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
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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."
Mayhaps Crabb Time?
Crabb Time
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?"
Damn OCs and their one liners
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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..."
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"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."
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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?"
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"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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For about half a second.
"I mean, if that's what it takes to get you to rest properly I think I might be ethically obligated to provide. Can't save the world if you don't save yourself first."
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This is the moment where this Crabb learns that drinking around Erin can be a dangerous game, because she almost chokes on a sip of coffee and has to quickly put it down so she can bang herself on the chest. "Erin!"
By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners
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Ferrier hums, mischief hiding in that ever calm face of hers if you know how to spot it. "She is right, Honoria. A good night's sleep is a valuable thing and there are other benefit—"
Crabb throws her arms up. "Oh. My God! Nope, no, I am not havin' this conversation, Jeezus bloody Christ—"
Memory portion might be winding down?
yeah possibly summary and boat soon
"Oh so you ain't plannin' on just stealin' all of mine, then," Crabb teases back, which only half disguises the flash of something at hearing her name out loud from Erin too, now. She finally turns her attention to her tie, tying it quickly and without needing to pay much attention.
She grabs her coffee again as soon as she's done. "Sure, I can introduce you. He's a good bloke, Summer, we ain't exactly close or nothin'," oh how times change, "but we owe him a lot that he don't seem at all interested in cashing in on. He'll sort you out."
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When the memory finally unravels, just about a year later, it takes Erin several minutes to control herself. The feeling of incredible loss is overwhelming.
She waits for Crabb in her room the rest of the day. With no phone her girlfriend can't just find her, but she has to sleep eventually.
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As if Crabb doesn't check all of Erin's usual haunts after the memory snaps into place, a strange sensation in itself—everything else has been so short term, an entire year is intense in comparison to mere minutes or hours. The cabin is her last stop, and upon finding the door open she steps inside and shuts it properly behind her with a gentle sigh, worry creasing her brow.
"Erin..."
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There's a second, clean glass, which she pours some into for Crabb. Erin offers it out with a wan smile. "Hey love. You have a good day?"
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It might not be what she'd usually drink but she still takes it as she comes over, kicking her boots off and undoing her tie one-handed, leaving it dangling. She sits down on the bed with her, reaching up to cup her cheek with her free hand, brushing her thumb along her cheekbone just under her blindfold.
"Mm. You have a good year, there, petal?"
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"Mm, yeah, think Bastrop an' Ducky were about to rock back up on the heels of all the Postscript nonsense that came soon after..." She exhales, shifting around so she can tuck up against Erin's side and bury her face against her neck for a moment. "...yeah, yeah I did. I-I—"
She bites her cheek, then takes a swig from the glass Erin handed her and an additional moment to think before she speaks again. When she does, her voice is quiet.
"...I-I wish we could have that. Y'know? I wish you could meet Ferrier, and Ducky, and Bastrop, and— and be away from all this. Gallery weren't ever quiet but I could handle it, I wanted to handle it, and having you around..."
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She snorts softly, nudging Erin back. "If we could have it now then that'd be fine, petal, just like it's fine here. Ain't like we don't know who I had my eye on. Hell, you didn't get to see it, but Johnny, Bastrop and Ducky were working out somethin' before Johnny and me ended up here. I want—"
She worries her lip between her teeth for a moment and then sighs, taking another sip from her glass.
"I want the good parts of here and home at once. Ain't gonna happen, I know that. But Christ, if I could take you home, take the folks we care about home... I would. And I s'pose that's selfish of me, folks have elsewhere they wanna be but— ain't like it matters." Not when going home like that is impossible.
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By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners
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