come_sailaway | BATTLE ROYALE EVENT: SHIP

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BATTLE ROYALE EVENT: SHIP

[fortunately, not signing up for the shore excursion doesn't mean the passengers still on board don't get to have a little fun. on the contrary: they'll get to have some of the most fun of all!

about an hour after the tender leaves, at about 9AM, every screen on the ship, from the cabin TVs to the one above the pool, begins playing a live feed of the events on the island, starting with Friday's introduction video and transitioning to the passengers leaving the bunker. from then on, the camera (?) seems to always know where the action is, bringing close-up views of each fight, each death. when little action occurs, highlight reels play. there is no audio, however, outside of the droning, inane muzak of the stream and the kitschy sound effects of the reels; time to brush up on your lip-reading if you want the hot goss on scene!

in the atrium, near Friday's desk, is a large piece of construction paper, titled "PLACE YOUR BETS," showing a table with the names (some true, some not) of each competitor, with a space to write down your name next to who you think will win. the captain has already made his choice! what are you betting? don't worry about it.

the screens will play the game 24 hours a day. destroying the screens wholly will buy you only momentary respite. so, sit back, and enjoy.]

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Max doesn't turn the lights on, because he doesn't need to. He can see in the dark just fine, so now there's two of them with red glowing eyes standing in the darkness.

He hasn't registered this is Ava because he's never seen the suit before, which might be good because the last thing she needs is him making jokes about how he bet on her and now this. Sigh.

"Hello?"

What is that sound?

She hums louder in response, a greeting or a warning. But the modulation flattens the tune, makes it all but unrecognizable.

There's a hollow clang as her gloved hand makes contact with the side of a machine, using it to pull herself into an attempt at a more intimidating stance. "Hello."

He absolutely does not recognize the billy bass song, he wouldn't even if he could hear it sung properly without the distortion of the mask, but it definitely makes the ambiance that much more unhinged.

"Why are you behind the laundry machines?"

Because it had been quiet and dark and unoccupied, because she couldn't figure out anywhere else to go. Because it felt like easier territory to guard than something too open. She might feel more compelled to chase someone else out, but... she likes Max. Figures he won't try to make her talk about something stupid like her feelings.

"It's where things go when they're used up and filthy," Ava comments instead. Wondering if that's why he's there, if his suit needs a good wash.

"Is it true? That you lost your head."

Well that is not the response he's expecting. There's something deeply personal about being used up and filthy and he is not qualified to deal with that.

So he won't.

"Yes. I'm told everyone got to see it in slow motion from several angles. But here I am again, good as new. Which is appreciated since I also had sand in all my joints."

"Good as new," she repeats. She feels neither.

Her hands clench and unclench.

And then she giggles. "Robo-spierre." Is that why he chose such a name for himself? Has it really been so obvious, right under her nose that whole time?

"You want another shot at it? We can up the stakes." Maybe that's the best way to escape the rest of the day.

He sighs, heavily. Overly dramatically even because he doesn't actually need to breathe so the sighing is all for appearances sake anyway. To be fair she's the first one to get the reference so he should probably acknowledge that. But he won't. Still, kudos to Ava.

"Another shot at what?" There's something about the way she's standing that's unsettling, and how she just repeats things he says in a strange distorted monotone. Like she might be broken and not responding properly. "Killing each other? I suppose we could, though it hardly matters does it? We'll just revive."

Whatever, she thinks it's rather clever of him. Revolutionary, truly.

"Reshuffle the deck, deal them again." Ava drifts closer, glitching along the way.

"If it doesn't matter, then what does?" she asks, because that's what she can't figure out. Not her life, not her death. "If I don't matter, then..." she makes a grab for Max's wrist.

Between what she's saying, and now the glitching he finally connects the pieces of the puzzle. "Ava?"

And then a bunch more things click together: her hiding in here, sitting in the darkness, that she died and revived and apparently isn't taking it as well as Max is.

"Here? I have no idea. Getting off this ship and back to our worlds seems to be the prevailing concern." Or so everyone keeps telling him. Though there's a few he's met who are genuinely better off here than back in their worlds.

He's not expecting her to reach out and grab for him, and he stumbles forward when she does, pulled off balance. But then he recoils, unused to being touched and not exactly liking the sensation, "Then what? You can kill me if you like, I'll just be back tomorrow."

"Ghost," she insists with a crackle. "It's so on the nose," she pokes at where his would be. "Yet here I am, having died but unable to move on. Haunting." Yet still far more existent than the ship's unseen ghosts. She envies it almost.

She doesn't particularly want to go back home. But she isn't too happy about the ship either. She wishes she'd been left in the ground.

"Then nothing. I'm not going to kill you," she promises, but she pulls her hand back to herself. Hurt at the rejection, but luckily it's hidden. "We can't win, you know. We're not the players in this game. We're the cards, and I'm a 2."

"Ghost is just a code name. A designation. And you're not that." He doesn't have the capacity to understand what she's going through, not only because he's not human, but because he doesn't see the trauma of what just happened. He killed some people, they killed him, all a part of the game.

He doesn't even understand why she'd killed herself.

"Winning doesn't seem likely, it's true. In fact it's all but assured we lose. Still, giving up seems less than desirable. Why give someone the satisfaction of seeing us beaten?"

The recoil isn't personal, he wouldn't want anyone touching him. That usually prefaces being arrested, thrown in jail, or worse interrogated.

"Well you can be a two. I'm an ace. Lucky thirteen right here."

"It's all I've ever been," she tells him stubbornly. It's her designation, and right now she has no idea how else to define herself. "Ghost is useful. Completes missions. Has skills and superpowers and never gets caught. Ava... was broken, so I buried her," or at least she wishes it were that simple. She doesn't want to be human, doesn't want to claim all of Ava's weaknesses as her own.

It might not be personal, but she takes it that way, retreating a few steps back. Back toward the corner.

"You're the one that told me to know when to fold, before you lose more."

Max is absolutely not qualified to deal with the mental break that Ava is experiencing. He doesn't understand what brought it on, he doesn't get why she's doing it, but on a surface level he does see what she's doing. When he's in horribly traumatic situations, say after being interrogated, he does lean in hard to the robotic side of being an Omnic. If he can just be completely mechanical and monotone then nothing will get through, nothing will effect him.

It's sometimes even effective.

"Ghost follows orders and seeks out targets. Ava thinks for herself and can adapt and react to situations. There's no one here to give Ghost orders. What will she do? You can't remain invisible hiding in the laundry room forever."

Okay actually he guesses she could, but that seems like a terrible existence.

"You shouldn't ever fold when what's on the line is your life. There's always stakes that are with holding out until the very end."

It's easier to cope with it all if she can fit her actions into the category of following orders, and at first she thinks he gets it until he continues on. She killed several people, and that was the task, and it's nothing that Ghost hasn't done since they suited her up and unleashed her upon the world.

But it wasn't the same. It was people she knew, even just in passing, not just a folder with a picture and a few details. She had instead tried to save people, a function that Ghost never had. Apparently for good reason as she failed all the same, had to watch Conan die in the crossfire of a fight that she let spiral too quickly out of control.

She keeps trying to figure out how she could have done any of it differently. If Ava thinks for herself, that means she's responsible.

"I don't know what to do," she admits, because hiding is the only thing that makes sense right now. Even though she doubts she could be as dramatic enough to sustain it forever. "I was supposed to finally be free." Maybe still a fugitive, but...

"I'm not sure what you should do either, but this isn't it." He gestures to the laundry room even though he's not sure if she can see him in the darkness.

"Freedom is all dependent on how you look at it. We're not free to leave the ship for instance, but we are free to do what we want." Death consequences what death consequences? He's still firmly in the 'nothing matters' camp.

"Which means you're free in a sense. And certainly you could keep hiding, but it won't change anything. Nothing will be improved by that. It'll probably just upset the people who know you. Humans are like that."

Yes of course her mask designed for stealth missions is going to have night vision. He's not the only one with fancy technology. Ava groans, shoves her head in her hands.

"This room," she starts, already regrets what she's about to reveal. "Reminds me the most of how I grew up. Where I'd go after I got debriefed. Not laundry... but. The labs. Cramped with machines. Where I stayed when I wasn't needed."

She tries to think of who might care that she hasn't already pushed away, who isn't already dealing with all their own fallout from the battle royale. Ava shakes her head, doubts much of anyone is looking for her. "If they're upset with me, it's for other reasons. How many people have you killed before?"

Look he has to interact with a guy dressed like a cowboy from the early 1800's even though they're in the year 2076 just because Cassidy thinks it's cool. He has no idea what is and isn't just aesthetic. And he routinely gets arrested by someone who looks like a sentient gaming mouse.

There's a very real flinch when she says that it reminds her of something horrible, yet reassuring. He's all too familiar with that, even if he'll never admit it.

"Comforting in a way? Mmm. I understand, but it won't be helpful to you to stay here in the longrun. And unlike the lab you're going to terrify Lucius when he comes in here to do laundry." his voice light, because he's imagining the shriek the pirate will let out if Ava jumps out at him in the full outfit. Poor guy may end up having to do more laundry then expected after that.

"Here? Two. Prior to here I can assure you that you won't like my answer."

It's true, that eventually somebody will come along with the desire to actually use the machines. And yes, she had planned to scare them away. Max hadn't seemed so easily intimidated, and she doesn't want to escalate things right now.

She swallows roughly, reaches up to release the front place of her mask and cradles it in her hands. "I lost count," Ava tells him, and now she's unable to make out a whole lot in the darkness other than the red glow of his eyes. "Targets, security, witnesses..." unlucky bystanders, family sometimes. "It adds up quickly. But. Maybe you don't have the nightmares." She rubs tiredly at her face.

"I'm not going to stay in here... forever. But there's too much going on out there," Ava makes a vague gesture. "And I'm not in the mindset to... I don't trust myself not to hurt anyone else right now."

The white diodes in the center of his red eyes are so much more visible in the darkness, flicking to the side and back to her. He may not be able to move anything except his eyes, but they are very expressive. "I see. I don't remember all of them, in some instances they're simply casualties on a spreadsheet. Collateral damage to further a cause." A pause, about to say something kind of vulnerable. Well for him anyway. "I do remember those who worked for me who died. And no, I don't have nightmares, I don't dream. I'm not sure I'd want to considering the majority of people who talk about it say that they only dream of terrible things."

Well that's more emotion talk than he wants to do. He's hit his quota.

"Well.. If you're going to stay in here for the time being shall I bring you something to eat? You'll have to tell me what you want because I don't know much about food, but I could gather a plate from the buffet."

She understands that well enough, a cause. That's what they used to convince her that she was serving, until she kept asking too many questions. And then it was lectures about compliance and eventually the less details she knew the better. But there didn't feel like any real cause here, no advertised prize other than simple survival. While she had known about the possibility of revival, there was still the nagging in the back of her mind that... people also tended to disappear. And while somebody like Clarke might be worth bringing back, well, she had doubts about herself. A waste of whatever energy all of this ran on.

Or maybe that's her own exhaustion speaking. "You're lucky," in other situations perhaps she'd find his inability a bit sad. "It's overly romanticized, dreaming. It's where all your mistakes, everything you lie to yourself about. Come back to haunt you." She watches his eyes curiously, flickering through the dark, trying to read them. "I didn't sleep, those three days," she tells Max. She's aware of it contributing to her snapping, feeding back into her paranoia. And even though she woke up in her bed, didn't move from it until much later into the day, Ava doesn't feel any more rested for it.

"Nor eat," she finally relents. She hadn't felt up to it while surrounded by bloodshed, still doesn't particularly now. The thought of food turns over uneasily in her stomach. But it's such a... thoughtful offer. Something more than just words. She doesn't want to turn it down. "Perhaps some bread?"

"Hm, that's the first time I've been told I'm lucky I don't dream. Normally I get pity. But there's probably a reason everyone dreams of their mistakes, maybe to learn from them. A way for your subconscious to train you to be better prepared next time." his tone unsure, because he doesn't know enough about how humans work to really hazard a guess at what dreams are for. When he 'sleeps' he shuts down, he's effectively dead during that time and the only process that's running is the one that keeps him charged.

Maybe it would be nice to have something occupying that time even if it was terrible. Something so when he woke up he wouldn't feel like he'd just lost hours of his life.

"Very well. I can do that." Nodding politely and striding out of the room, still in darkness.

But when confronted with the buffet he actually pauses. 'Bread' had seemed like such an easy task but now he's realizing it's far more complicated than that. There's toast, rolls, bagels, baguettes, muffins, pastries, garlic bread, corn bread, all sorts of things that technically constitute bread. If she hadn't eaten in three days what kind of bread does she need? How many calories are in a slice of bread and how many calories does a human need to survive? Does she need three days worth?

Okay that's genuinely too much bread. But how much bread is the right amount?

He stands there stupidly for longer than he'd ever admit, thousands of threads of code running at once to solve this problem of: Bread.

When he returns he does not have 10,000 calories worth of bread, but he does have a tray with a few rolls, some garlic bread, a piece of corn bread and a muffin. He also has a few of those little pats of butter in a ramekin to the side. All arranged elegantly like he's the most expensive maître d' on the ship.

She thinks it's rather... self-centered, for humans to automatically pity things that are unlike themselves. For their attempts to create something almost but not quite human, and give them enough awareness to be able to tell the difference. But whether or not Max envies something such as dreaming, Ava has no idea. Just ponders it while he's away, the concepts of screensavers and flying toasters and that old novel about electric sheep. If there's a way to code something like that for him. Even if it is, that's beyond her anyway.

But it keeps her mind off other things, no idea if he'll actually return. She goes back to humming, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness on their own without the assistance of her mask.

So when the tray is presented to her, Ava blinks in surprise. Expected maybe a roll or a piece of toast, not an entire spread. The absurdity of the entire situation catches up to her all at once. They both died dressed as deranged school children. And woke up just fine (okay debatable) and now she's been crying in the laundry room because she's suffering a bit of a crisis over her possible lack of purpose as anything more than a killer. And he's serving her bread. Ava makes a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob, hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she attempts to suppress it.

But she's laughing. "No, that's perfect," she assures Max, going for the muffin.

He's not someone who takes being laughed at very well, but he's honestly more confused than anything else which is tamping down his ire. This whole situation is so out of his realm of experience that he really should have left long ago and let Ava sort this out herself.

Human emotions are complicated and he, a 41-year old Omnic who sits on the inner council of a global crime organization, was just defeated by the concept of: Bread.

Clearly the ship is getting to him now. He felt fine after reviving from the dead, no critical errors, nothing permanently damaged. But maybe the punishment was that he now has to actually learn to live with a bunch of other people. Nothing happens for free. Skulduggery's words ring in the back of his mind.

He makes a confused sort of chirp, one of those noises he normally squashes, "Good. I think. Is that sufficient?"

The laughing is good right? That means she's getting better?

Better than she feels any right to be. She gives Max a wobbly sort of smile around the bite of muffin. It's hard to be too upset. The room smells faintly of fabric softener that she's only aware of now that her mask is removed, the muffin is soft and sweet, and Max... well, for some reason he seems to care enough to have not left her on her own when perhaps he should have. But she doesn't think either of them are ready for her to draw attention to that.

She nods. "It's... easier on the stomach. When you haven't eaten in awhile. Anything too heavy can be nauseating," she tells him, instead of anything sentimental. She's sure they've both had enough of her emotional turmoil.

"Thank you..." Ava tells him sincerely, not sure if she'd already done so. Manners aren't her strong point, as illustrated by the crumbs she's getting down the front of her costume as she tears off another muffin chunk.

It's probably the oddest situation that Max has ever found himself in, and that's saying something considering he's been kidnapped to a ship that seems to run on emotions. But at least she's not hiding in the laundry room miserable.

He's not really sure why he cares; if that's what she wants to do then so be it. But...

"Certainly." He's not going to acknowledge any of the emotional parts of the situation here. It's probably not just some human thing he doesn't understand, but the less he focuses on that the easier it is to deny.

"If all is well here, I'll leave you to it." That way he's not around when she finally decides to leave the laundry room.

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decohere - 2022-05-20 03:05 (UTC) - Expand

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