methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
Entry tags:
February 2024 Test Drive Meme
FEBRUARY 2024 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: Yet another new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — OF FAIR FORTUNE: After spell of bad luck, finally, the Interlopers find A Very Good (albeit slightly spooky) Boy.
PROMPT THREE — BAD PICKINGS: An error is made when foraging for mushrooms that have been altered by the Aurora makes for some interesting situations for the Interlopers.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. Interlopers who arrive during the month of February will find themselves especially likely of falling foul to accidental injuries and the like. It's as if the bad luck of finding yourself in this place only gets much worse. Maybe you get yourself horrendously more lost than you mean to, maybe you end up with a sprained wrist or ankle after a fall, torn clothing from fighting through the thicker parts of the wilderness.
But soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.
There is a sombre mood to the town. Although you can't quite place why, maybe you should ask?
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a community hall, by the looks of it. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, his mood is... low, mournful. but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
This time, if he is approached, particularly by those who have been in Milton for some time, he will frown in thought. He is… considering something. Finally, he will speak:
“I had hoped that the secret cache I and your fellow Newcomers had found two months past would be enough until the spring comes.” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze moving to one of the many windows of the Community Hall. “If she ever arrives, that is.”
He doesn’t believe it will.
“More and more of you come. Life will continue to get harder with the numbers rising.” Methuselah explains. “Milton is but one town, and the way out to the south is blocked.”
He means the road out — the one that follows out of town, past the gas station and through the mountains. The tunneled road ends there, caved in with snow and stone. There is no way out that way. Methuselah is quiet for a few moments.
“... There must be another way out. For all of our sakes. It must be found."
OF FAIR FORTUNE
WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts, Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: otherworldly animal;
The Interlopers have discovered that it is not best to trust the canines in this world. The wolves and volatile, aggressive — prone to attacking the town, people. There has even been an instance of a dog leading Interlopers off the beaten track some months ago, into trips and falls and all sorts of mischief. To come across any sort of dog these days would draw suspicion, perhaps even aggression from Interlopers.
And certainly, coming across this particular dog is enough to turn plenty around and start heading in the opposite direction.
There is something…. Otherworldly about this dog. In terms of breed, one might recognise it to look a great deal like an Old English Sheepdog — but far bigger and hardier. It almost looks as if moss and vines are matted in its long fur, which seems ridiculous — but it’s true enough. The dog does not bark, but instead will stop and look at you silently when you come across one another. If approached, it will not run off, but it does not want to be petted and prefers to keep a respectable distance between you and it.
Then, it will turn to look in one direction and begin heading that way. It looks as if it wants to take you somewhere, but it won’t run off for you to catch up. It keeps to your side, silent and steady as you head through the snow, the woods. Wherever you’re going, there seems to be no rush in getting there.
It’s a little unnerving: where did this dog come from? Why does it look so… strange? Where is it going? Where is it taking you? But even with these questions, it doesn’t seem like you’ll find much in terms of answers, not at first.
Soon enough, you’ll find it. It’s different for everyone, but it seems like it all has some recurring theme. Perhaps out in the cold wilds of the Northern Territories, you’re in desperate need of shelter or warmth — you and the dog will find yourselves facing an abandoned cabin, a place of safety from the cold, perhaps with warmer clothing within. Or perhaps the dog may lead you to some secret stash: a metal cache half-hidden in the snow, a small stone cairn — with vital loot hidden within: matches, flares, maybe even food. It may even lead you to foragable foods: mushrooms, berries or of the like — all safe to consume.
Whatever the strange dog leads you to, it is a fortune. A small one, but a fortune nonetheless. It seems as if it wanted to bring you to something to aid you in your time here. Upon finding whatever it is the dog leads you to, the dog disappears — never to be seen again.
BAD PICKINGS
WHEN: Mid-month onwards for a few weeks.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered food/foraged foods; drugs/hallucinogens / negative hallucinogenic trips; severely altered/warped moods; temporary amnesia; personality switches; loss of senses
The Northern Territories may be harsh, difficult conditions to survive in, but certainly not impossible. There is an abundance of wildlife, hardy enough to withstand the weather — even in the extreme, unpredictable times such as these. Foraging will soon come to be a staple for those stuck here in this world, and is just as important as hunting down any deer or rabbit. Flora is not only useful in terms of sustenance, but in its use in medicines and tinctures.
Mushrooms can be found here and there in particular areas: taking advantage of the wet, rotten wood of downed trees, or nestled in the sheltered undergrowth of the more densely wooded areas where it’s a little more suitable for fungi to grow. But not even the flora of this world is safe following the recent Auroras. The world is changing, and for the next few weeks — foraged mushrooms will have some… interesting effects, when consumed.
Interlopers that come across these mushrooms in the wilds will find themselves compelled to pick and eat these mushrooms right away. They're perfectly fine to eat raw, just more enjoyable to eat once cooked.
The effects of the mushrooms will last between eight hours to a full day, depending on how much was consumed. Nothing can be done to alleviate symptoms. You will feel incredibly hungover the day after the effects have subsided, and feel completely fine after that. The Aurora’s influence on mushrooms is only temporary, and the mushrooms will cease their effects after a few weeks.
Reishi mushrooms This mushroom will temporarily take away one of your five senses: sight, touch, smell, taste or hearing. You may find yourself feeling completely numb to touch; or unable to hear or see anything.
Oyster mushrooms Eating one of these mushrooms will give you temporary amnesia. You may forget yourself, things about your life, even your own name. Or maybe you will forget those around you. Or perhaps both.
Black Morel Eating this mushroom will seem to switch your personality to its complete opposite. Introverted sorts will become extroverted, those prone to anger will become more calm and chilled out, cheerful sorts will become more morose — and vice-versa.
Chanterelles Your mood is lifted and you become more cheerful and affectionate with those around you. You may even become more enamoured with the next person you happen to meet, regardless of your feelings towards them previously or your own orientation/attractions.
Amethyst Laccaria There is nothing supernatural or strange that happens when this mushroom is consumed. You just have a super bad hallucinogenic trip of your own horrible making. This mushroom is literally a nightmare. Sorry about that.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Please Do Not Pet That Dog.
1. Interlopers that pick a variety of the mushrooms and cook them together to eat will suffer the effects of whichever mushroom was in the largest quantity.
2. The mushrooms are fine to eat raw, and characters will feel compelled to eat them raw.
no subject
[ And he'd much rather settle down a while first, besides-- to get his bearings and get his strength back, so he'll feel less helpless and vulnerable in all his confusion. Irving's hardly the most brave, bold, strong, or hardy of men to begin with, but this right now is almost certainly him at his very weakest, and he could do much worse than allowing himself some time to catch his breath again.
Wynonna goes on to name a few of his crewmates, to which Irving nods along, mostly satisfied with the group those names add up to-- all except for one, of course.
He swallows hard, jaw tensing tightly enough for his teeth to grind, his heart racing fast from a sudden headrush of fear and adrenaline. Hickey. ]
I see. [ A long, strained beat of silence passes, before he goes on: ] And they're all in good health, as well?
no subject
[ As fine as someone could be after going from one frozen hellscape to another, but at least he's not bleeding from the gums and slowly disintegrating from a lack of vitamin C. Maybe one of these days he'll be fine enough that running from the town center to her doorstep won't have him out of breath, but it's not like this place is exactly conducive to good health. ]
I don't know the others as well.
[ But he does; there's no mistaking the way his jaw tightens, the way his whole body tenses at the mention of Hickey. Not a fan, then. Wynonna chews on the inside of her lip for a second, wondering what the best option is, here. She could go back to town, grab Goodsir, and drag him out here; she could bring Irving into the Community Hall and get him some of Kate's rosehip syrup. But he doesn't seem like he's about to pass out, or anything, so they may as well stay right here, sheltered and warm, until he's ready to make the trek. ]
There's plenty of food here. People are hunting game, Kate's made some kind of rosehip stuff to help with the scurvy, there's medicine. It's not the greatest situation, but it's been enough to keep people alive.
[ A beat; a flutter of a pause, before she self-edits, slightly. ]
Most people alive.
no subject
He clears his throat, blinking a couple times in rapid succession to recover from that brief turn. ]
What was wrong with him? [ He asks finally, unwilling to scold a stranger (never mind a woman, as well) who is otherwise being rather helpful over her lack of decorum. ] Jopson... Thomas.
[ The former steward's Christian name feels strange and almost foreign on Irving's tongue. He may well have come around to calling the man Thomas in due time, had they both coexisted as 3rd Lieutenants long enough to actually, work together, but such as it was...
Still, Jopson had been hale and healthy enough, the last Irving saw of him-- as much as any of them could be called as much by then, at least. Not that these things couldn't, and often didn't, change on a dime; Irving is very lucky indeed that he's not any worse off himself, as far as scurvy progression and deterioration goes, but given a few more months, weeks... maybe mere days, even, then who could really say?
He looks at Wynonna steadily, something guarded shining in his eyes. ]
And you and Lieutenant Little are... [ There's a beat. ] Well-acquainted, then?
[ But then he must immediately second-guess his question, because he quickly continues speaking without giving her much the opportunity to respond to it. ]
While I don't claim to be familiar with any remedies involving, erm, rosehip, [ he just barely knows what that even is, ] Of course I'll be happy to try anything that's been made available to me. Grateful, really. Lemon juice can only ward off scurvy for so long, apparently.
no subject
It takes her almost twenty real seconds after he's started speaking again, after he says Thomas in that stilted way, to realize just what the fuck had happened. Really? A nickname is what hits his reboot button? But she shouldn't be surprised, probably, considering the way Little had reacted to her the first time they met, considering how he'd agonized over using her name without direct permission from her.
Victorians. ]
What was wrong with him? I have no idea. At a wild guess, I'd say... scurvy, exposure... I don't know, what else were you guys dealing with?
[ Waverly might know, but she doesn't. History was never her strong suit. Hell, school was never her strong suit.
But now he's watching her with a brand-new wariness, and she eyes him right back, which would be helpful if he were to make a sudden lunge at her but proves less than useful in terms of preparing her for what actually comes out of his mouth.
He loads that pause just like she'd load Peacemaker, sets two words down after it with unusual weight attributed to each, and she's aware there's a right answer and a wrong answer and Little is nowhere around to translate the goddamn question for her. She narrows her eyes at Irving, only for her brows to tug together when he doesn't give her a chance to even try to answer that question. Fine, she'll circle back to it. ]
All I know about it is that supposedly it's full of vitamin C. Anti-scurvy shit, [she amends, because she can't remember if they knew about vitamins back in the 1830s or whenever it was they set sail for the Arctic or not.
A beat, and then she circles back, just like she'd promised herself, watching him with something of the same wariness he'd just aimed her way. ]
Define 'well-acquainted.'
no subject
[ Or, immediately after asking, Irving has already reconsidered whether or not he actually wants to know the answer; not only isn't it his place to be questioning a stranger's affairs to begin with, but if for whatever reason Little and Wynonna's association is, in fact, something Irving should know more about, then surely Little will be filling him in on such relevant particulars later anyway.
It's neither unexpected nor surprising, of course, that after years away at sea having only other men for company, a sailor might feel thusly inclined to seek out female companionship upon finally reentering civilization again, and far be it for even Known Prig(™) John Irving to truly in good conscience begrudge any of his fellow Terror or Erebus shipmates for wanting to--
However, be the relationship indeed more... intimate in nature between Little and Wynonna, then as far as Irving is concerned, the less he knows, so much the better.
Victorians.]He still appeared to be in fine enough health when last I saw him, although given how insidiously scurvy has continued to manifest itself amongst our crew, presentation alone can be rather meaningless.
[ To that end, Irving never developed many symptoms himself beyond some overall increased physical weakness, sporadic joint pain, and small patches of scurvy rash, but as for Jopson--
Scurvy at minimum does seem most likely, yes. ]
But apart from scurvy or exposure, I imagine that malnourishment, lead sickness, debility and infection were among the leading causes of... illness, in the men.
[ Also consumption, gangrene, drowning, organ failure, suicide and murder, various forms of madness, nearly any and all manner of shipboard-adjacent accidents, and of course mauling by an enormous bear creature, but-- since it's sounding like illness was indeed Jopson's problem, Irving leaves it there. ]
With scurvy, were I to hazard a guess, still being the most common ailment by far, [ he adds with a nod, affirming the wisdom in prioritizing better anti-scurvy remedies here. ] Though thankfully far more easily cured, back on dry land.
this is so late pls forgive!!
[ Only a few weeks ago she would have gone crowing to make Little as uncomfortable as possible with this line of conversation — hey Little your sailing buddy thinks we're sleeping together — just to see the way he'd try to disappear into the floor, probably in a sad and anticlimactic parody of the way she dispenses with demons. Less wailing, way less hellfire, one thousand per cent more full body sighs.
But— that was before she spent a whole ass evening just... hanging out with him and accidentally falling asleep on his couch. He'd smiled at her, which is a thing she would previously would have thought might break his face from how alien an expression it would be, and now she feels weird about it. There's an uncomfortable knot in her stomach that hasn't gone away since that night, that's only gotten more uncomfortable with every passing day, and she can't even soothe it with the previously enjoyed pastime of torturing the living hell out of him. It all backfires now in a way she didn't expect, and it's annoying as shit.
So she'll torture this guy, instead... just a little. ]
Yeah, you guys went through the wringer, huh?
[ Absolutely the understatement of the century, but she never has any idea what to say in the face of everything these men endured... and what they didn't. She can still hear the haunted tightness in Little's voice when he told her about just one of those horrors: The tents were fastened so tightly and they were— they were like a maze, we could not get out.
Riddled with disease, trapped on the ice, all of them doomed, none of them knowing it. She wishes she'd cracked even one book about the Franklin Expedition, just so she'd have some context, but history was always Waverly's thing, not hers. It would have taken precious time away from drinking herself into oblivion, getting into fights, and making questionable romantic decisions.
So: despite the way she'd prodded at him like a kid with a worm, just enjoying the way he squirms, she drops the attitude, watching him without a smile. Whatever she's feeling is too grim for sympathy, and she's never been the sympathetic kind, anyway, but she knows what it's like to feel trapped. To fear for your life. It's just that she's always managed to get out of it... so far. They hadn't. ]
I'll bring you to Goodsir, whenever we get out of here. Get you all checked out and on the anti-scurvy bandwagon.
[ It's not the first time her glance has flickered over him, her eyes clear gray-blue and keen, but it's the first time she's really taking in the state of him, of his clothes. ]
Are you hurt at all? Think you can make it to the town after a little rest?
no worries!! <3
So they've told you about what happened, then. Not in too great of detail, I should hope.
[ If only because it's so incredibly unpleasant. He nods once, slowly, with acknowledgement, however grimly, but it's a relief not to have to explain any of it to her himself. ]
How is he? Dr. Goodsir. [ Irving pauses, then shakes his head. ] But I'm not injured nor particularly ill, no, so I'm sure I would only be wasting time better spent with others more in need of his care.
[ Mild scurvy, to be sure, but not nearly as severe as Jopson's became, if only because Irving's from quite some time before it escalated to that point. ]
How far is the town from here?
no subject
[ The only thing she really knows about, from beginning to end, is the doomed carnival, the celebration and hope that was so quickly snuffed out and replaced with panic that still clutches at least one of the men who had lived through it.
Probably better not to bring it up. ]
He's good, [ in response to his question about Goodsir. ] Patching people up, seems real excited about learning a bunch of new medicine, so at least he's got that going for him.
Whether he's got somebody else or not, I'm pretty sure he's gonna want to check you over.
[ Considering their past acquaintance, considering Goodsir's dedication to being their small community's doctor, considering... a lot of things. Wynonna jerks her chin toward the south windows. ]
A few miles that way. We can go whenever you're ready.
no subject
[ As long as the storming doesn't get worse, that is, but... well, he's anxious to be back in Proper Civilization™ again, can you really blame him! ]
Really, I-I'm not ill, [ he says again, more insistently, ] Though I'll surely be glad of seeing him again, nonetheless... and gladder still am I to be hearing word of new medicine, what with so many of this world's ills yet to be cured.
[ Physical, psychological, moral, societal, cultural, and/or otherwise... ]
As for the others, I can say with great confidence that Captain Crozier is, of course, a very fine man to know, but as for Mr. Hickey, I-I'd—
[ He hesitates, lips pursing in a tight, tense line. Irving might not be so bold as to say this outright, if not for whom else Wynonna has already purported being close to, but since she has: ]
You'd... do well steering clear of that man altogether.
no subject
[ She pushes herself off the table and goes to the bag of goodies she'd stashed earlier, checking to make sure she'd grabbed all the ammunition and both bottles before she closes the bag up once more and slings it over her shoulder, half-listening as he talks about the world's ills, which... yeah, there are still plenty.
More interesting is his assessment of his former colleagues, and she turns at the door, waiting for him with one hand on the latch, her brows tucking together as she watches him. ]
One of these days, I'm gonna need one of you guys to tell me what the fuck Hickey did to make you all hate him so much. All I know about him is that he's shit at poker.
[ It's a little weird, watching this guy walk around in the coat and hat she so associates with Little; he's taller, she realizes, even though he gives off an air of continually bowed head and slouched shoulders. ]
And that Tommy hates him. I know he freaks Little out, but honestly that's a pretty low bar.
[ Most stuff here freaks Little out. Dude's gotta learn to relax. ]
no subject
He narrows them, turning sharply from Wynonna to face the brisk, bitter winds instead. Has no one told her any of it? Really? ]
He's... a disloyal, conniving manipulator, [ he says finally, adjusting his officer's cap against the sun's snow-bright glare. ] As dangerous as he is cunning; you can't trust so much as a single word that falls from his lips. Not one.
[ But Irving does not, of course, want to become any more "involved" again with Hickey than he's already had to be, hence painting over the subject with broad yet descriptive strokes rather than offer any damningly personal specifics.
He looks back to Wynonna, brows furrowed tensely with concern that looks as if it might also pain him. ]
Lieutenants Little and Jopson should have warned you already.
[ Or even Captain Crozier, for that matter... Irving's not mad, just very, very disappointed in you all! Come on, now.
Goodsir, however, does get a pass due to originating as an Erebus crewmate rather than one of Terror's, so Irving can't exactly speak to how much or how little he'll have seen or heard of Hickey's true, wicked nature. And as for Gibson, well, Irving shan't be betraying that poor man's confidence any time soon. ]
no subject
But Irving seems just as unlikely to give her specifics as any of the others, at least for the time being, and at least he's given her some clue of what to think. ]
I know the type.
[ And it's not just Bobo she's thinking of, with all his lies and manipulations; it's Doc, too, a man who lies with every smile and lazy word that falls off his tongue. Just because he's presumably on her side doesn't mean she can trust him.
Regardless: this guy is getting really worked up about it. He's pale and red-cheeked in turns, those hauntingly pale eyes intent on her, and she puts up a hand, trying to head him off at the pass. ]
Little was worried he'd come after Kate and Tom-- wait.
[ Her face scrunches up in bemusement and she half-turns, walking sidelong so she can face Irving as they go, her hand still up but this time to get him to slow his roll. ]
Back up. Did you say Jopson is a lieutenant?
[ Why doesn't anyone ever tell her these things? ]
no subject
Irving shudders to consider it, yet can understand perfectly well, too, how a man like Gibson — or perhaps even most men, perhaps also good, uncomplicated men like Thomas Hartnell, Magnus Manson, and goodness knows who else — must have found himself led astray by that silver, poisoned tongue whispering all manner of temptations and chicanery in his ear. ]
I did once try to reach him, [ Irving shakes his head minutely as he walks, almost with regret. ] To... help guide him back towards a better and more proper path before it was too late.
[ Another shake of his head, before adding ruefully: ]
Fool that I was to have ever believed that a man like him can truly be fixed.
[
Unless...?
No. God, no, just let it be.
At least when Wynonna says "Tom" again Irving knows who she means this time, however jarring it still is for him to hear her call Jopson by his Christian name. ]
I can't think of why he would, not on either account, but— [ There's a beat, brief and tense. ] I confess that I take great pride in knowing how we are not at all alike, he and I, so I'm sure I couldn't even begin to guess what might go on within that twisted mind of his.
[ Now, of course Irving does subscribe to the infamous stiff upper lip method as much as anyone, but it still shocks him into momentary silence that Wynonna's not even been told of the enormous (and quite frankly unprecedented) promotion Jopson recently received from Captain's steward all the way up to 3rd Lieutenant. Yet she calls the man Tommy? ]
Er— Thomas Jopson, yes. He was promoted to 3rd not terribly long ago.
no subject
[ She can see it: Thomas is smart, capable, observant. What she can't see is any reason why he — or Little, or any of the others — wouldn't talk about it. Being a Lieutenant seems like it occupies 99% of Little's brainspace at any given time, but then, he does tend to dwell on things a lot more than Thomas does. Which is a little like saying the Pacific tends to be big and wet.
As to the rest of it — she shrugs a shoulder under the strap of the bag she's carrying. The interactions and relationships between the various men from Terror and Erebus would require a bulletin board, about a hundred thumbtacks, and more string than she's got to even begin to try and figure out. ]
There was a fight. Hickey was saying some kind of shit to Kate and he and Jopson got into it.
[ She still wishes she'd been there to see it, but no part of her would have been able to hang back while Thomas Jopson was in a fight. He's her friend. ]
Little hated it, but I dunno. That guy Hickey seems like he needs to get punched.
no subject
Well, that isn't particularly surprising to hear, considering Hickey has always seemed to possess an almost uncanny knack for sowing chaos and aggression even within some of the most otherwise mild-mannered of men. He thrives in the anarchy, the violent commotion of disorder, whether or not he actually believes in what he's preaching.
Irving, for his part, hopes to keep as wide a berth as possible now between himself and Hickey's infernal orbital pull, for reasons obvious to himself and his fellow shipmates only. ]
And was he, then? [ Punched, that is. ] How is Miss Marsh now?
no subject
[ All she knows about that fight is what she saw of Jopson's face afterward and Little's breathless but vague concerns. Finally, somebody here threw down, and she missed it? ]
Kate's fine. Hickey'd have to be crazy to try and get to her now, and honestly his beef seems mostly with the rest of, you know.
[ She waves a hand at Irving, up and down, taking in the uniform, the vague air of authority. ]
— you guys. And pretty much everybody loves that kid, so if he tried anything, he'd have basically the whole town after him.