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

[saltwaterlungs]

"Oh wow, lucky me, a genuine compliment from someone I wouldn't piss on if they caught fire."

She raises the sword again, this time... gentle. Oddly so, the angle of her arm attempting to trace the flat of the blade across an arm or shoulder. It was a curiosity- could she only not harm him? Or just not touch him at all?

"Why do I care what you say, ah? Compliment, insult, it's all wanking to me. You make noise and nothing else. The devil shits and you eat it."

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[airily] Can't say I don't also stab people whose opinions I don't care about, to be fair.

[there is a noise like a blade being drawn over rough cloth, but the sleeve of his coat remains intact.]

[saltwaterlungs]

"I'll make us matching friendship bracelets, since we have so much in common," she mocks.

But that is curious. With all the control of someone who studied the blade while others were out partying, she changes the angle slightly. Not deep enough to dig in to his arm, but deep enough to shave pilling from the surface, if there were any. Does it change? Still as if something was actually there?

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[no.]

Put your toy away before you hurt someone.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Hurt me yourself. Cunt."

Another change of the angle. Now seeing how close she can get to actually cutting into the jacket. She has nothing to lose and only information to gain.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

I never have to.

[the blade enters his body with all the resistance of a pin cushion.]

It's funny, really. How you can all but tell them what they're about to do to themselves, and yet they go ahead and do it anyway.

[getting it out, though? good luck with that. it does not budge.]

[saltwaterlungs]

Well. That sucks. She gives it a few pulls, then leans on the hilt, trying to act as casual as if she were leaning against a wall and not desperately trying to remove her only weapon from the body of the motherfucker she's trying to stab.

"Yeah, people fucking suck. You didn't need the cruise ship to prove that, ehn? You enjoy being right?"

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Yeah.

[leans elbow on the blade, chin on fist.]

I don't think people suck, though. Quite the opposite: they're the most interesting creatures in every reality. I'm actually quite fond of them.

[saltwaterlungs]

She mirrors the pose. Fuck you, two can play at this game.

Darcy's still fuming, of course, even more now that her sword, the extension of herself, is physically trapped in him. Her body still surges with adrenaline, and she wants to beat him senseless. But she knows she can't, that it won't work right, especially now she has evidence of this, and the only thing she hates more than him in this moment is the idea of doing something for no outcome. Talking is... working, getting some sort of reaction out of him.

"You have bad taste, then. People are boring. They're cowardly and evil more often than not. There's nothing to be fond of."

[sictransitgloriamundi]

The cowardly and evil are some of the most interesting people there are. [gestures vaguely at the clusterfuck table. they know who's which.]

You'll understand when you're older. [beat] Hm, "when" sounds a bit too definite for that. If you get older.

[saltwaterlungs]

"I'll age fifty fucking years waiting for you to say something worth listening to," she snaps, anger bubbling over again before she has a chance to stop it.

"You're not more mature than me. You're nothing. You're a smug motherfucker who thinks he's the most special thing in existence. Like a fucking toddler. You're not. You're like every single fucking evil man we had back home. No fucking difference. You haven't even made my life that much fucking worse."

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Hm? That's nice, dear. [bored already! he starts trailing a finger down the edge of the blade, leaving a streak of red behind.] Anything else?

[saltwaterlungs]

"I want my fucking sword back."

She leans on the handle, trying to mirror the casual cheek-prop from before while very clearly fuming with rage.

"I'm not leaving until you give it back. I'll bore you to death. I'll start talking about friendship and the dignity of human life and shit."

She'll do it, she's crazy.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Hm... Nah.

[pause]

Trade you for it. What is it worth to you?

[saltwaterlungs]

"What's your left arm worth to you?"

She snaps too quickly, before she can stop herself, yet again. It's the first rule of haggling, that you never let someone know how much you want something. It's probably at least the third rule of dealing with necromancer not to mention specific body parts when haggling.

"It's not separate from me. It's without price. There's nothing I can offer you that is worth the same as it."

Sure, she could get another sword. If this weren't a haunted cruise ship actively trying to kill her, and if this wasn't a tangible link to the real world she believed was still waiting for her back home. Even if it couldn't hurt him, she wouldn't feel safe without it.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Well, then you're in a bit of a pickle, aren't you. Because I have absolutely no reason to give this back. Bit of a "finders keepers, stabbers weepers" sort of situation.

[he raises his finger, watches sluggish drops of blood fall from it and onto the metal.]

Of course, you are rather limiting yourself by assuming that what you trade has to be tangible.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna give you something that you could do anything with."

Alright, hail-Mary. With all the speed that she could muster she takes a swing at his shoulder, hoping her hand would simply phase through- allowing her to draw the blade out when pulling her hand back.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

[her fist bops into his shoulder, feeling as solid and human as punching any average person.

a full 30 seconds later, dryly:] Ow.

[saltwaterlungs]

She hates this fucking ship and this fucking guy.

Another punch, just because at least she could get the satisfaction of actually hitting him this time.

[sictransitgloriamundi]

I wonder where I'll put my new sword...

[saltwaterlungs]

"Up your ass," she snarled. It was the worst position for her to be in; on the back foot, defensive, desperate. It was obvious, she was being obvious, and there was nothing she could do.

"You want me to do it to myself, don't you, ehn? Fine. Solitary confinement for a week. None of my little friends to show me the power of connection or any of that bullshit. Just me sending myself fucking crazy. Is that what you want?"

[sictransitgloriamundi]

I want to be entertained. But, I will settle for having a cool sword.

[beat] Begging would be funny. Try that.

[saltwaterlungs]

Every part of her screams in outrage. Her pride simply cannot and will not allow it, and even if she wanted to, the words would spray out as bitter salt water. It's just not possible. She takes hold of the hilt of the sword once again, leaning in to get all up in his face, or the facsimile of his face, or whatever was going on here.

"What if I took my own fucking head off with this. That'd be fucking hilarious."

[sictransitgloriamundi]

Well, that would require you to have the sword back, which would defeat the purpose, so...

[trails off, looking thoughtful...






tries to lick her nose.]

[saltwaterlungs]

She snaps her teeth at his tongue.

"Don't need to be holding it for the blade to be sharp, ehn?"