Captain Crozier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goingtobeunwell) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-02-03 10:27 pm
goingtobeunwell) wrote in singillatim2024-02-03 10:27 pm
bad luck, old sport
Who: Francis Crozier and OTA
What: Uh oh, more bad luck for Milton's other resident old man!
When: Throughout February
Where: Crozier's igloo, the town and the outskirts, the basin
Content Warnings: The Terror AMC™'s specific flavor of horror -- possible mentions of cannibalism, starvation, illness, murder, gore, addiction, Victorians
What: Uh oh, more bad luck for Milton's other resident old man!
When: Throughout February
Where: Crozier's igloo, the town and the outskirts, the basin
Content Warnings: The Terror AMC™'s specific flavor of horror -- possible mentions of cannibalism, starvation, illness, murder, gore, addiction, Victorians
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Crozier even gets a small snort of a laugh in response to the question about it being his real name. "No way, man," Lalo agrees. "What do you think his name is? Peter? No, no" -- a pause, a faux-serious expression, and he continues with painstaking and intentional credulousness -- "Junior."
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Crozier looks away, up at the stars and then back along the headstones. "Suits this bloody place, that flavor of ridiculous."
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Lalo watches Crozier's gaze settle on the headstones, briefly, but then he lays down on his back and stares up at the stars. The night is chilly, but the sky is clear.
"Yeah... no kidding. And the people here, too." He folds his legs over one another. Gently. Kicks up a foot a little. "'Magic' this and 'superpowers' that. Maybe you're used to that, but to me, it's all new."
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He doesn't think to mention the whole affair with the tuunbaq; he doesn't consider that to be in the same category as a man turning into a wolf or regular monster fighting.
"At least the snow is the same, the bloody cold. I can manage the weather just fine."
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This is nice, he thinks. He hasn't gotten to shoot the shit with another man like this since he's been here. And Crozier seems like an alright guy. Lalo wasn't sure, at first, with the patrolling, but he seems like the kind of guy Lalo could have a beer with.
"Yeah?" Lalo gives a visible shiver that's only partly for show. "Not me. I'm jealous, man. I'm from Mexico. I'm not made for this cold." He heaves an irritated sigh. He watches his breath crystallize and hang in the air as he does.
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Crozier's quiet, good-natured chuckling tapers off as he thinks about his own travels to warmer climates. "I've been to Brazil, but that's as near I've been to anywhere that warm. I suppose it'd be rude to compare the two."
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Lalo is momentarily stunned that Crozier - who does not seem like a modern man, to put it lightly - is able to grasp that it would be offensive to compare Brazil and Mexico. Congratulations, Crozier, you're doing better than many people in 2004. "Yeah. Uh. A little," Lalo says. "It wouldn't bother me, though. I've been to Brazil. Rio's beautiful. In the summer." It's nice, Lalo thinks, to sometimes just shut your brain off and shoot the shit. Lalo's brain is usually going a million miles an hour.
He looks a little wryly, directly at Crozier. "Too bad margaritas and wakeboarding were way after your time." Not that Lalo does a ton of wakeboarding. His beloved home city of Chihuahua is landlocked. But it's fun on vacation!
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He's amused, though he doesn't outwardly laugh. It's more of a little smirk and a shaking of his head that Lalo seems so surprised and beguiled.
He probably would like a margarita, but Crozier had always been a whiskey man. And is now very, very, painfully sober, for the benefit of himself and every single other person around him.
"When the rain finally pushes out it's plenty green," he says after a moment of parsing through everything Lalo's just thrown his way. He does talk a lot, but he isn't terribly off put by it. Sobriety's done him good. "Pictures in my time aren't colorful, by the way. Just the black and white and gray."
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"Seems like there's a lot of you," Lalo says. "From your time. And your place. You guys all know each other?"
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Crozier suspects the only reason he staved off scurvy for as long as he had was because he’d pickled himself. But oh, whiskey, how he craves it even now.
“We do. We all sailed on the same ships. It’s strange, isn’t it? That there are so many of us, I mean.”
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"Yeah. Weird." Lalo shakes his head slowly in place without sitting up. "You ever think there's a reason for it? I didn't know anybody else before I came here. You ever wonder if there's a reason you all came here together?"
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“Oh, most days. I wonder why the men who were chosen were…chosen. This is a very odd assortment. There were 129 of us, after all.”
And then why the others from all the other worlds and times? What makes this man beside him so special that the Aurora would call him here?
“Or is it all the work of a god with a wicked sense of humor?”
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But he does think about Crozier's question. "Sense of humor isn't a bad guess," Lalo says. "That's probably why I'd do it." But does the aurora share a mortal man's idea about what's funny? Who knows.
Crozier might be the kind of nerd who goes around patrolling at night because he's so scared of crime or whatever, but he makes for easy conversation and for Lalo, that's enough.
"Of course... it might all just be random. There's a scary thought, eh?" But then again, this is a lot of men all from one place if it's truly random chance that's bringing them all here. It's very unlikely so many people would end up here from the same time and place by random chance.
Very unlikely, but not impossible.
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"Hell of a coincidence for random," he mutters. But he isn't certain what's scarier, it all being orchestrated or completely random.
"The main thing is they're here. It doesn't do me any good thinking about who I wish was here and wasn't. It doesn't do them any good."
Hickey, he wants to say. Hickey, watch out for Hickey. Hickey will chew you up and spit you back up if given the chance, literally.
"But Goodsir's a fine doctor. Jopson's mild-mannered, but vicious in a scrap. Little's loyal to a fault."
And that's all he'll say about that.
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There's a laugh. Lalo doesn't think Goodsir or Crozier understand what a 'cartel' is, and he thinks it's better that way. But that doesn't mean he wasn't serious.
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What the hell is the cartel.
But he finds himself smiling, mostly at the idea of Goodsir rushing in and saving the day. It makes him happy. He's a good man, he deserves to feel useful and like he's making an actual difference.
"He's a good friend to have."
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Maybe someday you'll both find out.
Lalo sits up, sensing the conversation has reached a stopping point and not wanting to overstay his welcome. He claps Crozier solidly on the shoulder.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crozier." He grins. "It was a pleasure." He means that; if nothing else, Crozier seems like a fantastic source of information on the various personalities here, with so many here belonging to his time. "But I should probably head in. I get cold easy in this climate, and I can't leave my cabin unattended for too long, with these animals around." He rolls his eyes for emphasis. "I hope I see you around. And hey -- who knows. Maybe someday if you need a favor, the cartel will show up for you too, eh?"
(Ominous music plays in the background.)
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Gramps is tired.
Crozier doesn't think Lalo will mind if he doesn't get up and see him off. He returns the friendly clasp to the shoulder with a pleasant, solid-looking nod. All-in-all, not too terrible for a first meeting, consider neither of them threw any punches or tried to eat each other.
"I suppose a man can dream," he replies dryly, but not without a tiny smile a beat or two after. "Take care. Stay warm."