pleased to meet you

[sailmods]

CW: murder

[it is the morning of the 17th when the usual morning announcement is replaced with the sort of tentative, nervous tone that Friday takes on immediately before something insane happens.]

Good morning, passengers! It's, um... Well, I sure hope everyone had an interesting time on their shore excursion! The Captain sure did! In fact, he had such a good time, he's asked me to inform you all that, tonight, he's going to be hosting his usual captain's formal in the main dining room, but with a twist! This time, it's going to be a, um... victory party! For Natsuno! Because he won! [small laugh] And also to celebrate the opening of a new shop on the Promenade! Gosh, and that really is something to celebrate; I haven't seen that happen since he--

[LOUD STATIC NOISES]

-- Yes, well! The dress code will be cruise formal; everyone can find a new set of clothes in their cabin to celebrate the occasion! I-- Oh, right, we'll see you all tonight! 8PM sharp!

[the connection cuts off. today, for the first time that anyone can remember, Friday can't be found in the atrium. or any other room. smoke 'em if you got 'em.

at 8PM sharp, the door to the dining room swings open. it is mostly empty: the only tables left are a dozen or so under the main chandelier. there are name cards at each table setting, written in Friday's neat script; the seatings seem mostly random, except for everyone who was on the island, who will find themselves at a table with their killer and/or victim(s). except Natsuno, of course, whose name is displayed proudly at the head table, next to an unnamed place. once they are inside, all of them find themselves under the same sort of compulsion that they felt during the muster drill, and their legs will stop working until they have gone to their assigned seats.

Friday enters the room first, dressed up nicely, but with hunched shoulders and her hands clasped firmly in front of her. the door shuts behind her. she says nothing, and acknowledges no one, not even Natsuno, as she takes her spot behind the chair.

a few fashionable minutes pass. it starts as smoke pouring out from under the door, moving towards the table as it slowly solidifies into the form of... a rather normal-looking man. he sits, cross-legged, in the chair that Friday pulls out for him. he looks over the assembled crowd, visibly considering something... there is a flash of silver in the light, and the knife he'd had in his sleeve is across Friday's throat quicker than she can react, and she falls bonelessly to the ground, a spray of arterial blood across the table setting.]

There, perfect.

[he looks out at them again. and he smiles. the knife is placed back in his sleeve, and he holds his hands out, palms up.]

Well. Here's your chance. [he waves a hand lazily, and the compulsion keeping them seated fades like pins and needles.] Try not to embarrass yourselves.

Comments

[Closed to Skulduggery]

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy takes the announcement with all the excitement of someone finding out they need a root canal in every tooth in their mouth. A party, celebrating senseless murder, wonderful. She loves it.
She finds a fairly nice suit in her room and quietly thanks God that she didn’t need to wear a dress, wearing her sword on her belt and leaving behind the tie that she doesn’t know how to put on.
They get marched in like army ants and compelled into seats and she hates it, she’s already fuming like the seas boiling when she sits down, and the murder of Friday in front of everyone, kids included, does not help with this. Skulduggery is sat across from her when the Captain releases them, and she can already hear his lilt in her head about how it’s very obviously a trap, to play nice, to see what information they gather before he says anything.
And before he says anything at all, Darcy’s already standing up to show what she thinks of the Captain’s little display.

[light_mischief]

Skulduggery's own interest in the party hadn't waned until the moment the doors had opened and he'd seen the seat set up for their host. Tamping down on the dread had been easy, especially seeing Darcy bitterly fuming across the table from him, and easier still had been putting on a neutral, uninterested poker face. But Friday's nervous posture, watching her perform the part of a terrified servant, even while knowing it was an act, was enough to put him on edge.

He knows what's likely to happen, even as he hopes for something more mundane -- and as the blood sprays across the table, he sees Darcy throwing herself to her feet. He's moving before he realizes he can, body numb from the fading magic, and he bodily throws himself across the table at her, tackling her with a surprising amount of force.

"Don't," he bellows, loud enough for anybody around him to hear, "That's just what he wants!"

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy takes the hit with a snarl, half-catching him as he literally hurtles himself to try and stop her.

"Who gives a fuck?!" she snaps back, trying to push him off her, "I have to try!"

What kind of person did it make her, if she watched this and didn't take the opportunity presented to her? Maybe he misjudged them, underestimated them, maybe there was something they'd missed that could hurt him. She couldn't be sure until she tried.

[light_mischief]

If she wants to try to wrestle him, then he will gladly indulge her; anything to keep her anger directed at someone who won't outright murder her for her efforts. Because just like her, he's wondering if they've missed something -- but not a weakness. He expects a trap or some other unseen retaliation, and he frankly doesn't care if he's wrong.

"At best, you'll injure him, and he'll murder you," he snaps. "At worst, he'll make you murder someone else!"

Because they'd both been forced to walk here, same as everyone else. Who knows what else they can be compelled to do?

[saltwaterlungs]

"Oh no! Murder! On a ship where we can't fucking die!" She snaps once again. She can't help but try and fight back, cursing the dumb fucking suit restricting her movement, and him for trying to stop her crusade. She tries to break his grip, wrenching a hand away from her shoulder, her fingers digging into the spaces between his metacarpals. She can outpace him easily; she can outpace anyone she cares to, all she needs is an opportunity.

"You can't fucking stop me," she snarls, "but I won't forgive you if you keep trying."

It's spat in anger, but she means it in the moment, her emotions a boiling apocalyptic maelstrom fit to raise a seven-headed beast from.

[light_mischief]

He hisses in pain, lifting his free hand as if about to smack her over the head. Exasperation and fury turn his words into a righteous scream. "Of course you fucking die!"

And Skulduggery recognizes his voice right then, recognizes the harsh edges and hears it for what it is. He recognizes that he's falling into the same exact trap that he falls for every damn time. His anger rises up like a black cloud and threatens to overwhelm him before he even realizes it's happening, distracted by the horror of the last few days and that brief, hopeful respite between then and now.

So he shoves her away from him, violently, hoping she might trip and fall and be forced to sit for just a minute, to give him the space to calm down. "If --" He can't even say what he wants to say, not here, not now, so he's forced to improvise. "Please, Darcy," he finds himself saying, unable to summon up enough of a defense beyond that and knowing it just won't be enough.

[saltwaterlungs]

For a moment there she genuinely believes he's going to hit her. She flinches and everything. The hit that doesn't come tangles her insides up further, as some distant part of her recognizes that even in his anger, he didn't strike her. She'll be sorry after this and she knows it. Regardless of if she gets murdered or not. But Darcy is a live wire too full of adrenaline already to act better, and when he shoves her away, while she stumbles, she catches herself. Her hand is already at the hilt of her sword, and... Darcy doesn't cry. She cried herself out when she pulled her own ragged corpse from the water. Her eyes are just red, that's all, as she peels herself away to try and get a hit in on the captain before he can try and stop her again. Darcy cannot afford to feel bad that she's doing what Skulduggery is too weak to.

She has a duty to the people here, and to the dead.