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

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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I— what?" Did anyone expect any less incredulity from Crabb in the moment? She looks back at Ducky for a moment like she has two heads, and then over at Erin like she has three, and then shakes her own singular noggin until the world makes any amount of sense again. "Nothing you just said makes a lick of sense but you're sayin' it like it does, Ducks. Which, it's you, that means it's probably true but— what?"

Crabb hasn't read a lot of literature, alright. The science of Bastrop and the Black Note's creations still feels like it goes above her head, the idea of different dimensions is a whole kettle of fish she is in no way prepared for.

"I'm not asserting the truth of any of this, just stating that it's the takeaway we're 'supposed' to have, based on what she's said."

A pause, Ducky purses her lips and decides to ask the next impossible question. "How far ahead?"

"Ahead is the wrong kind of question, but if I remember what my Crabb said correctly, about a hundred years and change. I'ma stand up now, kindly don't rearrange the bones in my nose, I like them where they are." Erin stands, brushing off the skirt of her outfit as she does. "Trouble is, my Earth didn't have the Platinum Wars, that's y'all's party. Ours were the Great Wars, the first one starting nearabouts now and the second in the forties. I'm walking out of two thousand seventeen, Gregorian calendar and you," Erin points at Ducky with a cocky half-smile, "must be the famous Ducky."

Please let it be the famous Ducky, if this is Bastrop it'll be so embarrassing.

'My Crabb'. That's enough to throw Crabb for a whole new loop that she has to drag herself out of to have any chance of processing the rest of what she says. Two-thousand-seventeen. No Platinum Wars. The fact she already knows Ducky's name, not just Crabb's which may be at least somewhat public knowledge—nevermind that she said Ducks only a few seconds ago, this is a lot to process, alright?

"...God's teeth, if we weren't both hearin' this I'd think I was goin' insane."

"It's only the fact that I witnessed her entrance that's allowing me to entertain any piece of this." Ducky sets the knife down, takes a deep breath, and...shoves a lot of what she's allowed to show so far back under the polite maid persona. "Tea or coffee, miss?"

For the moment, listening and thinking will serve her better. She's still an unknown quantity to some degree to the stranger. Whatever she knows, it can't be the whole of the matter.

"Yeah, it was a rough one." Erin's still brushing wood from the back of her dress. "And uh, tea. You seem like a woman of taste so you're gonna want to not directly observe what's about to happen to my cup and your sugar bowl."

Little does Erin know that here in a human body her teabombination will be disgusting to her.

"...Listen. I can leave any time, I know how I got in by accident. But..." Her eyes go directly to Ducky. "This might be my only chance to meet you in particular. Crabb and Johnny talk about you some, but you know how it is with secondhand accounts. You're important to both of them, and if God's willing the circumstances for us to meet otherwise will never, ever exist."

And up goes the housemaid mask again. Crabb feels suddenly as if she's the weak point in the room, because from what this woman's saying she's somehow the source of at least part of the information she knows, here. Which is just another thing that makes no sense on a pile of things that make no sense; she's never met her in her life. And—

"—Johnny? What, Johnny Summer?" The bloke Bastrop's all sweet on. Crabb casts a sideways glance at Ducky, as she thinks about that. "Never even been within touching's distance of the bloke. You're makin' less sense the more you say."

"He's never seen me, either."

And that's not the same as what Crabb said, and her wording is oh-so-deliberate. The Blue Horseshoe is, after all, his property. She's been very, very aware of who her host is within that building, even with the rapport she's built with Masters.

"That'll change, later. Not that you'll remember me telling you this, Ducky. I'm in Crabb's memories now, and since I'm gonna get scolded anyway for blowing my cover immediately I might as well just...have a talk." Erin's head tilts at Ducky in that bird-like motion she so often has when she's curious. "Your name's on her lips a lot, y'know. Crabb brings you up when she's putting herself down; you're the strategist, the people person, this shining light whose radiance she could never match."

"...I won't lie, I'm a little bitter about that, but I'm trying to be a grown-up."

Every additional word makes Crabb feel more like she's losing her mind and she finally drops out of her defensive stance, instead leaning back against the counter with her arms braced behind her. Memories, scolding, this idea of Ducky that she can hear in her own voice and yet cannot at all imagine being said aloud.

"This is nuts. This is nuts!" She drops her head backwards and groans, squeezing her eyes shut before she lifts it again. "Why would I have told you any of this? Even accepting that I could've, I don't— hhhh."

"This is where it stretches my disbelief, too." Ducky shakes her head. "I can't imagine Honoria Crabb, who tore into myself and Mimley for making pawns of people who thought they were our friends, describing me as any sort of shining light. She's always been perturbed by my predilection for dishonest methods and means."

A cup of tea is set before Erin, and Ducky doesn't look at either woman in the room as she delivers it.

"I can believe she admires my skill for strategy, but if either of us is a light in this world, it's Crabb."

"—wait what?"

It's not that Crabb doesn't remember that conversation, or a dozen others that might toe close to it besides—she's never been shy about prodding at the two of them about balancing the cheques they're cashing, from how they involve others to the collateral and more—but...

"Ducks it's been over a year since that, more than half of that working with you pair and— I'm sorry, me a light? Since when did—"

Since when did she earn that description? She's 50/50 on if Ducky even likes her—

Edited 2023-03-18 06:56 (UTC)

Ducky glances up. Makes eye contact with Crabb for the briefest of moments, and then looks away.

"And all that time, I've been trying to redeem myself, in your eyes. But. That's not the matter at hand here."

What is, though? Why did their guest bring this up?

Ducky is getting a look of fond approval, only slightly spoiled by Erin going to sip at her tea syrup and discovering to her horror that it is, in fact, disgusting. She powers through with all her well-earned Manners but when the cup gets set down it is not picked back up.

"It is the matter at hand, though. See..." Erin turns her head to look at Crabb, and lets her natural expression through; fond, loving, soft - even adoring. "Where I walked out of, I'm dating Crabb here. Have been for a few months now. My fierce flower...and you, Ducky, are the one that got away."

Edited 2023-03-18 07:08 (UTC)

Crabb's voice comes out a high-pitched squeak that is not at all a common sound from her mouth: "What?!

Her face goes a shade that Ducky has only come close to seeing when Crabb's been flushed from the cold, and it's darker even than that. She's— this woman is— but she can't— and Ducky—?

Her gaze flicks back to Ducky, not expecting to find her eye-line right now but unable to help the instinct to look. Redeem herself, she said? Really? She didn't think she cared about her opinion that much and—

And since when did she, Crabb, actually care if she cares and—

And how can any of this make sense when she's been seeing Tom—?

Crabb buries her face in her hands all at once. "Jeezus Christ...."

"That doesn't make any sense." The words feel heavy--Ducky doesn't understand how she could be worth pursuing, let alone how she'd 'get away' under the current circumstances. But the fact that something in her is tender, aching at hearing even this much...

...that isn't meaningless. Senseless, not meaningless.

"Christ on a stick, does Gallery have something in the drinking water that makes amazing people hate themselves?" Erin sighs and shakes her head. "I can't prove much of anything here, to be honest. This is Crabb's memory; the moment I step out of it, you -" she points at Ducky, "won't ever have met me, because you're not here. So, I'll cut you both a deal. If I can prove I'm not from your Earth, can I just...meet y'all, as you are now, and not do any more of the existential horror?"

Crabb peeks out of her hands to look at Ducky sidelong, that tone heavy enough to be a bludgeon. "Whadaya mean it doesn't make sense? I-I mean— ugh, I mean— how bleedin' little d'you think I think of you now? Y'really think you ain't—" wild gesturing, "redeemed yourself? God, this is all just—"

Deep breath in. She pinches her brow. Deep breath out.

At Erin, "You went and let a feral cat out of the bag and now you're tryna get back on track? Prove it how?"

"You had your opportunity to simply meet us, miss. This is your circus, and what we're feeling right now is entirely your monkeys." The look Ducky is shooting Erin isn't exactly cold, but it's also nowhere near friendly-like.

Erin sighs. "I'm not spending my time here trying to explain the situation I'm actually still stuck in, right now. But."

(Here's hoping this works.)

And Mirrors, the lies of the living world, sayeth: Bitch what kind of show do you think I'm running here? Of course it works.

Erin holds out her left arm, palm up, so the other two women can see. Before their eyes it ripples, turning into living wood with joints of clockwork in which seeds rumble and tumble. Her palm sprouts, and then blooms; a wide red rose, vibrant and bright.

With her human hand, Erin touches the crab pin over her heart.

Crabb just... stares. For a long moment. Jaw agape. Then blinks a few times, rubs her eyes, and pinches herself.

Look she's either dreaming or this is real and she's immediately unsure what to do with the fact it's the latter, because the shapeshifting is not even the biggest thing to unpack here.

Ducky's eyes narrow, and she takes a small step back from Erin. Guarded. Her gaze returns to where she left the knife.

"You've made your point, that you're stronger and capable of acts we can't imagine."

"I wouldn't say stronger, and this isn't a threat. It's not even the not-a-threat threat you get from rich people and vicars." Erin plucks the bloom with a small wince of pain and offers it to Crabb; as her arm returns to something human, her palm is oozing blood, as if scraped roughly or perhaps pierced with a small needle. "I just..."

She sighs. "...I'm trying to get out of the habit of talking down to people about things they don't have the context to understand, is all."

Crabb stares at the rose, but eventually takes it, if mostly out of innate curiosity and desire to see if it's as real as it seems. That it is, is... a lot. This is all a lot.

"...yeah, well, Ducks is right. Still a bit late to just meet us. You're gonna have to take what you're getting now you've already thrown all that at our feet."

"You've repeatedly said we're in Crabb's memories, that I won't remember this. Have you considered that that might cause an existential crisis for the me who is living this moment now?"

Both eyebrows raise, but her voice is icy calm cold. Ducky is a master of controlling situations, but right now she's just keeping a handle on herself.

"Everything you've done to meddle in this iteration of our present is an act of cruelty. And to what end? You're satisfying your curiosity, is that it?"

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

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