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_sailaway2023-03-17 03:25 am
pointofhonoria) wrote in come_sailaway2023-03-17 03:25 am
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam#5757/in the discord.
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
no subject
"Mmhm," Crabb confirms, leaning with one arm against the back of her seat. "He was my original rescuer, in fact. That little kid runnin' off and grabbing him was the only reason I left that fight alive, if I look at it all honest like."
There's a furrow in her brow and a tone to her voice that suggests not a sense of gratitude, or even of relief, but of the complicated mess of frustration that's actually there in her emotions.
"Even then, I was bleeding buckets and concussed to Hell and back by the time they were done with me."
no subject
She takes a breath and slowly releases it, leaning back in the chair to drop her head back.
"Well, I'm glad I saved you a concussion at least. Even if I was loathe to prod him too much."
no subject
Crabb sighs, with a bone-deep sort of exhaustion. "He sure was, yeah. Every step of the bleedin' way, except where he wasn't, and honestly the moments where he wasn't sometimes feel worse than the lies do... Christ, that don't make any sense, does it? Sorry, uh— yeah. He weren't who he said he was, but you wouldn't have gotten much out of him then and there. He took his fake identities real seriously."
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"What I'm getting from your feelings is that I should have punched him."
Was that the right girls supporting girls answer? Or would Crabb have just preferred things were left alone.
"What did he do?"
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"Punchin' him wouldn't'a been enough," Crabb snorts, though she cringes at herself and shakes her head. "I mean— look I ain't the type to actually suggest killin' someone for revenge's sake, but Christ, I'm glad the bastard's dead. He..."
She's explained this multiple times by now, and it's getting easier, but easier isn't easy. She sighs, fiddling with her gloves.
"His real name was Cecil Cragen. Tom Broadfoot was a real person, once upon a time—Hell, they were even basically brothers, the two of them and this other bloke called Delany—but far as we've figured he killed Tom right about when he started his big plan to get rid of Gallery's corruption by terrorising the city under the name the Black Note." She snorts again. It didn't work, it wouldn't have even if he'd pulled it off.
"He took over Tom's life. And he was real good at what he did, by all accounts it was a perfect impression. We met again, a bit after that day at the orphanage, and he said this stuff that... I understood, y'know? We clicked. So when the Black Note took down an entire bridge full of people, people I tried to save but couldn't, I sorta... subconsciously went by the orphanage again."
She bites the inside of her cheek and her fists clench tight.
"And when he came out to comfort me, I tried to kiss him. Or, y'know, the man who I thought he was. And if he hadn't been wearing a freaky prosthetic mask to look like Tom? I think he woulda let me, 'cause he sure let me think we were seeing each other for the next several months 'til we busted him."
no subject
"Bastard."
A pause.
"I'm going to go back and punch him."
Yeah, the bastard messed with her friend in the past, but the present can at least feel better.
no subject
That startles a burst of a laugh out of Crabb and she sits up straighter, expression settling into a lopsided sort of smile. "Be my guest, though I might call dibs if you can find the same crack over again, never did get to punch him myself."
And Christ does she want to. Even after nearly three years, now, the lack of closure on everything that happened with Cragen bothers her.
"...y'know it's been a weird sorta relief that everyone I tell about this comes outta it wanting to punch the guy. Ain't like I didn't know it was messed up to do what he did, but... I dunno." It's validating anyway. That the's right to be angry. That her reaction to what he did is understandable.
no subject
"I remember where it is, and it didn't close behind me."
no subject
Crabb's brow starts raising at the sudden grin, before she makes clear what the reason behind it is and Crabb doesn't just sit up straighter, she leans forward against the table and Valdis. "No kidding, seriously?"
Look she didn't expect that comment to actually be possible.
no subject
Being able to actually punch someone who deserves it will be so refreshing.
"I can get us right there if we shadowwalk. Otherwise it will take a few minutes."
no subject
Crabb considers the options for a second and then asks, "—am I gonna be sick or go falling out of ceilings if I agree to the shadowwalk thing?"
It's a fair concern, okay, she's never travelled like that and she has not forgotten Valdis falling out of the ceiling in front of her.
no subject
"I haven't had any issues with shadow walking since then." Minus Shiranui's interference. "And I've never gotten sick, so I assume not."
She holds out her hand, "Come on, it will be worth it."
no subject
Crabb will never miss the opportunity to bring something like that up. Never. Sorry, Valdis.
Crabb eyes the hand for a moment, but, well, it can't be worse than the headache going through the metal detectors, surely, and she's done that plenty of times, so... "Alright, then," she says, and takes the hand.
no subject
"That's the one. Still open. Lucky us."
no subject
That was actually a lot less disorienting than she expected it to be, she almost looks surprised when they step back into the light. Really, this stuff will probably never stop being at least a little surprising for her.
"And unlucky him," she snorts. "Somethin' about stepping into your own memory feels like it should break somethin', but no way no one's stumbled into one of their own yet and we're still here, so..."
She nods her head toward the rift. In they go, then.
no subject
"Well?" Valdis asks, "How would you like to do this?"
no subject
Crabb snorts again, nearly a laugh. "Well I was worried we were gonna have to hide out and listen to me getting my arse beat until he came by, so, this is already goin' better than I expected..."
Going by the dots of blood in the snow on the route she'd have to walk to head home, her past self is already long out of earshot and Cragen is just... lingering in the ruins of the abandoned orphanage, all creepy like. Probably checking that no one's messed with the entrance to his secret hideout under the orphanage.
"...honestly I ain't got a plan I just wanna walk in there and deck him before he knows what's hit him." Which by definition is a plan but look. It's genuinely a miracle she has the self-restraint to not charge in before Valdis even speaks.
no subject
And make sure this Crabb doesn't get her face bashed in.
no subject
Luckily for Crabb, Cragen never was actually an exemplary fighter—good enough to hold his own, sure, but it was Tom who was the boxer—and she has the element of surprise.
So when she flashes a lopsided smile at Valdis and then ducks through the fence to tap him on the shoulder, he gets only a split second to register the familiar face (in improbably quickly changed clothes?) before he's being hit with a right hook hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground.
The crack is probably his glasses, this time.
Probably.
no subject
"Oh, karma."
She'll interfere if necessary, but she doubts Crabb will kill him.
no subject
Sputtering and holding his now aching face on the floor, Cragen stares at up at Crabb with utter confusion. "Inspector Crabb, what on Earth—"
"Y'don't really know me yet, ey?" Crabb tilts her head, rolling her shoulder as she stands over him. "Don't understand why I'm here, what my problem is? And, y'see, I could tell you. Give you the whole bloody speech about what you do down the line, about how I know you're Cecil Cragen and not Tom Broadfoot, but I ain't gonna. 'Cause frankly, you don't bleedin' deserve it."
"Special Inspector—"
"Nope," Crabb says, and jams her foot down against his torso to knock the wind out of him. She's not usually the type to actually kick a guy when he's down, but this is different. "No questions. No answers. Nothing. You ain't worth the damn dirt on my shoe let alone my breath."
She considers dragging him back to his feet to punch him again, but... no. She jabs her foot down a little harder and then just steps away.
As satisfying as it would be to actually beat him to a pulp, Crabb has principles. And beating a man to a bloody pulp outside his orphanage where there's a bunch of kids nearby doesn't really align with those, even if everyone will forget.
But by the look on her face as she comes back towards Valdis, she's still pretty damn fucking satisfied.
no subject
"Feeling better?"
It's just one memory, surely it won't have too much of an impact on anything.
no subject
It's fine, the other here isn't even here to give her the weird double-memory of the same false memory effect. Totally worth it.
"Oh, yeah. Y'got no idea how long I've wanted to do that. Shame he don't understand exactly why, but, eh, I'll take what I can get."
no subject
Because she doesn't know how to do that part. Oops.
no subject
Crabb snorts a little, beckoning her to follow. "I've hopped back through the rifts before, should still be nearby even if not exactly where we came in." Beat, by way of explanation, "I ended up in one 'a Daisy's and just checked right back out, or she mighta killed me about it."
You know, considering the whole argument she had with Gil out there in front of God and everyone about it.
She's pretty sure she can see the rift back nearby this time too, at least.
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wrap?
Yep