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: (OMG SHOES.)
[The video feed turns on, and George settles back into his chair. He's seated in the infirmary, next to Eddie Spinola's bed. He has a book on his lap. The book would seem to be making little happy noises, except that's impossible. Isn't it?]

I suspect this has already been discussed, or at least asked, and I do apologize if that is the case, but I would like very much to know: what is it you believe in?

Not what you don't believe in, because that's not important, but what you do. Whatever that is. Because everyone must believe in something. And I'm interested to know what that might be. For instance: I've been having a thrilling read about this worm which devours...

[George glances down at the book on his lap.]

Oh! And: unrelatedly, does anybody know the average circumference of a man's chest?
19centconstable: (Traditional Canadian Victorian man-love.)
[Filtered Away From Howie]

[George clears his throat]

Friday evening, after dinner, there's to be a party in my rooms for Sergeant Howie. Anybody who'd like may come.

[George leans in toward the communicator, and stage whispers for some inexplicable reason:]

But please don't let on to him, as it's meant to be a surprise.

[Added later and hastily:]

Oh, and: I'm in 5-5.
19centconstable: (Houdini is my girlfriend's boyfriend.)
[George looks pale and rumpled, like he has not slept. His hair is trying to un-part itself. His constable's coat is off. His suspenders are holding steady, but his shirt is threatening to become un-tucked. His eyes are glazed over, and he speaks slowly and groggily.]

I...saw...movies...

You tell them not to open the door, but they always open the door.

[He shakes his head at the meaningless deaths of so many scantily clad and vigorous young ladies, then clears his throat.]

On a different matter: I've been speaking with Sergeant Howie, and we've come to an idea that I was hoping might be indulged. I was wondering: how might everyone feel about having their fingermarks put on a file? Or the taking of the fingermarks of those inmates who frequently...um...offend. I do realize that some people may be very against this, but I would like to point out that, while fingermarks can be used to prove that someone was in a certain area, they can also be used to prove that they weren't, and should be left alone.

It's only a thought, of course. And if anybody simply thinks they might have interesting fingermarks, and would be willing to share them, that would be very much appreciated as well.

Oh! And does anybody know: are there any bicycles on board?

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Constable George Crabtree

March 2021

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