19centconstable: (Default)
[George stands in his room, in that one good suit he owns, with his bowler hat in his hands. Solemn face is solemn.]

I suppose I always knew that this day would arrive. I just never expected it to arrive so suddenly.

It would seem the time has come for me to return home. And while a part of me will be pleased to see those that I left behind there, another part of me will miss all of you, some of you specifically more than others, even though technically I won't remember any of you or anything about this place once I've gone.

There was some discussion recently about the success rate here, and while it did seem surprisingly low, I think it's important to remember that without this place, that number would be nought.

Do keep up the good work one and all, both for others, and on yourselves.
19centconstable: (Queen Victoria in a bank vault.)
[Oh, hello! George didn't see you there. J/K: he did, though. He's seated at his typewriter looking dreamy eyed. He has probably just thought up Tivo.]

I found it rather thrilling to be in the world of Mr. Carroll's story. A part of me hopes that one day someone might have a similar experience with one of my stories. Minus the murderous bits, of course.

But the communication difficulties experienced by several people have caused me to ponder this: if you were only able to express one thing to your inmate, or to your warden, what might it be?

And for those of us who have neither, what one thing might you express to any inmate or warden, or person of your choosing?

Not the Admiral, though, as there are women and children present.
19centconstable: (This expression roughly translated:)
I've been thinking.

[DON'T RUN FROM HIM. Also, George looks nervous, and slightly grim, which is quite unlike him. As he speaks, he makes his way through the hall.]

We have all of us wondered, at one time or another, why the Admiral would continue to allow us to become...embroiled, as do we in events as such. Why, particularly, such things should affect those here to Warden, as theoretically such a person ought not to be deserving of such punishment.

[George pauses.]

I do not believe these things are punishments. I believe that they are trials, and our involvements in them, all of our involvements, are meant to be taken as examples. That any man...or woman might have at any time taken a different path, or be pushed beyond the limit. That anyone may make mistakes. And that it is what you choose to do after that defines you.

...This does not serve to explain those events when we awake to find that we have become animals: that is simply beyond me.

But I do want to insist again that anyone, anyone, may be forgiven. And we must all remember that.
19centconstable: (Oh pretty ladies.)
[George is...not in his room. If one looks very carefully, one might be able to spot the fact that he is in Angua's room.]

I'm afraid I can't seem to rouse Captain von Uberwald by any means.

[Sadface. True love's kiss attempted. Failed.]
19centconstable: (19th century needs more twitter)
[George is at the table/writing desk in his room; a typewriter with a blank sheet of paper in it sitting in front of him.]

I thought it best to wait until after any situations had subsided to ask, because things haven't seemed terribly conducive to conversation for the past few days, but: is anybody still on board who comes from before 1898?

Merely curiosity on my part.
19centconstable: (19th century needs more twitter)
[It's unclear where George is, because his face fills most of the frame, but wherever it is, it's a bit dark.]

Isn't this terribly exciting? Like being an explorer in some far-flung local. The first to tread where you might for hundreds of years, perhaps. Discovering wonders thought to be long lost, and returning home to fame and glory.

[George looks lost in his own fantasy. Something splashes.]

...I may have become trapped in a well, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.
19centconstable: (Cereal sounds gross in theory.)
[George stands silently in his room, his mouth a tight line as though he's afraid to open it. And then:]

...I appear to have become an American.

[And he shuts his American accent producing mouth immediately.]


((OOC: posting now, tagging tomorrow due to bff birthday shenanigans.))
19centconstable: (& The Murdoch-ettes.)
[Thoughtful George in thoughtful pose with the usual but thoughtful accent says:]

This is a bit inspired by what Captain Rogers' said ...and also Captain Angua, but: do you feel that being here has changed you? Any you, that is. Wardens and inmates alike.
19centconstable: (Whelp.  We're boned.)
[George looks sheepish. And slightly damp.]

I'm afraid I must report that Captain Angua and I have been banned from the water park.

[In the background, a woman who is presumably Angua does not sound best pleased.]
19centconstable: (What kind of flowers does your dog like?)
[George sits in his room, distractedly twisting his helmet in his hands. Being a helmet, it doesn't twist very much at all, but he doesn't seem to notice.]

I'm...pleased to report that I did manage to remain myself after all during this most recent event. I had thought that I had at the time, but it can be difficult to tell. I've been mistaken before. But not...now. In case anyone was wondering.

Is, er, is everyone alright? Anyone? Everyone?
19centconstable: (OMG SHOES.)
[George is out of the infirmary, and back in his room, looking like the picture of 19th century health, which was not actually that healthy by today's standards.]

I've never had terribly good luck contacting anybody from home on these days, but I do know that others have. I'm quite happy to speak to anyone, of course. Or anything. It's Constable George Crabtree, by the way. From Toronto, 1898.

And if cousin Penny is watching this: I know what you are up to, young lady. And if you haven't gotten up to it yet: I know what you will be up to shortly.


[Happy 4th Wall Day! 4th wall away!]
19centconstable: (Ow my DNA.)
[George is in the infirmary. He looks slightly green around the gills (not that he has gills), but otherwise well.]

That was quite unpleasant. I don't believe I like myself when I am angry.

And I hope I didn't put anyone out too much, particularly you, Captain Angua. And Dick: I do of course trust you completely with any of my bodily fluids.
19centconstable: (Ride out.)
[It looks as though George did not mean for this transmission to be video, because his comm is giving a view of concrete passing beneath George's feet. It's passing a little unsteadily, and every now and then one of George's hands is just visible in the upper corner of the screen. His palm is bleeding, as though it has been punctured by something very small and very thin and very sharp. George's voice sounds raspy.]

I...this is Constable George Crabtree, requesting...I'm on orders of the GCPD. In pursuit of a gang ruffians who attempted...attempted...OI! You there!

[George's feet skid to a woozy stop.]

You... I feel...

[George's comm clatters to the ground. Three punks stand at the dead-end of an alley. A shadow begins loom over them, growing taller and broader and taller...]
19centconstable: (Houdini is my girlfriend's boyfriend.)
[George sits at the small table in his room, and holds a pile of papers in his hands, like a newscaster.]

I seem to have spent the recent weekend writing jokes for a vaudeville act. I can't say that I understand them now that I have come back to myself.

Is anyone aware: what is the "deal" with air-plane food?
19centconstable: (I've got a wacky theory about merpeople.)
[George is in his room, in front of the large chalkboard he wheels out from time to time. Today he has scribbled what appear to be word problems on it. One reads: if 1(W) + 1(I) = helpful, then ?(W) = extra helpful?. Scribbled near that is: Ad = ?(I) 5?. There are also some pictures of some ghosts. Some of the ghosts are also pirates, because that seems appropriate. There is also a doodle of a dog preparing a roast ham. It's very life-like, but you can tell it isn't real because the dog hasn't eaten the roast. George begins:]

Fellow wardens: it has lately come to my attention that many of us are currently without inmates; that there are, in fact, more of us than there are of them. ...Although I don't like to think of things in terms of "us" and "them". At any rate: while one can view this as quite positive, and proof of the good works we're doing here, it does leave many of us sitting idle, which I don't believe is the Admiral's intention.

[George raises a finger.]

This has given me an idea. Now, I'm sure you all noticed our Admiral's recent apology, wherein he reported having been so overwhelmed that he did himself an injury. I think this is simply unacceptable. All of us are here to help others, and here, right in front of us, is a man clearly in need of help. Therefore, I propose that those of us who are unassigned turn our efforts towards the Admiral himself!

Now: who has got experience in driving large vessels?
19centconstable: (19th century needs more twitter)
[George makes his way through a dark hallway, his comm held in front of him, filming and illuminating his face as he walks. The result isn't quite night vision, but it's similar. It is 2am, and George speaks gravely, but excitedly.]

My name is George Crabtree. I have always believed in ghosts, because my aunt once...well, it's a rather long story, involving my uncle and a jacket, and I will recount it some other time. I am currently aboard the...spaced station whose name I can not pronounce, which appears to have gone into some sort of lock down. Approximately one hour ago, I found myself plagued by a feeling of unease, and a series of unexplained voices, so I have set out on a quest in the hopes of capturing what I have heard on my communicator. I am joined only by my fellow Barge inhabitants who chose to disembark at this port, although I am not entire sure whom that is or where they might be. I can only hope that they do not creep up behind me in the dark, as that would be terribly startling. Nevertheless, I vow to spend the entire night traversing these highly active paranormal hallways. With any luck, I will capture some sort of irrefutable evidence of haunting, and in the process have a rollicking adventure. ...Perhaps, some kind of "ghost adventure"...

[George smiles at his own ingenuity, but a sound from off-screen causes him to freeze, and breathlessly ask:]

Ohmygoodness. What was that?


[George is wandering the station's hallways. Feel free to contact him via comm, or run into him in person and become part of his raw, extreme, Barge Adventures. TALKING LOUDLY.]
19centconstable: (Yams would be delicious.)
[It's formal announcement time! George stands in his cabin with his helmet tucked under one arm. The brass buttons on his uniform are particularly shiny.]

It's my duty to inform you all that Detective Hoffman is no longer my inmate.

[George lets that hang vaguely in the air for a moment, before continuing:]

Because Detective Hoffman has graduated! Please do heartily congratulate him. He has earned it.
19centconstable: (I don't even know what French means.)
[George looks rumpled and unshaven, although it still hasn't improved his mustache much: it still looks more like a stain above his lip than anything. He's broadcasting hurriedly, and groggily from his cabin.]

I wasn't...did anyone happen to...was mother here?

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Constable George Crabtree

March 2021

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