come_sailaway | [Open + Closed] If I Had A Nickel For Every Time My Soul Got Transformed...

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[Open + Closed] If I Had A Nickel For Every Time My Soul Got Transformed...

Who: Erin Peters and YOU, but also Phil and Cassandra de Rolo
When: January 21st Onward
Where: Locations
Summary: Fallout of some regains, trying to bounce back still, So Many Animal People On This Ship
Warnings: Lost bullshit, Erin's eyes in a jar, violent transformation. For reference all prompts after 1 feature the post-transformation Erin.

1. Well One Of Us Is Going To Have To Change (Closed To Phil; Sundries)

Avoiding asking Friday why she gets so much fucking mail is getting increasingly difficult for Erin. The curled-up scrap of the Contract with Stone is unexpected but very welcome; at last, she can haul her own sunfish, or at least not spend power like water to do so. The jar with her FUCKING EYES IN IT is disgusting but Erin had given them to Colors for Hedgespinning; maybe she could do the same? Or, preferably, Ossie or Giles or Okie might do the same, as Erin doesn't want these curst fucking things anywhere near her...

The grooming kit arrests her attention, though. Erin knows these tools. She used them often, once Gabby had warmed up to her. They're even etched with a little 'GG' encircled by feathers and thorns. God, it's been so long; Gabby was decades ago, and yet, and yet -

Searing pain, down Erin's shoulders. She lurches, dropping the grooming kit back into its package, crying out in shock. That sound rapidly becomes a scream of absolute fucking agony as raven's wings tear their way out of the meat of her shoulders and shred the back of her dress and coat into tatters. Feathers lace their way into Erin's tempestuous hair, joining the storm, and little scales - like a bird's - grow into place around her wrists and ankles.

"Mother fucker," Erin half-yells, half-sobs. And then, in a louder voice, a call for help: "PHIL!"

There's blood everywhere now. It's gonna be a whole fucking event, isn't it?

2. The Retired Villain's Club (Closed to Cassandra; Cabin 134 & the Hoard)

Love can you come to my cabin at your convenience? I have something I want to show you and talk about. Difficult conversation probably. There is no rush whatsoever.

3. Acceptable Levels of Hypocrisy (Around)

Sometimes you need to resort to weird measures to get around your problems. The issue: Erin has not been eating properly and she knows it. The solution: Erin is now eating in the weirdest goddamn places. Catch her with cups (not bowls) of various foods while perched on the statue in The Promenade, nibbling her way through an improbable amount of carbs while whittling in the Lounge, carefully eating garlic bread with a fork in The Library, or even indulging her endless need for sugar in the shallow reaches of The Infinite Tommy Bahama. Can't be on people for self-care if she's not caring for herself, damnit.

4. A Castle Made Of Clouds (Tauva)

Every few days you might catch Erin at Tauva with her doll's castle, now fully-manned by wooden figurines with operational siege weapons (powered by rubber bands), poking and prodding at it with her stylus and sometimes jotting down notes in braille. If she has reason to suspect you're into building, y'know, buildings, or have experience with interior design, you might have received a text requesting a consultation on a project; if not, well, she's got a doll castle in the smoking lounge, fuck's up with that?

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"The balance is fine but if I whack them on one more doorway I'm going back in time to save the dinosaurs and prevent humans from evolving." Erin brings the wings in close and starts smoothing down her feathers with her free hand. "Just glad I didn't get a taste for carrion."

"Carrion doesn't quite go into the pastries you love, and Siffleur might think you're stepping on his bit."

He pauses. "Anyone made the mistake of trying to pet them without asking, yet?"

"Not yet, and right now anyone touching them will die violently. They're still tender." And indeed Erin is treating them with immense delicacy. "Take a seat, have a flavored cigar on me. I'll trade you my Sundries story when yours is done, I could use a consultation."

Johnny pulls a spool of golden thread out of a pocket and sets it on a table before going to the humidor to pick out a cigar. Does anything more need to be said? It is, if examined, very strong thread--can't be broken by hand, even if Stone gets involved. Or cut with most knives.

You'd need some very interesting scissors to cut it, in fact.

"...Johnny," Erin says slowly, "why can I see your fucking thread?"

STOP GETTING CURSED SHIT FROM GREECE MAN.

"Does it help if I say I wasn't completely certain you'd be able to?" Probably not. He comes out of the humidor, trimming the end of a cigar.

"If you lose an eye and acquire two blind brothers I might have to kill you so I don't hear arguments about free will. I fucking hate those." Erin winds out some of the thread, checking its tension, feeling its texture. "...Tell me you haven't cut it yet."

"Why do you want me to tell you that?"

He won't confirm or deny yet.

"'cause I don't want to find out that it isn't a cheap knockoff when you go to snip some thread for a new couch cushion and I fuckin' die!" Johnny, come on, why wouldn't she want to know that? "Whether or not the Fates of my world are the Fates or cheap knockoffs crafted by the gods of nightmare, even the bootlegs of their bullshit tend to have real power. I'm more scared of this string than I am of the scissors."

“I have cut a small piece off, and to my knowledge, no one died. The only thing that I’ve found that will cut it…is the scissors. I’m planning to let César go at it with all his tools for a bit.”

A sigh. “Might be Ariadne’s thread instead, maybe?”

"Mmm. Less curst, depending on the version you like." Erin spools out a length of the thread with a curious expression, twining the end around her finger. "...If it's safe, if, I've got a use for some. Should speed certain things along nicely...but god, if this is Friday trying to tell you that you're descended from Terisias or some shit..."

“No, I’m a long lost son of the Minotaur and that’s why I can’t stand going outside. I need a nice familiar labyrinth for enrichment.” Someone’s been working through the mythology section of the library.

"Damn dude, sorry about your dad. He got done real dirty." Erin chuckles to herself before letting go of the thread and pushing it back towards Johnny. She stubs out her cigar and opens her box of replenishing flavors; this month's theme is floral. "Get yourself a frame and weave a shield. The blunt force trauma of blocking an attack might still break your arm, but it's better than getting cut or shot."

“I flunked out of needlework and now you want me to weave? Remind me to find some really nasty homework to give you someday.”

But he laughs as he says it, appreciating the value of it.

"I'm not sure I can tell you more about the thread at this time, so -" Erin lights her cigar and puffs; it smells of roses. "- that consultation. Cesar is already helping but I won't leave you in suspense - I've got the opportunity to build an otherworldly home. It'll take time, and I don't intend to live in it, instead using it as a private space for my loved ones and to not bother Helena or other roommates when I want to get laid."

"So you're modeling. I see. Are you asking me advice on designing a space, or implying I'm a loved one and asking what I'd want in a space?"

It's important to check.

"Yes. You've designed spaces before, but the last one...we spent a lot of its power on defense. Not this time. I know some things I want, and your esteemed husband is helping with the engineering, but, well."

Erin taps the doll castle. "I don't want a fortress, but that's how I think."

Johnny leans in really, really close. "Put in at least one bathtub that's large enough to fit at least three adult male bodies, and you'll have done enough to satisfy me."

"My man the luxurious fuck tub has been on the docket since my first threesome dream starring Crabb and Ylva, pick something else."

Johnny lets out a sound best described as a 'sporfle'.

"Suppose that's better than dreaming about Crabb and Daisy. Anyway, I prefer a little height if I have the option in my spaces. I lived in the penthouse at the Margrave Building. I like to be tall."

"Lots of folks into height..." Erin starts jotting things down again in a fit of inspiration.

Clearly talking to herself: "Shatter the sky for building material for the main tower, wring the clouds out that'll get us a pond, ask for a cutting from a kitchen if I can find one, thread to bind it, a slice of my Mantle...garden along the main path, woods out back..."

"Good lighting. You can make a place as lovely as you please, but if the lighting is intolerable, it'll be hell."

Look, she did ask him for help.

"And be aware of how sound bounces in a room."

"Sound I've got handled, lighting...maybe I can capture some sunlight..." Erin looks up from her writing. "If I can whittle up a model can I drag your eye on it? Obviously I'll be asking Cesar too, I can bend physics out there but I can't ignore it entirely, but...well, Johnny, I'll be real, your taste is better than mine."

"Flattery will get you almost anything. Of course I'll give you my opinion. But you know taste isn't a matter of better or worse. You're growing your garden. You're not growing me another Margrave."

Would he even want one, at this point? Hard to say.

"True, but, well...I'm not good at...living, yet. Surviving, sure, but I've never actually made or been in a home that's supposed to be like...loved."

It's hard to admit. Peter's words about a home being where you can feel safe continue to haunt Erin.

"I'll have you over when I get the materials together, yeah? Something tells me the walls and floors are gonna define appropriate interior decoration."

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