[ A breathless, grateful sound escapes Irving's throat at the sight of the whiskey, which he accepts with a similar desperate gratitude, his pale face and shaking hands clear evidence of how much he needs it. Irving truly hates the notion of appearing weak in front of any of his men, even Jopson, who following his recent promotion Irving only just outranks, but he can tell already this is nothing he can let himself listen to while sober.
He drinks, spilling a small amount over the table with how his hand won't stop shaking. Mr. Farr. It happened while out on the hunting party, then. That family they'd encountered, who'd so immediately been willing to share food with Irving from their own pocket.
Irving takes a moment to try composing himself, his free hand moving to cover his eyes. ]
The Netsilik family, were they... were they all--?
[ Why that's the first question he asks Irving couldn't say; perhaps because he can't quite process the news about his own death yet, or perhaps because now he wonders how much of this tragedy he's also to blame for. Could he have handled it differently, better somehow? What could have been going through Hickey's mind that he'd murder the only help they'd come across since the Inuit woman herself, salvation that surely even he could have basked in credit for once they'd returned to camp with news?
His own death, like the rest of the crew's, has hung over his head like a dagger ever since their ships first became stuck; circumstances aside, it hardly comes as a surprise to hear it finally confirmed. But hearing that the Netsilik family they'd encountered was killed as well truly shocks him, not least of all for how heartbreaking it seems.
Irving had met them. Exchanged names with them, traded with them, laughed with them. They'd known how to live out there, how to hunt, how to survive, how could they possibly be dead?
He puts the whiskey glass down, both hands over his eyes now, fingers digging at his hairline. ]
I-I can hardly believe it. [ Which isn't to say he disbelieves it, it's just-- it's a lot. To take in. ] And you-- you're quite certain that is how it all happened?
no subject
He drinks, spilling a small amount over the table with how his hand won't stop shaking. Mr. Farr. It happened while out on the hunting party, then. That family they'd encountered, who'd so immediately been willing to share food with Irving from their own pocket.
Irving takes a moment to try composing himself, his free hand moving to cover his eyes. ]
The Netsilik family, were they... were they all--?
[ Why that's the first question he asks Irving couldn't say; perhaps because he can't quite process the news about his own death yet, or perhaps because now he wonders how much of this tragedy he's also to blame for. Could he have handled it differently, better somehow? What could have been going through Hickey's mind that he'd murder the only help they'd come across since the Inuit woman herself, salvation that surely even he could have basked in credit for once they'd returned to camp with news?
His own death, like the rest of the crew's, has hung over his head like a dagger ever since their ships first became stuck; circumstances aside, it hardly comes as a surprise to hear it finally confirmed. But hearing that the Netsilik family they'd encountered was killed as well truly shocks him, not least of all for how heartbreaking it seems.
Irving had met them. Exchanged names with them, traded with them, laughed with them. They'd known how to live out there, how to hunt, how to survive, how could they possibly be dead?
He puts the whiskey glass down, both hands over his eyes now, fingers digging at his hairline. ]
I-I can hardly believe it. [ Which isn't to say he disbelieves it, it's just-- it's a lot. To take in. ] And you-- you're quite certain that is how it all happened?