singillatim | (no subject)

Who: Hickey & OPEN!
What: cave visits, exploring around town, making some booze!
When: through the month of December
Where: in town, Misty Falls Cave.

Content Warnings: Hickey's god complex, animal death & mutilation, usual warnings for the Terror boys (possible talk of body horror, gore, cannibalism, etc.)

in town
Hickey makes a point to be a good neighbor. Moving something? He'll help! Chopping wood? He can help with that as well. The more useful and helpful he is, the more he ingratiates himself with everybody, the more likely he'll have people on his side whenever one of the rest of the crew of the Terror decides to actually say something about what happened back home.

When he goes out to hunt, occasionally he'll return with a rabbit or a ptarmigan, something he'll happily cook up for whoever wants any. This time is different. He's brought back an animal, a rabbit that looks off, burns on the flesh but nothing more. He makes sure to drop it away from his house (we're not going to contaminate the food) before carefully, in the middle of what passes for his yard, Hickey starts to carefully vivisect the rabbit. It's certainly a sight, and he looks up at whoever might be passing or walking by.

"Have you noticed some odd tracks out there? Out in the woods, just outside of town."

Misty Falls Cave
You're exploring the cave. It's dark, cold, there's a moment where you think you might be the only person in here. It's trapped, kept away, a small, solitary place cut off from the rest of the world—

And then you hear a loud "What the hell?!"

It's Cornelius Hickey, further down one of the paths. And he's just run into a dead end. And is very annoyed about that.

closed prompt for March
There's a loud pounding on March's door, the sort of pounding of someone who obviously doesn't really care about things like 'social conventions' or 'the fact that people might be asleep. Hickey continues knocking, but as he does so, he calls out,

"Oi! This is March's place, yeah? I brought some sugar for the alcohol."

Turns out that horrible trip in that cave had some results!

wildcard
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March's eyes narrow again. Not out of suspicion, but because he has absolutely no clue how many people belong in boats. How many people were on Gilligan's Island, like, six? That's a good frame of reference, right? Except apparently not.

Whatever.

He keeps staring at Hickey, if only because his mental math takes a while, and by the time he mentions flaws March rolls his eyes.

"Everyone's a critic," he laments. "I dig you, man. Even if I don't have anyone from back home. You know I'm pretty sure everyone here thinks I'm an idiot?"

Something about that statement rubs Hickey the wrong way. It's obvious to him March isn't an idiot. If the others can't see this, it's their fault.

"Bugger anyone who thinks that," he says, without hesitation. There's a moment as Hickey finishes off his vodka and Tang before he continues, his bearing one hundred percent a man about to start a story.

"We had a soiree back home while we were stuck in the ice. A carnivale. Dance, drink, costumes, music, all that and more. It was a night where the goal was to have fun. Ask someone here and they'd probably say that the carnivale was useless, why waste all your drink, why spend time setting up a tent for celebration, when you could be doing something else instead? Well they're wrong. Spend all your time focused on survival, you'll work yourself into an early grave. You've got to have a little bit of fun every now and then, just to make all that work worth it."

Hickey gives March a cavalier little shrug before pointing out, "You know that."

March has already decided Hickey's right with the first sentence, but the story seals it--it feels like proof. Something tangible. An excuse, maybe. To those less jaded, a bit of a revelation.

March goes with revelation. He decides Hickey is more than alright, Hickey is more than just a cool cat. Hickey is correct, and March is placing him firmly in the 'will support' camp. There's not a very high number of people on that list--not because March is exclusive, but because he can't be assed to follow through with much.

"Thank you. It's not my fault literally all of my expertise is completely useless here. I mean, you're a Cock Boy, you get it." Wait. "Caulk boy." It's the same pronunciation: the distinction is for March alone.

"I don't--I don't actually know what that is."

Damn straight Hickey is correct. As far as he's concerned, he's always correct. March's words of thanks get a small little nod and a grin of approval. That reaction makes Hickey decide that March is one of his people. He's keeping this man alive come hell or high water.

That being said...

"What, caulk? You use it to help plug up cracks and holes." Which has just made the sentence ten times worse. "Ship like Terror, it bends and shifts with the sea. You'll need someone to patch up the holes to keep it as water-tight as possible."

This is killing him. This is killing him, Hickey going and saying shit like this. He needs a cigarette. He needs something.

"Has anyone told you you're completely fascinating?" He manages. It's very much a good thing in March's book. Whether or not it's a good thing for anyone else? Not his problem.

"I will take that as a compliment," Hickey preens. Because no, nobody's told him that he's completely fascinating. It's usually a lot more along the lines of 'you little creep' or 'what the hell is your damage' than 'you interest me.'

"I'll keep an eye out for more sugar, by the way. As far as I'm concerned? The more alcohol we can make in this place, the better."

"It is a compliment," March assures. "Before here I just dealt with old people and schmucks. Now I deal with emotionally constipated weirdoes. You?" He points as he talks, index finger pointed right between Hickey's eyes. "Are real."

A small pause.

"Who's idea was it for the soiree you guys through, by the way? Is he here?"

"Bloke named James Fitzjames." And no, March, he doesn't know why all the boat weirdos have names like that.

"He's not here. But hell, throwing a soiree can't be hard. You work on the alcohol, I'll work on the food, we can work together for some decorations. Let everybody have a good time."

And keep them off their asses for a little bit. Hickey can't be that weird. March can't be that much of an idiot. Look at that neat party they threw!

March snaps his fingers and points at Hickey right between the eyes, sitting up almost entirely straight.

"You're a genius. I think you're the smartest person here. That's a great idea." He's genuinely sincere.

"Quick question. How long until someone kicks our asses for wasting supplies and time?"

"Get them drunk enough and they'll forget about kicking our asses," Hickey points out, with a shit-eating grin on his face.