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_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scribbling of notes, but writing an honest to god three-page report on a book from her world, Oscar Berrada's final unpublished notes on his last case with Detective Madame Theresa Ferrier—the Nightjar.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
Crabb holds the bag steady as she strikes it, feels the strength in the blows and seems briefly surprised by the kicks—just a little jolt, an instinctive reaction to a motion coming vaguely her way she didn't expect. But it's just the bag, not her, that's taking that face full of boot, so it's alright. She's impressed, really.
What's less alright is watching Erin lick the blood off her thumb. Less alright here meaning that one: she gets caught mouth-open again, half-way to saying something about what the infirmary has if she needs it, and two: she barely restrains herself from knocking herself on the side of the head to snap her out of whatever the hell she's thinking now.
Goddammit, Erin. How many moments can you give a girl. It's embarrassing.
"Uh." Rebooting, rebooting. "I think I get the gist, no deep lore needed. Curious as I might be, that's just— uh, well that's my default state, as it turns out."
Slightly funny turn of phrase she chooses, but the thing is she really did used to suppress that curiosity. She kept her head down and did as she was told. She believed serving her city meant turning a blind eye to what the people above her were up to. Embracing her desire to look deeper was a journey.
Anyway. She rubs her bottom lip for a moment as she thinks her words over. "When you can't rely on the world around you, you rely on each other. Figure out how to make your own place in it again, yeah? And that's... different, for different folks and different times. Reckon that makes enough sense to me, if I'm actually still following."
no subject
"Got used to training bare knuckle," she explains. "I don't scar when I heal, so I figured it was best to get used to pain. I can wrap up next time...if you want me to."
no subject
She repeats: goddammit Erin. Human brains were surely not meant to run at full under the kind of heat that keeps going to her face. Never has Crabb spent so much time cursing how reactive she is, it's not usually such an issue to have such a bad poker face. She's even learned to control it in some situations, but this? This isn't one of them.
What's she supposed to say to that without falling into another embarrassing hole? God help her. She's must look like a stupid gaping fish again. Like watching her old goldfish swim around with his mouth going, blub blub blub.
"Uh— that's, uh, I mean—" Mouth snaps shut, takes a second. Huff of air. "...I ain't gonna tell you what to do. Granted, it might be less— distracting."
There's plausible deniability there, surely. Someone bleeding is distracting. Don't mind her scratching at her neck, which will be a blatant nervous tick once you know her long enough.
no subject
"You've got the idea right about Freeholds," she soothes. "Members join the Courts and are members of them year-round, which informs both how they're choosing to try and heal from... being over There, and also the sorts of jobs they do. A Summer boy might do heavy lifting in Spring, lead secondary combatants from other Courts in Summer, bodyguard a sorcerer in Autumn, and escort deliveries in Winter. So when I say that the Summer lasses had my engine going I mean they were offering training and I was horny and scared enough to take some punches to be there. Absolutely worth it."
A pause, with an 'any questions?'-shaped hole in it.
no subject
The last part really does not help with Crabb regaining her composure but she'll take the pause for the actual opening to straighten herself out with a set of punches, as well as getting her thoughts together on everything Erin's told her.
There are a few things about what Erin's said that back-up some of her initial observations of Erin herself: the obvious signs of some kind of trauma in how jumpy she was, for one. Her visible experience as a fighter, the incorrect edges of that puzzle piece now fitting neatly thanks to the little fact she doesn't scar. Even the sort of... intensity, for lack of what might be a more fitting word, makes a special kind of sense cast in the light of someone who has had to claw back their life and humanity after having it ripped out from under them.
And then there's the bigger picture of it all. This unseen society made up of all sorts of people who've been through the same thing and come out however changed, moving ahead however they can. There is a certain something about that which hits... different than most of the other magic types about, because it was, apparently, unseen. Confident as she's been that her world's mundane, wouldn't it be harder to tell if it's all hidden?
Christ. The set runs longer this time just because she's thinking and when she finally steps back again, grabbing her water to chug some, she's still not quite got her words.
"Feel like half of what I'm thinking right now's just... Hell. Can't not think about how goddamned depressing it is that folks can just go missing and come back different and no one's the bleedin' wiser or would believe it. Reminds me a bit of how easy it is for folks to fall through the damn cracks even without..." Vague gesturing, all that. "Happens so damn easy. Best you can do is try to catch people. That's really what I do, these days. We handle things for the people who the folks up top keep tryna stamp on. We got kids going out to war and they'll never be the same and... man, I dunno where I'm going with this."
She laughs awkwardly, reorients. "Guess it's just interesting how people are always people, y'know. Sometimes they go sideways on you, never did much like tryna predict how folks are gonna act, but then sometimes..." Vague gesturing.
no subject
Erin claps the bag. "I hope I've been an entertaining distraction. Make good on that drink sometime, yeah? I'd love to hear about your home. I can behave a bit better..."
That goblin smile. "If you ask me to."
no subject
To her credit she just about manages to stop herself going giant goldfish again, she only stammers for a second before managing to huff a laugh and say, "I said I ain't gonna tell you what to do, didn't I?" which might be the closest she's got to returning— banter, she's going to call it banter for her own sanity right now, "I'll make good, either way. Woman of my word."
And she is. So she will.
But first, she's just going to need to sit down and process this entire conversation the second Erin's gone. And add catching up with Johnny again to her plans because she's pretty sure she just made at least a little bit of a fool of herself and has no goddamned idea what to do about it. If there even is anything to do about it. God.