come_sailaway | Pirate Room Party

Entry tags:

Pirate Room Party

Who: Lucius Spriggs, Edward "Blackbeard" Teach, and Stede Bonnet, and also you? Probably you.
When: Mid-way and through the end of the Battle Royale. Following this thread.
Where: Cabin 117.
What: Stede had a freak out and collapsed. He's not dead but out cold and accepting visitors (mostly).
Warnings: General Pirate Behavior, potential descriptions of glass related injury.

Getting Stede Bonnet to a safe location is a complicated affair for two reasons.

Reason the first: Lucius has very little upper body strength and so is relegated to carrying Blackbeard's big fuckoff knife and occasionally helping with Stede's feet.

Reason the second: they are currently on a barge of the damned and safe is an extremely relative term.

Eventually, they decide (or rather Lucius comes to the conclusion and offers) that keeping Stede in a location with a spare bed and access to assistance is best until he is up and about. For several reasons, this ends up meaning that the Captain will be stashed in Lucius's bed in his and Skulduggery's cabin. On the plus side, this means that there is a spare bed for use, on the negative, it means that the cabin will invariably be painfully cramped.

Starter for Blackbeard, Skulduggery, and eventually Watson:

Once they (Blackbeard) haul(s) Stede to the room and deposit(s) him on the bed, Lucius gives the Captain a sad, slightly pained look. He's been wearing that outfit for days. It looks awful, disheveled, and now it's got blood and glass holes, and both of those problems fall under Lucius's job description.

He sighs and starts to strip the Captain with the general dispassion usually relegated to those in the medical profession. They have two of those complimentary terry cloth robes and, in lieu of a dressing gown, it'll do. Besides, they need to see about the cuts and check for glass in his back--right?

Maybe Clarke was right, you know, after the bashing his chest bit. They ought to call a doctor.

"I don't suppose you know any doctors?" Lucius asks and casts a tentative look at Blackbeard as he strips off Stede's vest. "Er--Sir."

Ah yes, nailed the title.

Very professional.

General starter for reference:

Cabin 117 is absolutely, entirely overcrowded.

It feels like they're back on Revenge at least, insofar as Lucius is concerned.

Stede Bonnet has the whole of one of the beds. He's looking a bit grim and grey, and has on a chintzy Hawaiian shirt and a bathrobe on despite being tucked snugly beneath the covers. The rest of the room is varying levels of disheveled, both from the over-occupancy and the fact that the island horrors continued for a day after they arrived. Lucius has been sleeping on the couch and has surrendered the bed that technically belongs to his roommate to Blackbeard. It's been better than a day and Stede is still out, but he's not dead yet and the horrible music and sound effects have stopped, so there's some peace to be had.

[OOC: Please feel free to just barge in, or visit, or ding dong ditch. Whichever. If you're one who signed up to be on the crew, feel free to assume Lucius tracked you down to inform you.]

Threaded | Flat

Ed makes it to Lucius' cabin mostly on sheer determination, because his knee is killing him by the time he eases Stede down onto the bed. Allowing himself this weakness, he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress to rest-- only to stand again when Lucius begins the process of undressing Stede.

It's not as if Ed has never seen anyone naked--he has, both willingly and not-so-willingly (living on a ship, you don't have much choice sometimes--and he did stay on the Revenge long enough to witness Buttons ...moonbathing). And he and Stede have swapped clothes before, he's tended to Stede while he was injured-- Ed's so distracted he doesn't bother to correct the 'sir' to something more normal, like 'just Blackbeard.'

"What? Uh, yeah." He looks down at the floor and then away, following the carpet with his eyes to another, safer piece of furniture, one where a blond aristocratic pirate captain isn't being stripped in the least sexy striptease in existence, circumstances being what they are. "I'll...uh, go get him," he adds awkwardly, hastily, beating a retreat to the door. "You-- you look after him." And then, because that felt entirely too genial, he stopped at the door to issue a warning: "If he dies in your care, you're dead too."

The doctor had better be In.

Once he locates it, Ed knocks loudly on Watson's door.

Darcy had mostly managed to avoid the crew over the course of the week. There was… The little incident with Lucius in the buffet on the second day, but by day three she was looking considerably less corpsey, and she'd gotten word that the captain was out of action. Obviously she didn't need to visit. She didn't need to do anything. She also probably shouldn't have visited either, she was still chewing through everything in her head about whether or not she should even keep entertaining the idea of being on the crew. If it was dangerous, if Lucius was right, if Stede was just going to get them killed for nothing. The last time she'd been at this cabin was her little vanishing act, after all, and it was hard not to still feel that sting.

Despite herself, she found herself going anyway.

Partially just to prove to herself that he was there, it was him resting up. He'd seemed so chipper and sunny that the concept of him injured didn't compute. Like a puppy in one of those kids adventure movies about talking animals. Harm was another language that didn't exist when she thought of him.

But as well, at the very least, if she was going to quit the crew, she needed to tell him herself. For the moment she was signed up, for all intents and purposes, which meant she had some responsibility to him still. At least until she made that decision properly.

Quietly, as not to disturb the occupants, Darcy peeked around the corner of the door frame, unmoving and silent, trying to catch a glimpse of him to assess the damage.

Beetlejuice came in carrying a book for Stede. A copy of the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. Impossible for the living to open, it might make a nice paperweight if the Stede pulls through. If not, he'll be able to read it!

Win-win!

This is kind of awkward.

Malcolm feels like he's at a wake, but Stede isn't dead. He appears to be unconscious, though he's laid out like a corpse for visitors. Maybe this is some kind of eighteenth century thing that he doesn't know about? Was he supposed to bring something? He's not really sure, so he landed on a small bouquet of flowers. That's what most people give as get well gifts.

The situation is not made any less awkward by the fact that both of the pirates seem to think Malcolm is an asshole, albeit for different reasons. What can he say? He doesn't always make the best first impression. Malcolm is here trying to make amends though, because that pirating thing Stede mentioned? Is starting to sound pretty good in light of recent events.

Malcolm clears his throat quietly and speaks to whoever's in the room. "I'm sorry. What happened to him?"

Trying to make sense of the things happening on this ship was a little bit like trying to write a song from the point of view of the Mad Hatter--something Diana had once attempted, back in the 1960s, right around the time she discovered she could get high, even though she had no circulation. All that she really knew was that Stede--why was his name still so damn familiar?--was in a coma. And Diana knew enough from her friends back in the Order who'd gone into torpor to know that that kind of sucked. The least she could do was hope to make it suck a little less.

She visited every night he was out, usually right after dinner. She'd swipe a flower arrangement from a table in the dining room and set it down on Stede's beside. Then she'd swing her gaudy, rainbow-painted guitar in front of her chest, playing a couple of songs, before she left. The point was she didn't want him to be alone. She'd heard that even in a coma, sometimes, people could hear. So she'd let him hear her. At least for a little while.

Edited 2022-05-17 00:49 (UTC)

When possible, it's always nice to have a little bit of time to cool off between conflicts. The Serena Eterna may not offer them any actual sense of freedom, but it's large enough, and full to the brim with distractions flitting across every screen for the next day and a half or so. It's really not difficult to push thought of Stede Bonnet's breakdown and the subsequent miniature barroom brawl from the front of her mind and refocus on watching her best friend on the ship slog through every level of hell out on the island. But in the end, the old man's wavering attempts of assurance — I hope he comes through alright, your friend... — come out at least partially accurate. Natsuno Yuuki heals from any and all wounds, wins the game, and returns to the ship where he is pointedly not alright, but stoic to a fault and stubborn past that fault. Eventually he tires of Clarke dogging after him at the heels, and that's approximately when she starts worrying about everyone else on the ship.

There's a list, more or less. Once the battle royale is finished and people start to pick up the pieces, there's confrontations and comfort to dole out in equal measure. There's notes to take, theories to push, night terrors to weather, and for some reason a live crab. Then a ways down the hallway from her own room, a gentle trickle of people entering and exiting the same cabin over the course of a few days, which sparks enough interest that Clarke eventually invites herself over.

No flowers, no present, no tinfoil covered plate of food from the buffet. No well wishes, and no card. But no further invasion of space, either. Clarke's a fast enough learner, and sticks to the entryway of the cabin, even as she strains to catche sight of one Stede Bonnet asleep in the overly plush bed. Still out of it then, is her first thought — but follows itself up with the knowledge that if he'd died that same day, he would have already been carted off by Friday, preened over by the Captain, and woken up by now. So not a heart attack? That was good, that was a relief.

If there are two things Skulduggery isn't a big fan of, it would probably be unconscious friends and enclosed rooms full of mourners. The room in question being his own doesn't make him any more inclined to linger around.

There's not a lot of consistency to when he's in the room, but he's usually doing the same things. He'll check on whoever's keeping watch, in case they need somebody to relieve them, dutifully replaces empty liquor bottles with full ones, and occasionally he'll bring the easiest food he can carry down from the buffet. If people ask him for something, he'll likely be more than willing to help.

But most importantly, Skulduggery remains cheerful about the situation. It's not to be glib by any means, nor is he naive towards just how serious things are; he just seems comfortably confident that things will work out. This is, of course, out of spite towards their situation; they're stuck here no matter what, and Skulduggery has decided he will simply kill everyone with relentless, vengeful optimism.

He wakes to darkness. At least, he thinks he's awake, it's hard to tell. Everything is velvety black and muffled, he can barely hear his own breath. The only reason he's fairly sure he's alive is because he's horribly sweaty. He feels like he's spent all night running-- or rowing-- across an endless black sea, hands rough on the oars, back aching with the slap of water on his face.

He presses his hands flat against the bed, feeling the rough sheets-- Where.... oh the ship. The other ship. This ship.

"Oh...God." His voice is barely a whisper as he covers his shaking hands to his face. He remembers. Not all of it. Not details thank fuck. Like he's looking into the water and seeing something terrible in the water he can't make out. Something looming. Something--

"Oh god. Oh Fuck. Oh god." He slips out of bed and falls hard on the floor with a yelp. His head. His knees. His everything. He can't stand. He can barely move. But an instinct stronger than absolute exhaustion keeps him less then crawling toward the lav. Except it isn't there. Just a wall.

And shoes.

Any port in a storm.

He retches.

There's nothing to come up but bile and a little water but not much more than that and in a second he can't do anything but lie there, groaning softly and wanting to die. Really he should. Really he ought to. It was only fair.

After everything... Every horrible little thing...

That he can't quite remember...

That he doesn't want to remember.

He closes his eyes, trying not to breathe through his nose, and quietly waits for death.

Threaded | Flat

A pirate, a skeleton and a doctor--

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still

A thoughtful gift:

Malcolm and whoever happens to be in the room

Flowers from the Flowerchild

creepin' but in like, a concerned way

drifting in and out like this isn't HIS ROOM

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