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

[businessorlibation]

"Please don't ask me to watch anyone else die? I know I wouldn't have to watch your flesh burn away, but...still pretty gruesome, on top of the last week." He glances away, looking around the room before his attention returns to Skulduggery.

[light_mischief]

Somebody talking sense at him is exactly what he needs. Even sarcastically suggesting it probably feeds into the whole game, after all. The only real answer is to ignore things until they die down. (Until he dies down, metaphorically speaking, so he doesn't risk doing something stupid.)

"I suppose that's fair enough," he sighs. "Although normally, my suits are fire-proof. Really, I wouldn't have worn it at all, but..." Ah, good, he can let his pride overwhelm his wrath for a few minutes and preen. "Well, it is a good cut for me. As yours is on you. White tie is particularly classy."

And unfortunate, given the blood. But, you know. Let's not talk about that.

[businessorlibation]

“I wear a lot of outfits like this back home. Have to be classy at the champagne lounge, right?” Even when you’re the owner of the lounge. “Though it feels incongruous with the mood, even if everyone else is kitted out properly.”

[light_mischief]

"I don't know," Skulduggery admits, "If you squint, it sort of feels like we're at a very lively wedding." You know, the kind where both the bride and groom's families hate each other, and the only person having fun is the ringbearer, who's too young to realize the relationship was doomed from the start. "Not a very happy one, mind you..."

[businessorlibation]

"You and I have very different wedding experiences. Then again, the last one I was at as a guest instead of working, I was only six or seven years old." He pauses to remember it for a moment. "It's entirely possible that there was that sort of drama. All I remember was that my dress was itchy and I didn't like any of the food."

[light_mischief]

Skulduggery has no doubt that their experiences differ, if his laugh is anything to go by. "I would've taken an itchy dress over this. Then again... the last wedding I went to ended with the officiant setting fire to the mother-in-law. That was certainly more awkward than whatever this is supposed to be."

[businessorlibation]

"Did she deserve to be set on fire?" Look, this is an important question, clearly. Also, points for not reacting to Johnny having been in a dress. Maybe other people do come from civilized worlds where a girl can grow up to be a man without issues.

[light_mischief]

"Well, yes and no. No, she didn't deserve to be set on fire, but the shapeshifting ex pretending to be her had been disinvited some weeks prior."

Skulduggery pauses, like he's remembering a funny joke someone told him a long time ago. Really, he's just remembering the way the all-white gown went up in smoke almost immediately. It had been hilarious then, and it's hilarious now!

"As you can imagine, the image of seeing her mother being set on fire was jarring for the bride," he adds, "But not as jarring as it was for the mother herself, running twenty minutes late for her own daughter's wedding, as you do."