calicoat | 🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

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.

An unfortunate disciplinary incident.

[ 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 describe Hickey’s 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, they’re angry. Murderous, even.

It would be so easy. Man can’t cold his liquor as well as Jack, might not take much more than a push to get his head under the water. He wouldn’t even flinch if Jack were to move in close, he’s 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 doesn’t 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 isn’t so urgent, he decides, since Hickey quite obviously has gotten his own revenge. He’s owed twenty-nine more, as far as Jack’s concerned, but they’ll be so much sweeter if he can keep this game up, if he can prolong the sting. He’ll 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. ]

You’re sharing a bed, but you’re not fucking?

[ If it were anyone but Irving, he wouldn’t 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. ]

He... yes. [ Irving clears his throat, gaze shifting again, avoiding eye contact at least for the moment. ] I had hoped he might... learn something from it-- take with him a lesson so that he may try harder, in earnest, to begin to mend the error of his ways.

[ 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.

Believing it is all you can do, isn't it? It sounds like Mr. Hickey is one of two people in this entire city who has known you in any capacity for longer than...a week? How long's it been? [ Can't be much more than that. After the lists, the timing of which is immortalized in his head for all that it brought. Drunk math, counting days... ] In any case, if I were you, I would attempt to mend that bridge. He's adrift here, same as you are. Same as we all are.

[ Pretending not to have any association with Hickey isn't going to be possible for very long, given that Jopson knows. But for now, he'll keep up the charade, if only to practice his poker face. ]

Well, I hope it never comes to that. You can do better.

[ There's a slow, considerate nod, a subtle and resolute tensing in Irving's expression. Speaking quietly: ]

Yes, I'd had the same thought. [ Does he still? He doesn't know. ] That we might... try again, here. Start anew, now that we are on slightly more even footing. Sometimes I do feel as if perhaps I've... failed him in some way.

[ Irving couldn't exactly say why he's felt some burden of responsibility for Hickey ever since the incident with Billy Gibson, but he had hoped Hickey might take something from Irving's lecture to him, really want to work to better himself, to involve himself. If Irving had been more persistent, maybe...

But maybe not. Maybe he's a fool, and it's pointless to wonder.

He scoffs skeptically, rolling his eyes and raising a brow. ]

You're not referring to yourself, are you?

Perhaps...an apology then, is in order.

[ Jack speaks slowly, or else, he fears he might let on, with a chuckle or a hearty drip of sarcasm. It's completely demented, of course, to ask a man to apologize to his own murderer, but that's what makes the ruse so fun. Anyway, best not to press it, not while his lips are getting looser and the drink is really setting in. ]

As much as I would delight in keeping you to myself, John, I know that's impossible, so as you begin to spread your wings, do remember, there are more interesting options than Thomas Jopson.

An apology? [ His tone is confused and very faintly appalled. ] Exactly what would I have to apologize for? I've done nothing wrong.

[ Despite whatever guilt Irving might occasionally feel, whether misplaced or merited, he does still believe -- confidently so -- that he'd done the right thing back then, the only thing he could have done. The rest is too impossible to pinpoint, impossible to prove; perhaps he could have tried harder with Hickey, but who's to say it would have done any good, made any difference?

And besides, there had been plenty else going on at the time, all of it intensely dire, that demanded far more urgent attention than Cornelius Hickey did. It would have been reckless and irrational to have considered being a moral mentor to him a priority, back then.

Then Irving blushes, deeply and abruptly, feeling a bit of mental whiplash from the two drastically different trains of thought. What can he possibly say to that? If he agrees then he's a harlot, opening himself up to all manner of depraved, promiscuous behavior, and if he disagrees, then what on Earth does that mean? Jack will certainly read something into it, even if there's nothing (fidelity, attachment, intimacy, anything in that vein) actually there to be read. ]

I have no intention on spreading anything with Lieutenant Jopson-- nor anyone else, for that matter. [ At least, he's not ready to think about it. Though, speaking of Jopson: ] Though I suppose I really ought to be heading home soon, he'll no doubt wonder where I've been otherwise.

Failing him, if that's how you feel.

[ It's too dark now to see the flush on Irving's face, but believe, he'd find it satisfying if he could. He really shouldn't be so worried about whether Jack thinks he's a harlot or not - he already does, and there's not a damn thing he could do to convince him otherwise now.

He laughs, deep and drunk and surprised that Irving of all people, picked up on an innuendo he hadn't even intended. ]

Spreading with Jopson? I didn't say that. You dirty bird, you. You row back.

[ Jack's going back for the bottle. Promise not to smash it against his head. ]

It is only that... a feeling. Nothing more. [ More or less. Mostly. ] And I highly doubt his own reasoning is likely to align with mine.

[ Irving passes the bottle over before he takes up the oars with a sigh, his flush brightening further still but also thankfully all but invisible by now in the still-growing darkness. ]

Oh-- [ He huffs indignantly, the boat moving with a jerking start. ] You know what I meant, and it isn't... wasn't that!

[ Maybe a little bit it was; spreading his wings with Jopson (or anyone else), versus anything else, are really two only slightly different ways of saying the exact same thing anyway, now aren't they?

Within another minute or so they're moving smoothly through the water, not necessarily at speed, but there also isn't very far to go. ]

It's no concern of yours, besides.

🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

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