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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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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Crabb drops her head back dramatically with a groan. "God, you were bleedin' merciless, the pair of you, who gave you the— wait, my what?!"
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Crabb splutters incoherently and elbows Erin in the side before simply collapsing back onto the bed completely, throwing her arms over her face. "Erin you can't just say things like that, Jeezus bleedin' Christ—! And she's not my— she ain't— God."
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Crabb makes a vaguely strangled noise into her arms. "You're a bleedin' menace, you are. Look, I love Ferrier but she ain't my mom, I have a mom, she's just a mentor. Family in the way anyone in the League is, sure, but—"
If she knew the part of the Nightjar story that Berrada was too busy being dead to write about, she'd realise instantly.
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Crabb peeks out from her arms to give her a Look. "I'm gonna thwap you with a bloody pillow, you— God, fine! Okay! She looked out for me, I s'pose, I'll give you that. Livin' with her and Marguerite was a lot better than livin' alone."
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Crabb lowers her arms properly after a final fond eye roll and pushes herself part way to sitting again, supporting herself on her elbows. "Yeah, I remember."
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Crabb's expression softens impossibly further, and she sits up the rest of the way to be able to cup Erin's face, to sweep her thumb over her cheekbone and kiss her ever so gently just for a moment.
"Oh, petal..." She pulls herself into Erin's lap outright, arms around her neck and head resting against hers. It's as much for herself as for Erin, the sentiment both warming something in her chest and squeezing it tight. "Wish I could give you that for all the time. Wish we didn't have to fight so hard just for glimpses."
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Crabb nuzzles their noses together and makes a low humming sound. "You ain't. S'just hard finding a place you feel safe when your life's never given you that, before. But you recognized it. You felt it once. And I wanna believe we'll find a way back to something like that, something permanent."
It feels so out of reach, with the world seemingly falling apart around them, but... but she still wants that future. Somewhere. Anywhere.
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Beat.
"...Wait we can just stack Ylva on you now..."
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Crabb rolls her eyes fondly and gives Erin a quick peck, teasing, "We do already got Ylva around, yeah, can't go forgetting her."
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"Oh I know you're serious, it's you," she snorts. "Mm. So long as I ain't gettin' drooled on."
Look cleaning Requin drool up is bad enough let alone full size wolf women, okay.
By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners
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