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

[light_mischief]

Skulduggery wants to agree, but there's some futility in the statement. It doesn't really matter if they help or not -- the captain will get what he wants anyway.

"Oh, no, he can most definitely hear us," Skulduggery replies. "Whether or not he cares what we have to say is another matter entirely. We know basically nothing about him, after all. We don't even know what he is."

[lightconductor]

Watson looks over at Skulduggery with a bemused expression. Here he is, having a conversation with a living skeleton about an eldritch monstrosity, and the insanity of the situation just seems to hit him all at once. Either he's adapted very well, or he's just completely lost his mind. Maybe both.

"You know, sometimes I hope that the more... magically inclined," he doesn't know how else to put that, "among us would know something more of this than I would. I didn't believe in ghosts, or vampires, or otherworldly creatures. I would have called it impossible. I have seen all sorts of claims to that effect but it has always been mortal agents with mortal weaknesses." Because sometimes Holmes and Watson's adventures are actually just Victorian Scooby Doo. "I can fire a gun, or wrestle a man to the ground, or fight an infection in a patient. I don't know how to deal with," he waves his hand in the Captain's direction, "that."

[light_mischief]

In turn, it's not often that Skulduggery finds himself surrounded by people who can't use magic. Even outside of potential apocalypses, he isn't exactly one to blend into a mortal crowd, and so the crowds he ran with were almost exclusively magical... But not entirely so. Before she was Valkyrie, Stephanie had been just a girl, and she'd managed to hold her own against a man three times her size with decades of magical experience. And her uncle, Gordon, he'd been able to hold his own against sorcerers without any magical talent at all. All he'd ever had was a pool cue and maybe Skulduggery's gun.

"If I can be honest with you, Watson... my first instinct when facing another sorcerer is to shoot them. They usually don't expect a mundane weapon, and they rarely prepare for it." He... well, he doesn't have a tongue to click against his teeth, but he manages to make a sound close to that. "Considering how well magic seems to be faring tonight, maybe the solution will turn out to be as simple as a well-timed bullet."

Of course, probably not right now. Not while the man's openly inviting attacks -- he's obviously too well protected for that.

[lightconductor]

He laughs, though it's a darkly humorous sort of chuckle. "Then I suppose I shall keep my revolver in good shape, in hopes of the opportunity arising. I don't think I will hold my breath waiting for that lucky shot, though."

If only it would be that simple.

"I still feel like most of what's happening here is going over my head, but it's nice to know that a well-placed bullet is not completely useless."

[light_mischief]

If bullets were really all that it took to take the captain down, Skulduggery is sure that they wouldn't all be so well armed. But that could also be pride and ego getting in the way, making the man in question overconfident.

"This is just a show of power. Summon the people of the village to cower at the feet of the conquering warlord." He laughs unhappily. "Or a talent show, to see which ones of us actually might pose a threat."

[lightconductor]

Watson grunts. "It's true. We're being defined as the entertainment, whether we like it or not, and if any of us had any doubts, well, here we are, gathered for the demonstration of our own helplessness. He certainly doesn't act as though he has anything to fear from the likes of us."

He's quiet, and shakes his head. "And I confess I don't know what to do with this. Not at present, anyway."

[light_mischief]

Unfortunately, Skulduggery finds himself at a similar loss. That's obviously the point; to give them all a good look at their opponent, to realize just how impossible their situation is. It... is not ideal that it's working, but that's how it is.

"That's the point. We don't have enough information to understand what we're dealing with, so he seems even more powerful." He gives Watson's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "As unreassuring as it might be, at least we're both in the same boat."