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[lieutenantsteward]

[Why not try out this journal magic?]

Since this place has seen fit to provide us with an easier method of communicating messages to the entire ship, I thought it best to take advantage. Breakfast is served in the galley. I will not provide food for every meal, but there is fresh bread and I even managed to mix together a rudimentary jam from the dried fruit. The tins contain food that can be heated, but I would warn you against using it more than you need to. We should rely mostly on the dried foods.

[Why? Well, because of reasons that Jopson never really understood but knew were bad.]

Comments

[kingsroads]

Does this ship have drink? Obviously I will not indulge during breakfast, but there's nothing wrong with a bottle or two of wine with dinner.

[ there's a pause before, not really knowing if Jopson knows who sent this message or not, Strange decides to sign it. ]

J. Strange

[lieutenantsteward]

[Damn. He's still alive. Thankfully, he doesn't have to worry about facial expressions through text.]

We have rum and gin. [Not mentioning the stores of whiskey. Nope.]

[kingsroads]

Pity. Still, I suppose I can make do with the rum.

[ there's an idle little scribble on the page as Strange thinks. ]

Are there fish this far north? I can attempt to catch some so we'll at least have fresh meat.

[lieutenantsteward]

There is no game. Not that we have seen. If there are fish, they are below the ice.

[kingsroads]

Then I must simply remove a portion of the ice. Do you have a spyglass? I doubt I'll be able to see the fish with the naked eye from the ship's deck.

[lieutenantsteward]

Sir, I fear you use the word "simply" too freely. The Captain may have a glass. I do not have need of one.

[kingsroads]

What, really? How odd. All ships should have a spyglass.

[ says the person who's got a bare-bones knowledge of how the Navy works! ]

[lieutenantsteward]

[Jopson would love to bury you in the ice right now, Strange.]

That is not an essential part of my duties. As I said, the Captain may have one.

[kingsroads]

[ welcome to dealing with Strange's bullshit, Jopson ]

What are your duties then?

[bestsir]

[ When Harry sees Jopson's message, he makes a beeline straight for the galley. Not so much because he's hungry—though he is—but first, he's decided to not put off talking to Jopson any further, and secondly, also he wants to tell him about the cans. ]

[lieutenantsteward]

[Jopson hears the sound of footsteps in the galley and leans around the stove where he is kneading the next day's bread.] Be with you in a moment.

[bestsir]

[ Harry clears his throat softly. ]

Jops—er. Lieutenant Jopson.

[ The smallest upward inflection at the end there. When he'd last seen Jopson, he'd only worn that rank for a little while. ]

[lieutenantsteward]

[He knows that sound. He knows that voice. Crozier had told him of the man's arrival, but to have his physical presence around was too much. He did not know the details of his fate, only that he had met his end. Much as Jopson himself had.

He cleaned his hands with a towel and ducked around to face him properly.] Mr. Goodsir. I had heard you were aboard. Please, sit.

[He had a pot of water boiling for tea, the steward's medicine, and poured the man a cup. He wasn't feeling much like a Lieutenant, third class or otherwise, but the ship didn't need another leader. It needed a steward, especially now.]

[bestsir]

I—oh. Thank—thank you.

[ Harry does as he's told and sits, accepting the cup with a murmur of thanks. He takes a sip to decide what to say, and then: ]

It's good to see you, Lieutenant. Even in these strange circumstances.

[lieutenantsteward]

[A nod. Perhaps a bit too quickly, but how does one address another person after death? Lieutenant, though, hit the ear wrong. It felt fake. He was a Lieutenant when they needed it, when he needed it. But he didn't need that now, and it seemed silly, like he was dressing up in clothes that were just a little too big.]

Yes. I should say the same. When the Captain told me that you were here, it was...a comfort.

[bestsir]

[ Harry's insistence on using Jopson's field rank is less to do with any kind of formality and more intended as a sign of respect. Harry had always liked the man, and had been genuinely pleased at the promotion. It was, he often felt, the last good thing that had happened to anyone on the expedition. ]

Likewise. I was ... most surprised. To meet him and to know that you were here as well.

[ Because Harry is still not entirely unconvinced that this is Hell. ]

[lieutenantsteward]

[Jopson is also convinced that he is in hell, and is still slightly under the impression that Crozier had left him. As much as the man tried to explain it, Jopson still saw what he saw in those last moments. But Goodsir does not fit the hellish type. In fact, Jopson made it his job to know what was happening on the expedition to best help his Captain through his more vulnerable moments, and Goodsir had struck him as a decent type. More than decent, even. But he doesn't know how to address any of that, so he sticks with what he knows.]

Strange that we are the only three. [A pause.] What can I do for you, Mr. Goodsir? Are you hungry?

[goingtobeunwell]

[Crozier's just as curious about this journal-magic, so he decides to conduct an experiment.]

Jopson? Tea, please?

Pfft, he is too efficient for words!

[lieutenantsteward]

[Instead of replying, Jopson turns up to his Captain's cabin, pouring the tea for him without a word.]

he's a peach

[goingtobeunwell]

[Crozier smirks to himself. A success! He closes his book and sets it aside.]

Was it my handwriting, or the fact that you were called in the first place?

Re: he's a peach

[lieutenantsteward]

I would know your writing anywhere, Captain. But you are the only one who would call me Jopson and ask for what you want. Most of the others seem uncomfortable or unused to my help.

[He began to tidy the cabin as he spoke, tsking softly if he found something out of place.]

[goingtobeunwell]

[Crozier left his tea untouched. He watched Jopson as he moved around the cabin, oddly back in his element.]

Did you feed yourself?

[lieutenantsteward]

Of course. [He fixed the linens idly.]

[goingtobeunwell]

Did you really?

[He reached for the tea, pausing in front of his lips.]

[lieutenantsteward]

Yes, Captain. [He knew that he couldn't take care of his Captain until he took care of himself, so he had eaten earlier, though it seemed such a silly thing to do in hell.]