Standing under an overpass in the rain [OPEN]

[pointofhonoria]

Who: Honoria Crabb & You!
What: Monthly shenanigans, truths/lies and otherwise
When: Throughout July
Where: Various spots around the ship
Warnings: None yet, will add
Notes: If anyone feels like helping me get this poor detective caught up on any plot stuff......


1. thinking, thinking (either library, lounge, Tauva, etc.)

Crabb hates feeling this idle for this long. Back in Gallery there's never a quiet moment, never a dearth of obvious work to be done. More often than not, she and Ferrier hop right from one job to the next, and she likes it that way. It's just the sort of person she is.

Maybe it'd have helped if she hadn't been far more rattled by her first months here than she'd expected, or if she just knew where to even start, but she was and she doesn't. Together, those things mean her "work" mostly amounts to sitting around places like the library, the lounge or Tauva, thinking and scribbling notes on everything from what little she personally knows, to the mountain of questions that cover what she doesn't, to the people she knows or has seen around enough to take note of.

Lately, this sometimes includes having a life-size plush of a strange little dog sat with her as she scribbles. Mostly, it just sits there, sometimes gets used as an arm rest, other times she almost seems to pet it idly or talking to it like she's using it to work out thoughts aloud.

Anyone who catches her doing so will be met with no sense of shame, just a, "What you looking at?"

2. caught in the rain (anywhere outside or just after coming inside, lies)

Crabb does her best not to get caught out in the rain, all things considered, but it still happens; she has to cross some open deck and ends up all drizzled on anyway. Much harder to completely avoid folks for an hour or two when that's how you end up wet, compared to all the more purposeful kinds like showers and so on.

Nice to know there's only different weather when it's inconvenient, she supposes.

"Bleedin' lovely weather we're having," is what she means to grumble, to no one in particular but aloud all the same, and in essence that's still what she actually says, give or take a couple words, but... it sure comes out sounding a lot more genuine than the sarcasm she was aiming for.

3. newfangled technology (Calgona's Gym)

When it is wet outside, Crabb has to shift the exercise routine she's fallen into. No running around the track out on the sports deck, which means if she wants to get a run in, she has to figure out how the treadmills work.

She is not having much luck.

She's got no problem with the concept, or the basic act of turning it on, but she's clearly a little more thrown by all the possible settings and might be cursing creatively under her breath. Maybe help the woman from 1917 out, here.

4. Wildcard

[ Catch her anywhere else; specify if you want a lies/truths thing and either pick which or I will, but otherwise I'll default to no effect. bluecitrine or artisticblueteam#5757 if you want to plot something specific. ]

Comments

Library!

[woocas]

Truth be told, Lucas doesn't know what to do with so much idle time on his hands either. he's used to long hours and mountains of paperwork, so day four of being on this ship is already starting to grate on some very fresh nerves. Luckily he's figured out how shopping works so off to the library he skips with a hefty new notebook in hand.

It's a cozy spot, but he doesn't pay that any mind and heads right for the books. There has to be something here that can help him research. Reading the book spines all he's finding so far is one fiction book after another.

Grumbling to himself, Lucas turns and finally notices he's not alone. Is that a stuffed dog? Oops, he's staring.

"Uuh, well." Flustered he gestures in the direction of said dog when he gets called out on it. "Sorry! Made a beeline for the books without so much as a how do you do? I hope I'm not bothering you."

[pointofhonoria]

"You're not; I don't much like being stared at, but I wouldn't call that bothering, 'xactly." She sighs, sits up a bit straighter and takes her hand away from plushie-Requin. "This thing was a gift from miss no face. Spitting image of a weird little dog I know at home."

So he's sort of a mild comfort, not that she's going to say as much. It's not like she's cuddling up to the thing like some kid, and truth be told there's as much homesickness attached to it as anything else, but it's... something.

She nods vaguely towards the bookshelves, "If you're looking for stuff that ain't fiction, you're wasting your time, sorry to say."

[woocas]

"Yeah, that's fair." He gets it and really should have known better, getting a few stares back home himself. The dog plushie does peak Lucas's interest, though.

"A gift? From Friday or the Captain?" The question tumbles from his lips before he remembers his mission here; information! Which is just as quickly dashed, at least from a book stand point.

"Aw, for real?" Lucas whines, shoulders lumping. "No one keeps records on this floating tin can?"

[pointofhonoria]

"Last I heard the running theory's the captain has nothing to do with us actually getting 'em, the one without a face gives 'em out after they appear."

As to how they appear, she's not exactly sure, but she'd figure it's not much different from how any of the people appear here. They get pulled in some how, just maybe less deliberately.

"But if anyone keeps records, they don't keep 'em in here, nah. There was some attempt at sharing information around most of the ship a while back, but if anyone else is keeping notes, they're keeping them to themselves." She sighs, gestures vaguely. "I tried this place first day I arrived hoping for some kinda information, too, and I check now and then, but it ain't changed yet."

[woocas]

"Huh, well Friday does seem to like making us comfortable." Mostly. The safety drill was an odd juxtaposition of normal and definitely not normal. It felt a bad taste in his mouth that he just hasn't shaken off yet.

"Well, I'm going to start taking notes and I'll share. What good is it to compile data if you're just gonna horde it like some kind of like not-sharing weirdo." He snorts, nose wrinkling. "I guess it's nice we have stuff to read to pass the time, but only fiction kinda blows. But, uh, I didn't mean to crash your reading session if that's what you were up to."

[pointofhonoria]

"If that's what you wanna call it, yeah." She's not sure how she feels about Friday, quite honestly. The lack of face is... hard to get past. Where the hell does her voice come from? How does she see? Anyway...

She shakes her head. "Nah, I'm just tryna take some notes of my own. Not got much, to tell the truth, but if I don't do something I'll go mad as a hatter before long, if I ain't already."

[woocas]

Friday definitely brings up more questions than answers. Right now Lucas figures rolling with her as is might be for the best while he sorts out the rest of the ship's oddities.

"I feel you on that. I never thought I'd miss doing paperwork but here I am..." If only Miles could hear him now, he'd never live down saying that. "This your kind of work back home or is it just to pass the time now?"

[pointofhonoria]

"The first one, I'm a detective by trade. Solving mysteries is kinda my whole job description. I thought I'd had some bloody weird ones already but this kinda takes the biscuit."

The Black Note was a weird one for many reasons, but mundane compared to this. Whatever's going on with Lord Hawthorne is something else entirely, but still nothing compared to this.

"You? What sorta paperwork you usually stuck with?"

Tauva

[theweakhavepurpose]

Pratt hates cigars, smoking them makes you look like a douchebag and he despises how soggy the ends get. But he needs his nicotine fix somehow and he hasn't been able to find cigarettes on board anywhere. So he's smoking a cigar and drinking Mountain Dew out of a bottle in a combination that would have anyone with even a bit of class beating him to death with a crystal candlestick.

He has noticed the person talking to a stuffed animal, but since he often talks to a hallucination he's in no position to say shit.

"Nothing, keep on keeping on." He shrugs, leaning his elbows on the table. "What are you doing anyway?"

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb's far too out of time to recognise what a mountain dew is, but honestly the colour alone is enough to make her nose crinkle a bit upon looking over. She's not even a smoker herself, but she's used enough to the smell and partial enough to the whiskeys that she's gotten comfortable enough in Tauva even when she's not in the mood for a drink.

"I bleedin' well intend to, thanks," she grumbles, before sighing and just straightening up a bit. She's not sure if talking aloud totally to herself would look more or less insane than talking to the dog, honestly. "I'm just tryna get my head on straight about this place. Never much liked feeling like I don't understand something, me."

[theweakhavepurpose]

He eats enough brightly colored sugary things that's it's a miracle his blood isn't some kind of florescent sludge.

"You're trying to understand here? All the magic shit?" He shakes his head. "Good fucking luck."

He sits back in his chair, puffing out a nearly perfect smoke ring and looking real pleased with himself. Okay maybe there's one thing he likes about cigars. "Anything you've got so far? Because I just found out food from the buffet doesn't go bad and that's been a game changer."

[pointofhonoria]

She snorts something like a laugh—good fucking luck is about right for how she feels about it all, lately. But that's never stopped her ramming her head against something until it gives before, and it's not going to now.

"Not so much. 'sides the basics." Vaguely what the Captain wants from them being here, the fact no one dies, odds and ends like that. Common knowledge stuff, for the most part. "I'd be kicking holes in a mess like this by now, anywhere else, but the bleedin' magic nonsense and not having my usual connections doesn't help."

She's used to the kind of confusion you can brute force your way through with some old fashioned detective work and being out of time, out of Gallery, away from most of her usual team, and having magic in play isn't exactly turning anything in her favour.

Which, on magic nonsense, "Whadaya mean the food doesn't go bad? Like— at all?"

[theweakhavepurpose]

"Kinda hard when you don't have your force behind you. Or like... the internet." He so desperately wants to Google: what the fuck is going on.

"It gets cold but nothing else. I've had this tray of mashed potatoes in my room for two weeks and it hasn't even dried out and gotten crusty. It's still good, just.. room temp and kinda dusty because I forgot to cover it because I didn't think it would work." He shrugs, "I could probably eat two week old mashed potatoes and be okay, but it's definitely not rotten. I'm trying not to think about how that works and just enjoy it."

[pointofhonoria]

Crabb snorts. "That 'internet' stuff's way beyond me, wouldn't know much what to do with it if we had it. My team, though, yeah. My partner woulda made some ground by now, brilliant woman that she is."

She doesn't wish anyone else would be stuck here, considering all the death and other alarming things about it all, but sometimes you just want the woman who can read a man like a book, plus knows how your investigative brain works and how to unclog it, around.

The description of the food gets a furrowed brow. "That's... really bleedin' weird. Somehow feels weirder than the whole not staying dead thing. Why the hell wouldn't the food..." Christ, this place sometimes feels like an never ending headache. "It's not even like we run outta food around here."

[theweakhavepurpose]

"Maybe but also.. maybe not? This place don't make sense so I dunno that anyone's got a grip on it." He'll avoid the internet convo for now because he's not about to explain the neverending cat-pictures machine to someone.

"I dunno. Everyone says it's 'magic' and I don't know dick about how magic works. Don't know that I wanna either. Maybe in case the ghosts go on strike and stop bringing it out through the walls, or maybe there's just nothing to make it rot here. I got run through with a sword and that didn't get infected so maybe there's just.. no bacteria?"

[pointofhonoria]

She nods her head to the side, fair enough point; it's pretty easy to think someone else might crack it open when they're not here, but. "Still, if I had to put my money on anyone..."

The idea of the ghosts going on strike almost makes her laugh, because that sentence is damned insane and yet you spend long enough here and you just have to accept it, and honestly, who could blame the ghosts if they did. And then he goes on.

"God's teeth, if you're getting run through with swords the existence of bleedin' bacteria seems like the least of your problems. Sounds like maybe that's as feasible an explanation as any, sure, but..." She shakes her head.

1

[be_seeing_you]

"Oh, it's nothing," Number 6 says, nonchalant despite the tone she's taken with him. Actually, he's been watching her for a while with some fascination as she scribbles.

"Just that it's the strangest coincidence. Not too long ago I was talking to someone about their friend's pet bulldog. Your plush one reminded me of it."

[pointofhonoria]

That gets her attention far more directly, and she eyes him for a second before huffing something like a laugh. "Less of a coincidence, more this is a copy of that very bulldog. Got it given to me randomly in one of those gifts that pop up for folks sometimes."

She's still not entirely sure if she should count it as creepy or not, to tell the truth, but she's not inclined to try and dispose of it either way, so.

"You've met Johnny, then."

[be_seeing_you]

"You must be Honoria Crabb," he answers her question with a nod. "Yes. He spoke fondly of you. Slightly less so of the dog."

[pointofhonoria]

"Requin's a good dog, but I do keep looking at this thing expecting it to start drooling enough to cause a small flood." Which isn't ideal to have running around your expensive building, but she also hasn't forgotten Johnny wanting to give the plush version a hug when she got it. "Think that's half his charm to Ferrier and Marguerite, though."

They do love that little fella.

"Anyway, yeah, that's me. Nice to know he's got good things to say, he's a stand up bloke himself." She admires some of the stuff he's pulled off more than she's ever necessarily admitted to his face. "And you are?"

[be_seeing_you]

"Yes. That was the part Johnny mentioned, something about leaving smudges in the elevator." Johnny had mentioned Ferrier and Margeurite too and things had gotten quite tense from there, but Number 6 is deciding to keep that to himself.

"We've only crossed paths a couple of times now, but on one occasion we did end up escaping an elevator together. I found him quick on his feet. And, I understand you are a private investigator?"

He looks slightly embarrassed with himself when she prompts him for his name. "Ah, yes. My apologies. You can call me Peter smith." Not his real name, but the alias he's chosen for himself here.

[pointofhonoria]

"Peter Smith, alright." She certainly takes note of the word choice, there; after Murderbot told her its actual name, she became suddenly very aware that it had only ever said people could call it Rin or Secunit, not that either was its name. She's rather tuned into that phrase, now.

"I'm a private detective, yeah. Have been for a couple years now. Before that I was with the state, but let's say that didn't work out. Went independent, been much better for it."

[be_seeing_you]

"With the state?" That catches his attention. "What state?" He regrets that he didn't actually ask this question of Johnny either, but at the time he was still adjusting to the idea of there being multiple worlds.

"I know from some personal experience that working for one's government can be a difficult calling."

[prince_of_beasts]

With similar habits, it's perhaps no surprise that Dimitri finds himself with a similar problem. He doesn't mind the wet; he does mind being compelled to speak without knowing what he's saying. Someone's already in the gym when he arrives, poking at a treadmill with rather, ahem, expressive frustration. He approaches carefully, not wanting to startle, and gives a shallow bow when he catches her attention.

"Ah, hello. Are you having trouble? I'm afraid I don't know how these things work, either, but perhaps between the two of us we can figure it out."

[pointofhonoria]

Bowing, huh, well this one's a formal one. She eyes him for a second, has to incline her head a bit considering he's got almost a half foot on her, then huffs a sigh.

"There's more buttons on this thing than some overly fancy coat." She gestures vaguely, and steps aside so he can look too. "Seems like a lot of fuss to get a decent bleedin' run in."