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đ´ââ ď¸ 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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"Captain Jack Rackham. Leave a message, or speak to me face to face like an adult."
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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, didnât he? Thatâs more experience than most of our new peers have. [ He has always had the sense that he wasnât a good fit for the Royal Navy, though. Neither was Jack, of course, so thatâs hardly a point against him. ] Why doesnât 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 theyâre 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, itâs probably the drink, or even the unusual interest heâs taken in Irving himself. Certainly nothing to do with Hickey, a man he very clearly knows only in passing, if that. Yep. ]
Sorry â 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 describe Hickeyâs 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, theyâre angry. Murderous, even.
It would be so easy. Man canât cold his liquor as well as Jack, might not take much more than a push to get his head under the water. He wouldnât even flinch if Jack were to move in close, heâs 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 doesnât 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 isnât so urgent, he decides, since Hickey quite obviously has gotten his own revenge. Heâs owed twenty-nine more, as far as Jackâs concerned, but theyâll be so much sweeter if he can keep this game up, if he can prolong the sting. Heâll 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. ]
Youâre sharing a bed, but youâre not fucking?
[ If it were anyone but Irving, he wouldnât 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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[ 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.
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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?
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[ 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.
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[ 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.
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[ 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. ]
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[ 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.