Skulduggery Pleasant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
light_mischief) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-05-23 11:58 pm
light_mischief) wrote in come_sailaway2022-05-23 11:58 pm
[meta + open] i know that sweet warm taste, and the bitter trace
Who: Skulduggery Pleasant & YOU!
When: The last week of May
Where: The library, Fate's Design, & Calgona's gym!
Summary: Skulduggery got some bad news in the mail, and is officially on "avoiding my past" duty. The library is a good source of information if you know where to look; the casino is a great way to pass the time; and sometimes, you just need to work off some steam.
Warnings: Potential talk of necromancy, death talk, talk of murder and all that good stuff. Probably talking about the captain's shrimpy space wound.
Notes: (I'll match formatting!) First bit is to establish a regain. The library is designed especially for people who want to pull up a chair and talk about Plot Related Stuff, and the others are there for anyone who might want to hit up our skeleton buddy while he's in ABad Mood to talk.
in the holding tank i built for myself, it's feeding time
[He realizes what's inside the box waiting for him at the sundries shop before he ever opens it. He knows exactly what the heavy weight means when he lifts it from the counter. If he's honest with himself -- which he rarely is -- Skulduggery knew what would be waiting for him the moment he'd heard himself shout at the party. Something beneath the boiling surface of his rage is starting to seep through.
There's a chance someone might catch sight of Skulduggery walking quickly from the sundries shop to his cabin, a large wrapped package under one arm, but he moves fast and uncharacteristically doesn't stop for conversation. He's calculating space as he gets to the cabin, checking first to make sure Lucius isn't around and locking the door behind him once he's guaranteed to be alone. Everything he does is quick and measured, more automatic than conscious movement as he unwraps the unassuming cardboard box. Inside the box are a pair of unassuming armored gauntlets, unique in their sharp design and the charred-black color of the metal. He grabs a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around the gauntlets before carefully setting them in the drawer. Even as he shuts the drawer, he can feel the scratching start of a headache low in the base of his skull.
He doesn't know what to do about it. The answer, therefore, is to do nothing at all. Skulduggery leaves no trace that he's been in the room, taking the packaging with him and throwing it out on another deck. He contemplates going to the bridge, but he knows better than to indulge in the thing knotting its way through his nervous system. There are better outlets, and other things to do that will keep him busy.]
i. [library/daytime] i've learned to read your movements, and i'm learning how to read your mind
[Skulduggery can be reliably found in the library at any point during the day. He's found an extremely comfortable chair in a relatively unassuming corner and has pulled a coffee table over in order to accommodate the stacks of books he's got in front of him. There are two main stacks, with several books scattered in-between: the first is a random dozen pieces of 18th-century fiction, with a few books from realities he doesn't recognize. The other is shorter, a stack of maybe six to ten books with synopses that refer to being trapped, or otherwise forced into combat.
He has a book open in his lap and seems to be lounging back while reading. Every few minutes or so, he bothers to turn a page; eventually, he'll put it down without finishing and pick another off the stacks at random.]
ii. [fate's design/evening] you think you hold the high hand, i've got my doubts
[Somebody is on a losing streak at the blackjack table he's seated at. It obviously doesn't matter, since he has a bucket of chips nearby to grab, but somehow the fact that the unseeing shade of a former passenger is having better luck than him doesn't sit so well. Whenever he goes bust, he picks up the offending card and ignites it between his fingers, a smokeless flare-up before he swipes the ash remnants away. He's got one book in particular from the library sitting beside him, with a freshly and thoroughly cracked spine.]
iii. [calgona/late night] everybody's got their limits, nobody's found mine
[Without any physical enemy to confront, Skulduggery needs another outlet for his building anger. The gym is usually quiet and empty this time of night, and he has it to himself as he works over a punching bag. Dressed down to his slacks and shirt, he peppers his imaginary opponent with furious punches and quick jabs. Aside from the occasional grunt when a punch lands wrong or he glances off the vinyl, there's no sign of exertion. His suit jacket, hat, and tie are all set out carefully over what appears to be another punching bag. A fist-sized hole has been melted through the plastic, and it leaks sand across the tile.]
When: The last week of May
Where: The library, Fate's Design, & Calgona's gym!
Summary: Skulduggery got some bad news in the mail, and is officially on "avoiding my past" duty. The library is a good source of information if you know where to look; the casino is a great way to pass the time; and sometimes, you just need to work off some steam.
Warnings: Potential talk of necromancy, death talk, talk of murder and all that good stuff. Probably talking about the captain's shrimpy space wound.
Notes: (I'll match formatting!) First bit is to establish a regain. The library is designed especially for people who want to pull up a chair and talk about Plot Related Stuff, and the others are there for anyone who might want to hit up our skeleton buddy while he's in A
in the holding tank i built for myself, it's feeding time
[He realizes what's inside the box waiting for him at the sundries shop before he ever opens it. He knows exactly what the heavy weight means when he lifts it from the counter. If he's honest with himself -- which he rarely is -- Skulduggery knew what would be waiting for him the moment he'd heard himself shout at the party. Something beneath the boiling surface of his rage is starting to seep through.
There's a chance someone might catch sight of Skulduggery walking quickly from the sundries shop to his cabin, a large wrapped package under one arm, but he moves fast and uncharacteristically doesn't stop for conversation. He's calculating space as he gets to the cabin, checking first to make sure Lucius isn't around and locking the door behind him once he's guaranteed to be alone. Everything he does is quick and measured, more automatic than conscious movement as he unwraps the unassuming cardboard box. Inside the box are a pair of unassuming armored gauntlets, unique in their sharp design and the charred-black color of the metal. He grabs a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around the gauntlets before carefully setting them in the drawer. Even as he shuts the drawer, he can feel the scratching start of a headache low in the base of his skull.
He doesn't know what to do about it. The answer, therefore, is to do nothing at all. Skulduggery leaves no trace that he's been in the room, taking the packaging with him and throwing it out on another deck. He contemplates going to the bridge, but he knows better than to indulge in the thing knotting its way through his nervous system. There are better outlets, and other things to do that will keep him busy.]
i. [library/daytime] i've learned to read your movements, and i'm learning how to read your mind
[Skulduggery can be reliably found in the library at any point during the day. He's found an extremely comfortable chair in a relatively unassuming corner and has pulled a coffee table over in order to accommodate the stacks of books he's got in front of him. There are two main stacks, with several books scattered in-between: the first is a random dozen pieces of 18th-century fiction, with a few books from realities he doesn't recognize. The other is shorter, a stack of maybe six to ten books with synopses that refer to being trapped, or otherwise forced into combat.
He has a book open in his lap and seems to be lounging back while reading. Every few minutes or so, he bothers to turn a page; eventually, he'll put it down without finishing and pick another off the stacks at random.]
ii. [fate's design/evening] you think you hold the high hand, i've got my doubts
[Somebody is on a losing streak at the blackjack table he's seated at. It obviously doesn't matter, since he has a bucket of chips nearby to grab, but somehow the fact that the unseeing shade of a former passenger is having better luck than him doesn't sit so well. Whenever he goes bust, he picks up the offending card and ignites it between his fingers, a smokeless flare-up before he swipes the ash remnants away. He's got one book in particular from the library sitting beside him, with a freshly and thoroughly cracked spine.]
iii. [calgona/late night] everybody's got their limits, nobody's found mine
[Without any physical enemy to confront, Skulduggery needs another outlet for his building anger. The gym is usually quiet and empty this time of night, and he has it to himself as he works over a punching bag. Dressed down to his slacks and shirt, he peppers his imaginary opponent with furious punches and quick jabs. Aside from the occasional grunt when a punch lands wrong or he glances off the vinyl, there's no sign of exertion. His suit jacket, hat, and tie are all set out carefully over what appears to be another punching bag. A fist-sized hole has been melted through the plastic, and it leaks sand across the tile.]
i.
After a shocked double-take, she ends up dropping her small stack of YA novels to the floor and just continuing to be very tactful by pointing and yelling at him.]
What the hell are you?!
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I'm a person with feelings, for one. [He's grousing, but it's good-natured! He's not actually upset to be called a "what" -- that's a normal reaction.] And I'm a skeleton. In case that wasn't obvious.
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But--how?! That can't be--there's no way you can talk if you're just a skeleton! You don't have vocal chords, or--or a tongue, or a brain!
[She didn't even realize she was backing up a few steps until she bumps into a small table. It's not that this particular teenager is afraid of anything supernatural, it's just--she has to understand how things work! That's totally all it is! She's not terrified out of her mind at all.]
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You're right, I don't. [Because she seems... to be having some trouble here. Normally, he'd make fun of her for calling him brainless, but look, he can be an adult sometimes.] My spirit is bound to my body through magic. Don't ask how, I don't know, although I suspect it has a lot to do with me being astoundingly tenacious.
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What the hell kind of magic does that?!
[Completely ignoring his don't ask, but she relaxes a fraction. This doesn't mean he's, like, actually dead or anything, right? He just...looks like a skeleton.]
...It's...just something like an illusion, surely...
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Here. [He sets his book aside and pushes the sleeve of his jacket and shirt partway up his forearm. Then he leans forward in his seat to extend his arm.] Go ahead, feel for yourself. [Neither he nor his appearance are an illusion at all -- he is most definitely all bones about it!]
1/2
[She stiffens again, mouth opening and closing soundlessly a couple of times as she wrestles with the warring concepts of:
1. touch his arm and prove it's clearly just an illusion, or;
2. don't touch the arm and maintain the plausible deniability that he's not actually just a skeleton.
....After a long moment of hesitation, the former wins out. Rita sets her mouth in a determined line and closes the distance quickly. And because she's kind of a heathen even at the best of times, she just goes and grabs his totally fleshy arm--]
2/2
She's just. Going to not let go of him but keep staring at his arm, like that will somehow make it become normal. Her face isn't going totally pale; it's fine. It's fine. All fine.]
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For Skulduggery, it feels no more unusual than a handshake.]
I died. My soul returned to my body after it had decomposed. Now I'm here. [He says it gently -- clearly noticing that she's one wrong word away from losing her shit.] Do you need to sit down? [Because that's definitely the look Valkyrie had right before she fainted upon meeting him for the first time...]
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[Died and decomposed rattle around in her brain and pretty much drown out anything else he's saying. With some delay, she processes the question and turns her head to look vacantly at his empty skull eye-holes instead.]
...What? No, I...
[Actually--
Rita lets his skeletal arm slip from her fingers, staggers back a couple steps, and flops into an armchair, covering her face with her hand.]
...This can't be happening...there's no way...
[(Having a quiet freakout instead of screaming bloody murder would say a lot about just how unsettled she is over him--to anyone used to her very loud freakouts over topics like he undead.)]
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No, it's the children who are wrong.]
I understand it's a shock for you. You probably are feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. It's understandable. But I am here, I am real, and I am a person. Not a construct, not an abomination. Just to clear that up.
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Uugh...
[A weary and petulant groan is all the response he gets at first. But...despite herself, she's managed to kind of get used to the totally-not-ghosts that serve food and perform whatever other tasks on the ship--as long as they don't sneak up on her and she doesn't really think about them too much, anyway...]
...What did you say again? You came back to life even before all...this?
[At least...he sounds normal?? Maybe she'll just keep that hand over her eyes for now.]
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I did, yes. I was killed during a war, but... [shrug] I found a way back to my body. It had been so long that this is all that was left.
[He says it all calmly, as if explaining plot points from a book rather than his own life. She doesn't need his personal opinions on any of it; what she needs are facts, concrete bits to prove that he isn't something to be afraid of.]
My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. I've been aboard for a month or two now. [He's been here long enough to see the battle royale, that is -- and he knows Rita's face from it, even if the name isn't quite landing.]
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You just...found a way?
[She lifts her hand to give him a very skeptical look, because sometimes being judgy is more important than being terrified. But because he still is kind of terrifying, it's a very brief look.
At least it makes a little more sense that she's somehow overlooked him until now. There were a bunch of new passengers arriving on the ship while she was still in the infirmary...but, wait...]
...Don't tell me you changed your name to Skull-duggery for some stupid joke!
[
skullduggery I am so sorry for this rude teen]no subject
Hah. No, I chose the name Skulduggery before I died. [This is not the first time somebody's made the assumption and honestly, it won't be the last.] This was just ironic luck.
[RUDE TEENS are still better than SCREAMING TEENS, and honestly after dealing with
Darcyother rude teenagers, he's built up a tolerance!]no subject
Anyway...]
And you didn't feel like changing it again? Or do you like being a skeleton?
[Thank goodness for all these not-dads having such a high rude
and recklessteen tolerance!]no subject
[Unlikely, but not impossible. Not that he's going to get into the details here!]
As to whether or not I like being a skeleton... I've been one so long that I don't think I'd be able to tell you. I can give you dates, but they might make you more upset. [Given that he's 430 years old with the potential to live to 1,000....] I don't mind it, though. Introductions are the hardest part. After that, people usually forget that I'm a skeleton pretty quickly.
[He knows nobody forgets the fact, but they do certainly manage to overlook it quite a lot!]
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Hey, I'm not upset!
[Just--ignore the part where she can only glower at him for a moment before averting her eyes again, because that's still creepy as hell. She doesn't get how anyone could possibly forget that he's nothing but bones when the skull is staring them in the face.]
Hmph--anyway, just try me! How long have you been like this?
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Alright. When I died, I was just over 120 years old. When I came back, 150 years had passed, and it's been over 150 years since then. I'm just over 430 years old.
[Maybe that makes him being a skeleton more understandable?]
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[Honestly, his age is something she can accept far more easily--especially after meeting the Entelexeia, who'd been alive for centuries, possibly even millenia (although they were not skeletons, thankfully).]
Say, were you human back then? I mean, if you lived to be that old in the first place...
[Surely no human in Terca Lumireis has lived to be 120, not unless the ancients could live that long, anyway.]
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[Hehehe. She probably doesn't even know what a sweet sixteen is but it's still a funny joke and he will stick with it.]
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And--nope, she has no idea what a sweet sixteen is and so the joke predictably flies over her head. It's irrelevant, though, because...sorcerors living centuries? She frowns--squinting slightly at him out of the corner of her eyes, because she's still not looking directly at him.]
What the hell kind of magic makes you live for hundreds of years? I know our worlds can have pretty different types of magic, but it's still hard to believe that a normal human could live that long, even with magic.
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[In Rita's experience, magic is a science, after all.]
And some of them don't even have magic at all...
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We have magic-scientists who have been exploring the boundary between the two in our reality. If we were allowed nonfiction books, maybe I'd be able to find one of Kenspeckle's dissertations for you. [but the captain's a dumb fantasy nerd who can't handle reality sooooo]
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