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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[there's a full five seconds, when he first noticed the crackers, when he thinks "actually it'd be pretty funny if that hits me."

so, it does. it drives into his skull with enough force to break the skull. except, that's not really the sound of a skull cracking, is it? it's too... thick, yet too liquid; viscous, like quicksand. and there's no blood. just a hole in the side of his head with the metal handle sticking out of a blackness so utter that it burns the eye to look at it for too long. the cracks of the wound barely impact his face, and he smiles.

the kick was a bit less impressive. it connected, sure! and there was a sound like a shoe hitting something solid. but, like Beetlejuice before her: bold to assume.]

( somewhere halfway through her swing, the mask of calm diplomacy and willing self sacrifice slips. from then on, she's just the absolutely feral teenager that several other passengers have clocked her to be thus far, letting out a solid grunt at the impact of cracker handles against... well, not bone.

there's a hint of resistance, but then the implement sinks into his head with way more ease than she would have expected. and an alarming lack of blood. the dark radiating from his broken visage is on par with the dark moon energy ebalon had manifested into a blade the first time they'd met, but unexpected here — momentarily sends clarke reeling backwards with a hand up to shield her eyes. it burns, it burns...

but not as much as that smile. )

No, ( she half whispers, half snarls. then fully launches herself off the table and then she's just on him. grappling in an attempt to put get both hands on the protruding part of the crackers and push them in deeper.

as for dick kicking: sorry jenny, she tried. looks like he got the best of them in that department, shoulda expected the unexpected. )

[there's definitely a point where the other end should be. y'know. coming out. except it doesn't.]

I'm not saying touching it with your bare skin will be immediately deadly. But, I'm also not not saying that.

( a lot of things should be happening here — like his eyes crossing and his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and just... none of it's going her way. and it sucks. clarke griffin's no good very bad day. )

Shut up.

( with the last little bit of the lobster cracker joint still in her hand, she's absolutely twisting and digging into where he should have a brain. fighting the losing fight, but fighting it valiantly.

and up close and personal enough that, when she spares a panting second to make eye contact, she can spit — )

You know I'll figure out a way to make this work next time, don't you? And I'll make it hurt so much you'll wish you weren't some pathetic type of immortal.

Promise?

[beat]

Do you want this back, or...?

Yes, I fucking promise!

( baby's second f-bomb ever, let's pause to celebrate this moment by...

just. digging. the handle of that lobster cracker deeper and deeper into the abyss. it passes the point of being a functional murder attempt, and then clarke's just seeking vicious catharsis. and all of its coming up empty and there's an eventual point where frustration wins and she's just —

...yanking the full length of the lobster crackers out of his head.

then driving it in all over again.

and leaving it this time. still basically in his lap, hands disappointingly bloodless, and panting over the exertion, and internally raging for some sort of progress to be made here... )

I don't think I'm out of my league, anymore. ( your so out of your league, wanheda. )

I think you're just as pathetic as the rest of us, only you're too scared to see if you can cheat death too. You're just existing, and you'll never know what it's like to actually live.

Keep it.

Edited 2022-05-19 06:31 (UTC)

Okay, cool.

[pulls it out of his skull and immediately just starts playing with it. clack clack clack.]

( hey, this sucks. this really fucking sucks. there's literally no blue ball worse than throwing your all at a problem and that problem just turn around and start playing with your murder tool like it's a fidget cube.

clack clack clack — and clarke just stares because what the actual hell.

eventually the moment will pass, though. she doesn't have anything else to say to him right now, and gracelessly clambers out of his lap. are the doors unlocked yet, because she's finally looking sideways at natsuno and jerking her head back to signal a tactical retreat.

let's GTFO. )

[yeah it's unlocked the night literally cannot get better than this]

[Natsuno's been side-eying the whole thing in case Clarke gets herself murdered or mutilated, but didn't interfere because he wanted to see what happens if she stabs him.

He wasn't expecting it to work, but that uh. Sure is something.

But the door's unlocked and they're done here, so he wordlessly slides off his chair and leaves.

Not before he snaps he a picture of the that weird head wound. Will taking picture even work? The fuck is with that eldritch horror shit.]

( no buddy, we don't actually have time for a proper photoshoot — simultaneously, if it develops, please send it to her — there's really no telling when this script will flip from the captain's best night ever into murder island round two just because his cosmic amygdala got tickles the wrong way. we gotta move.

somewhere between the victors table and the doors, clarke's reaching back to grab natsuno's hand and putting a pull behind their attempt to flee. others are flocking towards the suddenly unlocked main doors, while a few others stay behind to continue bloodshed or chat up the man-like figure with a gaping wound in his temple. but not the two of them!

out the doors, down the hall, maybe even down a staircase or two until clarke finally feels distant enough from the ballroom and safe enough to pause. finally release natsuno's fingers, irreverent to how much nervous sweat she's left coating his palm, and slumping against the nearest wall. fuck.

fuck. )

What did I just do?

[Oh, now she wants to bail.

Natsuno slips the phone back into his pocket (provided it didn't or anything, of course) and lets himself be pulled by the hand. He's not gonna say anything about her sweaty palm, but discreetly wipes his hand on this pants when she's not looking. Ew.]

Volunteered to be dissected alive?

[He's still pissed about it! But then his expression flattens entirely, all annoyance gone. Can you recognize this brand of emotionlessness by now, Clarke? That's the lack of expression that says, I'm so freaked out right now.]

I don't know. [Freaking human shaped abyss. What the actual fuck.] Did you touch it? He said it's harmful -

Technically it's called vivisection.

( is that helping? knowing the technical terms? it feels like it's helping a lot.

but when she looks down at her hands to inspect for damage, they're maybe shaking a little. )

I don't think I touched it. I'm not — ( dying? again? ) — it doesn't hurt.

( know what kinda stings? the slowly purpling boot print just visible in the neckline cut of her party dress. if she tongues at her split lip, that smarts too, and it's really a good thing there's no chance of smiling right now, lest it re-open and start bleeding afresh. mental inventory of physical complaints completed, she's finally looking at natsuno's face again — notes that empty, indescribable panic that so sharply juxtaposes her ruddy cheeked, sweaty nervous response — and belatedly feels bad. the shit she drags this boy into... )

[Oh ok it's called "vivisection" that's SUPER HELPFUL NOW -

Ugh, fine. Clarke's scuffed a little, but at least she's not melting or rotting or whatever the captain's insides are supposed to do to normal people.]

He must've let you hit him. To make of fun of you.

[That's what he got from listening in. Smug bastard, does what he does because he's bored, plays with the crackers like a toddler with cosmic powers.

With seemingly no context, Natsuno adds:]

He gets annoyed when poison doesn't work, though.

( okay maybe just helping a little, but she's helping... ! just like natsuno's helping, pointing out that under the spectacle of her admirable attempt, it'd been utterly and humiliatingly pointless. )

I don't know if it was to make fun of me, but it was... definitely to prove a point. It doesn't matter if he's smoke or solid, we can't hurt him. He's absolutely not a human, even if maybe he started that way...

( poison, though? )

Poison specifically? Or is this just a case of getting mad when things don't go the exact way he wants them to?

[He shrugs.] Friday said poison. When she picked me up... I asked why my collar had an insulting writing. Apparently he was pissed he couldn't poison me to death.

[Oh yeah Natsuno's also immune to poison. Just casually bringing that up.]

( maybe clarke hadn't parsed out exactly what was in the collars, but she'd watched friday choke and gag on screen and poison absolutely fit. and the more she thinks about it, if natsuno can literally pull moon spears out of his body and keep fighting, it makes a lot of sense that poison doesn't do a damn thing for him. )

I thought he was just trying to be funny. Or maybe marked you as the winner from the beginning. But I didn't —

( didn't what, clarke? consider all avenues in front of you? dig a little deeper? classic mistake. )

I mean, we knew he doesn't like it when things don't go as planned ...what was in yours, then?

A bomb.

[Still casually deadpan here. That's not the first time Natsuno dealt with explosives and it's much quicker than death by poison. You barely feel it before everything blacks out.

If anything, it only makes him regret not removing the collar. Taking Ebalon down with him would've been better.]

Maybe he's just pissed a drawn out death wouldn't have worked.

Oh.

( and adding to the reason clarke griffin hates herself: her first thought is we could use that.

but then something tightens in her face. the veneer of composure is cracking a little, and natsuno gets not only a front row seat to her vicious, all too human thirst for blood, but also to the way her mind works — a thought one moment, self loathing the next.

using that means using him and she... doesn't... want to. they're not there yet, are they? )

...no, that tracks. If he's after suffering, nothing immediate would be as satisfying.

[Her expression shift from focused, vicious hunger to guilt, then struggle to return to normal. He understands she finds the information useful - Natsuno wouldn't have shared it if he didn't think so, too - but doesn't quite know what to make of that intense self loathing.

Honestly, if Clarke simply asks if they can use that, he'll probably agree. Natsuno objects to is being manipulated and having the decision made for him, but the idea of using that? It's fine. He's still a monster, no matter what they say, and his life matters much less.]

...yeah. And we just keep giving him what he wants.

[Himself included. He already regrets letting his anger drive him into something so childish and meaningless as flipping a table. Already regrets having emotions that aren't channeled into anything useful.

Attempting to squash those pesky feelings, he opens the captain's photo on his phone and - well.]

...I don't know what to say to that. [He shows it to Clarke. The freakish head wound is visible, but the captain is all warped like a creepypasta.]

( a hum, a slight nod. they really do just keep feeding the beast. even when trying their best, he always seems to come out on top — like playing a perpetual game of blackjack, and the house always wins.

they're going to have to agree to disagree with his assessment of himself, though — monsters don't take the high road when it'd have been so much easier to kill everyone on the island and be done with it. monsters don't come back from outings like that tired and somehow sadder than when they'd left. monsters certainly didn't make friends, then hold them when they died for no purpose other than to offer comfort.

so maybe down the line they'll use his poison resistance. but she's allowed to feel bad about using a friend — willingly or otherwise. it never feels good.

and oh, hey, a picture! one that's going to burn into her retinas and absolutely haunt every waking moment before assaulting her every time she closes her eyes. yikes, that's — )

It was hard to look at in person too, but that's definitely more distorted.

( does she even have to ask him to send things to her anymore? it feels like it's just implied. )

...you know, he said everything here's just more fun to call "magic". And that it's only science if it's boring but — maybe that's all it really is. Can you think of anything off the top of your head that would corrupt technology and film like that, just based on exposure?

Edited 2022-05-20 16:12 (UTC)

[You know it's already on her phone.

He's quiet for a few moments, trying to think about what can distort a photo like this, but eventually shakes his head.]

Waves? Weird lenses? They don't exactly cover all-powerful sadists in school.

[Is this new information worth coming back to the shil? Natsuno knows that rationally, everything is better than staring idly at the unchanging sky and ocean from a lifeboat, but it sure is hard to feel it right now.]

( it's not... not worth coming back to the ship for, right? if it ends up being enough to get him to stay on board instead of pushing back out to the surf remains to be seen. )

Hm. Light waves, maybe. The hole in his head was so dark it almost hurt to look at, like... if vantablack and a black hole mixed together. That could make an optical illusion, but...

( like that? clarke's taking natsuno's phone if he'll let her, and holding it closer to her face even as if proximity promised answers. )

Or maybe some sort of radiation. ( belatedly wishes she'd discarded the captain's warning and just stuck her hand in the hole, just to know for sure.

squint squint squint — worst case, it's just actual magic, right? but like a dog with a bone, the revelation that magic might just be fancy science her world hadn't discovered yet is one clarke's ready to grab and run with until she inevitably hits a wall.

...tomorrow. grab and run with tomorrow, because right now her eyes are twinging and she finally has to stop staring. give him back his phone and rub the palm of her hand into her eyes. )

It's giving me a headache.

( code for: damn i'm tired suddenly. )

Or he distorts pictures on purpose because he thinks it's funny.

[She looks like he's feeling right now. Natsuno considers to just call it a night and head off to waste time somewhere, but -

Huh. He doesn't feel like being completely alone. There's another pause to ponder at this weird development.]

Well, getting drunk to forget isn't an option. [...] I'm going to the arcade.

[Translation: wanna join me?]

( weirdly, blessedly, that translation isn't even that necessary. nor is the polite secondary questions that ought to spring to mind — can i come with you? want any company? mind if i tag along?

rightly or wrongly, it's all just assumed. and despite doubting any life changing revelations about their situation were going to be found among racing games and pinball, clarke doesn't immediately feel the need to beg off and attempt being productive. )

Oh. I haven't been since our first week here.

( translation: sure, lead the way. )

tw: head. wound?

head... void? anyway, cw: trying to fuck with the head void

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Cw: slight suicidal ideation

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