Revenging Angel - The Rise and Fall of Harvey

[ss_buttcrack]

Who: Crichton (Harvey), Lt. Tayrey, Dr. Watson, Arthur, Cassandra, Erin, literally anyone is welcome to jump into this mess
What: Here's what you missed last time.
TL;DR: Harvey stole some revenge-loving daggers that were in Tayrey's care and used them to murder Valdis. He made Crichton watch. This is the place to play the fallout directly after.
When: Sep 30 for the murder, Oct 1, and forward for the fallout. Will include later dates in Oct, as well.
Where: The Brig + Various locations stated in the starters posted below
Warnings: Blood, Death, Gore, Violence, Mind-control, mention of Drugs/Alcohol Addiction, will warn for more as necessary


This is a nightmare. This is his worst nightmare come to pass. Valdis...frell. Is she going to come back in three days? After watching her die like that, he's terrified she might not. It's his fault. It's all his fault. He should have known Harvey would still be plotting behind his back. Why did he ever let himself believe it could be safe? He should have stayed locked in the brig.

God... help him.


In The Brig - Guard Duty - Open
This is where he belongs. This is where he should have stayed in the first place. This time, however, he can't stand to be alone. He's begged anyone and everyone he knows to, essentially, play guard duty on shifts. He can't let himself fall asleep unless there's someone there to watch him. Even then, it's hard. The dark circles under his eyes grow more purple by the day as he constantly starts to nod off, only to jerk himself awake again in a panic.

It will go on like this for days. He'll refuse to take one step out of this cell, not even to go get food. Not like he has much of an appetite anyway. Besides, he knows if he walks out of here the first place he might wind up is in front of a bar. He's let Valdis down enough already... he can't risk it.

Find him huddled up in the corner of the brig under a blanket once again like a sick case of deja vu. If it's your turn to watch him, he'll point to his pulse pistol sitting over on a chair outside the cell and say, "Use that on me if I try to leave."

[ooc: feel free to handwave Crichton asking for your character's help.

Rise & Shine
Harvey is dead. Crichton had to die with him. Now, three days later, only one of them is back alive.

At 6:00 a.m. sharp, Crichton takes a deep breath in. His eyes fly open and he sits straight up in his bed. Is it done? Is he gone? Is Harvey really gone?

Crichton searches his mind, trying to access that place where he and his mental clone used to meet. He can't. It isn't there. Harvey isn't there!! The weight of him is lifted. For the first time in so, so long, Crichton is alone in his own mind.

"YES!!" He jumps out of bed and dances in place right there on the carpet, with a few more excited whoops and hollers for good measure.

"He's gone! HE'S GONE!"

Crichton might be so distracted by his own celebrating that he may or may not notice if he has company in the room with him. But, the more the merrier today. He's finally free!

----

The celebrating doesn't stop there. Good God, he's so hungry. People brought him sandwiches while he was down in the brig, but he'd only picked at them half-heartedly. Not much appetite. Well, guess what's back now?? He could eat a whole cougar.

Find him spread out in the buffet later that morning with five plates in front of him, greedily shoving every type of breakfast confection into his mouth like he's worried they're going to vanish off his plate. They are, but they're vanishing into his stomach! Food has never tasted this good.

Wildcard options open: Let me know what kind of starter you want and I'll make it happen. Keep in mind this will be the last chance to participate with Harvey. He'll be perma-dead at the conclusion of this plot.]

Comments

[theotherright]

"All right." Quiet, at Crichton's tone. "I-- thank you." For telling him? For not telling her? For both? He's desperate to ask who does know, besides of course Valdis, but he did say he wouldn't ask further questions, and he's already brought Crichton's mood down far enough.

"Right. Er."

Oh god what does he say now. He cranks himself up to be like 30% more upbeat:

"What- what do you think you'll want for your first breakfast as a free man?"

Nailed it.

[ss_buttcrack]

He's bracing for more questions. He didn't actually believe Arthur could just... let it go at that. He was already counting back in his head trying to collect his memory of who even does know. Valdis and Siffleur. Did he tell anyone else or was he too ashamed? Now he's spared from answering and instead...

The dry silence in the room may as well be audible.

Arthur is... Jesus. Putting on a happy face for him. What passes for one. Right. This is his day. He's waited for so long to get to this moment. Goddammit, he's going to enjoy it.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," Crichton answers sarcastically. "I'm having chicken and waffles. Extra syrup."

[not_the_last]

Before Arthur can react to that particular piece of whimsy, there's a knock at the door.

(She did try to take her time, really she did.)

[theotherright]

("Oh shit," says Arthur, realising he still hasn't put trousers on, and he dives immediately back towards the wardrobe. There's a fight with the bed-post on the way, which he loudly loses.)

[ss_buttcrack]

"Oh, shi--" he also was not very focused on actually getting dressed or, in his case, changed into something slightly less sticky with his own blood.

He skids to a stop just in time to not trip over Arthur who has fallen like a tree in his path to the wardrobe.

"Give us a couple more minutes, Cass!" Crichton calls out through the door.

And then he starts yanking on Arthur's arm to get him back up again. "Come on, it's not like you weigh that much..."

The sounds coming from inside this door right now are probably wild and a little concerning.

[not_the_last]

A little concerning, but all things considered she's not going to get too worried about it.

(The thought that some sort of canoodling is causing those noises does cross her mind, but only in the resigned realization that at least two of her brother's friends -- and possibly Erin -- would be unable to resist a joke to that effect.)

[theotherright]

"Ouw, fuck," complains Arthur, as he goes from his auto-coup-de-grace straight into being pulled up by the arm, his shoulder rotating to just whatever position sucks the most. "Gently!"

He makes it to his feet, rubbing his shoulder and grumbling.

Erin is really missing out by not being at that door.

[ss_buttcrack]

"I'm being gentle," Crichton insists, even though he is being no such thing. Erin isn't here to make fun of them but poor Crabb must be having a time of it next door. As usual.

"Okay, move over, I gotta get a fresh shirt and pants on." The rustle of fabric should tell Arthur that Crichton is stripping down right here next to him. Thankfully, for all parties involved, no one can yet bear witness to the new tattoo Crichton is sporting on his left asscheek.

In a matter of minutes, Crichton is dressed again. Not... well, but he is indeed wearing a new shirt and pants. In clashing tropical prints.

"Ready yet? Can I let her in?"

[theotherright]

Whenever Crichton pulls some clothes out of the wardrobe, the sound of clacking hangers lets Arthur zero in on his target; he strikes, swapping his pajamas for some actual daytime bottoms, and grabbing a sweater and a hat for good measure. A wardrobe refresh overseen by Ossie, plus a system of safety-pins to tell Arthur roughly what colour things are, mean that he's ended up more coordinated than the guy who can actually see what he's dressing in.

Unfortunately his socks are inside out, but you can't have everything.

"Yes, yes, go ahead," he says shortly, as he propels himself at the correct angle to get from the wardrobe to the bathroom door. "I'm just going to splash my face."

[ss_buttcrack]

"All right, I'll let her know." He should probably check himself in the mirror too but what the hell. If anyone makes a crack about his hair he'll tell them more than they wanted to know about how he got this way.

He goes to the door and opens it for Cassandra. "Okay, we're decent." -ish. "Arthur's just in splashing his face and then we'll get going. I was just saying how I'm going to get myself a big plate of chicken and waffles. It's the meal of champions. What do you think you'll have?"

[not_the_last]

Cassandra steps in, smiling with some bemusement at Crichton's words. She's dressed, though rather more hastily than she might ordinarily; a knit shirt instead of a buttoned blouse over her calf-length skirt, with no waistcoat or jacket.

"I can't say I've given it much thought. Chicken and waffles? Is that a usual breakfast food, in your world?"

These cabins are always such close quarters; she realizes that she's standing where Arthur will have to cross to come out of the restroom, and shifts to one side, nudging up against the chest of drawers.

[theotherright]

Fun fact: the cabins get even pokier when you add a whole-ass standing cabinet gramophone, the wind-up sort that comes nearly up to a person's chest. It is a very handsome addition though.

One of the drawers is pushed slightly open by its overstuffed contents, and it squishes slightly closed as Cass nudges up against them. There's a soft crinkle of wax paper and a smell of cheddar and cured meats.

Splash splash splash, from the bathroom, and Arthur reappears towelling his face with his sleeve. He's temporarily caneless -- it's in its usual place by the door -- hence: "Shout if I'm about to walk into anybody."

[ss_buttcrack]

"Certain parts of it, yeah. Southern parts, mostly. You should try it, Cass."

Arthur reappears and Crichton shifts closer to the door to get out of his way, so effortlessly the move doesn't even seem conscious. They've done this dance enough times.

[not_the_last]

"I'm certainly willing to try anything once," she says lightly.

And with Crichton's back turned, she takes a moment to look down at -- and into -- the drawer she's backed against.

[theotherright]

"It's quite good," says Arthur, just as light. A little more genuinely light than before, now that Crichton has answered his pressing question.

The drawer is full of food. Rather, full of what can safely be assumed to be food, wrapped in tinfoil, or wax paper, or tissue: we may live on a ship where nothing rots, but we aren't animals. Two wheels of cheese cased in colourful wax will be the most identifiable items, along with a large glass jar of pickled onions. There's a faint smell of charcuterie meats, presumably from the wrapped packages. A lonely pair of socks tucked in towards the side suggests what this drawer held in a previous life, before it was taken over in a mad raid of the cheese shop.

As a bonus datapoint, there are also a lot of bottles of water in the bathroom, briefly visible before the door closes behind Arthur. They're just casually sitting there; after all, doesn't everyone have a water bottle or two, or five, or twenty, lying around? How many can you stack on one another, like wine bottles in an alcoholic's cellar, before you admit you have a problem and go get a bunker like all the other preppers?

When Cass looks up, she might get to enjoy a quick jumpscare, as Arthur appears to be looking right at her. But it's only because the slight sound of the drawer has caught his attention. His eyes wander somewhere else a moment later, since his actual focus is on running a hand along the wall from the doorframe until he finds and grabs his cane.

[ss_buttcrack]

The mood is lifting. Whew. Crichton lets out a sigh of relief and then promptly sucks in a new breath when he sees Cass investigating the previously-a-sock-drawer.

"Don't mind that," Crichton attempts to reassure her. "Someone here has just been a little overzealous about stocking emergency supplies."

[not_the_last]

Oh, she'd so hoped for that glance to go unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon -- but Crichton's comment means it isn't he who's been keeping a store of food here. Which means -- oh, sweet gods, of course it's Arthur.

"It's nothing," she says lightly, "pray don't give it a thought. Shall we go?"