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

( between reckless stabbing missions, clarke's tried her best to be hyper-fixated on any and every slip of natsuno's façade. because that's friendship — the gentle suffocation of concern pressing further and further until there's finally a crack in the veneer that can be used as a foothold, and she can finally help. it's honestly super exhausting being her friend if you're trying to hide something and clarke's got nothing better to do than silently puppy-dog for emotional scraps.

she's giving him sidelong glances as he talks sparingly about his home world. nice, pleasant, and normal things about his home world for a change, not just the presence of the undead and traumatizing fallout. and at the tail end of the introductory video (that she'd payed minimal attention to), pries further — )

That's cool. Do you have a favorite game?

[It's a simple question, and he needs a distraction, yet it's still hard to drag up normal, human memories.]

If it's just me playing, I guess [insert the Legend of Zelda equivalent here.] I liked the puzzles. But for two players...

[He shrugs.]

I don't really care as long as the company's fine.

( as long as the company's fine, he says, and also references (insert the legend of zelda equivalent here again) for it's puzzles. and clarke's about to offer to play chess with him — or teach him chess, because isn't that the ultimate stratagem puzzle game?

but then a tinny, console voice announces game start! and big, neon numbers flash across the screens in front of them. 3... 2... 1...

and all of a sudden, they're playing. clarke's scrabbling for her handlebars, maybe even lightly swearing under her breath because what was supposed to be the go button? she's driven cars before, and it doesn't take long to figure out the accelerator is beneath her right foot, break beneath her left. but god damn the steering here is inaccurate and she almost immediately wipes out against a wall.

struggles to make it past 7th place, accidentally discharges all her attack moves without anyone in her sights to actually hit. kicks to the side randomly, causing her to lose momentum and speed. and once her focus is entirely on (losing) the racing game, her mouth becomes unhinged in a torrent of teenaged competitiveness. )

Oh my — god! No!

Why am I doing donuts? I'm not even touching the gas!

I'm not — driving an actual rover is so much easier than this. Natsuno — help?

It's not supposed to be realistic, you know.

[Is that a smirk? Surely not, Natsuno never smiles. He's a little rusty, but muscle memory soon kicks into gear - and it's not like the competition is challenging...]

You're leaning too much. You don't need to throw yourself to the side. And here - if you twist the handle twice, you get a speed boost.

[He lets his rider fall back alongside hers... before his rider smacks with a sword and shoots forward with the aftermentioned speed boost.

He's DEFINITELY smirking.]

( that better not be a smirk. that better not be a smirk, natsuno, this is mortifying! she'd asked for help, and momentarily felt a sense of relief when his avatar appeared alongside hers, only to be smacked with a sword??? and left in the pixelated dust. )

Did you just —

( no, nevermind, sportsmanship is obviously a thing of the past. clarke's giving up on winning in the game and sticking out her very real, not-video game graphic leg to the side and pointedly shoving the plastic bike natsuno's perched upon with the heel of her shoe.

but thanks for the tip, she's immediately trying the double handle twist, and accelerating right off the track and into some water. )

[He didn't see that one coming, and his avatar flies right into a wall.]

HEY - that's dirty!

[What he was doing is part of the game, thank you very much! The moment he regains balance and sets his avatar back on the road, Natsuno locks on Clarke's avatar and throws the sword at it. Back in the water you go!]

( in the game of life, it's right on par with the level of respect anyone who slaps her with a sword can expect. so, take that, natsuno. in fact, clarke's halfway to winding up for another rough foot-shove when she's bounced back into the water like a tiny 2 bit skipping stone. )

Aren't you supposed to take it easy on me or something? I've literally never played a video game in my life, Natsuno, be reasonable!

( jeez, was that second sentence tinged with just a bit of a snort-giggle? it might have been, for how ridiculous this scenario is in contrast to clarke trying to murder a man with seafood eatery thirty minutes ago.

somehow, death having no real consequence in an arcade game is a lot more liberating than death having no lasting effect in real life, so. she respawns somewhere on the road, solidly in 12th place against natsuno and the computers, and wibble-wobbles towards the finish line with dogged — but light hearted, for a change — determination. )

I'm taking it plenty easy.

[He's having fun. Actual, consequence-free fun, a relic from a time when his biggest concern was getting into a good university -

No, he shouldn't reminisce. Focus on the here and now.]

You'll do better next round. Or you can choose another game, if you want.

You hit me into the water —

( there's no room to reminisce and get sappy here, clarke's had a taste of technicolor blood and wants more. )

No. ( the sudden and immediate decision as their player avatars slot across the screen accompanied by their scores, ranging from winner to loser with clarke pronouncedly on the bottom. and really, he should have expected that response — natsuno'd seen her go up against immovable, dangerous, mysterious dangers so far, did he really expect her to walk away from a challenge with a blinking yellow start button attached to it. )

No, we're going again.

( and two things are true about this next round: clarke manages to only hit half as many walls as the first time, and still kicks out at his bike once she spots he's a few feet from the finish line. she's so focused on the game for a few moments here that the whole room melts away, and clarke outright forgets to hold her features in their stony, unflappable mask.

her tongue pokes out the side of her lips at one point. )

[Is he rolling his eyes at her? He's rolling his eyes at her.]

Then hit me back.

[It's... honestly kind of endearing to see how seriously she takes it. Completely unsurprising, but endearing. He grins internally when her stony mask drops, but then she kicks him before he can cross the finish line and screw this this is clearly WAR and friendship is dead.]

I meant hit me in the game!

[You know what? Fine. Natsuno leans in Clarke's direction, grabs her bike's handle and hits the brakes.]

You didn't specify —

( a sliver of that snarky, i'm going to win pride slips through in the four seconds before natsuno retaliates by lunging the distance and slamming on her brakes. then the most undignified squawk (that might have started as a laugh in the back of her throat) is escaping clarke's mouth. so unexpected that it's gonna take her a while longer to realize it'd come from her — like that's even a priority when she's gotta grapple to pry his fingers off the brake lever.

a valiant effort is put forth to do so, clarke manages to worm her fingers under his palm, but — yet again — her avatar ultimately returns to its watery grave. rude.

very deadpan. the irony of her own tactics not at all lost, but still putting on a stern show. )

That's cheating and you should feel really bad about it.

I'm devastated.

[He respawns and accelerates, trying to reclaim the first place. If Clarke tries to kick him again, he will kick back just to stop her from rattling his bike again.]

But since we're both cheaters, I might as well be the winning one.

( ah hell. no!

sure enough, clarke tries to kick him again, but all she gets for her troubles is their feet tangling and natsuno is not effectively slowed down. boo, but might as well figure out an alternative so —

...somewhere in the back of her mind, has she registered natsuno doesn't seem to enjoy being touched? absolutely. even in moments where all clarke wants to do is reach out and squeeze his shoulder or draw him into a comforting side hug, has she generally tried to restrain herself out of respect? yup, that too.

and does that stiff, repressed, battle field pragmatism style of thinking go right out the window in this moment? yup, because in a last ditch effort to — not win, but at least sabotage — clarke's abandoning her bike. slides into what little space is behind natsuno on his own mount, and just regressing to, like, the age of eight as she brings up both hands to cover his eyes. )

[This is hella rude and super effective

Natsuno yelps, his entire body stiffening in utter shock before he raises one hand to pry Clarke's hands off. And the other hand? He's just gonna elbow her in the stomach.]

HEY - what are you, five?!

[His avatar crushes into a wall, forgotten. Now they're just shoving each other like idiots.]

( five? )

Out of five, maybe.

( most victories in times of war aren't won by playing honorably, and decidedly video games were a new instrument of war. clarke does that super annoying thing where she lets him pry one hand off, then when he goes for the other that first hand returns to block his view. she gets in maybe one or two alterations before that elbow connects with her ribs. )

Oopf, ( comes the gentle exhale in response to contact. but, highlight being gentle. she knows natsuno can hit much harder than that, and the second after that thought registers, it's a free for all.

absolutely lawless grappling for a few moments. clarke even tries to wiggle under one of his arms and shove him off the bike proper. and the trash talk just intensifies. )

What happened, Natsuno? I thought you were supposed to be the one winning here.

[Is she grappling him? She's fucking grappling him. Clarke Griffin is a terrifying enemy, not to be crossed even in the arcade.

Well then. Time to kick his own spiteful pettiness up a notch.]

And I think you're changing the game because you're a sore loser.

[Natsuno grips the bike tighter with his legs and throws it right hard, trying to shove her.

The bike tilts. Somewhere, metal groans. Is it even built to lean that far?]

( two things of note:

that's a very accurate summary of clarke griffin; bitter loser to the end, he got her clocked in one.

and then — for this inevitably being the second time she falls dramatically on the floor, at least it's going to be funny this time.

the bike tilts, something groans like it's going to break, and clarke's distracted enough for a moment that she misses the opportunity to properly catch herself from sliding off the seat. another half-strangled help, and maybe a brief attempt to anchor herself to his torso, but ultimately, nah. she just sorta falls sideways, landing on her butt on the multicolored rug of the arcade. )

Ow, ( she says, more out of habit than any actual hurt. the smirk spread across her mouth undermines any thought of lasting spite here. then clarke looks at the screens of their games, notices the time for the lap has run out and the leaderboard shows both their avatars dead last in the running since they hadn't even finished the race, and she snorts. if only all battles were that easy.

...if only all battles were that easy!

somehow that's the thought that does it. pushes her just past the last hurtle of restraint, and rips a loud, clear laugh from her chest — then another. and one more. and then it's a full on laughing fit, the shoe shaped bruise on her chest from earlier aching with every inhale. )

[She almost pulls him down with her, but in the end she hits the floor and Natsuno jerks back upright. Another metallic groan, and the bike's base cracks, dropping Natsuno a few inches down. Ow indeed.

He slouches in his seat, looking from the scoreboard to the laughing Clarke. Natsuno's mouth quirks and he lets out a quiet huff, followed by a low chuckle.

It's not nearly as long as his friend's lauhging fit, but it's more than he had in six months.]

( clarke laughs until tears father in her eyelashes. whether their origin is pure joy, the aching discomfort in her rib cage, or the fact she constantly exists in a state of laugh, cry, of fight — pick one is anyone's guess. she drags a hand across her face after a few moments, then gestures weakly at the game. )

I'd say best out of three, but.

( but she doesn't want to make more work for friday.

...oh, and there's a sliver of sad realism again. )

Maybe we should try something where you actually stand a chance?

[He literally threw her to the floor and she's still trash-talking. Mad respect.]

Sure. [He slides off the broken bike and gestures around the arcade.] Pick any game. I'll show you all the moves. And you still won't beat me without throwing a tantrum.

( ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim, etc. )

That wasn't a tantrum, that was... Situational resourcefulness.

( which, yanno, she's great at. case and point: sticking her fingers in bullet wounds to win a fight, attempted murder with lobster crackers, and now just straight up covering his eyes. and despite what natsuno's seen from her, he still hasn't bore witness to the heartless, society annihilating quality of clarke griffin's worst tantrums.

casting around the arcade, the sense of competition immediately draws her towards the shooting game. good shot or not, in that realm she's had more practice. but then she spots a table that stands about hip-high, a bar with point screens arched over the middle. the tabletop looks plastic and lit with a blue tinged blacklight, and somewhere beneath the surface, the hum of power.

splashed along the side in bold letters are the words air hockey. and clarke can absolutely read, but that doesn't shed any more light on how the game is supposed to work. )

What about that one?

Hm, good choice.

[Simple rules, no fancy combos and great potential for violence.]

You use the discs to hit the puck and send it into the other player's goal. Whoever scores more goals wins. [A pause.] That's really it. I'm not gonna throw a sword at you this time.

( she favors him with a look that distinctly challenges only because you don't have one in the same breath it promises that kicking out isn't off the table. but ultimately just shrugs, nods along, takes up her position on one edge of the table and picks up the glaringly white disk to see how it fits in her hand.

the other hand is hovering over the table, weirdly fascinated by the puffs of air buffeting upwards. )

So it's just weird, flat, one-on-one soccer? That was one of the only games we played on the Ark, you are absolutely about to get your butt kicked.

[Talking over her:] Yeah, yeah. I dare you to do that by playing fair.

[Does his opening strike have a little supernatural strength behind it, or is he just really aggressive?]

( ...honestly, clarke should have expected that. honestly, it's a little weird she's routinely forgetting he's got supernatural abilities unless they're in dire, life or death straits. she hadn't spared that a thought before trying to wrangle him off a fake motorcycle, and doesn't consider it here when squaring up to receive the first serve.

and she almost. almost diverts a goal. actually clips the puck with her own disk, but that just streamlines it's route to clattering into the tiny slit of a goal on her end.

the game erupts into a tinny celebration song for ten seconds, and that entire time clarke's just. staring. daggers.

but, no, calm down, breathe. she's eventually going to retrieve the puck from the goal pocket at her knees, line it up and smack the tiny plastic circle so hard it pelts across the table at a break neck speed; bouncing off every inch along the edge of the table and ultimately wildly seeking a goal. )

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