Crozier must be getting old, feeling appreciation flutter over Jopson wielding very effective authority over tidying. Stewardship is far more than chasing him down for shaving— even if Crozier had never bent to being comfortable with the more personal attention, he'd be pleased with such a man in charge of running the house, so to speak. He hasn't forgotten how good he is at his job, but their recent dalliances have put it out of focus. It's nice to admire it in the foreground.

Only a little damp from the weather above. He'll be out early in the morning, keeping an eye on things as they go. A captain has the privilege of staying below and letting the men handle it, but it's never been his preferred method of command. (Never been, as though he's had some grand career of captaincy before this, and not just responsibilities piled on him due to mismanagement from other officers. But it feels consistent, it feels as though he's been at this for ages, and it's only the title that's changed.)

"It might look cleaner than when I first stepped aboard," he admits, looking up at him. "Should I have boots on at all?"

Looks (and smells) like they bloody polished it.