Honoria Crabb (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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come_sailaway2022-09-09 02:18 am
pointofhonoria) wrote in come_sailaway2022-09-09 02:18 am
Entry tags:
Well I'm not sanctified... [OPEN]
Who: Honoria Crabb & You!
What: Various monthly shenanigans
When: First half of September pre-event
Where: Various spots around the ship
Warnings: does a mild existential crisis count
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets, I'm fine with either style.
1. There's no love that's come to rescue me [Cabin, Lounge, Library, Tauva]
There's about a week, early in the month, where Crabb can be found sitting doing not her usual scribbling of notes, but writing an honest to god three-page report on a book from her world, Oscar Berrada's final unpublished notes on his last case with Detective Madame Theresa Ferrier—the Nightjar.
It's less about the book itself and more about processing what learning the information in the book means for someone who will never see home again, never get to use that information to help her team. It's unsettling to think about there being a version of her still running around with Ferrier, oblivious to what Ferrier is, apparently, refusing to tell her despite its importance. Hard not to feel a little angry, but that anger has nowhere to go.
Not a totally new feeling, really.
Sometimes, she just sits writing in her cabin. Other times, she can be found sitting around other areas of the ship, with both a proper sized notebook for the long-form writing and a smaller one for scribbles to get her thoughts unstuck. Catch her grumbling to herself, try peer over her shoulder at what she's writing, get caught out by a stray screwed up ball of paper being thrown somewhere...
2. Bend my heart and even break my knees [Calgona]
Writing the report is a good way to clear her head, and wailing on a punching bag is still a good way to get out a combination of restless energy and directionless anger. Sure there's some... weird memories... tied up in it, but Cragen doesn't get to take everything away from her, so.
If someone sturdy-looking enough is around, she might ask, "Don't s'pose you'd mind holding the bag? Not getting the enough resistance right now." Or if she spots someone else after stepping back to wipe her face and drink, just shrug vaguely and say, "Gotta burn energy somehow, yeah."
3. But it's these chains that are defining me [Sand Dollars]
The other thing about accepting she's never going home to the friends she knows is accepting she has to socialise more. Not that she's been a recluse, mind, but Crabb's always been a bit of a workaholic who has more co-workers than friends and though the rest of the Lavender League are very firmly in their own joint category... that's also why she hasn't had to figure out deliberately making more friends before the ship.
(Yes, it's been like five months since she got here, but Johnny's the social butterfly from their world, alright, let her live.)
Right now, her effort to get out there more mostly amounts to grabbing a coffee in Sand Dollars and sitting herself down a sociable distance from the actual counter and doing some mix of polite nods or smiles, depending on if she doesn't know you or does. But look, it's something, alright, at least she hasn't got her head in her notebook for once.
4. Yeah it's these chains that are defining me [Wilcard]
Poke me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
bluecitrine or artisticblueteam#5757 in the discord to plan something specific or just throw something at her.
What: Various monthly shenanigans
When: First half of September pre-event
Where: Various spots around the ship
Warnings: does a mild existential crisis count
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets, I'm fine with either style.
1. There's no love that's come to rescue me [Cabin, Lounge, Library, Tauva]
There's about a week, early in the month, where Crabb can be found sitting doing not her usual scribbling of notes, but writing an honest to god three-page report on a book from her world, Oscar Berrada's final unpublished notes on his last case with Detective Madame Theresa Ferrier—the Nightjar.
It's less about the book itself and more about processing what learning the information in the book means for someone who will never see home again, never get to use that information to help her team. It's unsettling to think about there being a version of her still running around with Ferrier, oblivious to what Ferrier is, apparently, refusing to tell her despite its importance. Hard not to feel a little angry, but that anger has nowhere to go.
Not a totally new feeling, really.
Sometimes, she just sits writing in her cabin. Other times, she can be found sitting around other areas of the ship, with both a proper sized notebook for the long-form writing and a smaller one for scribbles to get her thoughts unstuck. Catch her grumbling to herself, try peer over her shoulder at what she's writing, get caught out by a stray screwed up ball of paper being thrown somewhere...
2. Bend my heart and even break my knees [Calgona]
Writing the report is a good way to clear her head, and wailing on a punching bag is still a good way to get out a combination of restless energy and directionless anger. Sure there's some... weird memories... tied up in it, but Cragen doesn't get to take everything away from her, so.
If someone sturdy-looking enough is around, she might ask, "Don't s'pose you'd mind holding the bag? Not getting the enough resistance right now." Or if she spots someone else after stepping back to wipe her face and drink, just shrug vaguely and say, "Gotta burn energy somehow, yeah."
3. But it's these chains that are defining me [Sand Dollars]
The other thing about accepting she's never going home to the friends she knows is accepting she has to socialise more. Not that she's been a recluse, mind, but Crabb's always been a bit of a workaholic who has more co-workers than friends and though the rest of the Lavender League are very firmly in their own joint category... that's also why she hasn't had to figure out deliberately making more friends before the ship.
(Yes, it's been like five months since she got here, but Johnny's the social butterfly from their world, alright, let her live.)
Right now, her effort to get out there more mostly amounts to grabbing a coffee in Sand Dollars and sitting herself down a sociable distance from the actual counter and doing some mix of polite nods or smiles, depending on if she doesn't know you or does. But look, it's something, alright, at least she hasn't got her head in her notebook for once.
4. Yeah it's these chains that are defining me [Wilcard]
Poke me at
no subject
There's a quiet hum about the Captain, and a wry grin about England as Nobunaga fixes her with his red eyes. "I can tell. I just wish to know how." It wasn't material. Whether he could or couldn't bring it back as information to further the dream, the ambition, the resolve, it was for his own sake. Because he'd spent his whole life dedicated to achieving that dream, throwing every waking second into it, that wasn't going to stop for any so-called vacation.
"I had a theory a long time back," like a decade and a half maybe, so most people probably wouldn't think it was that long for him since he was theoretically 400 years in the past for them, but it was a long time for his life, "That the most stubborn about refusing to change their ways would be able to force the others to cater to them; no matter whether or not it was efficient. Although it's a passing curiosity, I suspect in England's case, with the language, it is the only way that makes sense." Nobunaga nods to himself. "Though I intend to instill even more stubbornness in Japan, the opportunity to test such a theory across centuries was certainly never afforded before."