Crabb grits her teeth harder, grabbing at it to try and pull it away.

Divvy narrows her eyes, and doesn't so much as glance back as she says, "Cork. C'mere." A simple, half-unspoken request that brings the largest man, over six foot and built a little like a brick wall, away from Crabb and the other two goons towards Valdis. "Let's see if the lady can put her money where her mouth is."

3. There's a violence I've found, in the regular things left behind

[lightconductor]

Watson can be, perhaps, forgiven for thinking he's fallen into one of Johnny's memories again, once he realises where he is. It's Crabb, though, that he sees first, and he makes his way through the finely-dressed crowd to meet her.

Though what he'll say to her, well, he has no idea.

She's with someone, a man he doesn't know. Watson offers a smile as he comes near. "You two seem to be as underdressed for the occasion as I am. You'll have to pardon me for interrupting, but it's almost a relief to find someone else who risks being thrown out of the party for being of the wrong class."

[pointofhonoria]

"Oh no worry at all," Tom says, in that warm, steady voice of his, rolling with the interruption effortlessly despite the fact the person really under there is actually a little thrown off by the sudden arrival. "If I wasn't necessary for things to go ahead this evening I'd be far more worried about that myself."

Crabb snorts again, tossing him a lopsided sort of smirk, brow raised. "Y'think being with you's enough to cover me?"

"Oh I should think so," Tom says, with the faintest bit of a smile. Then, to Watson, offering a hand to shake. "Tom Broadfoot. Headmaster of the South Gallery Orphanage."

"Special Inspector Honoria Crabb," Crabb says, tipping her head. "He's here to accept the cheque. I'm here to glare at the stuffed shirts."

[lightconductor]

He does not weigh the pros and cons of his actions; Watson is, and always has been, the type to put aside thinking in a crisis for later and rely on instinct and gut motivations in the heat of the moment.

This is both a strength and a weakness.

At the moment, he can only think of the harm this man has done. Watson does not take Tom's hand, but goes for the sucker punch -- fast, sharp, to the jaw.

[pointofhonoria]

The change of tempo is so sudden that even Cragen can't see it coming in time to play it off, to work it into whatever symphony he thinks he's playing. He can't block his face, he can't even turn his head with the blow, he just takes the full force of the punch to the jaw and topples dramatically off of his stool in the process. The clatter of the wood against the tile, the thump of his body, the surprised grunt—combined it's enough to make everyone nearby suddenly freeze and stare at the source of the commotion, with gasps and mutterings bursting into the air.

All this in a matter of moments.

Crabb, for her part, is stunned into inaction for all of two seconds before she's off her own stool and throwing a punch back at Watson. She doesn't immediately see the aftermath of the first strike, you see: the way there's now what seems to be skin hanging loose from 'Tom's face, yet not a drop of blood beneath it. She just sees Watson punch Tom, and reacts accordingly.

Probably not the best look, from an officer in her dress blues.

3 it's time

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 arrives in this memory dressed to suit it in a tuxedo. That's nice, he'll blend in better this way. He scans the crowd until his gaze lands on Crabb. Ah, so this must be one of hers. And who is that man beside her? Hm. It couldn't be... could it?

He walks up to the bar and asks for a drink, as casually as if he always belonged there. The order is for a whiskey. Not for him to drink, but for Crabb if his hunch is right about what he may be about to do. Once he has it in hand, he turns to the two of them here at the bar as if he means to make idle chatter.

"Good evening. Lovely night? Ah, forgive me, I am Peter Smith. Ms. Crabb, isn't it? But who is your companion here?"

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb's metaphorical hackles raise subtly, but, to someone like Smith, notably. The unfortunate fact is that at this time of her life Crabb had only within the last few weeks had her name dragged through the paper connecting her to another man in the city, so neither him immediately knowing her name nor asking about Tom is encouraging. Not suspicious, no, but not endearing.

"...Special Inspector Crabb, yeah," she says, tone immediately wary. Even 'Tom' looks similar, he's hated that article since the day it was posted—genuinely, too. "And this is—"

"—Tom Broadfoot," 'Tom' says. "I'm here to accept the cheque and Inspector Crabb has done me the simple favour of providing me some bearable company until then."

[be_seeing_you]

He absorbs all of that without any change in expression. He simply sets his glass of whisky down on the bar as he says. "I see."

Now he's reaching across as if he means to offer his hand to Tom's for a congratulatory handshake. "Let me give you my regards, in that case."

Quick as the crack of a whip, his hand goes up to "Tom's" cheek, fingers digging into the prosthetic he knows to be there, and he yanks it away.

[pointofhonoria]

Cragen couldn't have seen this coming if he'd tried. The masks are foolproof, until touched—they don't quite feel like real skin, the glue can't hold up to direct manipulation, all the little faults that add up. So foolproof, in fact, that this mask is able to fool a childhood friend of both himself and the real Tom. He's made it weeks interacting directly with Crabb without him refusing to let her touch his face being suspicious.

No one should be able to recognise that he's wearing a prosthetic. No. One

So when the hand goes so quickly for his face, he has only a split second to think wait, what? before the glue is tugging at his real skin, peeling away in one sharp motion, sending his glasses scattering to the floor and revealing a deeply scarred face that looks nothing like the man that Tom Broadfoot was and a lot like the man his biological father is.

Besides them, multiple things happen in quick succession: Crabb stands bolt upright with a 'hey!' on her lips as Smith reaches across. She attempts to shove him back with a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes flick towards Cragen. Her eyes go wide. And she stumbles as her distraction causes her to miss slip from the rung of her stool, barely catching herself as her breath leaves her.

3 sighs at César

[pineapplesalmon]

It's the Margravine Club, César thinks? Or the ballroom. Probably the ballroom. It's a good thing he is cosplaying Victorian steampunk, because it means he almost fits in. César recognizes the place only from Johnny's descriptions—and the fact he's hearing Crabb talk to someone next to him and she's...

... all dressed up wearing a skirt. That's boggling. A skirt? ....... oh, she's a baby bisexual and doesn't know her own style yet, or that's some sort of dress blues? Yes dress blues.

He knows where the plot is. César really should talk to her and the man she's standing with. But he stows his tote bag (sorry you're getting abandoned) and pulls out his home cell phone discreetly and starts taking pictures instead for Johnny. What the fuck, César. Why are you like this.

Anyway after that five minute goddamn detour (the bastard even goes OUTSIDE to take pictures of Gallery from the balcony), he comes back. We're lucky that the club is probably closed or this would be another ten minutes. OH NO, ANYWAY.

"Would you believe this is my first event in Gallery?" César asks, adopting the accent of Buenos Aires's affluent class instead of an American accent. "Makes me feel almost at home."

[pointofhonoria]

César's detour makes this the first iteration of this memory where Crabb still has time to be mercilessly trolled by her good friend Sir Mimley Bastrop, which means that by the time he returns she still looks faintly embarrassed as she turns over 'my what a charming couple you are' and 'this is my— um' in her head, only half hearing Tom's continued chatter about the event.

She snaps out of it a bit when César starts talking, looking over at him as Tom does the same. But it's Tom that speaks up first. "Really, now. A charity event is an unusual first choice for an event here in Gallery."

[pineapplesalmon]

Sorry, Crabb. He has no idea what's happening. Other than she looks flustered when he gets back.

César laughs a little. "Not really for me. My family's always been about giving back. Watching all the political folks have to make nice with each other for an evening is incredibly entertaining, too."

[pointofhonoria]

"It's sure somethin'," Crabb comments, half a grumble. "Frankly get enough of dealing with these types behind the scenes at city hall, me."

Which she probably shouldn't be saying out here in front of God and everyone, it's one thing to make comments between herself and Tom about predators and livestock and another entirely to complain to one of the actual attendees, but ugh.

"Count your blessings, Honoria," Tom says, patting her shoulder. "You don't have to go and play nice with them on stage later."

"Small bleedin' mercies."