Francis Crozier

                                                  TerrorCaptain

                                      Indi RP Blog for AMC’s The Terror’s

                                        Captain Francis Crozier

                                                Multiverse, crossover                                                    and OC friendly

                                                Tolerated by Cara

what's in my bag

Tagged by Governmentofficial Tagging @brassandblue (Thomas) ^^, and anyone else who'd like to do this

The Walk - Cheryl/Francis

Cheryl nodded, pulling her hood up to shield her face and trudging through the snow by the captain’s side.  She meant to stay by Francis’s side as much as possible; he was literally the only one she could trust.  She hadn’t met any of the other sailors, and she was still a little bit afraid of Lady Silence.

She tried to ignore the stares from the men.  Pulling her coat tightly around her body, she reminded herself that perhaps the future wasn’t set in stone.  She never meant to change history when she traveled, of course; but the fact that she was here might mean the difference between life and death for these men.

“Do we have tents or anything?” she whispered to Francis as they walked.  “To sleep in?”  @terrorcaptain​

Francis was aware of the stares from the other men, trying hard to come up with a way to explain away her presence but he was quite sure they had already worked out she was a woman. So what protective measures could he take? To stay awake all night as a guard? Could he trust enough of his men to set up shifts? There would be a mutiny if they believed he had been hiding her the whole time. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts with her questions. “Yes, they’re in the boats,” he explained, pointing to the canvas rolls that were tucked up in the nearest one as they walked by. “Everything we need is in the boats.” Food, medicine, maps, weapons. He lead the way to the front of the group where one of the lifeboats was set in front of the others, a lieutenant was busy securing the ropes so they could pull the boats. “You’ll pull this one along side me, it’s hard work but it will throw any suspicions out of the window.” Hopefully his men would be too tired to pay her much thought after a long haul across the unforgiving landscape ahead of them. 

( @terrorcaptain​ wrote: “We’re all human, aren’t we ? every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.” )

Harry Peglar could think of one or two lives not worth saving, just from the top of his head. It all made sense now, in some strange way, and it turned his stomach more to think that Hickey might have done that to Irving on purpose and then try to turn on the captain, again. He knew because John Bridgens had told him, as he had taken the place of Henry Lloyd in the sick bay tent. 

He glanced over at the small group of Hickey, Aylmore, Male, Manson, and Hodgeson. Hodgeson was right to look defeated and devastated, his career was over and that’s what he deserved. He tried to hide it, but he was sure the contempt he felt for all of them showed on his face. “Every life, sir?” he asked and turned back to look at his Captain. “I’m sorry Captain, but -” no, no he wasn’t sorry about what he thought. If flogging had been enough of punishment he would have supported that. They were all going to die, sooner or later, more and more fell severely ill or exhausted by each day. It was sad and frightening, but some deserved to be put down rather than kept alive. In this case, he thought about Mr Hickey and his band of followers specifically.

Soon they would reach the lead Little and his group had spotted, soon they would be back on the water and hopefully be on their way. Hopefully, someone would make it out of here alive, but he knew it wouldn’t be him. “What are you planning to do with them then, sir?” he asked and nodded in the direction of the formerly separated group that now, suspiciously enough, were allowed to pull a boat together. “With Mr Hickey and the others, I mean?”

Crozier was surprised at Peglar’s response. Every life, yes. Or so he had thought until he nodded in the direction of Hickey and his band of brothers. A short sigh escaped him but he was sure to rein it in as best he could. He had his reservations about allowing them to return but if it meant more supplies could be hauled a little further then so be it. He just hoped that no one noticed that the mutineers were pulling items that were not priority items. Then again he had the excuse that they were not fully trusted yet with such things. 

“We can only do our best to see we all have our chance at surviving. They returned,” Francis was sure not to look at the other men, not wanting them to think he was conspiring nor for them to go after Peglar if they decided to make another move. “So they should be allowed to walk with us.” He smiled his kind smile but even he could not quite hide the slight hesitations around what his plans actually were. 

“Though they should walk in front,” over the thin ice first, if he was to lose any more of his men in the perilous conditions that lay ahead, best it be the ones that he cared least for. Of course, he could not say that despite Peglar having his confidence. “Help us to keep an eye on them that way, just in case.” He trusted Hickey about as far as he could throw him, the others were quite laterally being thrown in the same boat. 

“One of us has to be, sir,” he joked, feeling comfortable in his right to do so while it was just the two of them, still doing their respective jobs. Captain Crozier, to him, felt more like a realist than a pessimist. He had seen the maps, he had taken great care to avoid the maps when he served Captain Crozier his dinners or his drinks. And every time he did so he couldn’t help but to take a glance at the maps and feel a bit of wonder at how great the world actually was and couldn’t help but wonder if the poor child who had to hunt for his own food and take care of his addictive mother, would actually have believed that this would be his life further down the line. Sailing, washing clothes, mending them, serving dinners all while being part of an expedition of this size. It did sound like a bitter-sweet fantasy he was sure he would have loved to dream if he’d known such an opportunity had existed.

“Better safe than sorry then?” Crozier was the expert, not Jopson. He had only been on one expedition before and he trusted his captain. But with three of them at command at the same time, it was turning into a downright messy soup and he feared for the time when they would have to clean it up. Maybe by then, it would be too late and everything would be burnt and beyond saving. But let’s hope it didn’t come to that. “I think it’s actually eight years, sir. If rations are stretched very thin,” that just sounded worse, so hopefully, they could be done before they hit the five-year mark. And for the men on Erebus to stop wasting all that food by throwing all those dinners the officers were invited to. It felt reckless, to say the least. “But yes, it should be plenty, as long as there are not too many misgivings,” he agreed.

The steward halted when the question was asked. He’d never given his opinion about it, he’d never been asked because he was just a steward. It wasn’t his job and he was well aware of what his job entitled and didn’t. He looked back over at the captain for a moment before he folded up the linen on the bed and carried them back into the room. “I would do what was best for my men in the end. I would find a bay and shelter for winter to pass before moving on. Better safe than sorry,” he repeated his own words where he stood in front of the captain. His eyes flicked to the maps on the table for a moment and his mouth opened like he wanted to say something before it closed again. It wasn’t his place to say. Not without permission. “May I?” he asked and pointed to the table.

Better safe than sorry. Crozier believed that wiser words had just come from Jopson than had been spoken around that same table earlier that night. He nodded to himself and sipped at his glass again, picturing what the next few months might bring if the weather signs were to be believed. Laughing a little to himself at how far the supplies could be stretched if needs be, yes he supposed Jopson would have looked into that and figured it out. “Let’s both hope we only need one at most,” eight years would be too long out in the ice, he hoped he was wrong. 

When Jopson gave his answer, Crozier was sure give him his full attention, wondering if he was saying such because he had hinted at what it was he wanted to do. Nevertheless he thought it was likely true that Jopson would do the same if he were in a position to chose, glory was not a worthy justification to hubris. Still, Francis nodded his approval at his answer, “We might have been in happy agreement if you were able to comment this evening.” Then he nodded for him to join him and look over the maps. Noticing he had chosen not to say something though and after he made sure to put the maps in the right direction for him he tried to catch his eye. 

Pirates were without doubt, the worst type of people in Francis’ opinion. So coming face-to-face with apparently the worst of the pirates was not something that he had ever intended to happen and yet, there they were. He supposed that the pirate captain was something of the poster child for piracy, from his attitude right down to his choice of boots, a higher class than most others but undoubtedly a menace nonetheless. 

Francis had not set out to encounter him and he had wished he had been less keen to investigate and much keener to turn a blind eye just once. He supposed that was too late now. 

Ha! Now that was not something that was commonly said! Mycroft was hardly a man known for kindness. Patience, perhaps, but only because it benefitted him to bide his time.

Still, it was different with Francis. For him, Mycroft could be kind. It was his own special branch of kindness, but that certainly seemed to be good enough for the other man and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly grateful. It was nice to be able to  both be himself and be appreciated.

“Some people would suggest you should talk to a professional about this.” Some people. Not Mycroft. He didn’t particularly believe in the merits of discussing one’s issues with a professional or otherwise. Still, if Francis thought differently…

“I can afford it for you, if you would like to see somebody. It would be no issue.” And while the statement was likely obvious - Mycroft hardly made a secret of his money - the kind thing to do seemed to be to ensure that it had been said. That was, the offer was clearly there on the table and, theoretically, it would be less awkward to accept it.

As ever Mycroft was right, it might have been wiser if he did go and speak with a professional about what had happened and how his thoughts of the trauma often took over his emotions so completely that he could wallow in self pity for days if it weren’t for Mycroft. Yet, part of him did not want to reveal all to a stranger, there had been some terrible scenes he had witnessed and the terror of a mutiny was forever on his mind only for him to have failed to bring anyone else home with him... no, he did not want to talk about it. 

“Maybe one day, but not anytime soon,” he answered seriously, “I know I should speak with someone, but I am still not ready.” Francis wondered if he would ever allow himself to talk about it all properly one day, it was supposed to be much easier to lock such things away though wasn’t it? He was just not as good as bottling it up as he thought he was. Of course it was the opposite of what he would have told his crew if there was an issue, Francis preferred an open door policy while they were walking, did that make him a hypocrite? Yes probably, but it would be different speaking to someone who did now know or truly understand the circumstances. 

Fish couldn’t help but let out a boastful burst of laughter at his reaction. Justice still had common sense after all! But he was right, water was seeping through the door, which meant that staying aboard the ship promised nothing but certain death. Sheathing her sword, she walked towards him to lend him a hand. The irony of it all was not lost on her as she slammed her shoulder against the door. 

“Think your obedient crew waited for you?” she grinned, as if this whole situation didn’t worry her all that much, “or did they set sails without a captain?”

After a few tries, the door was bolted open, water rushing inside the cabin. Escaping would prove tricky, but she hoped the life boats were untouched, as most of her old crew was now either dead or made prisoner. 

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she taunted him before leaving the room, water up to her knees. 

Francis just knocked the door again with his shoulder, but let out a slightly winded “My crew is more likely to have stayed than yours.” Spat a little viciously but he also hoped his ship was away from harm too. There did not seem to be much relief when the door did open, cold water rushing through to greet them was not easy to wade through. 

He huffed at her response but kept pace with her as they tried to leave the ship, at one point shifting the remains of cabin doors out of their way so they could both get out. Glad to see the sky, Francis walked out onto the deck, relived that it was still dry and they were not so far sunk that the pull of the ship would kill them both. His ship had indeed moved out of the way, and it appeared to some mild annoyance and horror that it was only he and the damned pirate left aboard. 

How Fitzjames would dread to see most of their fallen men. The thought of seeing Stanley’s charred ghost or any man who fell victim to the Tunnbaq made him shiver. An odd thought since he was a ghost himself now. 

“Yes, I suppose this can replace the Chinese sniper story.” His smile was small but it revealed his scurvy-ridden gums. “…Or Bird Shit Island.” He’s told those stories so much, it now began to bore the dead Captain despite him picturing them as a grand adventure. 

But, were they? 

With that, Francis couldn’t help but laugh though there was something of a more apologetic look on his face at the recall. “Yes, I can imagine this one might overshadow Bird Shit Island.” 

Attending or not, he would still be able to listen in. there was a perfect spot out in the corridor just outside the cabin where it was easy to eavesdrop. Not that he *ever* did such a thing. Unless it was something important, but he figured it just might not be worth it to correct the commander, no matter how he felt about the subject or his achievements. Those emotions were his own problem to deal with and it would also remove him from the view he had found himself starting to appreciate, which would be a shame. That too was his own problem to deal with. “I do believe I shall keep my mouth shut, sir. Or now,” he added with a little smirk, a hint of mischief playing in his eyes.

As the captain spoke his eyes were on the rag he had just folded and placed on the table, absently tidying up a corner to make it perfectly squared and not lopsided while the thoughts raced through his mind. Mostly what would become of them if they got stuck, and for how long before the ice melted. Preferably by summer, of course, why wouldn’t the ice melt by summer? But down south in the antarctic, the thick ice never melted, even in summer, so why would it be any different from the north? “Well,“ he said, another smile plastered on his face as he looked back at the captain again. “I know for a fact there is food to last us for five years on board the ships, it can’t be longer than that if we get stuck, can it?” his head tilted slightly, it was an attempt at lifting the tension, just a little bit. If he was allowed to choose, he hoped for smooth sailing.

He picked up the rag again and looked around the cabin, he should take those linens with him when he left and return with fresh ones and the rest of the Captain’s things that he had washed and neatly folded earlier. “I couldn’t help but overhear, sir,” he started as he approached the captain’s sleeping nook to do just that. “Some of the officers of Erebus, they spoke about Baffin bay?” he looked back over his shoulder at him. “For temporary shelter.” he clarified before he undressed the bed with practised hands and motions.

Wise enough to know that Jopson undoubtedly heard everything that was said in his cabin, Francis only nodded and smiled his response to Jopson’s promise that he would keep his mouth shut for now. It was much easier to explain how his steward knew so much while he was present in the room than when he was not. The careful and reassuring reminder of their abundant supplies earned a grateful nod of its own, though Francis would like to believe they would be back home long before the five year mark, he also knew it was perfectly possible that it would not be the case. “Ever the optimist, Jopson,” he commented back with a little smile. 

When Baffin Bay was brought up though Francis had to think for a moment on what Jopson might have heard and understood, not wanting to patronise the man with information he already had. “Baffin Bay is over 260,000 square miles, I should hope we would find a suitable location for shelter there.” He explained thoughtfully, genuinely considering their options. “The further South the better, but that would cost us time and would prevent us from sailing on in complete hubris in case we might find the passage before the ice sets.” He realised he was being so very negative there and stalled himself with another sip from his drink. 

The Walk - Cheryl/Francis

Her mouth set into a grim line as the captain spoke.  She knew that hunger could change a man.  However, she was more concerned with other needs a man might have, other than hunger.  Her eyes scanned the men.  Was it her imagination that a few seemed to be glaring at her?  She hoped it was just her imagination.

She didn’t know Farilholme, but she did know that no one was out looking for them at the moment.  Her mind spun, trying to dredge up any information she could remember on the Terror.  “Um….there will be people looking for you eventually, just so you know,” she whispered shakily.  “Someone named, uh….McClintock?  Will find a note you’ll leave him on King William Island.  So there will be people looking.  I–I believe Lady Franklin is financing the expeditions….”

She nodded slowly, her stomach in knots.  “Yeah, I’m ready,” she muttered, her face a bit gray.  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”  @terrorcaptain​

Of course Lady Franklin would be trying to send help to find Sir John. Francis found himself smiling at the thought of the admiralty quaking in her presence for the strength of her personality alone. At least people were looking for them and though King William island was not as far as Francis was intending to lead the men, it at least meant they would get that far. “That is reassuring.” He was sure to at least comment, even if they were apparently unsuccessful. 

With her confirmation she was ready, Francis moved to lead the way from the great cabin and towards the ladders. Many of the men were busy picking what items of their belongings they were going to take with them, a few were certainly curiously staring at the new face that followed the Captain. 

But, that brought up another question. If Sir John was a ghost lingering by Erebus then why had no one seen him? Unless someone was keeping quiet about it but Fitzjames had never met their leader in a ghostly fashion. In his dreams yes, but nothing more. 

A horrifying thought came over the ghost. Could Sir John be trapped under the ice, experiencing nothing but the pain of the cold water as he desperately tried to swim to the surface. It made Fitzjames’ ghostly aura spike. If he was alive then the hairs of the back of his neck would be standing on end. 

“I’m glad to still be here, Francis. Even if I’m dead.” He paused. “I don’t think I’m ready to see what happens beyond the veil.”

Studying the aura spike, Francis too found himself thinking of Sir John and just what might have become of him. A pang of guilt emerged for the thought of him being trapped by the ships with Doctor Stanley! And poor Doctor McDonald. 

Then for what Fitzjames said, he thought he might have figured out how it was the man still lingered. He simply was not ready to go beyond? 

“I’m sure the commander would like nothing more,” he commented, unaware that the captain had the same thought but if he had observed the same man as captain Crozier it was very clear. The commander thought very highly of himself, that’s for sure.

When he had first heard the stories he had to admit he had been amazed and also a little jealous. He had accomplished and done so much and all he had ever done was take care of his mother and his brother and been on one voyage going south rather than north or to war. The privilege of birthrights and wealth, he supposed. But then the stories were repeated and some details continued to change and it was now a game he played with himself, trying to spot them and catalogue them in his mind while he stood idle from time to time. “We’ll hear them again soon enough again, I’m sure, sir.”

A small, almost sly smirk crossed his lips but his eyes were hidden as he looked down at the table and his hair fell in front of his face before he caught it and pushed the strand back behind his ear. “I would find much more pleasure in correcting him on his ever-changing accounts, sir.” Sir John might find it amusing to have his fellow captain’s steward correct his commander, some of the officers too, he bet, but the commander might not. “I do, however, don’t believe it would be much appreciated,” his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, the smirk still barely visible and his white-gloved hands now placed behind his back. His stance was much more relaxed than when the other officers were around. “How far do you think we’ll reach before the ice gets too thick to sail through if we don’t find a bay?” His question was more serious this time, but there was also curiosity in his eyes. He wanted to learn, and he wanted to get a peak into his captain’s mind again as he did during dinner.

Chuckling to himself at Jopson being on the same page as himself, Francis stole another careful sip of his drink as he nodded along in his agreement, smiling as he went. He grunted at the notion of hearing them again, though he knew it was likely very true that at the next dinner they would hear the tales again. He despised glory hunters though he was admittedly begrudgingly impressed with the Commander’s achievements. As ever it seemed as if Jopson had coaxed him out of his misery and made recovery from the dinner much faster as Francis laughed for what followed. “No I think you would be banned from attending at any dinners if you did, though I for one would enjoy it very much.” 

With the shift in his tone, Francis’ smile slid from his face though it was not in a bad way. He couldn’t blame Jopson for wanting to know and in truth he did not think it right to hide it either. He let out a short sigh, more in thought than frustration as his eyes turned towards where his log was waiting for him to fill out the day’s events. 

“With the floes as they are? I can’t see us making it many miles more before we are using dynamite and pick axes. I would rather we turn to a bay before we get to that point.” But they would not and Francis knew that all too well, “But for the time of year and the weather signs, I fear it would not be too long after that we would find ourselves potentially at the mercy of pack ice.” A terrifying thought on its own but more so when he knew his warnings were not being heeded. “I hope it does not come to that.” And again he made to take a much larger sip, experience had taught him much, but it had left its marks. 

The problem with feelings was that logic so rarely applied to them. No matter how much Mycroft may attempt to claim otherwise, he still knew that this was the case. That made the scenario tricky. He could easily point out to Francis that he could not change the past but what was the point when he also knew that it would not have any effect.

“I don’t know. Does your misery have a better solution than my logic does?” Mycroft instead shot back. He felt that it was a fair question. After all, sulking about the past would do nothing. Francis surely knew this, thus he aware away that his way of dealing with his feelings was not particularly efficient either. 

“If it is going to help you, I can inform you that those that you feel you have wronged most likely would not blame you for surviving when they did not.” It felt safe to assume that the issue was that Francis had lived while his colleagues had not. Generally, people did not tend to concern themselves about the past when they had hurt somebody that deserved it. They felt guilt because they had hurt somebody they cared for or were responsible for, whether purposely or not.

“To be quite honest, I would assume a friend would be more upset at your sadness than your happiness. It could be argued that you are doing the past a disservice by not fully embracing your continued life.”

Francis snorted a laugh at the response, he had deserved that he supposed and it was very typically Mycroft to shoot such a thing back. At least it broke his mood for at least a moment and did shift his attention onto what Mycroft had to say rather than his own misery. 

It made sense what he said. For a moment Francis just sat in silence, nodding to himself as he turned his gaze away from Mycroft to think on those words. His eyes did turn a little watery as he thought of the faces he had not brought home with him and the friends who would tell him off for wallowing in self pity about surviving of all things to be upset about. Mycroft as ever, managed to reason him out of his self loathing. 

“You are right,” he conceded, “they would be angry in my wasting my survival in self pity.” He brought his gaze back onto Mycroft, now at least more apologetic than the last look. “I am sorry that I snapped. You know you mean a great deal to me, I just fall into my own mind sometimes.” And push people away.