Cornelius Hickey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spotsalone) wrote2025-04-11 07:04 pm
spotsalone) wrote2025-04-11 07:04 pm
Entry tags:
angelo and the hickster's post-belle arctic adventures
mutineers:
- Sgt. Solomon Tozer, marine (T)
- Magnus Manson, AB (T)
- Lt. George Hodgson, lieutenant (T)
"Pvt." Thomas Armitage, gunroom steward (T)- mauled by the Tuunbaq- Charles Des Voeux, mate (E)
Pvt. James Daly, marine (T)- mauled by the Tuunbaq- Pvt. William Pilkington, marine (E)
- John Diggle, cook (T)
Edmund Hoar, captain's steward (E)- throw into the water by the TuunbaqHarry Goodsir, surgeon (E)- escaped with Silna after the Tuunbaq attack- THE STUPID FOX
boat boys:
- John Lane, boatswain (T)
- Thomas Terry, boatswain (E)
- Robert Thomas, mate (T)
- James Rigden, coxswain (E)
- John Sullivan, captain of the maintop (E)
- Thomas Work, AB (T)
- Robert Ferrier, AB (T)
- and perhaps eventually lt. little depending on how much of our minds we lose along the way
angelo cr chart
timeline:
september 1st, 1948; camp on the pack
It confounds Goodsir, trying to imagine just how Hickey has accomplished it. He is half-tempted to suspect they have all fallen under some kind of hypnosis, so unbelievable is the idea that Hickey has, from one moment to another, procured a wealth of supplies. And what supplies! Nothing like the tinned food that had been equally sustaining and draining them. Instead they'd been presented with food fit for a Gentleman's Club, including fresh fruit to ward off the scurvy that had long begun devastating them.
And along with the tastes they'd almost forgotten, Hickey had brought a young man. Angelo Sauper is mysterious in his origins. The way the mutineers glance at him when they think he's not looking reminds Goodsir of the way the men would sneak to the hold to catch glimpses of Silence. But Sauper is no Silence - he had none of her grace and restrained dignity. Instead Sauper reminds him of Hickey in many ways. Both of them seem to have become rotten early on, now hellbent on spitting on the world they believe has wronged them. They are dangerous men. The fact that they seem to be more wrapped up in each other than anything else is only a small comfort here. Before long, Hickey's newfound power will become explosive. It's a feeling that keeps nagging at Goodsir, and he keeps on observing until he can't anymore.
It's the remains of Terror Camp that spur him into action. The charred remains of men he once knew have brought their little group into a melancholy mood, but it dissipates as soon as Hickey (naturally it is Hickey) brings word that there's been a thaw. They will cross the breaking pack and reach the boats, which are still manned by living skeleton crews. They will complete the passage, Hickey says, and something twists up and dies inside Goodsir.
Whatever may come, he cannot conscience allowing the rot that befell them here to return to the homeland, for a Hickey lauded with grand accomplishments to spread it and carry it further and further. He cannot allow it because Hickey is unforgivable, those who follow him without question are unforgivable, and because there is no telling what further dark magics he would conjure in the future.
As soon as they step onto the ice, Goodsir knows what he must do. In a strange twist of fate, it feels like his very own miracle. His feet land on the blinding snow and he feels... he feels. The sensation of foreboding that had overcome him when parting from Lt. Gore at Victory Point had been but a mere distant echo of the feeling that overcomes him now. He can recognize it now. The Tuunbaq is here.
All horror Goodsir had once felt at the thought of the creature has long passed. Now he and it are one, united by a simple desire: to free this world of those who should have never come to taint it.
In his little safe haven, his lonely medical tent, Goodsir begins sorting through his cures - no, his chemicals. A grim resolve fills every muscle in his body. Hickey has forced his hand, turned him into something abhorrent... and because of it, his once-pounding heart beats oddly steady as he considers his options. ]
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They are making good progress at least. The pack is easier to traverse than Angelo had feared. Though the floes are coming apart, they are of big enough size that they are entirely stable - they can be walked and camped on without issue. As long as one doesn't look at the leads for too long, it is easy to forget they're not on solid land. For all his faults, De Voeux is doing a good job keeping track of the ships' ever-changing position and adjusting their course accordingly. When he says they have only another day and a half of to go, Angelo does actually believe him. Anticipation is rising by the minute, and it's making him fussier.
Thus, Angelo is in the middle of adding markers to his little notebook, frown deepening, when Mr. Diggle fires up the soyer stove for their increasingly flavorless evening meal. Burning material is another thing they are running low on now. There were a lot of books on the boat, the pages of which make for an excellent fire starter, but their library is dwindling. Today's offering to the flames is a copy of Leviathan, if Angelo recalls correctly. It catches fire dutifully, but this time it's not followed by the equally dutiful sizzling of flames. Instead, there is a billowing of smoke and a shout from Mr. Diggle.
The cook stumbles backwards, coughing violently, but Angelo doesn't care about that. The smoke, pungent and biting in smell, is spreading rapidly through their camp. Discarding his little notebook haphazardly, Angelo pulls up his collar to safeguard his nose and lets his eyes dart through the haze. He wants an explanation, and for that anyone will do, but more importantly, he needs to locate Hickey. ]
What is going on?! Put that out immediately! Don't just stand there!!
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They can't afford the energy to set up a full camp each night. Instead, it's bare essentials: three tents, and Diggle's makeshift kitchen. Tonight, it's two tents—this floe is too awkward to risk hauling more than that out of the boat.
These are the reasons Hickey will give should Angelo comment on the new arrangement in their tent. With Manson and now Hodgson packed in with them, there's little room for personal space. Hickey is doing a kindness, sparing Angelo having to deal with the other men by slotting himself in as a buffer. Angelo even gets to continue to hug his precious tent wall. A win all around.
But, really, it's all bullshit. Alone in the tent as he unfurls bedrolls, Hickey grins at that private joke. Angelo may even see through it, but Hickey doesn't care. He just wants to see how much he can get away with.
The moment is lost as he hears Angelo yelling outside. That's admittedly not an uncommon sound around camp, but the tone is off. Something is wrong.
Hickey's hand touches the knife in his pocket as he emerges from the tent—and instead darts up to pull his scarf over his face. Tozer and his marines are already dismantling the stove, working one-handed and covering their mouths with their sleeves. Diggle... may be a lost cause, but Hodgson and Hoar are dragging him away from the fumes anyway.
With all that sorted, Hickey finds Angelo. His hand hooks around Angelo's arm to pull him further upwind. ]
What happened—?
[ He's barely gotten the question out when the ice beneath them pitches violently. It's enough to knock anyone upright off their feet—and to topple the stove onto Daly. The marine screams, though whether he's crushed or burning or panicking, Hickey can't tell. He went down hard and only manages to scramble into a crouch to assess the damage. A tent is down. He can't see the boat from here, but he didn't hear any wood splintering. Whatever's going on with Daly, the smoke is abating. Their floe groans as it grinds against its neighbors, still rocking as it resettles, recovers—
—from an impact, Hickey realizes, just before a hideous roar erupts from over the ridge they've built their camp against.
He sucks in a measured breath.
Alright.
Fear is a choice.
He tucks his scarf back into his coat. ]
We need guns.
[ He looks to Angelo, his expression sharp with an intensity that he reserves for these confrontations with death. Guns. Where are they? ]
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Fuck.
[ He's only witnessed the Tuunbaq as a silent observer, spurning Hickey's sacrifice, yet he knows there is only one creature that would be making such an infernal noise in the lifelessness of the arctic. So much for just doing what it wants and being left alone, then.
Having gotten the curse out of his system, Angelo gives Hickey a quick nod and scrambles to his feet. He has his own pistol on him, as he always does, but most of them aren't presently armed. The box with their weaponry is by the tents - Angelo supposes they ought to count themselves lucky that it's out front, rather than entangled in the collapsed tent fabric. As he rushes over, he tries to familiarize himself with everybody's position... and he finds himself briefly tripping over an absence. One would expect a do-gooder like Goodsir to rush to Diggle's side at the first sign of injury, but there's still only Hoar and Hodgson attending to their cook. Goodsir is... Just where is that weasel?!
There's no time to go looking for him through the dissipating smoke. Angelo gets to the box and finds De Voeux already there, having just exited the still-standing tent. Though they are constantly at odds, they both decide within a split second that right now is the time to set their differences aside. Without a word, they fling open the chest together and grab the rifles contained within. Manson is approaching with an alarmed expression and Angelo instantly thrusts three weapons at him. ]
Get those to the marines! Quickly!!
[ Tozer has successfully rolled the stove off Daly, but the man has suffered burns to his body that appear to make standing up difficult. Angelo groans inwardly, but allows his eyes to drift upward and--
He barely has enough time to brace for the second impact as the Tuunbaq charges the ledge and jumps. It's a vengeance from above, and in a moment of useless repulsion, Angelo notes that it is more grey-stained than white. Then he has to cling to the box to be able to stay upright at all, as the floe shakes like a space cruiser when its side is hit by a beam. The Tuunbaq lands in the middle of their camp, which means it lands right in front of Daly, still laying where the stove had stood until a few moments prior. Angelo's eyes that were glued to it in horror are then torn away by a scream from his left side.
Where two people had crowded around the sprawled out Diggle, only one remains standing. Following Hodgson's outstretched arm with his eyes, Angelo finds their floe's corner has broken into small chunks of ice, floating in frantic waters. It takes a split second until he also makes out the source of that franticness - Hoar's arms, desperate for any kind of hold, trying to cling to chunks of frozen water far too small to support him.
Fuck. Again. ]
Leave him, Mr. Hodgson! It's too late!!
[ Even Angelo feels a little twist of his stomach at saying that when Hoar's hands, quickly turning blue, are still flailing to find any purchase at all, but they don't have time to try and help him. ]
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All of them except one.
After a second of searching through the chaos, he spots Goodsir behind him, standing alone and unafraid near the center of their floe. Their eyes meet, Hickey's seething glare up against Goodsir's dead gaze, and they understand each other. Hickey's lips twist into a nasty smirk. Goodsir regards him, expression blank, and then sits down in the snow. A doctor no longer.
The Tuunbaq drops from its ledge and the ice jerks again. Hickey manages to catch himself, just barely, and then he's running to meet Manson and Des Voeux. Tozer and his remaining marines abandon Daly—he's as good as dead if he isn't dead already—and sprint toward them as well, but the Tuunbaq is too smart to be distracted by an easy mark. It leaps over him and instead charges Armitage.
A shriek of fear and agony follows, and to the marines' credit, they don't react. They can mourn their dead once they've secured their own survival. But Manson is so frightened that he nearly drops his armful of guns, and Des Voeux isn't much better off. ]
It bleeds. We can kill it.
[ The words are terse but said with unshakeable confidence. Their odds of winning against this thing are slim, armed with only a few guns and their sick, starving bodies, but Hickey knows they're truly doomed if his men realize that. He issues a pointed look to Solomon.
Do you believe a man has a soul?
Whether or not Tozer's faith is restored, Hickey can't tell. But Tozer nods, and then he and Pilkington turn back to the beast, loading their muskets. Manson holds out the last gun to Hickey, but he shoves it back instead, shaking his head. ]
Magnus, get to the boat—
[ Over Manson's shoulder, Hickey catches sight of the stove. It's rolled some ways away in the chaos, coming to a rest near the collapsed tent. His mind snaps all of the data points into place, the path forward suddenly obvious. They can do better than just shooting at the creature. ]
Keep it busy! I need time!
[ He yells it to Des Voeux as he breaks from the group. He gets some question in response that he doesn't quite make out over Armitage's wailing, but he ignores it. Des Voeux should know better than to ask questions.
When Hickey arrives at the gun cache, Hodgson is there too. Something about Hoar, Diggle is in the boat, their best chance is escape, and so on. Unimportant details. Hickey pushes past Angelo to dig through the box. He hands their last musket to Hodgson, more to get it out of his way than anything, and shoves aside their extra firearms from the palace until he finds their store of remaining gunpowder. He weighs the small keg in his hands, displeased.
Two gunshots ring out behind them and something heavy crashes into the ice ridge with a wet crunch. Armitage's corpse—or, most of it—tumbles down the ridge and lands in a crumpled heap at its base. Better yet, Daly takes this as motivation to force himself to his feet, hobbling as fast as he can toward the far side of the floe. Glancing over his shoulder, Hickey sees the Tuunbaq wheel around to give chase. Now is their moment.
Hickey looks to Angelo. ]
Armitage will have a powder flask in his pockets. Find it for me.
[ He doesn't elaborate on his plan—nor does he hint his relief in having an order to give that doesn't put Angelo on the front lines—but Angelo may be able to guess as Hickey fishes a canister of fuses out from the box. ]
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[ Angelo doesn't know what precisely it is that Hickey is planning, but he doesn't have time to think about it. For all he made a grand show out of not trusting Hickey, in this moment of chaos he finds himself obeying his orders without question and without doubt. With only a passing glance to Hodgson as he joins the remaining marines in their efforts to hold off the monstrosity with bullets, Angelo disappears between the tents and rushes towards the smear of red at the corner of the ridge.
It was Armitage once, but there's little left in the way of identifying features. His left arm is missing, his legs are bent oddly, a chunk of his side has been ripped out, and his skull is dented awkwardly, rendering the left half of his face more of a vague shape than a human expression. Angelo meets his remaining eye and feels nothing - no, that's not right. He feels worse than nothing. Looking at Armitage now, he's nothing but meat. It feels as though all pretenses have left him and his true form has been revealed. He'd been a sorry sack of animated flesh before and now the spell has broken. That's what it means to be human. How nauseating.
Angelo's insides twist with a sickness that he won't allow to surface, and he sticks his hand right into the gory mess that was once a man's midsection. His fingers dig past lukewarm intestines, feeling for the remnant of pockets hidden below. It's just meat, they're all just meat. No wonder the Tuunbaq is here to feed. Survival is a farce - but it's not one that Angelo is willing to give up on at this rate.
He's stained in red when he finally finds what he is looking for and pulls away. It can't have been more than half a minute of searching, but it felt like an eternity. There are shouts and gunshots all around, but Angelo hears primarily the rush of blood in his own ears. Blood, red, red blood. How dare a man like Armitage presume to coat him in such a sacred color?
Angelo rises and as he does, he grinds his heel right into something that might have been a liver once. The repulsive squelch is just what such a filthy man deserves. Angelo wants to never see a body again. Angelo wants to rip it all apart, every bit a beast as the manbear is. But neither of these feelings are useful now.
Angelo scans the surroundings for Hickey and finds he has approaches the stove. So that's his gambit? Through the haze of violent nonsense, a dark amusement rises. Whatever happened to their stove, it has been decent inspiration, then. ]
-- got it. What now?
[ He's asking before he's even quite arrived at Hickey's side. There is no time to waste after all. ]
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By the time they meet again, Hickey has ripped the chimney off the stove and stuffed the pieces of it inside, wedging it in with the powder keg to block off the vent. It's hardly ideal, but it'll have to do. He eyeballs a length of fuse, deciding where to cut for the proper timing. Should he ever see Andrew again, he'll have to thank her for providing him with a point of reference.
At the other end of the floe, a scream is cut off with a sickening crunch. That's Daly gone, then. ]
Careful.
[ He holds up a hand at Angelo's approach. Goodsir's little science experiment has been extinguished, but opening the stove released the remaining fumes inside. This faint haze isn't as caustic as the first, but the burning in his throat on each inhale tells him it's still dangerous.
He takes the flask—leave it to Armitage to make sure his personal store of gunpowder stayed full, dutiful little marine that he was—and drains its contents into the keg.
Another volley of gunfire rings out and Hickey glances up. Tozer has his group spread into a staggered line, already retreating toward the boat as they each reload. The Tuunbaq bellows and abandons Daly's body to rush its attackers. They're out of time.
Hickey is about to order Angelo to cripple Des Voeux with a gunshot, leave him to the beast so the rest of them have a chance to run—but as the Tuunbaq gallops, the ice quakes again. The floe splits violently, a channel of seawater carving a jagged divide between the two halves. The creature stumbles as it nearly careens into the water.
Hickey reaches for Angelo's arm to keep them both steady as the ice pitches again. This won't stop the bear, but it's bought an opening for the firing line to make their escape.
An escape isn't good enough, though. The Tuunbaq will catch up easily, capsize their boat, tear them all to pieces if they don't drown in the frigid water first. ]
You and the others get to the boat. Be ready to leave as soon as I join you.
[ He works the fuse into the powder keg as he speaks, and the rest of the canister and Armitage's flask join collection of soon-to-be shrapnel inside the stove.
Then, he grabs Angelo by the wrist and presses the cigarette case into his hand. Hickey knows he doesn't need to articulate how crucial it is that Angelo keep the thing safe, but he spares a moment to lock eyes with him anyway. Make sure we have a later. ]
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Angelo closes his hand tightly around Elias' soul.
("Do you trust me?")
From the side, he can hear the Tuunbaq find its footing on the breaking ice again. There's no time. Behind them, there's Tozer's voice bellowing commands to Manson in order to bring the boat closer to the shaking edge of their self-decimating little island. There's no time.
Angelo holds Hickey's gaze for as long as he can. ]
Understood.
[ He slips the case into his bloodied coat, to be stored in his inner chest pocket, safe against his own body. As he turns from Hickey and towards their remaining crew, he wonders what Hickey is thinking right now, facing down the beast that had once saved him.
("—he won’t help you, not in the past, and not in the future.")
As he rushes towards the boat, a bullet whirs past Angelo at a barely safe distance, and from the animalistic groan that chimes out next, Angelo knows that Hodgson has hit his target. Good. Hickey needs any second they can buy him - but Angelo can't afford to join the shooters, not when he is carrying cargo that is as precious as his own life. He rushes past Hodgson and Tozer both, eager to take Manson's outstretched hand and tumble into the shaky little lifeboat. As he tries to regain his balance, his eyes fall onto something in the water - a hand as pale as death, gone as soon as it appeared. As if Hoar were still calling out for help. Or as if he were still reaching for more of the to join him and be free of this terror.
Angelo's eyes lift further, now seeking Hickey through the last remnants of smoke. He doesn't look at Tozer and Hodgson as he commands them. ]
We're ditching camp the minute he gets back here. Until then, watch your footing!
[ While Angelo couldn't care less about Hoar's grudging soul one way or another, they'll need men to row. It would be a waste to abandon some of their strongest to the freezing waves just because they were unprepared for the explosion about to be set off. ]
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The Tuunbaq leaps across the gap just as Angelo gives the order to watch their footing. Lucky timing. Hickey grabs for the stove to keep it rolling off again as the floe rocks underfoot, growing more unsteady by the second. The ice, once relatively level, now settles into a slant toward the ridge next to the camp.
He hurriedly digs his match case out of his pocket as the creature steadies itself. He meets its eye and it growls, a low groan that seems to reverberate through the ice—but it doesn't rush him. Instead, it prowls, regarding Hickey with a wariness it hadn't shown the others. A respect, even. There's a look in its eyes that he recognizes from their last meeting, after it left him the macabre offering of a corpse back on Terror. It wouldn't attack him then, either. It spared him twice and allowed him to kidnap its shaman.
Perhaps he had not properly appreciated that gift. He crawled into his hammock that night distracted by what now feel like petty, childish concerns. Crozier's betrayal made him lose focus, even as the Tuunbaq offered him more and more each time it surfaced. It killed Darlington for him, left a gift of Lieutenant Fairholme's sledge party, saved him from the gallows... He would bet it had something to do with the uncanny coincidence of running into those Netsilik with Irving and Farr, as well. Did it call them there, he wonders?
Of course the creature is cross with him. After all that, he chose another direction, veering off from the path it had so caringly forged for him.
Hickey flips the match case closed. Distantly, he feels the faint thump of a heart beat that is not his own. He ignores it, ignores the shouting from the boat. Kneeling in the snow, he holds his hands out like he'd seen Lady Silence do that night on the pack. ]
Do you—
[ —still want me? The words die in his throat as the Tuunbaq breaks into a sprint, roaring as it charges him. For just an instant, a raw dread ensnares his mind. Instinct takes over, like ripping your hand away from a hot stove before you even feel the burn. A match lights, the fuse sparks, the stove's door slams shut—
Hickey stands to run just as the creature lunges, catching him across the chest with a heavy swing. The weight behind the blow throws him backward and he slams hard into the ice. He hears the Tuunbaq bellow—he has to move now—but the impact knocked the wind out of him, blurred his vision.
That's it, then, he thinks, even as he tries to reorient and push himself up. He knows he's lost, but giving up is not his nature. Angelo has the case. The creature can't eat a soul he doesn't have—
Two gunshots crack through the air. The bear shrieks, the most horrible cry it's uttered yet, and rears back to paw at its face.
"Damn it all, Cornelius!" Tozer yells, his second shot firing.
Hickey shakily scrambles to his feet, glancing back just long enough to see a stream of blood pouring from the Tuunbaq's muzzle—and Goodsir, still watching on with his dead eyes at the other end of the floe.
If you want to eat your friend, you will have to cut into himself yourself. The way the creature looked at him a moment ago... That wasn't respect, was it? How could he forget the seething hatred in Goodsir's eyes as he delivered those bags of Billy's meat?
Tozer is waiting for him at the edge of the floe. An unexpected act of camaraderie, though the marine catches him by the arm and all but throws him into the boat before jumping in himself. Someone gives the order to row as Tozer shoves off from the ice.
They're barely past the edge of the ridge when the bomb detonates. The painfully loud blast shatters what's left of the floe and the thing seems to snap in half. The wall of ice offers just enough protection from the debris even as it collapses and rolls, and their little boat jets further down the lead with the wave that follows.
Hickey's ears are ringing. Voices overlap as the men in the boat try to quickly regain their bearings in case that monster survived that final gambit. He rights himself with a groan, his body protesting the abuse of the last few minutes, and his eyes search for Angelo—
It's when he tries to breathe that he realizes something is wrong. The adrenaline still coursing through his system fuzzes out the worst of the pain, but his chest is tight in a way that doesn't match up with the bruises of being flung. He looks down to find the front of his coat shredded and damp with blood. ]
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(It feels ironic. There had been a time in his life where just watching had been the greatest pleasure he could think of. Back when he was accompanying Full Frontal onto the battlefields and watched him reign supreme, wholly undefeated, never having to fire so much as a single shot... Back then, he felt more safe and clean than he ever had in his whole life. That had been what trust is all about.)
Despite the value of being entrusted with the safekeeping of Hickey's core essence, Angelo itches to be out there with him and do something - anything, even if it's just pushing this fool away from a God that does not want him. Knowledge is irrelevant in the face of a lifetime of instinct. It does not feel like Hickey is tucked safely away in his pocket when his human shape goes flying. Angelo thinks his heart might stop in that split second, and maybe that pause in beating just makes it more easy to feel the case in his clothes dent itself without any outer input. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-- Angelo yells something indistinct, but in the time it takes him to try and take out his gun and try to aim on the unsteady boat, Tozer has already taken the shot.
For a moment, Angelo can glimpse what it is that Hickey saw in the man - the swiftness to act, the reliable strength. Without any hesitation, Tozer is shooting at the beast and bodily dragging Hickey the last steps of the way to safety. Angelo, unused to being on a boat, can only cling to the sides of it as the blast shakes it and they take off. Left and right of him, the remaining men take up oars. He can hear Hodgson counting a rhythm to follow and the boat steadies itself slightly as it makes its grand escape from the ice floe island that is no longer.
Once he no longer feels like he's going to be thrown overboard if he releases his iron grip on the side of the boat, Angelo gets on his hands and knees and scrambles over to Hickey's side. It is the least dignified display he's given since arriving here, but it's better than risking falling over and joining Hoar in the icy depths. ]
Tozer! Get me the medical crate!! It's the one next to De Veoux!!
[ A barked command, with the dual purpose of creating a moment of relative privacy. Then, to Hickey, only marginally kinder: ] Let me remove the upper layer for a moment, I need to see how deep that goes!
[ That he doesn't get right to removing the coat and observing the damage is not owed to any amount of modesty or respect for Hickey's consent to the matter, it's just that he's making use of the moment Tozer has his back turned to remove the case from his coat pocket. The cover is only lightly dented, which gives Angelo a faint sense of relief. ]
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[ Said unconvincingly through gritted teeth as he peels back fabric. It's difficult to say how bad it is, even as the lack of imminent danger allows his nerves to process the destruction, but his body still works. He can breathe, he can move, he's not spitting up blood or in danger of passing out—ergo, it's a flesh wound, nothing more.
Though, as he thinks that, he's met with a surprising bolt of pain when he presses down to undo a button. A flesh wound still, but a deep one, and he suspects a cracked sternum. Maybe some ribs, as well.
He's about to report this revelation when he sees Angelo extracting the cigarette case from his coat. Hickey's hand darts out to shove the case back against his chest. He says nothing, not wanting to risk being overheard, but his hard stare is a warning. He shakes his head. As much as he'd prefer to, he can't magic this wound away. The others cannot know. ]
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Angelo nods and doesn't chance a verbal response, least of all when Tozer is dutifully back with the medical crate and opening it up beside him. The contents are greatly diminished, both by necessity of former treatment and by... well, these empty bottles may explain their earlier predicament, huh? Angelo frowns at it, but doesn't let it distract him for long. There's wounds that need dressing.
Without a word, Angelo takes over in peeling away the last of Hickey's coat and then also the rags that are left of his undershirt. The chest is a bloody mess, a nauseating arrangement of meat. But unlike with Armitage, threes only flesh and no organs, no splinters of bones. Angelo exhales, forcibly slow. This, he can work with.
Despite not having had more than very basic first aid training, Angelo has treated his fair share of wounds... on himself, and on other boys in the Butterfly. As much as he loathes getting his hands dirty, this isn't the first time he does so and it's notable enough that Tozer, despite hovering, stays out of his hair and let's him proceed. Angelo decides to make use of that obedient streak. ]
We need to stop the bleeding. Cornelius, you need to sit up. Tozer, help hold him upright. I'll wrap the wounds.
[ It's going to be ugly to clean these later when they don't have the water to do so now, but beggars can't be choosers. Angelo is starting to remember what it was like to live by that maxime.
There's a grunt from Tozer that could mean anything from 'yes sir' to 'bugger off' but the man does obey without further question. In the background, Hodgson's counting has subsided as the rhythm has started to come more naturally to him, De Veoux, Manson and Pilkington. How fortunate there's an even number of them to row, even with Angelo and Tozer busy here and Diggle groaning in his unconscious state on the ground of the boat.
Angelo misses sterile bandages as he handles the Victorian version that, to him, looks far too much like rags. Even so it gets the job done and before long, the quickly reddening straps of cloth are covering Hickey's chest whole. It's Angelo's cue to shoo Tozer away, tell him to attend to Diggle instead. He can handle dressing Hickey himself, wrapping him back in his shredded coat before digging for an additional blanket. It's only once he spread that over the other man that he feels ready for conversation again. Angelo exhales very slowly, a second and more final time. It's over. For now. ]
... we left the doctor. He did this to us, didn't he?
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Still, his pride has limits. He shrugs Tozer off with a grunt as he sits up fully—but has to catch himself on the gunwale as the boat heaves over a wave and when the marine steadies him again, his grip less negotiable. His shivers miserably the entire time he's worked on, but Angelo comes for him with that blanket and he snatches it away before he's thoroughly swaddled, muttering a weak protest that he's not a child. He'll wrap it around his shoulders on his own, even if the motion is accompanied by a lot of wincing.
The blanket is nice, and if he were in a better mood, he'd likely find all of Angelo's fussing nice, as well. But as it stands, he's too rattled to appreciate the company. If he had his way, he'd fix his damn case to spare himself the trouble, then curl up in the back of the boat to sleep until they arrive at the ships.
The razorlike throbbing in his chest is not the worst pain he's felt, but it's a constant reminder of yet another rejection and a foolish mistake. The Tuunbaq in the place beyond the mirrors wasn't real. It was just a cruel trick played by Yoonhee, preying on a private fear no one had any business knowing. Yet Hickey is more upset than he should be by the betrayal. It's not as if he was planning to abandon his new path for whatever the Tuunbaq might have offered him, anyway.
It's not as if he ever intended to return to England with the expedition either, but it was nice to imagine a future where Crozier's faith in him gave him the break he's been searching for. The recognition of his worth was enough, exactly as it was.
But Crozier turned on him the moment he put that worth to use. The Tuunbaq... he doesn't understand what he did to earn its hatred. The explanation he thought of on the ice, his shift away from relying on the creature, no longer feels like the answer. He wishes it did. Instead, he's left with the disquieting suspicion that he's been reading the wrong narrative since the beginning.
The captain doesn't see you at all.
He glowers at Angelo's question. It's almost a welcomed distraction, but it just piles on one more thing for Hickey to stew over. Goodsir. That bastard. ]
Yes.
[ He settles back against the boat's frame, just for a moment. He's in no condition to row, but like hell he's going to lie there pathetically while the others do all the work. Someone needs to man the rudder. It's one thing to shirk manual labor simply because he doesn't want to do it, and it's another to be incapable. ]
A petty act of vengeance. All he's accomplished is to ensure his own death.
[ He says it loudly enough for the others to hear. Make no mistake who did this to them. ]
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Goodsir must have been well-liked. It's the first time that thought truly occurs to Angelo. He'd only met the doctor as a hermit in the medical tent, completely apart from all the others. He hadn't cared to think question the matter, to imagine the years of expedition before things took a dramatic turn for the worse. Who had these people been, then? Who had Hickey been among them? It's impossible to imagine.
After the strange unity with which they all moved in a crisis, there's a sense of distance returning now. Angelo is not part of this group, not the way everyone else is. Whatever Goodsir's betrayal means to them, Angelo cannot relate.
Fortunately, that doesn't mean he's any less angry for it. Angelo pushes away the distant haze of not belonging and clicks his tongue. ]
Fucking bastard. [ He lowers his voice again after that. The insult was meant to be overheard. ] Though his own death was likely the point of it.
[ It's what Angelo would have done, in his position. Take them all out with him. Dying without venting your hatred is simply too unsatisfying.
He leans in to Hickey closer, settling with him against the outer wall of the lifeboat. Time for a damage report. There's more to say, personal things, but all eyes are on them now. ]
We've lost a lot of supplies, but we hadn't unpacked all of our food. There's a few crates of tins left in the back.
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The point was to kill us. All of us. He must've spotted the Tuunbaq on our heels and devised this plot to weaken us for its attack.
[ He looks around at his men as he says it. He's in no mood to play inspiring leader, but he knows he must capitalize on this moment. They've overcome a common enemy together and escaped with their lives against abysmal odds. Morale is in short supply and they'll need the boost to push through this last leg of their journey.
Luckily, Angelo helps with that as well, pointing out their remaining store of food. The tins are not ideal, but it's enough to last for now. ]
Des Voeux, how much longer until we reach the ships?
[ But it's Hodgson that answers: "If I may," he starts, voice hesitant, "I would suggest we abandon any supplies we can afford to go without. A lighter load will quicken our pace."
"The tents." Tozer has managed to prop a gasping Diggle up to get some water into him. "We can go for broke. Row in shifts."
"That could save us half a day, maybe more," Des Voeux says.
Hickey and Hodgson regard each other for a moment. Tozer gets a glance, as well. This is an interesting development. He gives Hodgson a nod. ]
Save one and toss the others then, lieutenant.
[ The men get to work, and Hickey turns to Angelo. ]
Do what you can for Mr. Diggle.
[ Their eyes catch for an instant, but Hickey shoves himself off the gunwale before the exchange can become some charged thing between them. He doesn't want to be near Angelo anymore, not with their full group in such close proximity. Not when he already has a full load of uncomfortable thoughts to process. His upset is a solo venture.
But he doesn't think of taking the cigarette case back. The emptiness of his pocket makes him uneasy, his hand darting to check for its usual contents on reflex, but despite the momentary pangs of anxiety, he feels safer with the case in Angelo's possession.
He moves to the back of the boat, where he can operate the steering oar without agitating his wounds too much—and thus has an excuse to keep to himself for the time being. He wedges the oar against the ice floe next to them to steady their tiny vessel while the other men heave the tents over the side. ]