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.

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César laughs. "Of course, just wanted to make you aware I'm going to walk the walk and not just talk the talk."

Yeah, it's good shit, too. Sorry, Cragen. You don't deserve useful metals.

He shrugs to Crabb. "Someone who got tired of constantly exchanging currencies and is curious about seeing how people react to it. Call it a bit of an experiment."

For a while, César hangs around in the memory and gets to have a perfectly normal conversation with a slightly younger Crabb and the man he has no idea is secretly such a bastard... and then the memory unravels, probably about when 'Tom' has to get up to accept the cheque, and he's back on the boat.

Present day Crabb's in the library. Unfortunately, she still cannot be texted.

César is carrying his tablet and a sketch pad under his arm as he enters the library. Because he's not looking for Crabb immediately, wanting to sketch out the general layout of the ballroom while it's still fresh in his mind.

... Look. He intends to 3D model things for Johnny someday. He has priorities.

Which of course means he runs right into the woman he wasn't seeking out yet. "Oh, Crabb! Fancy meeting you here."

Crabb turns to face him, propping her arm on the back of the chair. "The boat ain't that big, César," she teases, before raising a brow at him. "Y'know you're the only one who went into that memory that didn't end up punching the guy."

That's the joke. Not that he remembers to clarify that. Because what.

César stares at her, confused and aghast. "Why would I punch the headmaster of an orphanage?"

He can't even get mad at the idea because it's too out of left field for Crabb.

Crabb blinks at him a couple times, then snorts and drags a hand over her face. "...Christ, you don't know the story, do you?"

César shakes his head, looking perplexed and now worried. He knows very little. Johnny wasn't up to volunteering little more than a couple months into their relationship.

"No. ... should I?"

"Maybe not my side 'a it, Johnny don't tend to tell folks anything about that. Guess I forgot it hadn't come up yet." She beckons for him to sit down, and sighs. "That man wasn't Tom Broadfoot, he was a bloke called Cecil Cragen wearing a fancy mask to pretend to be. And Cecil Cragen was the Black Note, who terrorised the city for nearly a year and more besides."

César sits down and puts his stuff down in the same motion. Which is good he's sitting. And not holding anything.

He looks horrified. "That man was the Black Note?"

Edited 2023-05-04 22:10 (UTC)

"Mmhm." Crabb taps her pen idly against the table. "Few months before we figured him out, that was. He pretended to be Tom to have an unassumin' identity to walk around the city with, that and for the access it gave him access to a set of tunnels under the city. He... well, you caught us on what I s'pose you'd call a date, there, so, you do the maths."

César stares down at his tablet and sketch pad, growing paler and looking sick. He doesn't reply immediately, processing all this information. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and deflated.

"I didn't know any of this. All I knew about the Black Note was... that he was a costumed villain who blackmailed Johnny for over three years and a bit of how it affected him. We talked about him only once, very briefly, early last June."

"Sorry to leave you in the dark so long, but... well, it ain't exactly fun to talk about, y'know?" She sighs again, rocking her chair back a little. "That stuff's the important bits, from Johnny's side, and as a general rule we don't go around telling each other's story. Erin's known my part since early on, I told Watson after the possession stuff... few others got it outta me 'cause it was relevant, but it's... grim, y'know? Telling folks I let a guy woo me and then found out he was actually the guy I was s'posed to be catching in disguise."

César nods slowly and smooths over his expression, lacing his fingers together on the table. A second later, he starts lightly and looks at them, a bit surprised. Then he sighs, too, and pulls them apart, expression growing disturbed again. With his right hand's fingers still spread apart, he puts them down on the drawing pad. A twist sends it spinning two and a half times before coming to a stop, and César then leaves it.

He's chosen not to hide himself around Crabb; she doesn't expect perfection from him.

"Grim and terrible things rarely come up unless there's a push. We've both got others to talk to, and Johnny was aware I was barely recovered from being a broken man back then." He shakes his head and smiles sadly up to her. "It's good you keep each other's privacy. I'll listen to anything you want to share. You said he terrorized the city? ... And you, ah."

César's trying to figure out how to phrase it, then gives up. "... Found out you dated a creep. A villain. A terrorist. His demeanor was so perfect. I had no idea. I'm sorry I didn't know so I could join in the punching."

Crabb huffs softly. "He was a master of it. Completely buried himself under the identities of others, ol' Cragen. Don't think he really knew himself anymore by the end. We met 'cause he saved me from getting my arse beat, and ended up... whatever we were, after he looked after me the night of one of his attacks. Bridge went down, I was shaken up, went by the orphanage all subconscious like and he was back there already. Came out to talk to me."

César might remember way back during the zombie crisis how Crabb alluded to struggling with showing vulnerability during a crisis because it backfired on her once before.

"Lucky for me," she snorts, "that mask of his don't feel like real skin, so when I tried to kiss him, he stopped me. Pulled this whole... 'I don't want to take advantage' bullshit, ugh."

César would put a sympathetic hand on her arm if she was closer. But it's certainly in his eyes. He makes a face at that last bit.

"... I'm really glad he had to use a mask, then." César spins that sketchbook again, making himself shudder. "He gives me the creeps." A beat. "... he took out an entire bridge?"

"Most of one, technically. Prosperity Bridge, old fancy-pants place with dining and shopping and stuff. Real high-society place. He wanted to make a point, see. Didn't matter that there were workers around, or that most'a the swells up there hadn't even done much more than be swells."

She shakes her head, pushing back images of people falling into the water and the screaming once the racket had died down.

"He was... a real piece of work. Dead, now." Ha. Ha... "But he made his mark."

The nearest thing César can think of that's similar is the Sampoong Department Store collapse, which is not getting renamed because people died. Or other, bigger intentional acts from later years. A lot of people died. César remembers when that happened. He stares at her in absolute horror as his mind calculates the loss of life.

"My god...."

César pushes that reaction back, shakes his head, and then states firmly. "You're allowed to be more than 'shaken up' by something like that, you know. I'm glad he's dead so he can't hurt anyone else, and I'm glad you made it out alive." About that, César.... "But that's traumatizing. Some people who made it out alive probably straight up got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from it. I would've been in a similar state had I seen all of that."

"Don't you worry, I know. We didn't have the term back then, y'know, but Johnny talked about it with me some after the incident at the diner. There's a reason I weren't up for a vehicle chase."

She put most of the weight of her emotional recovery from that mess on 'Tom', she never really talked about the stress of the evening with Ducky and Bastrop at the time, and of course that ended up tainted. Then she hardly even had time to process Cragen being Cragen with how quickly everything moved, and she spent a good two years working instead of doing so even when there was time. Most of her unpacking any of this has been on the boat.

"It's a good three years behind me at this point. I'm doing... alright, here. Erin's been good for me. Talking to Johnny about it more's been good for me."

César himself is the behind the scenes type. And it occurs to him, then, as he's listening, that this is... similar to how he barely escaped with his life at Abysus. Except he had no one but himself to recover from that emotionally. In fact, he buried it. Her experience sounds worse, though. More visceral.

For a moment, that realization shows on his face, a quiet sort of eyes widening before his expression shifts back to what it was, concern for her. Buried again, if only to talk to someone else (a husband?) another time.

"Johnny's good at getting things out of people. And I'm glad Erin's helping, too. What a terrible man. I'm... glad he's dead." César hesitates, because he's still a pacifist, but sometimes, well, even he can't help himself.

"Yeah, me too. He made just about everything in Gallery worse with his bullshit, not better. 'Least now he isn't piling on top of the mess he already left us dealing with. Not that I gotta deal with him here either way, unless we get real unlucky I s'pose, but..." She shrugs a shoulder.

César puts a hand on Crabb's shoulder. "If he shows up here, you have us. The Serena Eterna is small. He won't have anyplace to hide."

A beat, then a laugh. "Even if I'm the one that's more likely to need defending."

Crabb snorts, giving the back of his hand a pat. "Mmm, yeah, you ain't exactly one of the science types that's as good at punching as he is brain stuff, no offence. But we sure got enough folks who do know a thing or two, if he arrived and tried anything... well, hopefully it won't come to that anyhow."

César drops his hand so he can take a step back out of her space to laugh. "See, I don't punch people, I just storm top secret military bases with science."

Another snort of laughter. "Shame it ain't about storming top secret military bases here then, ey?"

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pineapplesalmon - 2023-06-11 03:45 (UTC) - Expand

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

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