come_sailaway | Are we not good enough? Are we not brave enough?

Who: Malcolm Bright and you!
What: May Event reaction and catch-all for the month
Where: Various places
When: Throughout May
Warnings: PTSD reactions

I. Day 1 Of The Event

As much as Malcolm wants to get off of this ship, the idea of 'strenuous' camping in the jungle is not very appealing to him. The last time he went camping, he ended up stabbing a serial killer and running through the woods. It's a long story. Suffice it to say that Malcolm doesn't like camping. Plus, staying on the ship might allow him to do some more exploring in places that might normally be more populated. He's planning on enjoying the quiet time.

He watches the tender leave and then goes about his business. When the screens first come on, Malcolm is curious. It's hard to miss, considering that whatever is going on is being broadcast very loudly. When the rules of the 'game' are explained, Malcolm is confused at first. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?

No. It's not. Realization dawns when the weapons are passed out and people scatter, going after one another.

Malcolm stares at the screen, horrified. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks incredulously.

II. Day 2 Of The Event

Last night was long. Malcolm didn't sleep at all. The screens never stop playing and every scream he hears brings Malcolm's mood further and further down. He's been trembling, trying to avoid watching, even though it's hard to do. His thoughts are with all of the people there, especially Conan and the rest of the children. And Ava. Are they all going to die? Malcolm is so many questions and nobody wants to answer them.

A few days previously, he had been alerted that there was a package for him at the sundries shop. Suffice it to say that he was surprised to find out that it was one of his katanas from home. One of his favorites, in fact. It's an antique, something that should be displayed on a wall, but with everything going on here, Malcolm thinks that he might need to use it for self-defense purposes.

So much for getting to explore the ship while everyone is gone. Malcolm's stuck in his room, even though there's a screen in there too. Eventually it starts to get to him. He can't ignore it anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more pissed off he gets. People shouldn't be forced to kill other people, to have to live with themselves and what they've done. His mind flashes to Ainsley, standing in their mother's living room covered in blood, a bloody knife dropped to the floor. She shouldn't have had to do that. She...

Malcolm can't take it anymore. In a rage, he picks up the katana and goes for the screen, running the blade through the glass. The image sputters for a moment and then goes out. He yells as he uses the sword to cut the screen off of the wall, letting all of his anger about this situation out. With a final pull, he yanks the screen free. Malcolm deposits the hulking carcass of technology out in the hallway with a thud, parts rattling on the inside. He pants, trying to catch his breath and calm down as he looks around to see if anyone else is in the hallway.

Even if the screen magically reappears in five minutes, at least he'll be able to have five minutes peace.

III. Day 3 Of The Event

Purchasing ear plugs at the sundries shop was a smart idea. It dulls the sound, though it doesn't drown it out. Apparently the 'game' is winding down. Malcolm has been pleased to learn that those killed in the Battle Royale have reappeared on the ship, unharmed. It's comforting, but it doesn't take into account the trauma of dying or killing someone. Malcolm's anger over this situation has abated, but only a little bit. He's not sure what he can do about what's happened over the past few days, but he intends to do something.

One thing's for sure: any minute trust that he might have had in the staff of this cruise has been permanently erased.

He's in the library, turned away from the screen in there, reading a book with his earplugs in. He's picked an old favorite, "The Thin Man", while he waits on news of his friends on the island.

IV. Wildcard

[ This is a catch-all post, so it's here for all other threads this month, even ones that don't fit any of these prompts. Please let me know if you'd like something! Feel free to PM me here or on Plurk at sparks_fly. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sarge was not expecting Malcolm in a rage in his hallway this afternoon. He flattens himself against the wall furthest away from him, breathing harder himself, looking for a moment like he might bolt.

"I don't," he starts, then peters out. He tries again: "I don't think. That helps."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. Malcolm hadn't meant to scare anyone, and he knows that Sarge has been through Some Shit anyway.

"Sorry," he says. "I just... couldn't take it anymore. Even if the TV comes back..."

It had felt good to hack it off the wall. That's when he realizes that he's still wielding the katana. Malcolm lowers it to his side.

"I've been avoiding them," Sarge admits, not quite ready to peel himself off the wall, though he's considering it now that the big sword isn't held like it's about to skewer something. Again. "But I haven't tried hacking them with a sword."

Mostly because he doesn't have one, but he does have knives. And a metal arm. He could do some damage if he wanted to. He just knows it won't do any damn good.

"You must have more self control than I do," Malcolm replies. He has no intention of attacking anyone on this ship, least of all Sarge. That metal arm seems very formidable.

It felt good to take out his frustration though and he's calmed down now, at least for a little while. "Not being able to do anything about what's happening is the worst part."

"I'm used to it," Sarge says, voice flat and kind of hopeless-sounding. He finally relaxes a hair more, leaning against the wall more as if for support than for protection. "I'd hoped here would be better, but I guess not. I wanted to protect people."

And look what he did. He ran away at the first opportunity he had to do so. Ugh.

"Yeah," Malcolm agrees. "I wanted to as well." He excuses himself for a moment and puts the katana back in his room. Wielding the sword didn't seem to be doing much for Sarge's comfort.

"Were you on the island?" he asks. If he's back, that means he must have died. Malcolm's not sure what's worse; dying early or staying there waiting for it to happen.

When he comes back out, Sarge is standing straight again, at least. Though he looks maybe a little hang-dog at the question. "Yes. And I'm back now." Which means, yeah, he died.

"I bet that sucked," Malcolm says. It's all he can really think to say. He's felt pretty helpless over the past 24 hours.

"What do you do in order to...?" He waves his hand vaguely, trying to come up with the right words. "Deal with everything, I guess? Do you drink?"

It's not a good coping mechanism. Malcolm's watched his mother do it. Still, choices are limited her. Coping is coping.

He looks vaguely confused by the question. "I just deal with it," he says. Why would you have to do something to deal with it?

Please explain coping mechanisms, Malcolm. Sarge has no idea. He mostly just suppresses, because that's the only way to cope he's ever been allowed.

Malcolm looks back at him. A soldier with PTSD from before they even knew what PTSD was probably does not have the best coping skills.

"Does that work?" Malcolm asks. "Or do you still think about it?"

He's going to guess the latter, because nobody's ever told Sarge any other way to deal with things other than to 'suck it up'.

Sarge has been taught though very harsh methods how to compartmentalize. It's not healthy compartmentalization, but it's there. So still looking baffled, Sarge says, "I am very good at not thinking about things I'm not supposed to think about."

Which may or may not be a real answer, but it definitely will tell Malcolm something.

"Glad it doesn't spring up all the time," Malcolm replies. His doesn't either. Compartmentalization works wonders! "But it's still there. I mean... I guess it will always be there. It's... how you think about it or react to it."

That's the biggest problem, the biggest thing that people have to deal with. He doesn't know what Sarge's coping mechanisms are other than just dealing with it.

There literally aren't any. The concept of a coping mechanism itself is foreign. Sarge looks vaguely skeptical. "I don't. It's just. I don't think about it. What else is there to do with it."

"There are things that make you think of it though," he replies. "We don't have a lot of control over that, outside stimuli. What we have control over is how we react to the thoughts."

Sarge has obviously never been to therapy and that doesn't really surprise Malcolm. Men from his time, men from the military, they didn't seek out help with mental health concerns. Plus 'help' usually meant institutions and a stigma.

"Anyway, there must be something that you do that helps, right? Physical activity?"

"I don't know." This whole conversation is stressing him out. Is he doing something wrong? Is there something he should be doing? Why is Malcolm even harping on this? It doesn't matter to him how a former murder machine "deals with" bad things, does it? "I just do things that need doing. I do patrols. I train Johnny how to defend himself. Sometimes I play scales on the piano."

Are we not good enough? Are we not brave enough?

Day 2

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