come_sailaway | pleased to meet you

Entry tags:

pleased to meet you

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.

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A party never ranks high on Ava's list of ways she wants to spend her time, especially since this is the third one she's attended and there's still no piñata. And then the seating arrangements, putting her right between Lucy and Crabb, offering them an apologetic sort of shrug.

She expects some sort of boring ceremony, maybe some humiliation directed at the losers. She braces herself for it.

Instead apparently it's dinner theatre. She raises her brows at the splatter of blood, does an awkward sort of clap? And shoves her napkin down the front of her dress so she can dig in to the delicious lobster and enjoy the show.

If anyone is distracted or otherwise leaves their lobster unoccupied, she's swiping it. Conveniently she has a brand new Tommy Bahama tote bag to dump them into.

Due to the fact that Malcolm wasn't on the island, he's not seated anywhere near Ava. He doesn't know what to think of this event at first. Then the casual murder of Friday sets the tone for the evening. It shakes him, even though he's fairly sure that Friday will regenerate. As annoyed as he was at her, he realizes that she's only a patsy for the captain. Thinking that she might be a being who is able to think for herself...?

Well, that's still a possibility, Malcolm acknowledges. He's not writing that off completely yet.

He observes the captain while others try to engage him, watching them attack him to little or no avail. Malcolm's thinking about his own tactics, about profiles and strategies when he notices the uneaten lobster on his plate move.

Glancing up in surprise, he finds Ava next to him and feels a surge of fondness. "Have it," he says with a wave of his hand. He had no intentions of eating it anyway.

She wants to steal more than the lobster, but the seat next to him. But she physically cannot, apparently the seating arrangements are set and enforced. But she can awkwardly hover. "Don't look so glum. I'm sure you're used to these fancy sorts of occasions, bloodshed and all," Ava gives his tie a light tug. Is she taking any of this seriously? Not at all. It's probably a rather incompatible demeanor with the girl he found crying in the laundry room not too many days prior.

But she's less interested in her own fucked up psyche, and more observant of those that attempt to go after the Captain. Each in their own ways, a variety of tactics that all seem to simply fail. And she knows Malcolm is too, curious what he makes of it. "See, I think they're all used to being the heroes back in their own world," she mutters close to Malcolm's ear, stabbing at his lobster with a fork. She still hasn't figured out the proper way to eat it yet.

"Rich people are awful, but bloodshed usually isn't part of their events," he replies, looking up at her when she tugs on his tie. Ava's mood is a change, that's for sure. She must be in denial about all of this. It's a state of mind that Malcolm is very personally familiar with.

Ava could be right about the heroes. That notion might open up a new line of investigation for him. "Turn it over," he says, indicating the lobster. "There's no shell on the other side."

"Shame," Ava comments idly, using the end of Malcolm's tie to draw it across his neck. "But historically, that was the way to maintain wealth."

It's not quite denial, because she's quite aware of what's going on around them. Intangibility isn't just a physical state that Ava adopts, but a mental one as well. Can't truly ever be hurt if you simply allow things to pass right through you. And she's not the one losing control this time.

She turns her attention back to the lobster, nudging it over on the plate to expose the underbelly. "It's a bit like a nature documentary. They work out their pent up frustrations, he establishes dominance and order over the territory. The rest of us pick at whatever scraps are left. I might've loosely stolen that comparison from Mean Girls. Made me glad to never go to school."

"Not since Ancient Rome, at least," he says, watching curiously as she moves the tie over his neck. What is she doing?

Depersonalization, then. She's not here, this isn't going on. Malcolm's been there.

"Sort of," Malcolm replies. "I see it more as a sadistic psychopath taunting his victims. We're all angry, and we haven't figured out what his weakness is yet."

Everyone has one. It's just a matter of time.

She drops it, expression falling flat.

"Ego, perhaps. By showing off his lack of physical weakness, to make us realize how futile it is in fighting back, he's revealed quite a lot. But," she stabs at the meaty bit of the lobster, reaching for the butter. "It's stupid to fight a problem head-on. They're just the types that are used to that working. They're good for distraction, at least."

"So what do you recommend?" he asks, watching her stab at the lobster. "Other than complete denial or depersonalization?"

Malcolm's not judging her, and he hopes she can tell by the amused smile on his face. He really wants to know what her plan is going forward, if she has one. Surely a woman who was a government assassin has a plan. She would have to be thinking one step ahead of her targets.

"Everyone keeps saying the key to this is working together," she says blankly, no real conviction to it at all. It's a nice thought. Ava's not a team player, it says so right on her psych evals that got rubber stamped as cleared for duty anyway. She'll let people good at that sort of thing handle that.

"I like tying people to chairs, but somehow I doubt that would work," Ava takes a bite of lobster from over Malcolm's shoulder. "My recommendation is to watch what everyone else does. That's your specialty isn't it?"

"I think it is, at least somewhat," Malcolm says, putting his hand up. "There are more of us than him, and most of us have magic or some kind of super power. There has to be something we can do."

He pushes the plate of lobster closer to her. It's hers if she wants it. "I've been watching and I can see what's clearly not working." That is attacking the Captain. As much as Malcolm understands why people want to do it, it's only serving to amuse the Captain.

She happily helps herself to the lobster, and his napkin to dab butter from the corner of her mouth. "My powers can't be the only ones to have been... limited, though. So I think he's taken that into account. However many of us there are, he invited us all at once. He knows he can handle a direct attack."

And yeah it amuses her too, in a way she doesn't want to outright admit. Seeing people jump at the chance to show off, only to get proven how ineffective their attempts. She has a lot of pent up resentments toward the hero types in her own world, after all.

"They've been limited?" he asks. Malcolm hadn't realized that. Perhaps that's what's keeping them all on this ship. If people had access to their full range of powers, maybe the captain would be able to be defeated.

"What does he want with me though?" Having him here doesn't really make sense by comparison. Malcolm might (somewhat) consider himself a hero, but he doesn't have any super powers. Nothing to suck dry out of him. What use is he to this creature?

"There's places even I cannot phase through," Ava tells him between bites of lobster. "Like those locked doors? I could try, but, I don't feel like face planting in front of a crowd."

Ah Malcolm, she's feeling too kind to suggest he's cannon fodder, like the rest of them really. "Variety?" she suggests instead. "It is the spice of life."

"Ah, right," he replies. She can't phase through the door onto the bridge, otherwise she would have done so already. Whatever power the Captain has, it's greater than some of the powers of the passengers.

"I'm not that interesting." Malcolm's kind of interesting. Not many people have a serial killer for a father. If that's supposed to be a superpower, it's a pretty shitty one.

Malcolm drums his fingers on the tablecloth. After comforting Ava, he's realized that he needs to find a time to tell her about his father. Not now though. There's too much going on and she looks so pretty that he doesn't want to make this night worse than it already is.

"I like your dress."

"I think you are," Ava thinks his relative normalcy is quite fascinating. Yet she still feels like she barely knows much about him, Malcolm keeps so much to the chest. Conan had suggested he liked her, and he certainly is kind, but he hasn't been so responsive to her flirting attempts so it's probably time to back off. How much could a little kid really know about that sort of thing anyway.

But his comment on her dress brings out a pleased little smile, he's the only one that's commented upon it. "Not what I'd have picked out for myself, the color, but it is pretty."

Malcolm offers her a half smile. "You're interesting... I'm not sure what's interesting about me." Unfortunately for both of them, Ava's flirting efforts have been strange at best and Malcolm doesn't know how to interpret someone flirting with him anyway. Somebody help these idiots.

"It looks good with your skin tone," he replies. "What color would you have picked?"

Strange at best is the best she can manage. Maybe some guys are into that. She's just getting the impression Malcolm isn't.

Her skin tone really isn't something Ava takes much into consideration when dressing herself, but she glances down and has to admit it's a nice... contrast? But Ava often defaults to her comfort colors. "Grey?" Which admittedly isn't interesting or exciting or the most flattering. Which is exactly the point, she doesn't like standing out.

"I wish I could sit next to you," Ava frowns, because try as she might there's no overcoming the assigned seating.

"Hmm." Grey wouldn't be a good color on her. It would wash her out and make her look invisible, but he's sure that's what she wants. She's unsure, and she likes to be able to hide if she has to. "I think you would look good in an emerald green or royal blue as well," he says.

"You don't have to because I'm getting up." He's seen enough. Even if they can't leave, they don't have to watch the tableau before them. "Wanna take some laps around the room?"

Malcolm offers her his arm.

"Oh," Ava responds. She doesn't own anything in either of those colors, but she does make a mental note to keep an eye out. There's supposed to be a new store, after all.

Maybe he feels restless, being a literal captive audience. Trapped and not much to do, other than make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. "Sure," Ava agrees, taking the offered arm. "Wait, hang on," and she removes her heels.

She's right that he's restless. Malcolm feels as if there's nothing he can do about this situation right now. Magic and all things supernatural are beyond his abilities. He's going to need some time to think.

He looks down as she removes her heels. "Are they uncomfortable?" he asks.

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