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When they find the intruder on the ship's planks, the crew of the HMS Lilith immediately grasp him, though the struggle he puts up is certainly one that is noted by the first mate. Still, a great number of crewmates against one man is hardly fair, which is the one man is subject to their sharp teeth and hungry looks. "Don't touch him," the first mate warns as they corral him towards the cabin looming at the other end of the ship. "Or he'll know."

There's a hush amongst them at the thought of his displeasure and it seems to do the trick. Soon, they're opening the cabin doors and shoving the man inside, giving little care for the state of him (mildly bleeding cuts, as if to create a pleasing aroma in the Captain's cabin).

Pouring himself a glass of Scotch, the captain does the same for the new captive. "I'd offer to untie the ropes my men placed on you, but I'm far too tired for an escape attempt," Hal notes genially, smiling as he sets the glass before Ichabod, aware he can't drink it. "Sit," he coaxes with a nod towards the chair. "I think you'll find that a ship filled with my convertees, shall we say, are far more than willing to do whatever I say." Voice chilling and icy, it is a sharp contrast to the man he is inside the hotel.

It is the other half.

"Then again, they also know I have absolutely no trouble at all staking their fucking hearts, so it is a rather convenient thing," he continues, as if chatting casually with a friend. "What are you doing here? Did you follow me through the door?"

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Ichabod had been warned, albeit briefly, about this half of Hal's personality. He had hoped that it was a side he would never see but it seems that even well-laid plans can go all to ruin in merely a moment. When he'd followed his new acquaintance through the door, Ichabod had hardly expected to be held prisoner.

"Well, yes. We are acquainted in the Nexus and I thought to tag along. I presume you are not looking forward to any company?"

"Far be it for me to deny the social graces and joys of a friend," Hal replies, sipping at his glass of alcohol and swiftly refills it, but this time with a decanter of rich, coppery blood, having spiked one of the lower shipmates with a cork and let the blood flow freely. It's still warm and intoxicates Hal in the way that a good wine would. "Of course, I'm sure the grand population failed to take into account that certain worlds might subdue the kinder aspects of my self and bring out me. It's a lucky thing it does, it was getting cramped in there and the dear old good version of myself was ready to burst with it."

"God only knows what city we would have razed," he notes merrily, eyeing Ichabod as he decides what to do with the man. "Now," he says, leaning over him to slash at the bonds that keep him tight. "Are you hungry? I've never been accused of poor hosting before, I'd hate to begin now."

"No thank you," Ichabod says quietly. He wants to be careful now. This is a dangerous quantity that he does not quite know how to handle and it would only take one misstep to end his life in a messy and violent manner.

"I would like to be released, if at all possible."

"And I would like to be in control, but we cannot choose what fate comes to us. It seems that when I step through the doors, I'm allowed to be free, but who knows when he'll come clawing at the curtains to be in charge," Hal notes, pacing the room as he smooths the fringes of his jacket, posture perfect. "Did we not tell you about our history? About five hundred glorious years of bloodshed? No? Always too humble in our more boring moments."

"You could take control of this situation," Ichabod reminds him. "Releasing me would be the ultimate demonstration of taking back control and would be mutually beneficial."

He has never been much of a negotiator but Ichabod hopes he can talk Hal down off this ledge.

Hal raises his brow with disbelief, regarding Ichabod. "Or it would be the stupidest thing I could do in the last century, given that I have no guarantee that you won't assault me in an attempt to escape," he says, clucking his tongue as he chides him. "If you want to go free, let's barter, instead."

"I could be open to further negotiations," Ichabod says. He's not surprised his bid for freedom was not successful but he hopes that he can reach an amicable solution without much in the way of bloodshed.

Hal considers this for a moment. He didn't get to the top ranks of the echelons of evil by being flippant when a good offer is presented to him. He knows that Ichabod is worth more alive than dead, but what he can offer remains to be seen. "I command a ship that holds treasures in its belly," he remarks. "What do you have, that can offer me more?"

"Information is always more valuable than gold, especially when one's health and wellbeing is threatened."

It is a bluff but he hopes that it is a bluff that Hal will take and not question too deeply. Ichabod does not know how long he can maintain this subterfuge.

Hal is still rather wary of such tedious things, but Ichabod is sadly right. Besides, if not information, he can be a rather tasty morsel of food when Hal's appetite returns to him. He steps to his back and unties him with a sharp thrust of a knife, giving him an expectant look. "I do hope the information you wish to share is at least entertaining. Once you've conquered a ship at sea, there's really nowhere to go, is there?"

"Nowhere but down into the drink," Ichabod agrees. He flexes his wrists, trying to get circulation back, and wonders what it is that he can actually share with Hal that will be of interest but not be detrimental to the world at large. It leaves a very few things on the table and Ichabod wants to choose wisely if these are the pawns he must sacrifice in order to escape his own imminent checkmate.

"What, precisely, is your plan with the ship? Depending upon your aim in the matter, the information I can provide could be more or less useful. I would prefer to tailor my gifts to your needs."

He hadn't really thought past the hunger and the sheer delight at being free again. "Well, I had thought to sail into the nearest port and wreak havoc through the town until, well, let's say one percent of the population is left to scream mercy and beg me to spare them. I do love to hear begging," Hal intones evenly. "It's always very revealing of a person's priorities. From there, drink and fuck and reign over whatever I find."

"It would be best to capture a port that isn't strategic. You'll want something that will take a while for the local government to catch wind of it," Ichabod says, stalling for time. He needs to stop Hal entirely but if he can at least direct him toward some place less populated, some place where less people have to die.

"Are you aiming to be my lieutenant?" Hal questions, faintly amused at the notion of taking on a pet human to navigate strategy for him. It's almost worth saying yes, merely for the entertainment value that might result from this. He arches his brow and sits, crossing his legs as he keeps his posture straight. "What about the bloodshed? Surely you'd flinch at such things. Perhaps allow your morals to interfere."

"There comes a certain point where one must weigh the balance of morals and one's own neck," Ichabod says simply. He isn't going to abandon his principles, no, but if he can manage to gain Hal's trust somehow, perhaps there is a chance he can slip away. He will get but one chance to do this because he imagines that if he were caught, it would be a messy and bloody death in his future and not another escape plan.

Hal sips at the alcohol in his glass thoughtfully, wondering whether he's going to allow for this in order to see how it goes. "Tell me," he says, calm and firm. "You want us to dock in a port in a place that will go unnoticed and then, what shall I do? In order to conquer an island, where do I start?"

He already has more than enough ideas of his own, but he wants to know where his new companion would take him, through the valleys of blood and the mountains of fear and desperation.

"You'd want to cut off access to the outside. Secure the port, the roads," Ichabod says, hating that he knows so much about this from his own time as a soldier. "Box them in so there's nowhere to flee."

"And then, how shall I kill them?" Hal patiently leads Ichabod to the true question he wants the answer for. After all, he has lived through enough battles to know sensible strategy when he hears it, but what he's truly after is to see what mettle and might Ichabod might have lurking within him.

"Any way you choose, so long as it's quickly. The longer you draw it out, the more risk you run of having a rebellion," Ichabod says quietly. "It should be fast and clean so you can move on to the next town and the next and cut a swath of destruction across the land."

"Perhaps I will keep you," Hal says, gesturing to the alcohol on the table. Now that Ichabod's hands are freed, it would only be kindness to allow him a drink before he's taken off to a cage later, or perhaps turned to better suit Hal's needs. "Most people flinch at what's necessary."

"Duty is never something to shirk." It's not entirely duty but Ichabod does not know how else to couch it in order to assuage his own bristled morals.

"I will do what needs to be done."

"Excellent," Hal replies, hands clasped behind his back as he begins to feel hope for both his conquest and the life before him. "You surprise me, Crane," Hal notes, keeping the pleasure off his face because a good commander should never allow emotion to rule him. "Shall we go and inspect the men, to assess their skill?"

"Certainly." At least in this, Ichabod can possibly spot those who might be willing to join him in a sure to be messy and ineffectual coup. It's stupid, certainly, but Ichabod knows that evil flourishes when good men do nothing.

"After you, my good sir?"

Hal would be worried for a stake in his back were he not quick on his feet and utterly capable of defending himself. He's quick in his step and as he thrusts open the door with a flourish, he equally steps through with hunger and delight, but the moment his foot sets on the carpet of the very familiar hotel, the other part of him bleeds out as if he'd never been there at all, leaving Hal gasping and stumbling against the wall.

He's had so much blood.

He's drank so much. His gaze snaps up to Ichabod and he reaches a hand out. "Stay back," he warns, rife with panic and anguish. "Stay back, I have no idea what I might do."

Things seem different. This is not the Hal who had pillaged and drank from person after person, this is someone who seems genuinely frightened.

"Hal? Are you yourself once again?"

Hal breathes deeply and tries to find control, but his whole body is trembling and the other version of him, the Hal who wants to murder and kill and drink is so loud. "I'm afraid now that he's had a turn, he's going to be very hard to ignore," he says, words shaking with the tension of the truth. The door had done it. Walking into that other world had flung him into the self that hides and waits for the cycle to end.

"I need something to fixate on, something to organize, have you anything that I can put my hands to?" he asks desperately.

"I have...there is a library. The books are all out of order. We could organize them," Ichabod says, thinking that will be time consuming enough that possibly the worst could pass him while he was embroiled in the task.

"Yes, that's perfect, that is precisely what I need," Hal agrees, breathing and focusing on the economics of such a thing, allowing his physical actions to be the only thing his mind is occupied with. He feels as if his skin is crawling with insects and his mind is quick to join, thinking of how good it would feel to slide into the welcoming abyss of darkness again. "I'll lead the way," he insists, not wanting to have temptation before him.

"And I shall follow."

Part of friendship, by Ichabod's reckoning, was the ability to recognize when a person needed space and he wants to give Hal that space to be able to find himself once more. The monster he'd seen was a facet of Hal he did not think was truly him. Certainly, it had been him but Ichabod has difficulty reconciling that with the careful and cautious man before him now.

"I am at your assistance. You need but ask."

Hal swallows back the sick sensation in his stomach that wants to ask for something that Ichabod can provide, but shouldn't. He wants to slide back into that beautiful, easy place that allows him to do whatever he likes, even if he knows that isn't safe. The moment he hits the library, he is assuaged by so many books out of order that he immediately begins to shelve them according to height, then colour, followed by alphabetical order.

Soon, he feels calm enough to speak. "I had no idea the doors could do such a thing to me."

"We shall have to mark that door and not return," Ichabod agrees. "You were...not yourself. Though as you have explained it to me, I suppose that was the other side of the coin, was it not?"

Frightening, to know that was lurking beneath a mild-mannered surface.

"I'm afraid I was more myself than ever," Hal says, giving Ichabod a long look in which he doesn't blink once. "He's as much me as I am, now. It is the bad cycle, following the good or leading into it. Does it matter?" He breathes out slowly, and tips his head back, running his thumb over his lower lip, which still smells of blood. "I must have turned fifteen, twenty of them," he says. "Something of a quiet day, then."

"I steered you to a port without many people in it," Ichabod confirms. "I picked the smallest town I could, one that was isolated, so hopefully it will not spread further past where we landed. I tried my best to mitigate the worst of it. I knew the Hal that I know now would feel...regret."

"The thing I am now regrets it, but the dark seed in my head is disappointed that the whole world was not raining down with blood and death," Hal says, calm but shaky. "It is the trouble with these cycles. They take it in turns, but when it falls, it is always either much better or much worse than before."

"I am over five hundred years old," he says. "What comes next will be very, very bad."

"Does nothing stay the shift?" It seems that his compulsions seem to assuage it somewhat but Ichabod does not know if there are enough books in the world to prevent the display he just witnessed beyond the door.

"Nothing at all?"

"I wish that there were some marker or time or routine that I could set my watch to," Hal says, fingers fidgeting as he pulls out shelves of books, aiming to calm his mind in the action of working them back in. "And yet, it is unpredictable and wild."

"Hopefully we have been granted a stay for a time," Ichabod says. He does not know how to handle the shift and hopes he will not see another one while he resides in the Nexus.

"I suppose the wise thing to do would be to identify some weakness of yours to be used in case of it happening again."

Hal isn't so sure. With the blood in him now, the fight will be stronger than ever and there are so many doors lurking and lingering and filling him with building dread. "Werewolf blood," he says when Ichabod asks for a weakness. He lifts his sleeve to show off the scarring that Tom's blood had given him. "It's toxic to us. If drank, it will kill us instantly."

"Werewolf blood. There are some here, aren't there?" Ichabod vaguely remembers meeting at least one young werewolf and if there's one, there might well be a pack. They run in packs, as far as he knows.

Then again, this is the Nexus and it seems to play by an entirely different set of rules.

"I'm unsure whether the properties of the wolves here will work as they do at home, but the next time I'm there, I'll ask Tom to provide me with one of the vials he holds so dear." He thinks Tom might want to stake him, but surely Annie would never allow such a thing. "I'll place some for you to hold onto, just in case."

"Only to use in the most dire of situations," Ichabod assures him. The last thing he wants is for Hal to think he doesn't trust him, which isn't the case. He is wary of this other side of him, this destructive side, but Hal seems harmless enough normally. He doesn't always seem dangerous.

"Might I request that you scar before maiming, and both before killing," Hal remarks, with as much humour as he can inject into the words considering they are discussing the end of his very long life, which he only feels he wishes to happen half the time, nowadays.

"Certainly. I have no interest in killing you," Ichabod promises him. "I would never use this information to bring you injury unless I truly needed to. You can trust me with this, Hal, I can assure you of that."

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