Chapter Text
This being the private diary of Annalise Gray (Chief Security Officer, H.M.S. Terebus), return to owner if found. Unless I am dead, in which case please reduce to ashes immediately or be subjected to a vile and permanent haunting.
I do not know what to write by way of introduction, and no one should be reading this anyway so that takes care of that.
18.46.00 - 4/8
I do not scribble much but George suggested I give this the old college try. His goodwill is commendable but he does not seem to comprehend the source of my restlessness. (Valid, considering I hardly comprehend it myself.) Well, if I do not at least pretend to make an effort his feelings will be hurt and Guilt will knock me on the ass. Maybe I will throw this notebook out the airlock when I am done. For now, here I am.
What to say?
Thus far our adventure has been claustrophobic and monotonous. Claustrophobic in my opinion, anyway. Most of these men are familiar with interstellar travel and remain unbothered by close quarters. But for me, if this is only the beginning of the voyage, I may die of boredom before we ever find the faintest hint of the Aquarii Passage.
That being said, I have come to enjoy the company of certain people very much during the last several months. Talked extensively with McDonald just today, in fact; he is an affable and buoyant friend to myself and most of our shipmates and is delighted to have embarked on such a rare journey. His charisma is matched only by his intuition; I think he knows I put on airs to mask my doubts. He gives sidelong glances when he thinks I do not notice. Maybe I will confide in him eventually, but only if he asks.
I think Mr. Goodsir shares a similar intuition, but I will not burden him either. I doubt he is half so delicate as the Marines like to jest but he seems the type to drown in a sea of empathy. (I worry about that.) In addition, he is over the moon (pun intended) about the scientific opportunities of the voyage. Why distract him from that? Between his enthusiasm and McD.'s sense of adventure, I will not be responsible for spoiling the fun.
John Dr. Peddie is gentle in manner, serene of countenance, and impressively patient during all occasions; yet his silence is perplexing. McD. assured me Peddie does speak on rare occasions, but I wonder if the former is playing a practical joke. I have never met a man so laconic. Since we embarked Peddie has given me no reason to believe he dislikes my company, but I feel like a foozler around him. The thought of his gaze souring sends a miserable chill through my imagination, though I cannot fathom why. We are all accustomed at this point to the frigidity of Stanley, but should Dr. Peddie ever adopt such a demeanor the ship may as well break in half. I would prefer the cold glittering infinity over his reproach.
Short walk to the lounge room for some rum, maybe? Perhaps Ned Lt. Little will be present as well. Lord knows he could use some good cheer for once in his life. (I should not call him Ned because we are not familiar and he is my superior just as George is, but George calls him Ned all the time and it has rubbed off. Besides, he looks like a Ned.)
Alright, may as well get a drink.