A man chooses, a slave something something (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obeyseventually) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-12-12 11:50 pm
obeyseventually) wrote in come_sailaway2022-12-12 11:50 pm
Entry tags:
I admit defeat, then I move my feet
Who: Jack and Siffleur, or Jack and YOU
What: Jack coping in various ways, or keeping himself too occupied to remember his history of taking orders.
When: Varying parts of early december
Where: Tommy Bahama, the sports deck, Playback
Warnings: Violence and/or sex for Siffleur's thread, nothing so far for everything else, but warnings will come as needed.
1. Siffleur [closed to siffleur]
Shortly after a conversation with the Captain and a follow-up with Skulduggery, Jack finds himself walking through the ship, his thoughts pacing between two points like an animal in a cage. Sympathy and horror that the Captain was controlled in some way, maybe as directly as Jack was, or maybe not but close enough... But also the reminder that Jack could still, at any time, be forced under someone else’s control again, that while he removed the puppet strings programmed into him in Rapture, that whatever happens on the ship could be purely external, and there’s nothing Jack could do to stop it.
He thought about numbing himself by dipping into the stash he rebuilt since his room exploded, but not only could he see himself wasting half of it to stay consistently drunk long enough for this to fade, he feels kind of awkward about the idea? Like, that’s maybe not a healthy response he should turn to every time he feels complicated about his -- past? Origins? Nature?
So instead, he rides the elevator up to the Promenade and texts Siffleur en route:
Hey, if you’re up for a hunt I’ll be around. Not sure if I feel like trying to completely fight to kill, but you follow your heart (or stomach! 😂) on this one! 👍👍
And just doing that lifts a weight off his shoulders. With his hands in his pockets and his mouth whistling a cheery little tune, he strolls into the Tommy Bahama, right up to the nearest checkout. He takes his pistol and puts it on the counter, as well as his wrench. After a second to think about it, he puts his shoulder bag on the countertop too. No need to waste EVE hypos on this, definitely no need to waste his only health kit, and no need to risk the drinks he brought along either.
Armed with only his plasmids and the need to burn energy, he walks deeper into the Tommy Bahama, and keeps walking until something interrupts him.
2. Fight Club
But earlier in the month, before all that-
Alright, about a month and a half ago, he discovered a tennis ball machine buried under the sports equipment, dug it out, set it up, and stood empty-handed at the end of its serving range. It was nostalgic, in a way, to catch and drop the incoming tennis balls with telekinesis, but eventually the practice was less in his reflex catching and more in perfecting carefully dropping a tennis ball instead of accidentally releasing it like a misfired bullet. Which, you know, still an important skill to have, but not as engaging as he’d like his practice to be.
So early in the month, he shows up at one of the Fight Club meetings with a sign asking people to ‘Throw Literally Any Object At Me’ pinned to his shirt, standing next to a pile of balls and pucks (though he’ll accept any improvised projectile).
3. Sports Deck
The other time he plays with balls - phrasing, pardon him: the other time he practices with telekinesis comes after those awkward conversations, and it isn’t really a concentrated improvement of skill as he does it. He’s just lying on the sports deck, staring up in the sky, and firing a tennis ball into the air. It comes down more or less in his line of sight enough that even if it’s not going to directly fall on him, he can reach out his hand and his mind and draw it back to his palm before it comes close to hitting the ground.
Then he holds his arm straight up into the sky and does it again. And again. And again. Just mindlessly killing time, lost in thought but not thinking at all.
There’s an open bottle of rum beside him, but telekinesis doesn’t use that much EVE, so there’s only a mouthful of it gone so far, and Jack doesn’t really feel like sitting up yet.
4. Playback
Jack predates arcades, so it’s been a reliable place for him to keep himself busy. There’s decades of technology and games to explore in there, and enough variety to keep it fresh for him, for now.
And yet, despite sampling a variety of styles of game through the arcade, today Jack is going through any game with a gun.
They’re not shaped the same and they don’t even come close to the same weight, but the adjustment is easy to make and within the first half dozen shots he adapts to the game’s idea of accuracy.
At that point, it’s over for enemies on the screen. Be they zombies, or aliens, or dinosaurs, Jack hits them as soon as they spring up, again and again and again. The thing is, it’s hard to tell if Jack’s enjoying it.
He’s got a stern, focused look on his face as he works, no hint of a smile at all as he methodically clears through stage after stage of whichever game he’s on. While he doesn’t get a perfect clear every time, he makes it pretty far through each game before he has to start the process over.
Do you think he needs a break? He might need a break.
5. Wildcard
[Jack can also be found getting food pretty much anywhere on the ship that serves it, wandering around the Tommy Bahama, or wandering the decks at night, or anything else you can think of!]
What: Jack coping in various ways, or keeping himself too occupied to remember his history of taking orders.
When: Varying parts of early december
Where: Tommy Bahama, the sports deck, Playback
Warnings: Violence and/or sex for Siffleur's thread, nothing so far for everything else, but warnings will come as needed.
1. Siffleur [closed to siffleur]
Shortly after a conversation with the Captain and a follow-up with Skulduggery, Jack finds himself walking through the ship, his thoughts pacing between two points like an animal in a cage. Sympathy and horror that the Captain was controlled in some way, maybe as directly as Jack was, or maybe not but close enough... But also the reminder that Jack could still, at any time, be forced under someone else’s control again, that while he removed the puppet strings programmed into him in Rapture, that whatever happens on the ship could be purely external, and there’s nothing Jack could do to stop it.
He thought about numbing himself by dipping into the stash he rebuilt since his room exploded, but not only could he see himself wasting half of it to stay consistently drunk long enough for this to fade, he feels kind of awkward about the idea? Like, that’s maybe not a healthy response he should turn to every time he feels complicated about his -- past? Origins? Nature?
So instead, he rides the elevator up to the Promenade and texts Siffleur en route:
Hey, if you’re up for a hunt I’ll be around. Not sure if I feel like trying to completely fight to kill, but you follow your heart (or stomach! 😂) on this one! 👍👍
And just doing that lifts a weight off his shoulders. With his hands in his pockets and his mouth whistling a cheery little tune, he strolls into the Tommy Bahama, right up to the nearest checkout. He takes his pistol and puts it on the counter, as well as his wrench. After a second to think about it, he puts his shoulder bag on the countertop too. No need to waste EVE hypos on this, definitely no need to waste his only health kit, and no need to risk the drinks he brought along either.
Armed with only his plasmids and the need to burn energy, he walks deeper into the Tommy Bahama, and keeps walking until something interrupts him.
2. Fight Club
But earlier in the month, before all that-
Alright, about a month and a half ago, he discovered a tennis ball machine buried under the sports equipment, dug it out, set it up, and stood empty-handed at the end of its serving range. It was nostalgic, in a way, to catch and drop the incoming tennis balls with telekinesis, but eventually the practice was less in his reflex catching and more in perfecting carefully dropping a tennis ball instead of accidentally releasing it like a misfired bullet. Which, you know, still an important skill to have, but not as engaging as he’d like his practice to be.
So early in the month, he shows up at one of the Fight Club meetings with a sign asking people to ‘Throw Literally Any Object At Me’ pinned to his shirt, standing next to a pile of balls and pucks (though he’ll accept any improvised projectile).
3. Sports Deck
The other time he plays with balls - phrasing, pardon him: the other time he practices with telekinesis comes after those awkward conversations, and it isn’t really a concentrated improvement of skill as he does it. He’s just lying on the sports deck, staring up in the sky, and firing a tennis ball into the air. It comes down more or less in his line of sight enough that even if it’s not going to directly fall on him, he can reach out his hand and his mind and draw it back to his palm before it comes close to hitting the ground.
Then he holds his arm straight up into the sky and does it again. And again. And again. Just mindlessly killing time, lost in thought but not thinking at all.
There’s an open bottle of rum beside him, but telekinesis doesn’t use that much EVE, so there’s only a mouthful of it gone so far, and Jack doesn’t really feel like sitting up yet.
4. Playback
Jack predates arcades, so it’s been a reliable place for him to keep himself busy. There’s decades of technology and games to explore in there, and enough variety to keep it fresh for him, for now.
And yet, despite sampling a variety of styles of game through the arcade, today Jack is going through any game with a gun.
They’re not shaped the same and they don’t even come close to the same weight, but the adjustment is easy to make and within the first half dozen shots he adapts to the game’s idea of accuracy.
At that point, it’s over for enemies on the screen. Be they zombies, or aliens, or dinosaurs, Jack hits them as soon as they spring up, again and again and again. The thing is, it’s hard to tell if Jack’s enjoying it.
He’s got a stern, focused look on his face as he works, no hint of a smile at all as he methodically clears through stage after stage of whichever game he’s on. While he doesn’t get a perfect clear every time, he makes it pretty far through each game before he has to start the process over.
Do you think he needs a break? He might need a break.
5. Wildcard
[Jack can also be found getting food pretty much anywhere on the ship that serves it, wandering around the Tommy Bahama, or wandering the decks at night, or anything else you can think of!]
no subject
This is terribly stupid on Siffleur's part, but he's never been one to resist his instincts, and they're all telling him right now to test exactly where the line is with Jack, and what he won't do.
So despite the rack in Jack's hand, he saunters out into the open and flops on his side, looking at him. He's a sitting duck like this. "Can you move me now?"
no subject
Jack turns as he sees movement but- but stops abruptly, because Siffleur isn't moving fast, isn't even slinking low to the ground. He's just... walking, right out in the open, a move so antithetical to their usual fights that Jack nearly lets go of the rack his mind is holding. In fact, he leans forward, almost stumbles from having it nearly slip, and by the time he's straightened up, Siffleur is lying on the floor.
It's a clear shot, but it feels wrong to take it. So, he just... He just shuts his eyes to shut off his plasmid, the rack clattering to the ground like its strings are cut.
And then, since Siffleur asked, Jack opens his eyes and points his hand out to Siffleur, just to let him see what it feels like.
True to Jack's words, there's the feeling of formless pressure on Siffleur, something invisible trying get purchase, perhaps like mouthing an unknown object.
no subject
He waits patiently to see if Jack can drag him around. He can't, but Siffleur does feel the telekinesis on him. It's trying to move him but can't seem to get a good grip. And the moment he sits up, he feels the pressure fade.
"Nothing living then." He says and trots over to rub against Jack's legs. Siffleur purrs as he does, and thinks deeply on if he should tell Jack that the killing instinct is gone. Does he feel off, or is this something deeper? And does Jack know? He might not. They have not talked about it, but Siffleur is certain he is the first person Jack has been intimate with regularly. He's been plenty of men's first man, but rarely anyone's first anything. Jack would not be the first man to fail to keep casual sex completely casual.
Also Jack did use a lot of emojis in his text. That means it could just be other things. He left it in Siffleur's hands to decide what to do, and so he decides that he doesn't want to kill and eat Jack right now. He'll do it later, when Jack won't hesitate to smash Siffleur into small bloody bits.
"Show me all your powers." He knows Jack needs a distraction and he doesn't need Siffleur prying at his mind for answers. This is an even better distraction than half-hearted killing.
no subject
When he finally speaks, it isn't to answer him, exactly:
"What's - did you change your mind?" Jack asks, the only thing he can think to say. "Are we not - fighting anymore?"
no subject
All true things. Jack's heart is not into fighting right now and Siffleur can't say why, but maybe the fight will come back in a bit, so he doesn't want Jack to leave. But also Jack clearly wants to be distracted, so Siffleur will be happy to distract him in other ways. He purrs as he's scratched, his eyes closing at how perfect those fingers dig into the spots he can't reach.
no subject
"Really?" Jack says. Maybe it's the blood loss from that near-hamstringing and the nip earlier (which is starting to hurt now that he isn't pumping adrenaline for a fight), but he feels like he's missing something. "Are you sure?"
He's missing something, and also there's something - just - unfinished about all this. What's going on?
no subject
It wouldn't be the first time, though Jack usually requests that after something embarrassing has happened, or they want to avoid having to speak to some people on the ship.
cw brushing up against suicide even if it's not permanent
Well, excited isn't the right word, no, but he's not trying to avoid the fight, either. He came here for a reason, because he felt - because he's restless and - because he needs to work this restlessness out of himself, but not in a kind way. He needs the strain of survival, so yeah, sure, he was drawing it out with Siffleur.
He's not sure how to phrase that and sound it right - but even if he did, it'd rely on Siffleur wanting the same, and... What if he doesn't? What if this is just a day where he feels - affectionate? He's been affectionate after they fuck, for sure, and he's heard a little bit about how Siffleur talks about him, but this is direct and with none of the other physical stuff happening first.
Well, other than just the violence, and minor at that.
Ultimately, Jack just... sighs. And pats Siffleur's head, and maybe leans a bit of his weight on him because ouch his leg fucking hurts.
"Ah." he says. "Well, I'm not not excited, but uh..."
All that other stuff said, he's not about to lie down and ask for Siffleur to kill him, either. That's the difficult part of all this. If he just wanted to die, he could handle that on his own. This isn't about dying, it's about getting killed, but just-
Yeah, this isn't an easy answer. Jack's shoulders sag as he accepts he doesn't have one yet.
no subject
"You still want to fight." And lose. But Jack doesn't want to ask for it. He doesn't want it to be a mercy. He wants it to be earned.
Siffleur can do that. And to signal that it's back on, he turns the nip into a bite, his teeth tearing into Jack's flesh and into the bone, jerking his head to the side as he tears off one finger and then runs back into the jungle of clothing. The taste of flesh and blood in his mouth kickstarts his appetite again and he circles around Jack, slowly chewing and swallowing.
no subject
He screams and stumbles again from the pain and from being yanked forward before his flesh and bone give out, but as he clutches his injured hand and turns towards where Siffleur darted away, the scream dies out and laughter rises in it's place.
Heart pounding again, Jack swings his uninjured hand out, grabbing at the clothes rack he hid behind again and yanking it away. Only this time, instead of holding onto it as ammunition, he switches plasmids as he pulls back, leaving the rack to keep sliding somewhere into the store depths while his hand lights up with electricity.
He arcs a bolt towards Siffleur. Breaking his hips with the rack would have slowed Siffleur down earlier, even if he could recover, and Jack wants this to be hard. And that's also why the electricity is painful, but not as heart-stopping as it could be.
no subject
The blood's still thick on his tongue and his throat and he starts to change, grinding himself into a partway state as he scrambles to get to cover-
Then soon as he's got hands, he grabs hold of a rack and throws it at Jack, another right behind it.
no subject
He catches the first rack with telekinesis, pulling it to an abrupt stop in front of himself. It saves him from the first impact, but not the second, when the next rack hits into the one he's holding like a cue ball in pool, slamming it into him. It shakes that rack out of Jack's mental grasp, firing it wildly as he stumbles over, tangled up in the clothes and hangers knocked free of the rack.
no subject
no subject
Fire runs the risk of igniting something, which runs the risk of summoning Friday, and he wouldn't want her to see this. He's done electricity already, and he's not in a mind or an angle to make use of telekinesis, and bees - they're off the table for this kind of thing. There's only so much he'd want to subject Siffleur to.
Ice should be off-limits too for that reason, for the amount of damage that can cause to flesh, damage which might not heal as easily as cuts or bruises... But he's made it through broken bones before, and he said he wanted Jack to show him everything he has.
Jack's hand makes it to one of Siffleur's forearms, and it's ice cold for a moment. Only a moment, because the air around his hand freezes into a puff of icy mist as he turns Winter Blast directly on Siffleur's arm, a spread of pain that only comes from a freeze so cold that it burns.
His jaw is clenched, but his face is pulled tight into a grin as he watches Siffleur.
no subject
It's impressive. He'll tell Jack that later.
He's operating on instinct though, every other part of him focused on living. Jack's got a solid grip on Siffleur frozen forearm and he knows in an instant what will happen if he pulls.
Siffleur pulls.
The forearm does not tear off of Siffleur's elbow. It shatters there at the bend, frozen bone and blood on both ends, sharp and jagged. Siffleur leaves Jack's hand full, and he brings his forearm forward, shoving the snapped bits of petrified flesh and bone straight into Jack's throat to finish the job he started.
He's grinning right back at Jack as he does it.
cw: death/violence was already in effect but doubly so here and for the next few tags
More immediately and literally, he feels the jagged, solidly frozen stump of Siffleur's arm slam into his throat.
A horrible, gurgling noise comes out of Jack, mostly involuntary. Blood spurts from his neck and his mouth, the wound is jagged and clumsy even with the help of an unnaturally frozen edge. But Jack can feel it starting, the pain throbbing through the adrenaline and the numbness lapping in at his extremities. A feeling not quite like floating, full-body lightheadedness, his pulse pounding through his ears, working harder and harder with what little he has.
He's already holding Siffleur's arm, technically, but his other hand moves, clumsily tries to find some part of him in reach. His hand, absent of any plasmids, just holds on.
no subject
He dips him in the store, surrounded by clothes, both of them bleeding and suffering, and he brings his mouth to Jack's. Siffleur's lips have all peeled back and there's nothing but a mouthful of teeth, some cougar, some human, all sharp and hungry, and they press against Jack's mouth.
And then, they dig into his throat as Siffleur bites down and eats.