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

The use of a pet name after what is, by reckoning of when Ferrier last saw Crabb yesterday evening to the present moment, less than even 12 hours, certainly catches her interest. She knows all too well how Crabb's last relationship ended, she's witnessed the damage up close for the last several months as Crabb has refused to even once slow down long enough to process it. Whatever this is it's clearly different than Cragen, he used societal expectations and rules to his advantage rather than breaking them outright, but... she must exercise fair caution.

"Mm, we have worked together in some fashion for a few years, now. A case I was hired for here in the city took rather an unexpected turn and she found following it to be a more valuable use of her time and skills than following the constabulary's rules."

That gets a thoughtful sound. "They say angels float because they are too pure to touch the base clay of the earth. I can't help but notice that rich folks here try to float too. Their pets aren't going to get marching orders that help mere mortals."

Erin's not bitter, you're bitter.

She turns her head back to Ferrier with an apologetic grin. "Rich coming from an American, I know, but still."

There's a faintly amused sort of noise. "Perhaps, but you are not incorrect. The ruling class of Gallery are corrupt to the core. Myself and Crabb are but one force attempting to push back against this truth, though recent years and the impact of war have certainly galvanized many others."

"War. You'd think Europe would have had its fill by now. Only been playing that game here since before recorded history." Erin sighs, again. "...But I suppose it's no business of mine. I need to figure out honest work if I'm gonna stick around Gallery. Can't just ascend to housewife form."

"Monsieur Summer is often willing to find work for those who find themselves in need. He has an extensive number of properties even beyond the Margrave and pays more than a fair wage to all his staff. I'm sure if approached he could offer you something." Tell her something she doesn't know, Ferrier. "Though I would make certain that you have talked to dear Honoria first, if you choose to go that route."

"I'll keep that in mind." It's like ascending to housewife form since she's in the building Johnny owns. Then again, this one doesn't know her.

Yet.

"There's the coffee. Crabb probably won't be up for awhile if I did as well as I think - shall we?"

(Breakfast?)

One problem at a time.

Ferrier bows her head in a quiet nod of agreement that gives away nothing about her reaction to the majority of that sentence, though as coffee is dealt with she does comment: "I do hope that you have made efforts toward demonstrating that you have not, ah, vacated more than just her bedroom this morning."

From the look on Erin's face when she stops stirring the sugar into her coffee? No. Good eye, Ferrier.

(How did she guess?)

She's an elderly lesbian.

(Right, that.)

"...I will need to trouble you for a pen and paper."

Erin writes oddly. The bones of very sharp and clean handwriting is there, but she's out of practice; slow to write, letters oddly far apart, and a tendency to press down on the paper in a way that uses too much ink.

Whenever Crabb wakes up she'll find Erin's top on the bed next to her with the note on it, reading:

Honoria, I have a habit of early rising. Coffee should be ready if the pot survives me, which it may well not, and I might step out to quest for food if Mdm. Ferrier doesn't have an idea on that beforehand. Warning you in advance that she met me wearing your shirt, which I am stealing. My shirt now. Yours, Erin.

Ferrier has a subtle but there look of approval on her face, once that matter is taken care of. She has also, by Erin's return, moved to take a seat at the apartment's dining table for the sake of her old knees.

Of course she notes the way Erin writes, and is certainly paying enough attention to note the use of her first name too.

"Dear Honoria's heart has seen enough troubles, in recent times. Much better not to risk her jumping to premature conclusions."

Erin sits herself, returning to stirring her coffee. Sane amount of sugar this time but she still loves it sweet.

"I don't play those games," she returns in a soft voice. "They stopped being fun when I was still a teenager and they're...repulsive, to me, these days. If I want a fling I'll ask for one." Erin smiles faintly over her cup. "You know, I asked her what she was doing walking out with a bad girl like me, and Crabb said she was sick of pretense. I don't think she was mentally prepared to be agreed with."

"Mm, I would expect not. Much as our Crabb loves and would do anything for this city, I believe she has never felt that she particularly fits in within it. However it was only relatively recent that she stopped trying to, despite that feeling."

Ferrier's attention never really strays from Erin, attention that largely lacks anything so direct as eye contact but is intense nonetheless.

"She has found a place with Marguerite, myself and even Monsieur Summer where she does not have to, and yet more friends have been forced to leave, and the rest of the city remains the way it is."

"...Yeah. Wherever you go, there you are; you've taken yourself with you." Erin flashes a wan smile. "I've got more than no idea what that feels like. I was this tall at age eleven and my family is Irish. Finding one's people...it gets rough."

Ferrier makes a noise that is both amused and understanding. "Then you do not have to work hard to imagine how a woman of my stature has found herself out of place over the years, non? It is a common thread, among those of us who Crabb feels at home with, that we have never quite befitted the roles the world would have us take. But there have been those who would, and have used that against her. Made her see common ground where that, hmm... disguised the unstable terrain that lay beneath. The aftermath of such a thing is not a state in which we would like to ever see her again, you understand."

Erin nods. "I'll tell you what I told her; I've been a merc and a thief, and I'm through with both. I'm tired of killing. Somehow I'm even more tired of clumsy advances from the kind of man who can afford to hire me to steal from what are, for all intents and purposes, his duplicates. I'm making a fresh start here." She sips her coffee and makes a contented sound. "...Maybe I can live a life that doesn't exhaust me."

Ferrier considers her for a long, silent moment, running through all the little details she's observed about her so far, all of her word choices, all of her actions, all the things that make up the woman in front of her... and then nods. The puzzle may in some ways feel like it's missing some pieces, but the image she has been given is solid enough.

"Then hopefully that is what you find, here. I am sure that, should you stay, Honoria will tell you what she feels you should know in time. We live unusual lives, but they are fulfilling."

"If we work out, I look forward to being here to see it. Also to making her squirm when she's got to tell her priest she's being courted by a witch." Erin grins, all feral mischief. "Suspect the Mother Church has gotten out of practice with that one. Now...what is it y'all do for breakfast?"

Ferrier laughs, just faintly, and slowly pushes herself back to her feet from her chair, beckoning Erin back to the kitchen to show her how they handle breakfast in the house—a very different story from how Crabb usually deals with breakfast, since she's often the first out the door, getting her to eat in the apartment is like the opposite of summoning an outdoor cat.

It's still a little while longer before Crabb stirs, let alone before she wakes up enough to wonder if last night was a dream and then to confirm that it wasn't with the note. Between the use of her first name, the realisation that Ferrier knows before she's even out of bed, and the mental image of Erin in her shirt, it's another few minutes before she can compose herself enough to get dressed.

Despite all that, she's still fussing with the buttons of her other shirt over her under-shirt and has her tie loose when she comes out to find them, rapping her knuckles on a doorframe and giving them both a Look.

"Taking advantage of me sleepin' in a bit to talk about me, ey?"

"Hey maybe you can settle this - do you have to confess every week you're still dating a witch or can you roll in with 'bless me Father, the situation is unchanged'?"

Simultaneously a little flushed in the face at the implications and extremely dry when answering: "Pretty sure if I know I'm intending to keep on sinning and I ain't sorry about it? Then it ain't a valid confession either way, so..."

"Dodged the theology like a pro. Do you do the problem of evil too?" Erin flashes a grin and nods at the table. "Managed to leave some coffee alive. You coulda told me you were rooming with the -" she gestures grandly to Ferrier, "Detective Ferrier. Lucky I stole your shirt."

"Right, 'cause you couldn't'a put your own shirt back on, obviously," Crabb says, even drier than before, but her face is still flushed and the eye roll that follows is fond enough. "I didn't exactly expect you to be up struttin' about before I was! Thought I'd get to, I dunno, introduce you or explain when we woke up. Mornin', Ferrier."

Her tie is still hanging loose and the last two buttons are still undone when she stops fussing with them so she can pour herself coffee.

"Good morning, Honoria. You've brought home quite the interesting companion."

Crabb holds a finger up at them both. "I'm not answerin' any of the questions that I'm sure are comin' until I have coffee in me."

"What questions could possibly be had about this situation?" Erin teases, fondly. She tucks back into her breakfast; the smallest mercy upon Crabb while she gets coffee.

Crabb gives her another Look over her coffee once she's drinking it, leaning herself against the table instead of sitting down at one of the chairs. "Either of you gonna tell me how much you talked about me behind my back or am I gonna have to get it out of you the hard way?"

"Hard way, obviously." Erin sticks her tongue out playfully. "You've got good people watching your back, Crabb. Don't act all shocked when they look out for you."

"Who said I'm shocked? Don't gotta be shocked to wanna know what's been bein' said, do I?" She takes a long drink of her coffee, exhales as she lowers the mug and sets it down, then finally does up the last few buttons of her shirt. The tie stays undone. "So there's approximately no chance you don't know what happened here, huh?"

"Your whirlwind, here," Ferrier glances sideling at Erin, "has not shied away from such truths at all, non. I am, however, not your priest-" ("Be bleedin' weird if you were, suddenly.") "—and am simply glad to hear you took a night off, for, I believe, the first time since..."

"Arrite, arrite, we don't gotta spell it all out, Christ."

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Mayhaps Crabb Time?

Crabb Time

Damn OCs and their one liners

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