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

( ...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. )

[He's not smirking this time, returning her glare with calm innocence.

Creatures like him are apex predators, every sense and instinct honed to hunt their human prey. Natsuno swore to never use those abilities unless the situation is truly dire...

So clearly he needs to use them now to block the speeding puck and rocket it back into Clarke's goal.]

( it's the difference between truly being an apex predator, and simply acting like one so nothing gets close enough to hurt, then. a type a personality and fierce drive to win can't truly compete against heightened senses and superior muscle percentage, but clarke does her best to put up a good fight. they're separated by the entire air hockey table, it's impossible to reach over and ruffle his feathers. so, instead she's just stuck in a loop of hitting the puck as hard as she can, being blocked, and subsequently scored on at lightening speed.

this continues for at least two whole games, clarke stubbornly insisting let's go again despite natsuno just continuing to rack up points.

then somewhere halfway through their third game, she catches on. just stares at him and lets the puck sail past her hand into her goal once more. stares, then squints, and almost asks if he's doing what she thinks he's doing. because that's rude. anyone can reach over and kick a fake motorcycle, not anyone could pull from a well of untapped supernatural skill to flex over an arcade game.

but then — no. nope. didn't need to call him out yet. and next time she goes to serve afresh, clarke absolutely digs her upper teeth into the scabbed over split in her lower lip from earlier. reawakening the wound, causing a fresh wave of black blood to bubble between lacerated, painfully stretching sensitive skin.

...admittedly, it's a tiny bit of a test. mostly a low blow, underhanded attempt to cause a distraction. but they'd never sat down and discussed what being a shiki meant in terms of abilities, and clarke wants to see how much of a stir a few drops of blood can cause.

and she really wants to score at least one goal! )

[Natsuno can manage his instincts just fine. There's plenty of normal food aboard the Serena Eterna to keep him sated and hold back the empty hunger most shiki feel without blood. He has the special coffee machine for an extra boost when needed. A split lip isn't nearly enough to be appetizing - especially not when he was absolutely covered by the same blood a week ago and felt nothing but anger and nausea.

But it is enough to grab his attention.

His nostrils flare and he looks up at Clarke. Is she - doing this to herself? There's no hunger in his eyes, no animal instincts, just pure dude, what the FUCK?

But hey, at least he's distracted enough for her to score!]

( she'll take dude what the fuck.

take it, hold on tight to it, and capitalize on the moment to just fucking sling the puck past his knuckles and finally secure her first goal of the game. really, the dude what the fuck just adds to her creed as a horrifying opponent, even in more mild situations.

and as if that's the winning shot on goal, instead of a drop in the bucket, the clatter of the puck in the goal sliver has her throwing up both hands and grinning wildly. the split in her lip stretches, stings. it's worth it.

yup, that's it, that's the end of the game, she's absolutely the winner. )

[He blinks in surprise when the puck flies into the goal with a ping. Clarke throws her hands up as the scoreboard announces her first point, the grin swelling with a fresh whiff of blood.

Natsuno huffs softly and the surprise disappears behind the closed shutters of his usual stoicism. He let himself forget that his abilities, as useful as they are - as good as they can feel - come at the price of snapping to attention at the hint of human blood.

He lets go of the disc.]

Guess you win.

( she's not usually one to lose herself in the delight of a such a silly little victory.

...usually.

for a beat, clarke misses the downright frosty shift in the air between them. ) We can do another round if you wanna even things out. ( brash, blatant sarcasm — look, she's pleased to have scored, but that doesn't change the fact the running tally is still something like 35 to 1. but he's letting go of his disk, even as she's gesturing around the room with hers still in hand. )

Or do you want to play something else?

[Natsuno lets her smugness and sarcasm fly right past him. The scent of blood brought him back to the reality of their situation, and now the arcade looks like a noisy, ugly-lit mockery.]

Not really. I'm done.

( he's — )

...what?

( a good chunk of of that competitive glee slips right off her features at natsuno's declaration. the mood had shifted for him a minute or two ago, but it isn't until the thin veneer of playtime is dismissed with four simple words that clarke begins to follow suit.

she spares one last look around the arcade — had wanted to try the shooting dinosaur game, and was intrigued by skeeball, and somewhere there's a ticket counter with chinese finger traps and bouncy ball prizes — but... if they're done... )

I mean, really?

[Apparently the mood shifted so much that Natsuno is now past words, and simply hums an uninterested confirmation. He sticks his hands in his pockets and starts heading out of the arcade.]

( woah. woah. oh hey wait, okay!

clarke's dropping her own air hockey disk and makes a direct attempt to follow after him. it's sudden, not the most graceful chase — she clips her hip on the edge of the game table and winces, but powers through that to jog and catch up with natsuno right as he reaches the exit to the arcade.

level and at his side — )

Hey. Hey.

( but... also having grown familiar with the teenagers sulking mood throughout the last three months, eventually pushing a step or two past him in order to plant herself in his path and force him to stop walking. bringing them face to face, with clarke's features back to her emotionally tight, perpetually wounded. )

What's wrong?

( what changed? what outside impact so quickly turned his mood sour — because she's still not connected the dot that it was her own stunt with the bloodied lip that's turned his stomach. )

[What's wrong?

Everything's wrong, or maybe nothing is wrong and he just needed to remember how things are supposed to be.

It's tempting to just shoulder past Clarke and move on, but she won't back off and honestly... sullen as he is, she still deserves a semblance of explanation.]

You're still bleeding.

( s...till bleeding? stiltedly, clarke brings a hand up to her mouth and runs the pad of a finger across her split lip. drawing it back, sure enough, there's still a streak of black falling into the wells of her fingerprint. her brow is still furrowed in confusion until, absently, her tongue darts out to lick at the tiny wound. and the distinct copper flavor floods her tastebuds and... oh. )

...this is because I bit my lip?

( this, the curtain being sharply drawn on their temporary escape from reality. this, the death of fun and his hasty retreat. clarke doesn't entirely get it — how could she really, ever get it? — but can scent natsuno's sour distaste as well as he can scent her blood in the air. )

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the game.

[Natsuno shrugs.] Forget it. It doesn't matter.

[It was a dick move, but his annoyance at Clarke is only a small part of it. Most of all he's angry at himself, for acting like his abilities are anything more than a necessary evil. It doesn't matter that it's only a silly game, that he would've never actually hurt her. He should never feel comfortable with what he is.]

( okay, cool evasive tactics, but please consider — )

I mean, obviously it matters.

( at least a little, right? and probably a lot. they'd been having a nice time and suddenly, with one impulsive and underhanded attempt to claw for the smallest victory, clarke had ruined it. she's still not moving out of his way, but folds her arms across her chest. shoulders dropping, curling in a little on herself. of course she'd ruined it. that was par for the course of attempting to have any semblance of fun, and now trying to make sure the bridge firmly suspended between herself and natsuno was the price for those thirty minutes of leisure childishness. )

[Of course it's not enough to get her to move, and now she just looks sad.

Natsuno sighs. That's what he gets for making friends. It starts with robbing a desk, then caring sneaks up like an unwanted guest and the next thing he knows, he feels obliged to be honest. No, wants to be honest, which is even more terrifying.]

What you did was cheap. ["I AM angry at you."] But it's not about that. ["Not as much as I'm angry with myself."] I shouldn't have forgotten myself in the first place.

[Shouldn't let himself get distracted, to have fun, because whiplash was inevitable even without the blood and then he'd just feel angry and sad all over again instead of pushing it away like he's supposed to - ]

( cheap clarke can accept. yes, it'd been a low blow meant to exploit something in him that wasn't human. but she'd chalked that up in the same category as natsuno using supernatural speed, power, and reflexes to absolutely dominate the air hockey game. and hadn't realized until too late that her form of cheating was apparently too far below the belt. )

What did you have to forget about yourself to play an arcade game?

( she's not stupid, she has some idea — but always errs on the side of making others voice their actual demons out loud, push them to the forefront of the conversation to better allow her to cut them down. or at least try to. )

What I am. Where I am.

[A hint of anger rises to the surface with that last word. Neither of them is stupid - Clarke knows what he means, and Natsuno knows she'll make him say it anyway.]

This - [A handwave back at the arcade.] is all part of the joke. It's stupid to pretend any of it is normal.

( the understanding that neither of them are dumb aside, now clarke can devote her energy to picking apart each and every one of his complaints with surgical precision. )

Not normal doesn't mean it's not reality, Natsuno. When's the last time any part of your life was normal?

( it's mostly rhetorical. everyone always comes from scary places, etc, etc. clarke's carrying on in the same breath. )

Where you are? Some sycophantic freaks definition of hell, right alongside the rest of us.

And for what you are? I get you'd call yourself a monster, but all I see is a sad, caring, determined, stoic boy who I'm honored to call my best friend.

Edited 2022-06-01 09:06 (UTC)

[He knows the exact date his life stopped being normal - September 12th 1994, when Megumi Shimizu crawled from under a bed with the sickening crack of undead limbs. Natsuno says nothing, though, only stares blankly as Clarke speaks. What can he possibly say? That she doesn't get it? She doesn't, but if Natsuno says as much she'll just respond with "then HELP me understand" or something equally annoying.

Besides, her assessment of him isn't that wrong. He knows he's stoic, that he's determined, that he'll do anything for someone who gets him to care.

No, Clarke isn't wrong. Because if he were to be honest with himself - ]

Sad? Yeah. I guess I am.

( oh, is that the part they're getting stuck on? that's fine, that's fair even, and clarke's unfurling an arm from its self soothing cross over her chest to gesture vaguely. )

Why wouldn't you be? You died — twice.

I don't care about that. Both times, I chose it.

[Made peace with it, only to have his choice taken away again and again. It's been eating away at him since the moment he woke up in cabin 109, made even worse by the island farce. At least in Sotoba no one died in his arms, there were no screens replaying the suffering of the few he cared about.]

I care that it didn't stick.

Edited 2022-06-01 17:20 (UTC)

( that's fair, and something clarke can reasonably relate to. she hadn't wanted to die alone on a perpetually burning planet, but when the situation arose that it was that or seven of her friends would also meet the same fate, it hadn't felt like much of a choice. she'd hung at the bottom of a satellite tower and quietly whispered her own death prayer to herself, then carried on. had died — entirely, or almost — in pain, isolated, and writhing, but hadn't regretted it even as the world went black.

then to wake up here, be robbed of that end and forced to fight for survival again, and have those sacrifices cheapened now that death became as inconsequential as stubbing one's toe... )

I get that, Natsuno, I do. You came to terms with it, and then someone worlds away decided you didn't get a say in the matter. That's something absolutely reasonable to be angry and sad about in the same breath.

But you can't run on anger all the time. And you can't swallow all that sadness, it'll eat you from the inside out like a cancer. You can't burn out before we figure out a way to kill the Captain right alongside us, I — I need you for that.

[You can't run on anger all the time, she says, and Natsuno's first thought is WATCH ME. Anger is all he's left, because if he stops running on anger, it's either sadness or numbness, neither of which will help. At least anger pushes you to act instead of drowning in existential horror.

Then Clarke says kill the Captain right alongside us, and... well. That was always the plan, wasn't it? Natsuno has no intention of burning out (figuratively and literally, considering the captain) and leaving her to deal with it alone.]

You say you can't swallow the sadness, so tell me this. [Part defiance, part genuine question.] Grieving people move on because they know death is final. How can you do it when it doesn't stops?

( well, let's just upheave that questions basis, because — )

Have you moved on from your grieving? I haven't, and don't think I ever will. But that doesn't change the fact that I have to wake up every day and make sure those deaths weren't for nothing.

pleased to meet you

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cw: suicide mention

cw: cont. suicide mentions

cont. cw for the next few comments probably

cont. cw for their entire cr

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