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š“āā ļø IC contact; Duplicity
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"Captain Jack Rackham. Leave a message, or speak to me face to face like an adult."
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INBOX
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"Captain Jack Rackham. Leave a message, or speak to me face to face like an adult."
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no subject
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.
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Butchered?
[ Jackās 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. Itās 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...thereās something to it, even if he canāt put his finger on exactly what that is.
If thereās any indication that Hickey and Irving both just became much more interesting to him, itās gone in a blink as he picks up his drink. ]
Suppose I canāt blame you for needing a drink, then. Christ. [ Sorry. At least heās not trying to console him. ] And youāve no recollection of this? I donāt think thatās the kind of thing a man needs to know until the time has come.
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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. ]
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[ Thereās no real bite to his cheekiness over it, in fact, itās a small comfort, to find that the revelation hasnāt changed his nature too profoundly. Some men would sink into despair over it, and that would make the deranged little game theyāre playing a lot less fun.
Heās 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 heās capable of lying to anyone but himself.
Cheers. Clink! ]
I probablyĀ couldĀ 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 isnāt 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. Itās not the kind of thing a person needs to know. ] Iād wager on the end of a rope, but I donāt need it spelled out for me.
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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.
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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.
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[ 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?
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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. ]
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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?
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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? ]
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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?
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[ 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 hasnāt 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. Thereās 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 doesnāt mind.
[ it doesnāt take an experienced sailor not to wreck a rowboat. Heāll manage. Once theyāre 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 heās going to make the proposition, best ensure it isnāt a complete waste of time, first. ]
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[ 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.
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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.
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[ 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?
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[ 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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.
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He spent the same three years on that doomed voyage as you and Jopson did, didnāt he? Thatās more experience than most of our new peers have. [ He has always had the sense that he wasnāt a good fit for the Royal Navy, though. Neither was Jack, of course, so thatās hardly a point against him. ] Why doesnāt 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 theyāre 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, itās probably the drink, or even the unusual interest heās taken in Irving himself. Certainly nothing to do with Hickey, a man he very clearly knows only in passing, if that. Yep. ]
Sorry ā you're sleeping together?
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... 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.
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[ That seems to be understating it, to Jack, even with the savagery of it acknowledged. The incident left a man degraded and disfigured, with nowhere to go to escape it all. Trapped in the ice with the same men who had done it to him, where he will likely die, on a foolish mission to find a handful of wealthy Englishman who have never had to put their lives at risk for anything an easier way to make money. But to describeĀ HickeyāsĀ offense would be undignified.
An unfortunate incident indeed. Jack watches Irving as he describes it, not lying to him, but cloaking the details to make it sound less salacious, as godly men do. His eyes are focused, more than they should be, as deep into that bottle as the two of them are. For second, theyāre angry. Murderous, even.
It would be so easy. Man canāt cold his liquor as well as Jack, might not take much more than a push to get his head under the water. He wouldnāt even flinch if Jack were to move in close, heās probably hoping he does, the hopeless degenerate. He could choke the life out of him and Irving would probably think it was foreplay until it was too late. Could take the bottle back and crack his head open with it, or go at it the old-fashioned way, with the knife in his belt.
It stays put. Jack doesnāt lunge forward. He stares up at the sky instead, knowing, of course, that there are few problems murder can really solve in a place where the dead will rise. This isnāt so urgent, he decides, since Hickey quite obviously has gotten his own revenge. Heās owed twenty-nine more, as far as Jackās concerned, but theyāll be so much sweeter if he can keep this game up, if he can prolong the sting. Heāll gut this pig in the light of day, so he can see it clearly when his eyes go dark.
When his gaze falls back down to Irving, it's as it was when the night began. A little drunk, a little friendly, a little rough around the edges. ]
Youāre sharing a bed, but youāre not fucking?
[ If it were anyone but Irving, he wouldnāt believe it. Even back home. Jack wets his lips and bumps his eyebrows. ]
Good.
[ It's punctuated with a smirk, just this side of indecent. ]
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[ Even if he were looking at Jack at that moment, Irving would still likely not be able to identify the exact emotion sharpening the other man's gaze, a flash of something cold and cruel and predatory unlike anything Irving has likely seen much of in the eyes of men.
(Beast, perhaps, but rarely is he ever close enough to predators, either, to be able to look them in the eyes.) ]
It was deeply and reprehensibly wicked, what he did to that poor man... the very worst sort of diabolical behavior. [ Irving shakes his head slowly. ] Yet even now I believe that Mr. Hickey could be fully capable of changing himself for the better, if only he would try. Or...
[ A sharp pain pricks at his temples, reminding him of the new information he now has that somewhat disproves his hopes that Hickey can be rehabilitated.
He adds quietly, more of a mutter: ]
... I think that I might still believe it.
[ It's still another minute or so, thoughtfully spent in silence, before Irving lifts his gaze again to make eye contact, brows raising slowly. He can't quite interpret Jack's expression, his tone, as anything other than seductive, but Irving is obviously no expert on such matters, and the strangely romantic atmosphere of being out on this small boat under the stars isn't doing much to help his confusion. ]
That's right. [ He confirms carefully, voice still low, soft, before he takes another deep pull of whiskey. ] I am not quite so depraved yet as to consider seducing my own men.
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