calicoat | 🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

[ Irving's not much accustomed to texting yet, so he doesn't even bother responding -- ✓✓ seen at [xx]pm -- but rather begins going through the motions of getting ready to leave, fully prepared to have to slip out (and then, later, back in again) of the apartment so that Jopson won't ask where he's going or where he's been. He's grateful to the other man for holding him through the emotional outpouring that followed hearing of his own grisly murder, but that's not the sort of company he needs nor wants tonight; Irving's obviously not moved far past it it yet, not nearly, but drinks, distraction, a less invested ear, is far more in line with what he feels capable of bearing next.

It takes him a bit longer to arrive at the bar due to having gotten slightly turned around, not entirely having all his bearings yet, but he gets there eventually, dark circles under his eyes which make him look very much as drained as he feels, taking a seat next to Jack. ]

Whiskey?

It's on the way.

[ He hasn't been waiting long. The corner booth is as private as they'll get, lighting low with nothing to draw attention to them. It's not so low, however, that Jack can't get a good look at him - dark, tired eyes, sluggish. Is that a little bit of a slouch? ]

Had a long day, have you?

[ It's on the way; that merits a small, grateful smile, Irving's eyes shifting up to meet Jack's with the muted surprise that the other man didn't take the opportunity to order them both rum.

He brushes his bangs back from where they hang a bit limply over his forehead, fully aware that he must look somewhat rough right now -- not that he hasn't looked rough since he first arrived, conditions hadn't exactly allowed for much else back in the Arctic -- and not being able to muster up much energy to care about that now.

The drinks arrive and Irving immediately knocks back half of his in one quick gulp. ]

A very long week, more like. [ Which is also true; clearly he's in a mood for candor tonight. ] But no, it isn't that. I've just had some rather unfortunate news regarding my... fate, back in the Arctic. Jopson felt it important that I should know how I was gruesomely butchered by one of the men.

[ (Said with a mildly cynical edge to his tone that he can't quite help.)

Since Hickey is here, in Duplicity, Irving doesn't mention him by name. There seems little point in it anyway, considering he doesn't know if Jack even knows the man, and frankly, Irving isn't interested in seeing the man blacklisted the same way Jopson seems to be. ]

You don't need to say anything. Just drink with me. Please.

[ He’s remembered, of course, that Irving has tired of rum as a result of a long and disastrous voyage with nothing but that. Jack pays attention to things like that, the things that will keep him in the good graces of anyone useful. That Irving seems to have a certain tolerance, perhaps even a craving for, his utter lack of consideration in other matters is just a curious contradiction to explore. ]

Butchered?

[ Jack’s mouth twists into a grimace, and then, just for a second, his eyebrows raise as something clicks. Jopson, who by all accounts has it out for him, still saw fit to warn him that his Submissive had murdered an officer. Did him up something savage, he said. It’s hard to believe in coincidence, in this place, after Charles arrived. Out of the thousands of people in Nassau, the next to arrive was one he and Anne were so closely connected with...there’s something to it, even if he can’t put his finger on exactly what that is.

If there’s any indication that Hickey and Irving both just became much more interesting to him, it’s gone in a blink as he picks up his drink. ]

Suppose I can’t blame you for needing a drink, then. Christ. [ Sorry. At least he’s not trying to console him. ] And you’ve no recollection of this? I don’t think that’s the kind of thing a man needs to know until the time has come.

[ Irving nods, his expression growing briefly bitter more from the burn of the alcohol going down than emotion; the whiskey is strong, which is good, ideal, but perhaps a bit too strong to gulp down with the same level of ferocity as he did that first drink.

As for said butchering, well: he hadn't asked for any further detail, having barely even wanted what detail he did get. It's understandable why Jopson would want to warn him, but Irving feels it unnecessary to protect him in this manner, a world away when the three of them are stranded here together and should by rights be able to rely upon each other.

More than that, he's still unconvinced that exclusion is the way in which to handle whatever wickedness clearly resides in Hickey; spiritual benefit in the collective, Irving always says, and he still believes it. Any man has it within himself to be rehabilitated, if he's motivated, if he works for it, although certainly right now Irving has no immediate interest in continuing to pursue any such potential redemption Hickey may or may well not be capable of. He can still hardly bring himself to think about Hickey at all. ]

I must ask you again, Rackham, not to take the Lord's name in vain in my presence. A little consideration, please, if you don't mind. [ Speaking of consideration. Irving rubs his eyes, but then shakes his head. ] Truth be told, I feel very much the same. To my own memory, what happened last was that my hunting party and I had finally found some help, at last-- a group of Inuits, with food. Knowledge of where to find game and how to hunt it.

[ And is he also a little frustrated at being disabused of the hope that they might have been that close to finally being saved? Yeah, a little. What possible harm would it do to retain a sliver of hope here, where it could only ever remain theoretical, an abstract, rather than actually affect their current circumstances in any way beyond morale? ]

Normally I wouldn't... speak of this, in such a manner, [ "with you" perhaps being an implied, silent addition to that thought, ] but as I can't pray on it, I thought spirits will have to suffice.

[ He holds his glass up, raising it to clink briefly with Jack's. ]

I’m no priest, but I think if there’s any occasion on which the Lord can forgive you a bit of blaspheming, it’s the announcement of your own death and dismemberment. Have another drink, Irving.

[ There’s no real bite to his cheekiness over it, in fact, it’s a small comfort, to find that the revelation hasn’t changed his nature too profoundly. Some men would sink into despair over it, and that would make the deranged little game they’re playing a lot less fun.

He’s gotten the broad strokes of this ill-fated expedition from Hickey, and some quite salacious accusations and conjecture from Jopson, but these details are new. Jack listens with genuine interest. A dark mystery, a hopeless tragedy at sea, the sort of thing drunken pirates might exaggerate and twist around at taverns until it bears too little resemblance to what really happened to call it true. Irving, though, he trusts to tell the truth about it, with no ulterior motive or strategically misplaced detail. He doubts he’s capable of lying to anyone but himself.

Cheers. Clink! ]

I probably could find someone here, who could tell me where I'd find my own end, if I were inclined. A healthy number seem to know who I am, further in the future than you lot. [ And for once, he isn’t bragging about it, or hyping himself up or his own ego. His name has been a funny thing, here, but he was telling the truth. It’s not the kind of thing a person needs to know. ] I’d wager on the end of a rope, but I don’t need it spelled out for me.

[ Despite himself, that gets a faint smirk from Irving as well, inclining his head to one side in mild acknowledgement. So strongly is it ingrained in him to avoid sacrilege whenever possible that he hardly even notices the habit by now, except on those rare occasions he slips up from shock or -- as recent experience has unfortunately shown -- obscene, desperate pleasure, but if anything should call for it... Jack makes a fair enough point.

It does help somewhat in Irving's overall coping process, too, that the news of his death in of itself does not particular shock nor disturb him; death has been an inevitable presence aboard ships Terror and Erebus throughout the past three years, and so Irving has long ago come to terms with the spectre of death -- his own or anyone's, slow and agonizing or fast and gruesome -- lurking around any corner, ready to strike at any time.

The issue, really, is Hickey. After all, Irving has for some time felt somewhat responsible for the man, ever since he'd caught Hickey and Billy Gibson together; responsible for his growth as an able sailor, as a man capable of virtue and decency rather than vice and deceit, and yet, where had it gotten them? Did Irving fail him somehow, or is there nothing within Hickey's soul capable of redemption?

Well, it doesn't matter. Not now.

Irving empties his glass, sliding it across the table so that the waiter will know to refill it before his eyes shift back toward Jack to regard him curiously, softly, as if it's only occurring to him now that he could answer this question for Jack, assuming this is, in fact, the same Calico Jack of legend.

It's a strange, melancholy realization, one he'd almost rather not have had, and of course he says nothing about it. ]

Your fate will still grace many a grand tale of legend and infamy for centuries to come, I'm sure. It is always the notorious and the bold history remembers most of all. [ As for himself... well, Irving can't even fathom how history will speak of the Franklin Expedition. ] But our true fates still cannot touch us here. Whatever they may be.

[ Jack smirks back, setting his empty glass next to Irving's. Surprisingly, for all he's been getting off on corrupting this man, there's been very little pirate talk. But if he wants to bring up his bold, dangerous reputation, Jack sure won't stop him. ]

Two centuries, at least, from what I've gathered here. You're sure you're not making a pass at me?

[ Is he afraid to find out? No, not particularly. Jack didn't go into this line of work expecting to get a long and healthy life out of it, after all. The knowledge that his name is still known two hundred years after he's gone helps to ease whatever anxiety he would feel about that. That's the kind of longevity enjoyed by kings, the greatest artists and thinkers. And now the greatest thieves. He imagines whatever that fate will be, it'll be swift, but the name will last forever. It's a consolation unique to him, perhaps, but how many men get to know what their legacy will be, before they die?

The refill comes just in time. ]

To our untimely deaths. May they make riveting stories, after we're gone.

[ and if they can't touch them here. all the better. ]

Have you been to the beach yet? I find it a small comfort, when I'm feeling out of sorts.

Of course not. [ Irving can sense when he's being teased (or at least he thinks he can), but the warm buzz from the whiskey is already making it hard to mind too much. ] Not intentionally, that is.

[ The sad truth is Irving doesn't know how to flirt, barely even knows how to recognize flirting, although it doesn't shock him to learn how easily Jack can translate a fairly straightforward statement (at least, Irving had thought it so) into flattery; men like Jack always favor flattery. He shouldn't find that charming, but it's... endearing, perhaps. In a way.

Rather than let the quip -- still only a joke, he's sure, but even so -- fluster him, Irving drinks deeply of his refill first to help soften the sharp edges of his agitated nerves, then raises his glass compliantly to Jack's toast. Why not? It all sounds so much more absurd and abstract when one puts it that way, which is a relief for now, while Irving's head and heart could both use a rest from heavy weight of reality.

He shakes his head, heart pounding a bit faster now. ]

No, I've not. [ He drinks again, his refill already nearly drained. ] But I'd like to see it. Will you take me?

[ He's joking. Mostly. Any flirtation out of Irving is purely unintentional, or skipping over that step entirely and swallowing his cock in the alley behind a booth selling rubber cock rings. If he's coming onto him, he'll know. ]

Sure. It's nothing like the Bahamas, but it's nice to smell the salt in the air.

[ Jack knocks back the rest of his drink, and sets the glass upside down on the table. ]

Friend of mine has a rowboat, if you want to feel the water underneath you, instead of ice.

[ No fucking allowed on it. ]

[ Another smile, still faint, as Irving shrugs a bit in an acquiescing sort of way: ]

You would know better than I would.

[ The Bahamas... but then, even just the salty sea air alone can still invoke the same sort of wild, fond sense of freedom and adventure that it has since Irving first enlisted, no matter where he is. The funny thing is that he hadn't actually joined the Navy out of any particular passion for it, not at first, but the sea got into him quickly enough; deep within his blood and into his bones.

As for Duplicity: it's not a large enough island for the scent of the ocean not to travel even while one is not directly on the coast, but Irving still hasn't been around long enough to have tracked down and visited the beach yet -- or, rather, he's really had no opportunity yet to do so -- but that only makes him all the more keen to see it now. He smiles, cheeks flushed from the whiskey and eyes shining with enthusiasm, bringing some of the boyishness back to his face that's been lost in all his recent haggard exhaustion. ]

I would love that. [ He empties his glass, getting to his feet so quickly his balance wobbles unsteadily for a moment. ] Let's go now. Can we?

[ The sea had always represented freedom, for Jack, even when he was a boy, before he had anything to run from. He was captivated even then, by tales of discovery, conquest, and piracy. But the Navy was only freedom compared to the alternative, it took him a while, too, to truly come to love being at sea. Never thought he would go back, until Duplicity forced him onto land...for the time being.

Jack heads up front to settle the bill, and he lingers, chatting up the bartender for far too long, so that by the time he's through, the poor man is too distracted by the line of customers ahead of him to notice a bit of sleight of hand. He returns with his coat pocket substantially heavier from the bottle in it, and tilts his head to Irving to follow him out the door.

It's not far, a brief walk with a bit of light ribbing and a playful ruffle through Irving's hair. The cold spell has finally let up, at least, but it's still much cooler than Jack would prefer. Thank God for pilfered whiskey. ]

Here we are.

[ Not necessary to announce it, they can tell with the sand underneath their feet. It's courser, darker than the sands of the Caribbean, but he still feels more comfortable on it than concrete or cobblestone. There's a rowboat tied down a way that he motions toward - Billy won't mind unless he's fucking Daphne on it, apparently. He pulls the bottle from his coat and takes a swig from it, before holding it out to Irving and staring up at the sky. ]

You don't recognize these stars, do you?

[ Another problem to work out once this ship is built - how the hell are they going to know where they're going? ]

[ Irving follows along, still smiling, too giddy with anticipation for where they're headed to have made any notice of the theft-- too tipsy (though not yet actually drunk) from the two whiskeys, too, his focus at once both a bit scattered and dreamy as they make their way toward the beach.

He closes his eyes, taking a moment to breathe it in, indulge in the perfect peace of the cool ocean breeze, the briny saltwater scent, and the steady sound of lapping waves coming together almost meditatively. Irving isn't cold, of course, not in the least, although he won't turn away any nips from the whiskey bottle, either, accepting it without question as to where it came from when Jack passes it over to him.

Gaze traveling upward, Irving considers the star formations and shakes his head doubtfully, passing the bottle back and pulling his telescope out to get a slightly better look. ]

Not at all, no.

[ He lowers the telescope, puts it away again, his tone a bit wary. Not that Irving's much of a navigator, granted (and not that he knows, yet, of Jack and the others's plans for building a ship) but after all, what sailor can't at least recognize star patterns? It's strange not to be able to find a single familiar shape at all... disturbing, perhaps, even more than strange.

(But then, if this really is Hell, then it's both strange and disturbing to being seeing stars at all, isn't it?) ]

I'd not noticed before, but surely there must be star charts which can be consulted...

[ His expression briefly grows vaguely troubled, considering, but then clears again when he spots the rowboat, the sight of which pleases him anew. ]

That's marvelous. Just marvelous. You're quite certain your friend won't mind if we take it out?

May I?

[ The telescope. The foreign pattern of the stars is what convinced him that there would be no sailing back home, even if they could build a ship. It hasn’t deterred him. Home might not be out there, but something could be. Another island they could survive on, without the oppressive structure of Duplicity. Another society, maybe, that finds their ways horrible and cruel and is willing to take refugees. There’s nothing on the horizon, but maybe just beyond.

Star charts...might be. Looks like another trip to the library is in order. ]

As long as I return it how I found it, he doesn’t mind.

[ it doesn’t take an experienced sailor not to wreck a rowboat. He’ll manage. Once they’re comfortably boarded, Jack sets the bottle between them, and unties the boat from its post so he can row them out. Not too far, the tides are dangerous and mean to keep them in, but far enough to be soothed somewhat, by the gentle rocking of the water beneath them. ]

How close are you with your friend, Mr. Jopson?

[ No irritation, no innuendo. Being on the water, even this little bit, has him feeling as motivated as ever, but if he’s going to make the proposition, best ensure it isn’t a complete waste of time, first. ]

Be careful not to drop it.

[ But Irving passes the telescope over easily, a pocket-sized brass instrument that is obviously well-cared for, the lens clean and undamaged, joints smoothly retractable. A keepsake, but not one Irving has ever minded lending out for use to others, or--

No, he won't think of the Netsilik tonight.

He takes another drink from the whiskey bottle, watching Jack study the stars quietly, feelings mixed with the understanding of why, as well as a fair amount of skepticism that there could be anywhere else out there worth dreaming of escape to. That's not how Hell works.

Irving doesn't ask for the spyglass back even once they're out over the water, imagining Jack might have a slightly clearer view from here, but also plainly too distracted for it to have even crossed his mind for more than a moment. He stares out over the dark water, the familiar sensation of waves rocking beneath them more soothing and meditative than the choppy tides should necessarily call for... but it's soothing all the same -- they're not far out enough into open water for the slight turbulence to be a real problem -- a comfort he's almost forgotten after spending the last three years stranded in solid ice.

He looks back over, caught slightly off-guard by the question, though it's lucky Irving is tipsy enough that he won't immediately shut the subject down with suspicion-- not that he's so drunk his lips will be too loose, either, if not necessarily quite as tactful as he'd normally be. ]

We are... [ A pause, as he takes another slow, thoughtful swig of whiskey. ] Friendly enough, I suppose. He is a good man: hardworking, loyal, trustworthy... and I do trust him, very much.

[ Just getting that out of the way first, to show he isn't disloyal himself, nor a gossip. Then, continuing: ]

I can't speak so much to his judgement or decision-making abilities. He was promoted to Lieutenant only recently-- we'd not had much call to interact much, before.

[ It's a nice glass. He won't drop it. he's not that drunk. Jack likes to have nice things and take care of those things, but it's not an especially common trait, among his peers. Their lives are transitory, in a sense, even if they've established a home port, they've got to be ready to leave on short notice for the next prize, or whenever the Royal Navy sees fit to reestablish its dominance. That won't be the case here, though, if Jack's got anything to say about it.

He hands it back without having to be asked, after he takes a quick peek around from where they've perched a little ways out. The stars are still unfamiliar, and it's too dark to make out anything else, but looking around at least is a nice little ritual. ]

He isn't loyal. I watched him abandon a good man, over shit that doesn't matter here.

[ Must be said, if perhaps not in detail, because Jack values loyalty very much. Meaning Irving probably won't get any promises out of him. But, more cordial than friendly. Good. ]

I suppose my real question, is whether you can keep a secret from him. One more pressing than our sexual relationship.

I hope you're not referring to Mr. Hickey.

[ Irving accepts his telescope back and tucks it away back into his coat pocket, taking a moment to internally scold himself for bringing up Hickey at all, especially in this context; he has no idea if the two men have even met each other, first of all, but more than that, his intention is not to imply that Jopson has... abandoned Hickey, and especially not that Hickey is a "good man" (about both points, Irving himself still feels very conflicted over), but the whiskey has evidently loosened his tongue a little too much after all, making him speak carelessly.

Because that's what it was: a thoughtless comment, because Hickey has still been at the back of his mind all night, and because he doesn't yet know much about Jopson's other acquaintanceships here in Duplicity.

Irving's cheeks burn as he passes the bottle back to Jack, shaking his head. ]

Never mind-- [ Blinking, he falls silent for a beat, distracted, before turning his eyes toward Jack's, wide and curious. ] What secret?

Not him, no. Man called Billy Bones. Man whose boat we're in.

[ But that Irving thought of him immediately is a helpful confirmation.

Jack stops rowing and puts the oars back in their place, stretching out on his seat to get comfortable. He's glad to have the bottle back in his hand, it helps with the chill, but after the last few weeks of constant freezing, this almost doesn't seem so bad. God help him, if he's getting used to the weather here. ]

We're building a sloop. Warehouse space will be ours at the start of the month, I'm hoping to get started right away.

[ Irving's brows knit slightly, obviously confused by this information; though by this point he's certainly not in any position to begrudge Jopson whatever associations he may have with the pirates here -- and any man called Billy Bones is very clearly a pirate, never mind the fact he's a friend of Jack's -- it is still very strange to hear of, perhaps all the more so due to the very vehement hatred and distrust Jopson feels toward Hickey. For all the two men's other similarities, Jopson and Irving differ quite a bit as well, and it's in part over matters such as this: what makes a man good or evil, what actions or beliefs can be forgiven, and which are irredeemable?

Rather than stretch out as Jack has, Irving draws his legs in a bit closer to himself, frowning in quiet contemplation. It's hard to tell whether the whiskey is only muddling his thoughts more, making things more complicated in his own head than they actually are, or if he's simply not drunk enough to distract himself from the things currently troubling him. ]

There are many things which Jopson and I see rather eye to eye on, and then there are areas in which we... differ. [ He lets out a breath, fogging the air slightly. ] While I do not know what his quarrel with this man might be, I can trust that he would not have made these decisions lightly, if they truly had become so close you should liken it to an abandonment.

[ To Irving it would feel disloyal to go on to say further that this doesn't mean, necessarily, that he's defending or agreeing with Jopson's choices (how can he, if he doesn't even know what they were?), but he's trusting Jack to catch his meaning without him needing to spell it out.

He almost goes on to say more about it, but then the rest of what Jack's telling him catches up all at once in a quick rush, so powerful it feels nearly physical, like a harsh gust of wind. Eyes widening, heart suddenly racing fast in his chest, Irving leans in a bit closer now, closing the distance between them somewhat. ]

You what? [ His hand presses against the center of his chest, as if in silent inquiry as to why Jack is telling him; it's a surprising secret to be trusted with. ] And-- why can't Jopson know about this?

[ If there's any consolation in it, he and Billy have only called themselves friends recently. They didn't really know each other back home - rival crews, different priorities. For all this place can complicate things, though, other matters become much more simple. A familiar face that isn't actively hostile is almost as good as a genuine kinship, and could turn into that quickly enough.

Maybe that's what's going on between the navymen. Not friends, but friendly enough.

Jack doesn't push the issue, because he's spilled enough of Billy's business now as it is, and it's not the point of this, anyway. He takes a deep swig from the bottle and passes it back again, inviting the warmth in, letting it fuzz the edges of his senses. If he just focuses on the booze running through him, it's almost like he's paddling a longboat out to his own ship, off to some great adventure instead of circling a stupid rowboat in circles. He looks out with a sigh, reaching to let his fingertips graze the water's surface.

Stupid idea. Fucking cold. ]

I don't trust him not to sabotage the whole endeavor purely because he has it out for me, and I don't want him on my crew. [ Which is true, but it won't be a secret for long. He's got to recruit somehow. Call it a test, see if he's dug his hooks in deep enough that Irving can keep a secret. ] We're going to find out what's beyond here. The locals say there's nothing at all behind the horizon, but I am not inclined to believe a population which has kidnapped us for sex slavery and fucks with our heads for kicks, and neither are my associates. We could use some experienced hands, Irving.

[ Irving accepts the bottle back and sips at it gingerly, falling into another brief and contemplative silence as he sits there mulling all of this while observing Jack with (only slightly) wary interest. After a few sips, deeper pulls than he's been taking up to now, he sets the bottle between his legs carefully and reaches for Jack's hand to warm it between his own gloved ones.

It's instinct he's acting on more than anything else, the intimacy of the gesture either made obscure to him by the alcohol, or perhaps he's just oblivious to it in the first place. Whatever the case, his manner is gentle but efficient. Duplicity's temperatures aren't nearly as frigid as where he's come from, but it's still winter, and Jack is clearly cold. ]

Careful. [ He holds his hands there, enfolding Jack's between them with a slight firmness. ] We lose a great deal of heat through our extremities-- it's why the fingers and toes are particularly susceptible to frostbite.

[ Anyway... Irving adjusts how he's sitting slightly, careful not to upset the whiskey bottle, which he sips from again before passing it back once he's decided Jack's hand will be fine. ]

I see.

[ With a nod, slow and solemn, as he considers further the exact weight of what he's being asked. This isn't an easy position for him to be put in, being tasked to keep a secret like this -- one that implies hope of possible escape -- from his own crewmate, who yes, may not exactly be his "friend" in the traditional sense of the term, but who he very much is "friendly enough" with.

If they do succeed, for instance, does that mean Jack would expect Irving to leave Jopson behind? That he would expect Irving to abandon his own crew to leave as part of Jack's, all for a wild hope, a possibility that is not even close to a promise?

The dilemma of it clearly pains him, his expression tensing miserably with frustration. ]

Jack, I... [ His eyes raise up again, finally, large and shining with conflict. ] Please understand what you're asking me. Even if-- even if you're right, and there is more for us out there, I-I couldn't abandon Jopson and Hickey here.

[ Jack, on the other hand, is perfectly aware of the intimacy of the gesture, but he lets it happen. Irving might be a glutton for punishment, but he's not going to make the job of winning his trust harder by rebuking or berating him for being helpful. Which it is, as Jack acknowledges with a friendly huff and almost-soft smile.

It's gone quickly, replaced with that discerning stare of his, like he's trying to figure Irving out. Which...he is. He's deep in thought, it seems. Which is fair enough, given the gravity of the proposal, but he seems to have taken it wrong. ]

John. [ Given names, outside of seedy rented rooms, with all parties' clothes still on? If he insists... ] I'm not asking you to abandon anyone. At least not for any longer than it takes to find something. If there is any hope of liberation to be found, everyone forced to be here deserves a shot at it, not just those of us able to steer a ship out of here. That disqualifies anyone born landlocked, or too near to the modern day, and the vast majority of the women...

[ Anyone but Anne and a cook, most likely. Maybe a couple more strong fighters, in case the guards give chase. He shakes his head, and sips from the bottle again. ]

We come back, report on whatever we find, and plan our next steps from there. If there is a safe haven out there that we can ferry people to, then Jopson can come. I'm not a monster. [ Really. He's not expecting this to be the case, but hell, are they supposed to just get used to life in Fuck City without even trying? Of course not. But even an uninhabited island they could build something on would be better than this captivity they're in now. ] Bring your Mr. Hickey, though, if you like.

[ Maybe a little bit of a monster. ]

[ There's a bristle in reaction to that -- your Mr. Hickey -- subtle but not anywhere remotely as subtle as it might have been were Irving sober. His expression becomes neither warmer nor colder, but certainly tenser, with a discomfort he doesn't (need to) articulate.

It does, however, somewhat set him more at ease to hear more of Jack's intentions in full, a plan that is in fact reasonably practical and strategic enough to meet Irving's approval-- not to mention the relief that he is not being pressured with the burden he first assumed he was, nor being asked to run away with Jack (and his crew). His tongue slicks restlessly over his lips, wetting them idly as he sits there with his gaze now trained downward at the whiskey bottle rather than raised to meet Jack's, but then decides to start first with the (surprisingly) easier point to respond to: ]

Mr. Hickey is not at all what you might describe as an "experienced hand." [ Doesn't even know where an orlop deck is... ] Nor would I say he is... fond of me. If this expedition were to truly be as you describe, then I'm afraid having him aboard might only complicate matters further.

[ Either both or neither, in other words. His cheeks and ears burn slightly redder, though it would be easy enough to write off any rise of color also from the whiskey, or possibly the cold. ]

And... very well, I will... refrain, for now, from mentioning anything about your sloop to Jopson. At least not until after it's actually been built. I can't imagine how it might come up otherwise-- after all, it's not as if I talk in my sleep.

Edited 2022-02-23 09:21 (UTC)

[ Even with the drink running through him, Jack remains tuned in to Irving’s reactions, studying him as he always does. It’s a slight disappointment he doesn’t fully take the bait, since it would have been good for a laugh, but the tension tells him what he needs to know. He nudges the bottle towards Irving with his foot – sounds like he needs it more. ]

He spent the same three years on that doomed voyage as you and Jopson did, didn’t he? That’s more experience than most of our new peers have. [ He has always had the sense that he wasn’t a good fit for the Royal Navy, though. Neither was Jack, of course, so that’s hardly a point against him. ] Why doesn’t he like you?

[ Such an innocent question. After all, if he is to put a crew together, any unsettled grudges between its members could prove to be problematic once they’re on the water. Without a promise of riches or discovery ahead of them, men may well be less motivated to maintain peace. If Jack, maybe, seems a bit too curious, it’s probably the drink, or even the unusual interest he’s taken in Irving himself. Certainly nothing to do with Hickey, a man he very clearly knows only in passing, if that. Yep. ]

Sorry – you're sleeping together?

[ Taking a slow, distracted swig of whiskey, Irving's gaze dulls slightly, becoming remote, distant in a way that's almost beyond reach; thinking, but not of pleasant things. After another long few moments his gaze drops again, lips pursing briefly before he speaks. ]

... While I cannot speak fully to the precise nature of whatever grudge he bears me, there had been a rather... unfortunate disciplinary incident earlier on in our expedition, that I can only suspect Mr. Hickey has continued to hold against me. Perhaps still, even now. [ His hands clasp loosely around the neck of the bottle, thumbs fidgeting against each other. ] I will allow Mr. Hickey some dignity and go into no further detail than to say another crewmate was involved, and had been left very badly traumatized by the experience.

[ A sigh, slow and measured. ]

I had no choice but to report him for it, you see, but even so, I did not anticipate the sheer... savagery with which he would be punished for it later. For that and several other, more severe transgressions.

[ Then Irving finally looks up again, blinking a couple times to bring himself back into the present, to the moment. ]

Well, the man's only got two bedrooms, and since one's already been claimed by his other contract partner, I was hardly going to turn the man out of his own bed. [ He's almost matter-of-fact about it, relieved for something that (to him) seems far more straightforward to explain. ] You've seen them-- there's plenty of room.

🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

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