1. I've heard teeth can explode in air this cold. Imagine.

[bestsir]

Who: Harry Goodsir and divers hands.
What: Continuations from Harry's TMD threads, plus open to anyone else who wants in.
Where: All around.
When: In the days leading up to September's event.

Harry has found a house. It's much like the others, but what catches his attention is that it appears to have been owned by a person—a woman, he concludes from the clothing and other belongings left behind—with an interest in natural history. There's a bookcase in the front room with a variety of scientific and medical texts—nothing scholarly per se, but popular studies accessible to lay readers. He cannot find any other trace of the former inhabitant—no body—and so after wrestling with his conscience for a bit, he eventually gathers up what seems most personal and puts it all in a storage closet. Just in case.

He'll open the door to anyone who stops by.

Otherwise, he is out and about, making himself useful where he can.

Comments

Goodsir & Hickey

[bestsir]

[ Continued from here. ]

The arrogance of the man. Goodsir almost can't believe it.

"I've seen you too, Mr. Hickey," he says, with the faintest emphasis on seen. "I grant you your industry, your ambition, your cunning. Would that you'd have turned it to something good."

Re: Goodsir & Hickey

[friendsfordinner]

Something good. Hickey can't help but roll his eyes at that. Good like what? Like the glory of the empire or whatever nonsense Goodsir was thinking of? For the betterment of all men?

Nah. They were fucked from the start. The only good he'd turn himself to is keeping himself alive, nothing more.

"Industry, ambition, cunning? Those are words that describe you as much as me, Goodsir."

[bestsir]

He can't deny that.

"And I'm no more sorry for what I've done with it than you are, Mr. Hickey."

Which is a lie. Not that he's going to let that show on his face.

[friendsfordinner]

It doesn't look like he's lying. And yet.

"You know, you've damned more than just me. Crozier. Hodgson. Diggle. Hell, only Stanley and that bear are beating you out for blood on your hands due to that act."

He gives Goodsir a small shrug. "It's impressive, in a way. How you're willing to kill a dozen men and you feel no remorse."

[bestsir]

That stings, stabbing right at the heart of Goodsir's lie. But—

"We were all walking dead mean nonetheless," he says. "If I hastened matters, it is a mercy. Though I think Crozier may be all right in the end. And who knows—perhaps you are right and I am wrong, and that bear will embrace you. One way or the other, we shall all leave our bones there."

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey raises an eyebrow before dryly pointing out. "You left him there. Alone. Where nobody knows where he is. With barely any means of survival. Crozier's as dead as the rest of you."

And not just because he plans on feeding Crozier to a bear! But again, Goodsir doesn't need to know that.

[bestsir]

"Crozier knows the Netsilik language. Silence and her people bear him no grudge," Goodsir says. "I think you may yet have some surprises, Mr. Hickey. But it's entirely moot so long as we're here, I daresay. Until whatever power brought us here sends us back, or onward to oblivion."

[friendsfordinner]

"If whatever power brought us here sends us back," Hickey corrects Goodsir. "After all, we've got no idea if anything like that would happen in the first place."

[bestsir]

"No, we haven't." He rubs at his forehead. "In the meantime, Mr. Hickey ... I shall stay out of your way so long as you stay out of mine. Do not mistake this for forgiveness or forgetting. Simply that there is only so much I can bear, and in the matter of dealing with you, I have some control."

[friendsfordinner]

As far as Hickey's concerned? He can give that a try. After all, no harm in making an attempt. That being said...

"It's a small town, Mr. Goodsir. I'll try to keep out of your way but I'll make no promises."

[bestsir]

"I can hardly ask for fairer than that," Goodsir says, his voice heavy with irony. He pushes back his chair, stand, and gathers up his plates. Then, without another word, he's off—no good day or any such pleasantries to be wasted here.