(Untitled)
DATE: December 1st, night [backdated]
CHARACTER(S): Jonathan Hollom and OPEN
SUMMARY: The wagons are circled, watches are being kept, and one man is greatly disturbed.
LOCATION: Around the campfire.
WARNINGS: Sad, sad little mouse inside.
FORMAT: Whichever.
( And my mast be turned about... )
CHARACTER(S): Jonathan Hollom and OPEN
SUMMARY: The wagons are circled, watches are being kept, and one man is greatly disturbed.
LOCATION: Around the campfire.
WARNINGS: Sad, sad little mouse inside.
FORMAT: Whichever.
( And my mast be turned about... )
It isn't long before he does. For some reason Tom can't shake the reminder of the days before. It brings his spirit down considerably, he still felt guilty when it cropped up in his mind. Usually he would not have time to be so indulgent to contemplation; ship life was too busy. But here there were lulls that were quiet, dark and cold. Perfect breeding ground for thinking.
He'd been keeping a closer watch on Hollom as it was. It seemed like ever since Jon had shot the bear that very day, he'd retreated back from what small difference in how he acted. Tom wondered if he felt badly for it. He shouldn't, it wouldn't make sense if he did....not to Tom at least. Tom told himself if the skittishness continued, that he would make it stop. Whatever bothered him. Before it had been an entire ship of paranoid sailors with a witch-hunt on their minds. Here, they weren't so isolated. Tom could do something before it was too late. Notice something before it was too late.
"At the next landmark it would be a good idea to sell the skin. I can't imagine that would be worth little."
For now he would just talk. Attempt to keep Hollom occupied in that sense. When the man's watch would crop up, Tom would keep an eye on him.
Maybe he was being too cautious, but he'd learned that caution was better than assumption recently.
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Routine. Automatic.
The paranoid sailors with their witch-hunt had left a mark on Hollom, had shaken him to his core. His dead gun crew, Warley, the Acheron and her surprises, the stilling of the wind... And that was only on the Surprise. The latest ship to be beset by woe when he came aboard.
How long would he be tolerated? Would it take two months, as it had on the Surprise, for the connections to be made and the whispers to start? Or would these events spur it?
...If others from his ship were here, everyone would know already, and he would have been left behind long ago. Or worse. Perhaps that would have been for the better...
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"That choice is yours Jon, not mine. I didn't kill it."
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And it was just that-- a suggestion. That Tom ask if it had any further purpose. It was not his place, his voice seemed to say. It was the place of a senior officer. Even though a few days ago, he'd laughed with this man over the idea of naming the goat they brought along after one of the stubborn young midshipmen on the Surprise.
Whatever humour Hollom had shown then seemed to have fled.
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"Hollom -," ugh. This was more difficult than he anticipated.
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But his name made the words die in his throat. "Yes, sir?"
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Stupid question. As if Hollom would even answer him with anything more than a 'Yes, sir' 'no, sir.' What was he expecting, honestly?
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He waited for a moment, considered the night's darkness before him. Then, quietly, carefully, he ventured, "Sir? Might I-- might I ask a favour, sir?"
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He didn't dare look at Pullings. He felt the weight of his words but knew that it would mean little to his superior. But he needed to know that she would be safe, whatever came.
"I... promised to protect her. If... if anything happens to me, sir... May I trust that... that you will keep her safe, sir?"
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Even with those words, though, he could not let the matter drop. "But anything might happen, sir. Especially here. In this... strange place. If... If something did, sir..."
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