Being born again into the sweet morning fog

[goingtobeunwell]

Who: Crozier and OTA | Various Closed Starters

What: April shenanigans, featuring: fog! preparing for the midnight sun! caring for stubborn folks! 

When: All throughout April
Where: In Milton-proper and various places outside of town

Warnings: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, and some fisticuffs 

Comments

Open! Early April, taking astronomical measurements

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier used to believe Polar Night was more mentally devastating a natural phenomenon than the Midnight Sun, but being part of a collective of starving men slowly trekking across sharp rocks without even a night to offer reprieve from their miserable journey has convinced him otherwise. The Midnight Sun can be as cruel, if not worse, than never ending darkness, and side from madness there's also the worry about what a thaw might bring. What might be out there waiting to be unearthed?

But there's no point in sitting about and waiting for something to happen. Crozier does what he's been typically doing for most of his life: taking precise mathematical measurements. He stands at the porch of his cabin each morning to write down the time and location of the sunrise, then makes notes wherever he happens to be in the evening when the sun finally disappears over the horizon.

If asked he's happy to explain what he's doing and why -- and if there's someone who looks seemingly more interested than average, he might even teach them how to take the measurements themselves. Why not have help collecting the data that he needs?

[bestsir]

Goodsir has gotten into the habit of making rounds of Milton every few days, both to talk to friends and to see if anyone has gotten in a fix and failed to tell him. So it's only to be expected that he eventually finds Crozier taking his measurements one morning.

"Good morning, Francis," he says, and smiles a little. "I think I recognise what you're doing."

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier’s quickly found that he looks forward to the occasional migration of people between Milton and lakeside. Goodsir in particular seems to be thriving, which he’s glad of, and not just because Hickey’s still living in a home in the town proper.

When he’s greeted by the good doctor he returns the salutation with his own smile and a courtesy pause in his measurements. “Ah, Harry. Good to see you. Yes - it probably looks fairly familiar, doesn’t it?”

[bestsir]

"Commander Fitzjames occasionally enlisted me on his own endeavours along those lines," Goodsir says. "I did what I could to help—it only seemed fair, after all, given the extent to which he and Sir John let me take over the tables in the great cabin with my own work."

[solitarysoul]

Levi pauses in his patrol to watch Crozier do...whatever that is. "Um," he says after awhile, "what are you doing?"

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier has to tuck his instruments under his arms to free up his hand for taking measurements. He's in the midst of tracking the angle of the sun when Levi approaches, and happily hands over the notebook and his small pencil. "Tracking the daylight. Take down my measurements for me, won't you?"

[solitarysoul]

"Uh, sure." He takes the notebook and waits for Crozier to start dictating. He should be fine if its just measurements.

Closed: Crozier and Raju

[goingtobeunwell]

There's something of a routine that begins to take shape as Crozier continues to tend to his friend after he had an Aurora-influenced breakdown some days prior. It's more 'caring for said stubborn friend' than the typical chores of gathering firewood or foraging for food, but it's a routine nonetheless. He's actually finding enjoyable considering how often he's chosen to remain alone, this quietly nagging after someone's health business knowing that they're actually healing and not...doing the opposite.

He's forgotten how comforting it is not to live completely isolated. Loneliness doesn't need to be his typical state of being.

cw for gore imagery

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju doesn't think that he's been stubborn. It's only that waiting has always been the least bearable part of anything. All those nights under those unnatural lights, hearing that sobbing, thinking about... And what it'd grown into, by the time Francis had found him. He'd been able to bear it on the nights that had led up to that, but now that the worst has come of it once, he doesn't know how far he'll be able to push it down when it all happens again.

If it happens. The strange things that those strange lights cause seems to sometimes change. Raju isn't counting on that, even as a quiet little impulse inside would like him to. Irresponsible not to prepare for the worst.

It's only that when Francis insists he sit long enough to give his feet a chance to heal, Raju can't prepare for anything. He can't even help with chores.

Considering how little he's done, somehow he's still very tired. Somehow, still, he sleeps.

The awful lights waver up in the sky underneath the cabin roof. The sobbing is a distant memory and a present danger and a knife digging its sharpened tip into what lives beneath the scar tissue and scabs and he reaches out with the force put inside him to stop it and his father rocks forward with the impact for a split second that lasts the rest of his life and then bursts into too many pieces to identify all of them, later, and Raju is stuck here with the promise he gave up on keeping and the poison moving inside of him and the man who still won't leave, who'd said we'll weather it together if the time comes and used the only hand he has to hold Raju's until they'd fallen asleep and they'd woken again and the time must have come now, and it hurts, the sobbing lights the poison in his veins on fire the way it had out there in the snow, it hurts, just the way he knew it would when it came back. Francis hadn't cared what lives inside Raju but he should have, he should have left.

The venom must be weighing down his limbs in the way it had before because it takes an enormous effort to shift everything away and roll himself with it toward the wall, the effort pushing a wordless animal noise out of him. The aurora must have come back, that sobbing must have come back, he can't quite hear it now under the crackle of the flames but he knew that it would hurt this way, knew that Francis would be here when it did. The thought isn't a comfort any more. He'll feel chunks of what used to be people under his hands if he moves away, but he has to move away, he can hear that damn fire and he can smell it, and Francis can't be here.

[goingtobeunwell]

Despite the great discipline Crozier knows Raju’s possesses, he hasn’t been able to keep his fears under wraps since being found in the snow. He’s not a sound sleeper, not in any way that looks peaceful or at all restful, as though his worries followed him into slumber. His brow furrows and his lips contort, his body straightens and holds itself so tensely Crozier thinks he might be having some sort of fit - and those are just the moments he’s been able to witness.

So it comes to no surprise when Raju wakes himself up with some kind of spark, and not in a pleasant sense. Crozier’s roused by the smell of smoke - burnt hair, the fur blankets - and sits up quickly thinking that the fire from the hearth has spread until he realizes the source. There’s a line of flame along the floorboards and cutting into the furs, separating himself and Raju like a low, symbolically on-the-nose wall.

[load_aim_shoot]

Between dreaming and being awake, there used to be a line. One one side the heat of the sun, the rifle heavy and hot in his hand, the tears on his cheeks, the ringing silence after everything. On the other the natural quiet of birds and insects and natural, quiet noises to break it, the sound of men shuffling and turning in their beds, someone talking some place outside, someone somewhere waking up.

Not so, in Milton. Of course. Of course everything has to be worse here. But there's no— no... debris, underneath him. Not the kind he'd thought he'd feel. That means— it's hard to think clearly enough, in the moment after, to follow up the thought the way he needs to, not with the noise of the fire before and after, the smell of it in his nose then and now.

Francis. Then and now, the worry for him, but there Raju can actually do something. Try to do something. He rolls to his stomach, pushes himself up, looks stricken at the flames next to him and at Francis through them, over their flickering edges. His eyes are wide. He remembers what he'd done before and squeezes his eyes shut but it hadn't happened fast and he needs it to, needs to make everything safe.

"Francis." His voice is rough with sleep. It's shaking, and so is his breath. He keeps his eyes closed anyway, pressing his forehead against his arm and hoping that the calm will come. "You're alright. Are you? Are you alright?"

Closed: Crozier and Jopson

[goingtobeunwell]

There isn't much that can be done with the fog except to muscle through it. There's too much to be done to wait out a bit of bad weather, even if said bad weather feels like a vice on the chest. The damp is a pain in the arse as well, but at least as sailors they're used to be constantly a little wet from the salt spray. This seems to be less destructive than the salt, but just as unpleasant.

"We need to invent another herbal concoction for tea. I'm tired of the mixes we've been using," he gripes quietly to his companion. "Everything's too weak or too bitter."

Re: Closed: Crozier and Jopson

[lieutenantsteward]

Thomas holds up the little hatchet and swings again, felling a small tree to restock the firewood bin. The fog makes wet wood, and wet wood is a pain in the ass to dry, especially when there's so much else to be done.

"Ah, yes. I should order that for you at once sir," he says with a hint of a laugh, pushing the tree the rest of the way from the trunk with a booted foot.

[goingtobeunwell]

"Smartarse," he mutters, automatically setting about to help Jopson strip the tree from its smaller branches. "But if you could get on that order, Jopson I'd like it before the start of the next month. Fortnum & Masons, if you'd please, and get it right this time. Last time it went to Erebus."

[lieutenantsteward]

"That was hardly my fault, Captain," he laughs, leaning down and using the small hatchet to get off the thicker branches. "But consider it done."

He steps back and surveys their work, leaving the hatchet in the trunk so he can roll up his sleeves. It's not so bitterly cold with more sun.

Open: The Mysterious Cairns

[goingtobeunwell]

When he finds the chance he makes a trip out to the cairns by the old copse of pines. It's been some time since he's visited the area, but he hasn't forgotten about them. He wouldn't just forget.

He notices something's amiss almost immediately, the cairns are dismantled, as though somebody's picked over them like carrion on a corpse. He stops in his tracks at the first stray rock and stares openly, feeling his chest tighten in sorrow.

Re: Open: The Mysterious Cairns

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey still finds himself going back to those cairns every now and then. There's just something about it, like an itch he can't scratch. Some days he pokes around a bit more, some days he just thinks. He'll swing by to or from setting out his traps just to see what's what.

Though this time, it's different. Crozier is there. And he's looking...sad? Certainly staring at those cairns in a weird way. Wonder if he stared at Fitzjames's corpse like that if he-

Wait.

Oh.

Oh.

That weird feeling of deja vu that Hickey got when he first unearthed that fabric makes so much sense.

He can't help it: Hickey starts to laugh. Try as Crozier might to deny it, there was still something out there that thought they were connected. That kept them together. After all, it was only coincidence that he found these cairns in the first place.

[goingtobeunwell]

The arrival of another person is incidental until Crozier realizes it’s Hickey, and he’s goddamned laughing. Did he do this? Did he destroy his work?

Of course he did. Of course it was Cornelius Hickey, digging up scraps of his grief like he did to goddamned James Fitzjames!

“You!”

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey doesn't even bother to hide the smirk on his face, equal parts triumphant and enthralled. Try as Crozier may to keep away from him, to stay out of this, Hickey knows it's futile. He knows they're connected. And the sooner Crozier realizes this, the easier his life will be.

"Y'know, I thought something was familiar about these cairns. I'm not surprised to see that you're behind them." And because Cornelius Hickey has never met a bear he couldn't poke, he continues with, "Which of your failures are you burying this time?"

[salamanca]

Lalo practically bounds up to Crozier when he sees him by the cairns, like an excited puppy. Waving. He can't wait to tell Crozier all about how he helped dismantle them to send a message to whoever left the cairns. A small piece of bark in one of them, with an apology whittled into it twice - once in English, once in Spanish.

Essentially, if not in so many words, the sentiment conveyed is: 'Sorry for the disturbance.'

The words were Hickey's idea.

But the idea to leave a message had been Lalo's, and he comes bounding up through the snow, feet crunching as he leaves big, deep, unconnected footsteps behind him in the snowbanks with every lit step. He's got a scarf, slightly threadbare, around his neck; and he's dressed as fashionably as he can, looking a little bit like the model from a late '90s L.L. Bean catalogue if he was wearing a jacket with holes in the elbow.

But something's wrong. Crozier looks upset. The smile dies from Lalo's face before he even gets within spitting distance of Crozier. The "Hi!" that Lalo had been offering in greeting also fades out before it can be finished entirely, just a soft, "H--" before Lalo's voice dies and is replaced by a questioning expression and tone.

"You okay, man?" He looks from Crozier to the the cairns and back, looking more perplexed than concerned. He cocks his head to the side, going from an excited puppy to a puppy with its head tilted, confused.

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier's surprised to see another living being around this particular copse of trees, let another another person. He'd been so sure that this was off the beaten path, so far away from anything of interest that it wasn't likely to be found.

But he'd been naive. Of course people were going to find this place, and of course they were going to pick through them thinking they were yet another mystery to be solved in this god-forsaken place.

He can't really blame Lalo for looking enthused, but he also can't bring himself to smile or reassure him. He doesn't feel 'okay', he feels sick to his stomach as he looks out at the dismantled pile of stones.

"I am," he lies. "I am. I'm...wondering what happened here."

[salamanca]

"...You built these?"

Oh. Oh, shit. Despite the surprise in his voice, it had briefly crossed Lalo's mind that one of their own might have built the cairns for some reason, but he hadn't taken the idea too seriously, too wrapped up in the possibility of contacting mysterious locals or solving some mystery. He'd brushed it aside out of his mind almost the second it occurred to him.

Lalo looks from the hurt look on Crozier's face, to the cairns laying destroyed on the ground, back to Crozier. Shit.

Lalo feels suddenly cold, suddenly acutely aware of the chilly bite in the air, despite his fire powers. He doesn't shiver, or show it on the outside, except for a little bit of something flickering in his eyes. His brows furrow in what seems like concern.

Truthfully, Lalo is a lot more worried about getting people angry with him than he is about Crozier's feelings, and his brain is already telling him -- Lie, moron. Just lie.

He sucks in air through his nose. Just like the air touching his face, it feels almost stingingly cold inside of his nostrils.

"Yeah, about that--"

Lie. LIE.

"--I think I know what happened."

Post-Hickey’s Mess, Closed

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier is in probably the foulest mood he’s experienced since coming to Milton in the hours after his little ‘heart-to-heart’ with Hickey. He has more time to stew over things as he painstakingly rebuilds his cairns, more time to replay the conversation, more time to fill himself up with rage and very quiet despair.

He comes back to the cabin after the sun’s set, carrying nothing in his arms with is atypical behavior when it comes to Francis ‘Arctic Survivalist’ Crozier. And he’s not tired in the way he carries himself, but tight in the shoulders and neck and clearly vexed.

[load_aim_shoot]

When Francis comes in, Raju's ready to go out. Fire only embers because he won't be here to watch it, clothes all layered, mittens, that damn blanket; still not quite warm enough to go out at night but Raju's done it before, and in the weeks they've been living together here he's found Francis to be a man of ritual. He wakes up early, tells Raju where he's going, and comes back before the sun sets. This has been true every day since Raju's feet finished healing and what seem to be Francis' usual routines had got the chance to start showing themselves— but today the sun is set, and Francis isn't here. So it's a relief when he walks inside on his own, and not because it means Raju's only reason to force himself into the frozen night air just walked inside out of it.

No firewood in his arms, no fish or roots or herbs held in his hand. Tension in his posture, an expression on his face that Raju isn't used to seeing, but — Raju takes a couple steps around him to check — no blood anywhere that he can see. Raju moves back around to Francis' front and clasps his shoulder, focused and studying his friend's face. "Francis. Everything's alright?"

Just because anything can happen in this place doesn't mean that anything has. The majority of the time nothing of note happens here at all, and when something does it's always worse than a vexed expression on a friend's face, even one who's never worn that face before, not that Raju's ever seen. So Raju is a little worried, a lot relieved, and plenty curious. Still, if Francis turns out to be the kind who needs time to cool off without speaking when he's irritated, Raju... Raju can wait to find out. Probably. Definitely. Probably-definitely. If Francis doesn't want to talk about it now, Raju will find something else to do so he can wait.

[goingtobeunwell]

Thankfully the kind of rage Crozier was prone to when he was more whiskey than man is just that - anger fueled by jealousy and spite and a terrible habit, not anything rational or even worth addressing after the storm has calmed. But this is not that kind of anger, it’s not vindictive or violent, it’s simmering and slow and fades just a little when he sees Raju dressed like he’s about to brave the cold.

That’d be Hickey’s fault too, if Raju went traipsing about the wilderness in search of him.

His nostrils flair and he starts ridding himself of his parka, his wrist catching on the hem and further fueling the frustration he’d been trying to keep at bay. “God damn-” He shakes his hand and tries to pull at the coat, annoyance building and building as he struggles with his single handle, the first time he’s let Raju see him so flustered and completely, embarrassingly useless.

“Goddamned Hickey! He tore apart my cairns! He — Jesus Christ, this stupid goddamned parka-”