singillatim | open | leave the horror here

Harry listens, plainly fascinated. The part about clotting blood catches his attention in particular—he's all too familiar with the way scurvy disintegrates a man's scars, causes bleeding in other ways...

"We knew, of course, that lemon juice was antiscorbutic, as were fresh fruits and vegetables, but we did not know why, precisely. If I understand you clearly, it is these ... nutrients, these vitamins, that achieve that effect? Imagine." He smiles, pleased at this new information, though it's sobering as well.

"Yeah, that's basically it." she nods at that. "There's... like this little saying... 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away'."

There's a little sound of mirth before she shrugs. "I think it's trying to emphasize the fact everyone should be eating a balanced diet to stay healthy. We need a little bit of everything. When we don't get those daily nutrients, it's how people end up with vitamin deficiencies. We get sick."

It does feel quite sobering, and she falls to silence for a long moment — just stirring the pot, watching the sugar dissolve. She looks quietly troubled. Will this be enough? The rosehip syrup, will it help? Or... are they going to end up sick? There's no telling how long they'll be stuck here. She remembers a man told her last month: I hope someone finds you before we run out of tins.

"That is what happened to us, on the expedition," he says. "We had tinned food, but much of it was spoilt or tainted, and the preserved lemon juice loses efficacy over time. And so the men succumbed to scurvy—to say nothing of being poisoned by the lead from the tins. And—" an idea occurs to him, "perhaps there were other deficiencies of these—these nutrients as well. Good God."

"Canned food should keep pretty good, but—" It should, but it didn't apparently. Maybe something to do with the production? If things aren't sealed right, or not properly sterilized, then that's how things spoil. Her expression pales at the mention of 'lead', though.

"Lead's a terrible metal to use. I'm pretty sure the only thing we use lead for now is caskets." There's a beat before she cringes, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, that's kinda not helpful to hear. But... yeah, people would be really sick."

There's another pause, she gives him a poignantly worried look. That would also include Mr. Goodsir, himself. Not to mention—

"... Is— is this the same expedition as Lieutenant Edward Little—?"

Goodsir nods. "Yes. We were on different ships, but it was the same expedition. Mr. Hickey was another of the crew."

He sighs. "I made a study of the effects of the lead, in fact. Had I returned home to Edinburgh, I would have sought to publish a paper about it."

"Lieutenant Little's really nice. He helped me get into town when I first got here and he... really helped me last month. With... um, well— you know." The Voice. She guesses a lot of them probably had the same problem. But even with the heaviness of what Edward Little helped her with last month, with talking her back from the ledge of the Milton Basin, her expression brightens. It's clear she does think very highly of him.

"... I don't think I know Mr. Hickey...? What does he look like? Maybe I've seen him around the town."

There's a look at sympathy at that. Kinda frustrating. It would be a fantastic thing, people looking more into lead poisoning sooner. That could even save lives—! But maybe it's still something that can happen? He could still publish it?

"... Maybe you still can? I mean, when we can leave this place and get back to our proper times. I know Lieutenant Little said you were all stuck and had been for a long time, but... maybe you can still get home again? Help might still be coming."

He can't bring himself to tell her what he's done, nor that they are, without a certainty, doomed. Though the news that Little was able to help her brings a smile to his face. Perhaps the man will be all right after all.

As for Hickey ... he frowns.

"You've undoubtedly seen him. A man with the look of a rat or mustelid in human form, reddish hair, a beard." He lowers his voice. "He's not to be trusted."

There's a brief moment as she frowns a little at the description, and then realisation dawns on her as she freezes, her eyes widening slightly. Oh. Oh, she knows who he's talking about. Him. She hadn't gotten his name. He'd been hanging around watching her, which she hadn't minded at first, and then... well, it hadn't been a nice conversation.

"We've... met." Her own voice is hushed. There's a long pause before she adds, a little tentatively. ".... I don't like him."

It feels like a terrible thing to admit, to actively admit dislike of someone. And she feels a little shame for it. Upset flashes over her face, clearly uncomfortable. He's not to be trusted.

We've met is received with alarm, but her assertion that she doesn't like him—that's a relief. At least he doesn't have to warn Kate away from the rat. He can't help chuckling a little, mirthlessly.

"There's no shame in not liking him," he says, reading her reaction. "He is treacherous and greedy, and cares for no one but himself."

He looks around cautiously, then lowers his voice for her only.

"His lies have led to the deaths of innocents, and fomented mistrust and mutiny amongst the expedition. You'd do well to stay away from him."

"It's... not right to." There's the tiniest of smiles, a little awkward. Love thy neighbour. The idea of disliking someone isn't something that sits very comfortably with her. It's certainly not very Christian to.

But it's his next words that give her pause, her eyes widening in fright as she takes it in. He what—?! She looks horrified for a long moment, a little nauseous and as her head drops — mutiny, people dying, because of him? There are no words for a few beats, but she keeps her voice low when she does finally bring herself to speak.

"... He was really mean." Certainly not above bullying teenagers, making out as if her values and morals mean nothing. There's a little pause before she adds. "And... kind of scary. I'm used to people saying mean things to me for who I am, what I believe in but—"

It's a lot more scary coming from a grown man than the other kids at Blackwell.

"He said he was opening his home up to people who need food and stuff. But I think it's kinda hollow." she warns him. "Not being charitable because it's the right thing to do, but— well, I don't know what he wants with it, exactly."

Goodsir's mouth compresses into a thin line and he frowns, though none of his anger is directed at Kate at all.

"To gain advantage," he says, "to ingratiate himself with others and try to earn their good will. You're very perceptive. And I am sorry that he was unkind—I've no doubt it angered him, to discover that he couldn't get any change out of you. He didn't threaten you in any way?"

Because if he did, there will be words, Mr. Hickey.

It's not directed at her, she knows that. But it is worrying. She shifts the syrup off the heat to look at him properly. "... You don't think he's gonna do the same thing here, do you? Start a mutiny? Get... get people hurt?"

Would that even work? It's not the same, sure. But then... there aren't police here. And she knows Lieutenant Little often does patrols, there's a few others that do too — but it's... worrying. Mr Hickey had already pointed out some... very real problems they're likely going to face, here.

"No. I mean, I don't think—" Not necessarily a threat, she doesn't think. A warning. 'If I were you? I'd think it would be a good idea to find something else to talk about.' And then that had been the end of things, thankfully. She'd... kind of shut everything down after that. "He ended up walking away. He doesn't like me, he probably doesn't want to talk to me again."

Which is fine, isn't it? Still, she looks a little nauseous. Conflict isn't something she deals very easily with.

"I.. I don't want trouble, anyone getting hurt." She shakes her head, very gently adding: "You getting hurt."

He smiles a little at that last and shakes his head very slightly. "I do not fear him." Hate him, yes. But he's not afraid.

"I don't know what he plans to do. There is no one against whom to mutiny, after all." Dryly, with a possibly surprising touch of gallows humour. "But what I can guess is that he will do whatever it takes to survive, draw any allies he can to his side. And ... and he may think that he can ally himself to whatever it is that brought us here. In truth, that concerns me more than anything else he may do."

"That's... that's not what I meant." The worry in her expression doesn't shift in the slightest. Not fearing him is one thing, but him getting hurt by Mr Hickey is something else entirely.

"He said: 'Your morals and your tenderhearted nature can only get you so far. At a certain point? Practicals take priority.' That's what he told me. Like nothing else matters." She doesn't like repeating what he'd said to her at all. He was mocking her, of course he was.

But it... makes sense more now. That he do whatever he needs to in order to live. She can't help but worry if he has a point. Lieutenant Little told her she had worth as who she was, but the reality of their situation can't be ignored. It... leaves her with some uncomfortable feelings about it all.

"... The only thing I can think of related to us being here was the voice." The one that spoke to them all as they arrived. The one that spoke to her last month. "Only... only that doesn't even want us here. It called us Interlopers. He can't really think he's got a chance of joining teams with that, right?"

Don't indulge your morals over your practicals. Not now. Don't you also want to live?

Goodsir's fists clench, hearing those words echoed again in Kate's account. "He said something very like to me once," he says. He has to close his eyes briefly, breath through the rage that threatens to overtake him.

And then he laughs softly, bleak and humourless.

"He believes himself singular. Nothing would surprise me less to learn that he thinks he can make himself the favourite of that bodiless voice. It would not be the first time he presumed so."

She falters, swallowing nervously at the the sight of clenched fists. Oh, he's mad. There's a short moment of hesitation before she very gently to place her hand against his.

"I... I know he's wrong." Sometimes she doubts herself, that maybe Mr Hickey does have a point. But she also knows what Edward Little told her. That there is worth in the things Mr Hickey has disdain for.

(When Kate plays violin, the Lieutenant said it reminds him of home.)

"Lieutenant Little told me that... he believes that kindness and goodness have meaning here. That they're precious things. Mr Hickey is wrong. Morals are important here, maybe... maybe more than ever."

When this place terrifies her sometimes. She's no good in a place like this. She doesn't know how to do... anything. She just wants to go home, and she prays constantly that she will. But she knows that they're stuck here, until then.

... She knows how to be kind. It doesn't feel like much, but it's worth more than she realises.

"... That's kind of... dumb." ... Yeah, it is, though. And she's making a little face at that. "Why would anyone think they'd be able to get on the good side of something that doesn't even want us here?"

The touch to his hand calms him, and he is able to take another deep breath, and then another. He smiles.

"It won't surprise you to know that I agree with Lieutenant Little," he says. "Practicality will allow a man to survive, but it is kindness and goodness that allows him to live, I think."

Something he has to remind himself of every day.

"And this would not be the first time Mr. Hickey thought he could find favour with a being that does not want us here. As I said—he believes himself unique, or somehow ... blessed, or chosen."

She keeps her hand there for a moment longer, but looks relieved when he calms himself down and let's him go.

"I think you're right." she agrees with a little nod, smiling herself. "Don't get me wrong, surviving's great and all — but what's... the point, if that's all you're doing? We're more than that."

Mr Hickey did not get that memo, she guesses.

"You mean... he's tried something like this before? Or... wanted to? There's... things like that, in your world?"

Beings...? The idea of it makes her shrink back a little, frightened of it. But everything else she's heard sounds so... normal. There isn't even anything like that back home for her, well— except the weird snow that happened the day before she came here. But that's different.

"Not like this, not exactly."

He leans against the counter and looks around to ensure there are no eavesdroppers.

"This—I must ask you to be discreet," he says. "I have no wish to cause further trouble with Mr. Hickey, but I want you to understand how dangerous he can be. And this tale will seem fantastical, but I assure you that it is true.

"One of our men accidentally shot a Netsilik man—a priest—and that man was—I should say that some of this is conjecture on my part, for the one person who could have told me in detail—I wished to respect her people's customs, and it was not something of which she'd speak to outsiders. But the priest had a sort of ... familiar, or spirit partner, in the shape of a monstrous bear. I believe his daughter tried to bind herself to it, as her father had—but it rejected her. In talking to Mr. Hickey here, I have learned that he thinks he can succeed where she failed. That the creature will accept—that it wants him."

In all honesty, if she'd been hearing this all back home — she wouldn't have believed it all that much. Given the fact they've all been dumped here, she's a little more willing to believe in such a thing. Still, it's... difficult to follow along, and it's clear enough in her shifting expressions: confusion, bewilderment, a little fear. It's certainly real fantastical.

But she does try her best to follow along. It's important, and she has no reason to believe he's lying to her about anything. And in turn, she keeps her own voice low and she tries to work through it.

"So he wants to... bind himself, to this... bear spirit from a whole other culture? Like a— a wizard or something?" ... she really is trying. "And he thinks it's going to work, even when this bear spirit rejected the priest's daughter? The person I'm guessing should have been able to, after her dad? Why wouldn't it work with her?"

And Mr Hickey thinks he can do something similar with the Voice that wants them all gone. He... really thinks he's Super Special. There's a beat, before she very weakly adds:

".... I think Mr Hickey maybe needs to talk to a therapist, or something."

He nods as she recapitulates what he's just said—good, yes, she's understanding—and then she pulls him up short with what she says.

"...What is a therapist?"

Her mouth opens and then promptly closes. Oh, shoot— yeah, wait that's... not a thing yet, isn't it? It's... um, well— asylums are a thing, aren't they? Kate does her very best not to cringe a little at the thought.

"It's like—" How does she describe this. "A medical professional, who specialises in a person's mental health. Therapy is where you talk about stuff. Like when you feel anxious or depressed or..."

In Mr Hickey's case:

"... delusions of grandeur."

The field of mental health is still very much in its infancy in Goodsir's day—but he is aware of the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, and how its superintendent Dr. MacKinnon—rather than locking up the inmates in cells, Bedlam-fashion—seeks to engage them in healthier pursuits; crafts, gardening, and so forth. So he at least somewhat grasps what Kate is getting at, though he has a difficult time understanding anxiety or depression as anything other than an emotional state rather than a health condition.

Still, at least the last bit makes sense.

"So a physician but of the mind, rather than the body," he says, and laughs hollowly. "Such a physician would find Mr. Hickey a fascinating case indeed, I imagine."

"Yeah, basically that." she confirms with a nod. "It kinda sucks there isn't one who's like that here. It'd... probably make everyone's lives a little easier."

But... looks like they're all stuck here, with no therapists, and Mr Hickey. Kate sighs a little, shaking her head.

"I'm just... going to try to avoid him." she tells him. "Well, the best I can, considering we're all in one place."

"Do so," he says. "And if you must speak to him, assume at all times that he has some other, more selfish motive. He cannot be trusted."

we can maybe wrap this one?

castitas - 2023-11-16 19:54 (UTC) - Expand

Works for me!

bestsir - 2023-11-17 18:01 (UTC) - Expand

open | leave the horror here

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: brief mention of suicide attempt

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

had to hit this back immediately because i'm laughing so much

no subject

no subject

no subject

we can maybe wrap this one?

Works for me!