franciscrozierofficial

[franciscrozierofficial]

Hen Not algirhgt. Injured. Things are bad Don't have time to deail. On Terror.

Jeames Take muster of Erebus and send it to me post haste. Important. Talkl later

— Crozier

Fitzjeames.

Do you know where I could find Lt. Le Vesconte? I haven’t heard from him recently. I have a bad feeling th

Let me know if you’ve seen Hen about.

Sincerely,

Captain Crozier

Apologies, Captain, I did not see this letter as I was preoccupied. I have not seen him since the scuffle on deck.

Is he Is he alright?

Come to think of it, I have not seen... any of my lieutenants this morning. Did Graham and his group ever return? Furthermore, are you still on the Erebus, Captain? I would like to speak with you in private.

Signed,

Commander James Fitzjames

[franciscrozierofficial]

*a bead of sweat is breaking out on Crozier's face. He's blotchy, shirtless, and now sweating, but his eyes are the more intense than they have ever been. They swing onto Hodgson, glaring right through him.*

It's the bear, George. It's back.

*With one last sloppy and desperate kiss to @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte's cheek— just in case— Crozier pulls himself away and begins putting back his coat. His fingers fly over the buttons, his heart hammering like ice about to break. Just before he leaves, he claps Hodgson on the shoulder and grips the flesh tightly, mooring himself one moment more.*

Stay with Henry, Lieutenant. Don't—

*Crozier's grim, wind-roughed face cracks around the eyes. His voice falters.*

—don't let him go.

*One last look behind him. Then Crozier is striding out of the room and taking the ladder steps two at a time, following the smell of animal fur and raw meat as if running into this monster's jaws will save the men he loves.*

*In the medical bay now, Crozier lays @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte down on an operating table, but stays close to his side, touching him, always touching. He has the strange fear that if he leaves off contact, Dundy will simply be snuffed out, a flame in the snow.*

*He speaks wild-eyed to Dr. Peddie, barely looking at the man. He might as well not even be there.*

Bullet wound. I don't know where but— he's lost blood.

*Crozier squeezes Le Vesconte's hand and tries to calm his heart. They'll need laudanum or whiskey to dull the pain. Need to warm him too.*

*Without a second thought, Crozier strips off his layers and presses his bare chest against the Lieutenant, focusing on his pulse points to warm his cardiovascular system.*

*Dundy's clothes are being cut through with medical scissors to get to the bullet wound, and he's shivering terribly. Crozier puts his hands on his neck— his hands are cold, but they are blazing fire compared to Dundy's icy skin— and leans to breath quick hot flashes of air onto Dundy's chest. He stays out of the surgeon's way and murmurs to Dundy in between breaths.*

Beidh tú ceart go leor. Tá mé anseo, a chroí. Beidh mé ag fanacht leat. Fan liom, ceart go leor? Hen, mo Henry, tá mé anseo.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier's veins run cold. He makes eye contact with @ltgeorgehodgson before leaning over to speak slowly and clearly to Dundy. Hoping he understands.*

Tuunbaq? What about Tuunbaq?

What— Cén chontúirt atá amuigh ansin? What danger?

*Even as he speaks, Crozier hears timbers creaking, as though under a great strain. Greater than the ice. As though something heavy, something hungry, was climbing aboard.*

*In the medical bay now, Crozier lays @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte down on an operating table, but stays close to his side, touching him, always touching. He has the strange fear that if he leaves off contact, Dundy will simply be snuffed out, a flame in the snow.*

*He speaks wild-eyed to Dr. Peddie, barely looking at the man. He might as well not even be there.*

Bullet wound. I don't know where but— he's lost blood.

*Crozier squeezes Le Vesconte's hand and tries to calm his heart. They'll need laudanum or whiskey to dull the pain. Need to warm him too.*

*Without a second thought, Crozier strips off his layers and presses his bare chest against the Lieutenant, focusing on his pulse points to warm his cardiovascular system.*

*Dundy's clothes are being cut through with medical scissors to get to the bullet wound, and he's shivering terribly. Crozier puts his hands on his neck— his hands are cold, but they are blazing fire compared to Dundy's icy skin— and leans to breath quick hot flashes of air onto Dundy's chest. He stays out of the surgeon's way and murmurs to Dundy in between breaths.*

Beidh tú ceart go leor. Tá mé anseo, a chroí. Beidh mé ag fanacht leat. Fan liom, ceart go leor? Hen, mo Henry, tá mé anseo.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier feels something too. A presence, dark and animal. The thought of Tuunbaq tickles the back of his mind, but it pushed aside when he notices @ltgeorgehodgson.*

George.

*He winces as the doctors begin to extract the bullet. Quickly, he stuffs one of his thick gloves into Dundy's mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. Still leaned over, he kisses his cheek, once, then comes back to himself and remembers Hodgson's presence.*

*Hodgson. Whom he has hardly seen since the lashing. Hodgson, who defiled his bed and lied to his face, and broke Dundy's heart besides... Have the two made up? Crozier isn't sure. He puts on a distracted half-glare regardless before moving his attention back to Dundy.*

Hodgson, help me keep him warm. Talk to him. He's not responding much, but— he's responding.

*In the medical bay now, Crozier lays @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte down on an operating table, but stays close to his side, touching him, always touching. He has the strange fear that if he leaves off contact, Dundy will simply be snuffed out, a flame in the snow.*

*He speaks wild-eyed to Dr. Peddie, barely looking at the man. He might as well not even be there.*

Bullet wound. I don't know where but— he's lost blood.

*Crozier squeezes Le Vesconte's hand and tries to calm his heart. They'll need laudanum or whiskey to dull the pain. Need to warm him too.*

*Without a second thought, Crozier strips off his layers and presses his bare chest against the Lieutenant, focusing on his pulse points to warm his cardiovascular system.*

*Dundy's clothes are being cut through with medical scissors to get to the bullet wound, and he's shivering terribly. Crozier puts his hands on his neck— his hands are cold, but they are blazing fire compared to Dundy's icy skin— and leans to breath quick hot flashes of air onto Dundy's chest. He stays out of the surgeon's way and murmurs to Dundy in between breaths.*

Beidh tú ceart go leor. Tá mé anseo, a chroí. Beidh mé ag fanacht leat. Fan liom, ceart go leor? Hen, mo Henry, tá mé anseo.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*In the medical bay now, Crozier lays @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte down on an operating table, but stays close to his side, touching him, always touching. He has the strange fear that if he leaves off contact, Dundy will simply be snuffed out, a flame in the snow.*

*He speaks wild-eyed to Dr. Peddie, barely looking at the man. He might as well not even be there.*

Bullet wound. I don't know where but— he's lost blood.

*Crozier squeezes Le Vesconte's hand and tries to calm his heart. They'll need laudanum or whiskey to dull the pain. Need to warm him too.*

*Without a second thought, Crozier strips off his layers and presses his bare chest against the Lieutenant, focusing on his pulse points to warm his cardiovascular system.*

*Dundy's clothes are being cut through with medical scissors to get to the bullet wound, and he's shivering terribly. Crozier puts his hands on his neck— his hands are cold, but they are blazing fire compared to Dundy's icy skin— and leans to breath quick hot flashes of air onto Dundy's chest. He stays out of the surgeon's way and murmurs to Dundy in between breaths.*

Beidh tú ceart go leor. Tá mé anseo, a chroí. Beidh mé ag fanacht leat. Fan liom, ceart go leor? Hen, mo Henry, tá mé anseo.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*They don’t have time for this. Le Vesconte’s been bleeding for God knows how long, he needs to see a surgeon right then and there. With this in mind, Crozier doesn’t answer Hodgson’s questions right away, brushing past him and angling his shoulders to block Le Vesconte from view as he starts down the hold.*

Like I said, lieutenant, I don’t know.

Edward!

*He calls over his shoulder to @nedlittlest, harshly as he struggles down the Terror hold.*

Inform Lieutenant Hodgson what you saw, then check muster. Find who’s missing, who’s wounded. There will be questions from the men.

*Crozier glances down at the man in his arms, his bloodied hair and twisted limbs. His chest constricts. Dundy. Dundy would want George there when he woke. If he woke. Crozier looks up, a glimmer of pity in his face as he locks eyes with Hodgson.*

Join me in medical bay when you’re up to speed, Hodgson. I’ll get him safe.

HODGSON

*Crozier's voice carries over the wind, a roaring brogue. He strides forward across the ice, nearly to Terror's bow. In his arms he's carrying @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte, bleeding and frozen-through, and by his side walks a shell-shocked @nedlittlest. Crozier's face is grim, his posture ramrod straight.*

GET A DOCTOR. MEDICAL ASSISTANCE, NOW

george has been almost beside himself with worry ever since edward left the ship. he's keeping himself together for the sake of the men he's in charge of, but he hasn't stopped peering out at the ice through his spyglass, both hoping for and dreading the possibility of seeing something. he's seen more flashes of gunfire, but nothing else. he's tried to strain his ears for any noise - shouting, movement, anything - but it's impossible over the wind and the creaking, popping, ever-moving ice.

but then he sees something - men approaching! he peers through his spyglass - he's almost certain that that's @franciscrozierofficial (though how on earth he's up and walking already, george has no idea) and @nedlittlest - and there's someone in crozier's arms, a wounded man...! as they approach, he hears crozier shouting and immediately springs to action. he sends some men below decks to fetch medical assistance, then leans over the side of the ship, trying to make out who the injured man is...

Captain! what's happened?!!

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Adrenaline still burning strong, Crozier makes his way onto deck with only a few strides. His face is grim as a death mask. When he sees Hodgson, a flicker of relief goes through him, only to be stomped out again when @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte shifts in his arms. Crozier holds him close, not letting him go even now that they’ve reached the ship.*

Mutiny, George. Henry’s been shot.

*Crozier jerks his head towards the hatch.*

He needs medical attention. I don’t know what happened exactly but he— Lieutenant Le Vesconte is gravely injured and dangerously cold. We need to get him below deck. Now.

HODGSON

*Crozier's voice carries over the wind, a roaring brogue. He strides forward across the ice, nearly to Terror's bow. In his arms he's carrying @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte, bleeding and frozen-through, and by his side walks a shell-shocked @nedlittlest. Crozier's face is grim, his posture ramrod straight.*

GET A DOCTOR. MEDICAL ASSISTANCE, NOW

george has been almost beside himself with worry ever since edward left the ship. he's keeping himself together for the sake of the men he's in charge of, but he hasn't stopped peering out at the ice through his spyglass, both hoping for and dreading the possibility of seeing something. he's seen more flashes of gunfire, but nothing else. he's tried to strain his ears for any noise - shouting, movement, anything - but it's impossible over the wind and the creaking, popping, ever-moving ice.

but then he sees something - men approaching! he peers through his spyglass - he's almost certain that that's @franciscrozierofficial (though how on earth he's up and walking already, george has no idea) and @nedlittlest - and there's someone in crozier's arms, a wounded man...! as they approach, he hears crozier shouting and immediately springs to action. he sends some men below decks to fetch medical assistance, then leans over the side of the ship, trying to make out who the injured man is...

Captain! what's happened?!!

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier nearly stumbles. By sheer luck, he keeps his footing. He grits his teeth towards the outline of Terror in the distance.*

So it’s mutiny then.

*He doesn’t bother to hide the disgust in his voice. Irving. Christ, John Irving had been almost a son to him. And Tozer… he was a good man, Crozier knew. Crozier had thought. His man ticked through all their names, their histories, searching every interaction for some kind of sign.*

*In his arms, @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte makes a tired, wounded noise. Crozier has stopped rubbing at his back. Hefting him closer, Crozier resumes the gentle touch, even as his eyes are steely, fixed on the horizon.*

And Hodgson’s commanding Terror for now. Good. He’s well suited for a crisis. And you said the surgeons are ready, that’s good. That’s good.

*glancing briefly over at Lieutenant Little, Crozier presses his lips together before ducking his head against the cold.*

Not to much longer to the ship, Edward. You can make it.

*He doesn’t ask if Little is alright. He knows he isn’t. He also knows that if he coddles the lieutenant, telling him to take his time and cooing over his wounds like a nursemaid, they’ll all freeze. He also knows that if he presses Little for more information, the man’s likely to crack and crumble in the snow just the same.*

*So Crozier just keeps his eyes forward, his feet moving. Mind on survival, more than life.*

//continuing this thread with @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte

His forearms sting against the ice, and Ned, in his dazed state can’t tell if it’s from the fall or the cold. He gasps in pain as he watched the retreating sledge with one open eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of him. Something warm and wet trickles down his face, into his muttonchops, the. traces the line of his cheekbone. He tries to get another breath as he pushes himself back onto his knees.

The world swims. The sledge is dragged away. Ned wants to shout after them, but it won’t do any good.

The—The wounded, he rasps, and he has to clear his voice to get it to carry. Get the wounded back to the ship.

His voice sounds�� strange, as if his words were coming from a long way off. Slowly, Ned brings a hand to his ear, and his fingers come away tacky with blood, and he wipes it away surreptitiously. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t—

Seeing Lieutenant Le Vesconte laying on the ground some ways away, crumpled and somehow small in his great naval coat, Ned stumbles to his feet, swaying as he steps forward. His head aches like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he needs to know that no man has died on his watch.

Ned manages to make it to the other man, before dropping hard to his knees beside him. He pulls one of his gloves off and brings it to Le Vesconte’s face, and the skin is cool to the touch. Some relief comes to Ned when Le Vesconte’s head lolls to the side, limp, not stiff with death. His eyes scan the body, where the fabric of his greatcoat has been chewed by rifleshot, and he thanks God it was the only one as he slides a hand under his shoulders and the crook of his legs. The man needs medical attention which Ned cannot give him.

[franciscrozierofficial]

Walk alongside me, Lieutenant.

*He hopes that clear, direct orders will be enough for Edward to understand. He's always understood his first lieutenant to be somewhat of a neurotic- and now the poor man looks half beaten to death. Shaking all over like a small dog.*

*Crozier grunts, and once he makes sure that Edward's moving, starts walking again.*

Tell me everything you know. What happened, who was involved, who shot first. I don't want to go in blind onto Terror.

*he's about to say something along the lines of "the last thing we need now is a panic," before he remembers that in situations like these, thoughts like those are ones a captain keeps to himself.* *Instead, Crozier purposely softens his voice, though still keeping it loud above the wind.*

Lean on the cane lad. It'll help.

//continuing this thread with @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte

His forearms sting against the ice, and Ned, in his dazed state can’t tell if it’s from the fall or the cold. He gasps in pain as he watched the retreating sledge with one open eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of him. Something warm and wet trickles down his face, into his muttonchops, the. traces the line of his cheekbone. He tries to get another breath as he pushes himself back onto his knees.

The world swims. The sledge is dragged away. Ned wants to shout after them, but it won’t do any good.

The—The wounded, he rasps, and he has to clear his voice to get it to carry. Get the wounded back to the ship.

His voice sounds… strange, as if his words were coming from a long way off. Slowly, Ned brings a hand to his ear, and his fingers come away tacky with blood, and he wipes it away surreptitiously. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t—

Seeing Lieutenant Le Vesconte laying on the ground some ways away, crumpled and somehow small in his great naval coat, Ned stumbles to his feet, swaying as he steps forward. His head aches like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he needs to know that no man has died on his watch.

Ned manages to make it to the other man, before dropping hard to his knees beside him. He pulls one of his gloves off and brings it to Le Vesconte’s face, and the skin is cool to the touch. Some relief comes to Ned when Le Vesconte’s head lolls to the side, limp, not stiff with death. His eyes scan the body, where the fabric of his greatcoat has been chewed by rifleshot, and he thanks God it was the only one as he slides a hand under his shoulders and the crook of his legs. The man needs medical attention which Ned cannot give him.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*After a few dozen paces, Crozier realizes the crunching sound of boots on snow is no longer being echoed. He turns back— arms full he cannot wave, but he juts his chin out at Lieutenant Little, calling for him in a booming voice.*

Edward! Come on! Use the cane!

*He continues rubbing at Le Vesconte's frozen body, hoping to transfer at least some of his warmth. He waits impatiently for Little to catch up, eyebrows low with a tangle of worry, anger, and fear. Cold swirls around them.*

//continuing this thread with @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte

His forearms sting against the ice, and Ned, in his dazed state can’t tell if it’s from the fall or the cold. He gasps in pain as he watched the retreating sledge with one open eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of him. Something warm and wet trickles down his face, into his muttonchops, the. traces the line of his cheekbone. He tries to get another breath as he pushes himself back onto his knees.

The world swims. The sledge is dragged away. Ned wants to shout after them, but it won’t do any good.

The—The wounded, he rasps, and he has to clear his voice to get it to carry. Get the wounded back to the ship.

His voice sounds… strange, as if his words were coming from a long way off. Slowly, Ned brings a hand to his ear, and his fingers come away tacky with blood, and he wipes it away surreptitiously. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t—

Seeing Lieutenant Le Vesconte laying on the ground some ways away, crumpled and somehow small in his great naval coat, Ned stumbles to his feet, swaying as he steps forward. His head aches like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he needs to know that no man has died on his watch.

Ned manages to make it to the other man, before dropping hard to his knees beside him. He pulls one of his gloves off and brings it to Le Vesconte’s face, and the skin is cool to the touch. Some relief comes to Ned when Le Vesconte’s head lolls to the side, limp, not stiff with death. His eyes scan the body, where the fabric of his greatcoat has been chewed by rifleshot, and he thanks God it was the only one as he slides a hand under his shoulders and the crook of his legs. The man needs medical attention which Ned cannot give him.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier grunts under Le Vesconte’s weight initially, but he hefts his, bundling the man to his chest in a feeble attempt to keep him warm. He starts walking forward, his steps heavy with the combined weight. He feels no pain.*

*To Lieutenant Little, over his shoulder he says—*

Back to Terror. Regroup, tend to… if there’s any other wounded. We need to get him inside. Check muster, check with watch. See who’s unaccounted for.

Find those miserable sons of bloody fucking bitches and hunt them all down

*He doesn’t say that last part. He lets it hang in the air between him and the lieutenant as they pick their way forward through the ice. Crozier is rubbing the Dundy’s back, brushing off the snow, and imagining he could feel the man’s life force, tenuous and sharp against his fingertips. He cradles it, the feeling, murmurs desperately as he walks into the wind.*

You’ll be alright there, yeh love? Better than ever, you’ll be. You’re a strong one. My strong lad. My boy. Mo chroí, ná bás, fan liom oh god Henry. Fan liom, we’re almost there my heart, almost there.

//continuing this thread with @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte

His forearms sting against the ice, and Ned, in his dazed state can’t tell if it’s from the fall or the cold. He gasps in pain as he watched the retreating sledge with one open eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of him. Something warm and wet trickles down his face, into his muttonchops, the. traces the line of his cheekbone. He tries to get another breath as he pushes himself back onto his knees.

The world swims. The sledge is dragged away. Ned wants to shout after them, but it won’t do any good.

The—The wounded, he rasps, and he has to clear his voice to get it to carry. Get the wounded back to the ship.

His voice sounds… strange, as if his words were coming from a long way off. Slowly, Ned brings a hand to his ear, and his fingers come away tacky with blood, and he wipes it away surreptitiously. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t—

Seeing Lieutenant Le Vesconte laying on the ground some ways away, crumpled and somehow small in his great naval coat, Ned stumbles to his feet, swaying as he steps forward. His head aches like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he needs to know that no man has died on his watch.

Ned manages to make it to the other man, before dropping hard to his knees beside him. He pulls one of his gloves off and brings it to Le Vesconte’s face, and the skin is cool to the touch. Some relief comes to Ned when Le Vesconte’s head lolls to the side, limp, not stiff with death. His eyes scan the body, where the fabric of his greatcoat has been chewed by rifleshot, and he thanks God it was the only one as he slides a hand under his shoulders and the crook of his legs. The man needs medical attention which Ned cannot give him.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*He misjudged the distance of the ice. It seems like hours that Crozier can see the figures, huddled and crouched as though they were right in front of him— though they must've been distant when he fired his gun, too far away to hear his shouts*

*Finally, though, Crozier makes it to where to the remaining men stand, and h-*

*his eyes alight on the broken figure of Le Vesconte. A gasp is ripped from the older man's chest.*

Henry. No.

*He's by @nedlittlest's side in an instant, hands cradling Dundy's face, trying to see if he's alive. There's blood. There's so much blood.*

Stay with us, Hen. We'll get you home safe. I've got you, lad. I've got you.

Give him here.

*He directs this order to Lieutenant Little, attempting to hand off his cane as well. (His own injury is all forgotten, healed with adrenaline's half-starved touch.) As Little is the last senior officer standing, Crozier is itching to scream at him, ask what in the bloody fuck happened... but he sees the tremble in Little's arms, the bruises and the blood on his face.* *He stows away his anger, and concentrates on getting Le Vesconte in his arms, home, and back to the nearest shelter.*

//continuing this thread with @lieut-dundy-le-vesconte

His forearms sting against the ice, and Ned, in his dazed state can’t tell if it’s from the fall or the cold. He gasps in pain as he watched the retreating sledge with one open eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of him. Something warm and wet trickles down his face, into his muttonchops, the. traces the line of his cheekbone. He tries to get another breath as he pushes himself back onto his knees.

The world swims. The sledge is dragged away. Ned wants to shout after them, but it won’t do any good.

The—The wounded, he rasps, and he has to clear his voice to get it to carry. Get the wounded back to the ship.

His voice sounds… strange, as if his words were coming from a long way off. Slowly, Ned brings a hand to his ear, and his fingers come away tacky with blood, and he wipes it away surreptitiously. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t—

Seeing Lieutenant Le Vesconte laying on the ground some ways away, crumpled and somehow small in his great naval coat, Ned stumbles to his feet, swaying as he steps forward. His head aches like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he needs to know that no man has died on his watch.

Ned manages to make it to the other man, before dropping hard to his knees beside him. He pulls one of his gloves off and brings it to Le Vesconte’s face, and the skin is cool to the touch. Some relief comes to Ned when Le Vesconte’s head lolls to the side, limp, not stiff with death. His eyes scan the body, where the fabric of his greatcoat has been chewed by rifleshot, and he thanks God it was the only one as he slides a hand under his shoulders and the crook of his legs. The man needs medical attention which Ned cannot give him.

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Following the smoke and screaming, Crozier find the mutineers, with his head wound treated and no dizziness about him, he's sure-footed on the ice, even with the cane. His rush off of Erebus was noted by @lieutenantfairholme, but Crozier doesn’t wait to see if he follows.* *He moves with strong, single-minded determination.*

*He's within sight of the chaos when he sees red splattered on the snow banks. He pulls his pistol and screams out across the ice.*

LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS! THIS IS CAPTAIN FRANCIS CROZIER, MEN LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS RIGHT BLOODY NOW!

[franciscrozierofficial]

*from the deck of Erebus, Crozier can plainly see the smoke wafting up, some distance away from the ship. Telescope in hand, he peers out, trying to see if he can make out any of the figures.*

*Then he hears the gunfire. His blood turns to ice.*

Oh dear Mary Jesus and Joseph. No.

*Swearing a blue streak, he grabs a nearby sailor and sends a message to Dr. Goodsir, requesting medical attention on the ice.*

*Then he sets out, moving as quickly as he can with a pistol at his hip, fear in his veins, a polished cane stabbing through the snow with every lurching step.*

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier allows himself to be dressed in silence, only nodding and pursing his lips in a slight smile when need be. He's never gotten used to being waited on. With Jopson, his comfort with their master/steward relationship was hard-earned, even before sex came into the equation.*

*Captain Crozier is not a man who enjoys feeling like he needs to be helped.*

*He regards the ladder with a tight jaw and a calculating raised eyebrow, before letting his tension out in a sigh. He tugs down the cap Bridgens provided, and steels himself for pain.*

Thank you, Mr. Bridgens.

*he steps onto the ladder with his good leg, and shoots the steward a distracted but genuine smile.*

Erebus— and Fitzjeames— both— are lucky to have you.

*then, hooking his cane under one elbow and gripping tightly to the ladder ropes, Crozier hoists himself upwards, relying on his upper body strength alone. He grunts, arms straining, but manages to overcome the ladder with only two awkward hops.*

*His bad leg holds. Thanks to his calluosed hands being familiar to a rope, and thanks to his shoulder being used to carrying more than their fair share, Crozier makes it onto deck.*

*Privately thanking his lucky stars, Crozier makes a mental note to ask Jopson (if he is still lucid come evening) to massage his shoulders and arms.*

*hobbling along the corridor when he spies @jbridgens doing his daily tasks.*

Ah! Mr. Bridgens!

*Crozier’s mind is smarting with worry by now— something’s wrong with his Henry, he can feel it— and the silence from Fitzjames only serves to confirm his suspicious that something, whatever it is, is very wrong. He tries not to let his frustration cloud his features as he stops the Erebus steward.*

…Do you know where I could find Lieutenant Le Vesconte? It seems no one is answering their letters

[franciscrozierofficial]

*Crozier nods, deflating slightly. He knows that he was harsh with Fitzjames— and although he still believes the man needed some sense knocked into him— Crozier is glad he didn’t break the young man’s spirit. Only battered it a reasonable amount, and left to be cared for in Bridgens’ capable hands.*

*Crozier smiles at the steward, just slightly- letting softness show in his eyes.*

Good. I’m glad Jeames has such friends as you, Mr. Bridgens.

*he coughs, and glances at the hatch leading to the outside.*

One more thing…

…ah. ..would you help me into a spare overcoat, if one is available? I… most of my outer wear is still on Terror.

*hobbling along the corridor when he spies @jbridgens doing his daily tasks.*

Ah! Mr. Bridgens!

*Crozier’s mind is smarting with worry by now— something’s wrong with his Henry, he can feel it— and the silence from Fitzjames only serves to confirm his suspicious that something, whatever it is, is very wrong. He tries not to let his frustration cloud his features as he stops the Erebus steward.*

…Do you know where I could find Lieutenant Le Vesconte? It seems no one is answering their letters

[franciscrozierofficial]

…Ah.

*Crozier tries to reconcile this information with his personal knowledge of each of the men.*

*Agreements between men were fine, it was only natural for sailors to pair up— whether they be best mates or lovers- and quarreling was a natural recourse of those pairs. Nothing amiss there.*

*But still… something in the way Bridgens was looking at him, that polite disdain.. that, Crozier was used to, but not from this man…. And his accusations that Le Vesconte, Irving, and even Hodgson were somehow… disloyal? Crozier shakes his head at the thought.*

Well. I'll just have to see for myself out there. Be ready for the party when they return.

*He gives Bridgens a nod in thanks, and is about to move off to check on his men, but then… hesitates.*

*Is Fitzjames not one of his men too?*

...Ahm. Have you… That is, is Captain Fitzjeames… ...Has he been well, of late?

*hobbling along the corridor when he spies @jbridgens doing his daily tasks.*

Ah! Mr. Bridgens!

*Crozier’s mind is smarting with worry by now— something’s wrong with his Henry, he can feel it— and the silence from Fitzjames only serves to confirm his suspicious that something, whatever it is, is very wrong. He tries not to let his frustration cloud his features as he stops the Erebus steward.*

…Do you know where I could find Lieutenant Le Vesconte? It seems no one is answering their letters