🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

[calicoat]

INBOX text / audio / video / action "Captain Jack Rackham. Leave a message, or speak to me face to face like an adult." code credit

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[extramuralise]

[ 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.

[calicoat]

[ 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?

[extramuralise]

[ 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.

[calicoat]

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. ]

[extramuralise]

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.

[calicoat]

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.

[extramuralise]

[ 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?

[calicoat]

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.

[extramuralise]

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.

[calicoat]

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. ]

[extramuralise]

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.