You must fix your heart

[saltwaterlungs]

CHARACTERS: Darcy and probably someone
DATE: it's (already) May
LOCATION: Various
SITUATION: Depressed teenager has a normal time
WARNINGS: None yet!

Let our bodies lay, mark our hearts with shame (Skulduggery)

In this moment, after Fio’s hugged Sparkles and everyone seems to be wrapping up the arguments and the… frankly inexplicable tea table (??? who does that?) Darcy is reminded of how badly she had wanted a threat to be able to punch. Sparkles, another undeserved recipient of begrudging mercy, was not that. All she’s got is adrenaline and pain and potentially some more bruised relationships than she had at the start of the day. So y’know. Tuesday. 


She’s already back at her room by the time Skulduggery messages, at her limit of human contact before she disembowels someone, and by the time he arrives she’s doing what she was doing when he texted; which is to say, biting into her arm through her hoodie sleeve to muffle her screaming.

Let our blood in vain, you find God in pain (Meta + Ruby)

Darcy had been expecting some sort of sense of real triumph when all was said and done. But as it always goes, there's no ticker-tape parade when it's over. The Captain's back, Sparkles is somewhere, her friends are safe, she's… fine. The ship will just go back to business as usual. And she will too, eventually; back to the endless loop of training and more training and different training and finding ways to pass the time in between waiting for… something. What is she even waiting for, now? The excursions aren’t lethal anymore, the most recent threat to the ship has been dealt with, and they still can’t leave and... She’ll get back to it, honestly, it’ll all go back to the way things were, into the comforting rhythm of routine. She just… needs a minute.


Darcy passes out for about a day. 


When she drags herself back to consciousness through drool and the pattern of pillow crease pressed into her face, she suddenly remembers her discussion with Ruby; and if she’s lying around feeling bad for herself, she has the time to do it to benefit someone else, so Ruby gets a text that is valiantly attempting to not seem frantic.


you still up for depression day?

Now, if your convictions were a passing phase (Kitchens + OTA)

Honestly, Darcy kind of worries she’s dreaming when she spots them for the first time. Just like December: the bright gleam of industrial steel, the smell of a kitchen freshly cleaned, a good array of knives. Not amazingly well-stocked, she’ll have to hope the Easter-Erda delivers her some of ingredients or equipment she notices are lacking (seriously, what sort of kitchen doesn’t have a rice cooker or orange oil), but literally anything is better than nothing, and it irritates her to no end that she’s going to have to thank the Captain for it.


So find her;


A) Making a batch of bread-rolls to test out the oven with: in the process of kneading, proofing, or waiting for them to finish baking.

B) Throwing together lunch for herself: cutting up vegetables, kneading pasta dough, reading a book of Christina Rosetti’s poetry while waiting for pasta to finish cooking, whisking a sauce together, and eating by herself on the floor in the corner.

C) Making a bigger meal at dinner to share: peeling potatoes, cooking off onions and garlic, browning meat, doing stretches on the floor while waiting for the food to finish cooking in the oven.

D) Or most commonly between meals: cleaning. Sharpening and washing the knives, wiping down the benchtops, doing the dishes, mopping the floors while levitating a few inches above it. It’s the first taste of real sanity she’s been able to find in… definitely since the labyrinth, probably since she arrived. Do not step on her clean floors or risk getting the mop shoved somewhere delicate.

May your ashes feed the river in the morning rays (Gym + OTA)

She imagines that a caged bird being freed feels the same way as she does setting up the treadmill. Darcy is a well-tuned machine that needs to be in motion, which is sufficient motivation to ignore the risk of getting cornered by someone in the gym again (thanks for that anxiety, Clarke,) and actually go to train during the day. Like some sort of animal.


Between the treadmill, deadlifts, one-armed push-ups, rowing machine, and the intensity with which she’s hitting the punching bag, an observer might come to the conclusion that she’s either trying to push past her limits, or run herself ragged. Either way, stay out of her way and off the machine she’s about to use or risk getting scowled at.

Get up, coward. (wildcard)

(For anything else)

Comments

[skaikru]

That sure is a pool towel Darcy just accepted. Clean and freshly laundered, but oversized compared to more traditional gym rags.

Someone somewhere needs to actually introduce the term depression outfit to Clarke's vocabulary, at least so she can have a better understanding of what she's doing in the back ends of the Tommy Bahama store. But as things currently stand, these clothes are new and comfortable, and clean. For once not stained with blood — sometimes someone else's, but usually hers. She'd half expected to immediately be told to just leave, and thus the fashion insult comes out of nowhere, but is miles more familiar than the common decency that'd preceded it.

"Really?" Clarke tilts her head down to look at her torso under the edge of the garish sunglasses. Plucks at the buttons of her shirt bemusedly, then smooths out the front.

"I don't know. I like the color."

[saltwaterlungs]

"Not the outfit," not just the outfit. Darcy gestures towards her own whole face. Then immediately closes her eyes because that's going to be even more insulting than the fumbled insult directed at her fashion. Any second now, if God could strike her down that would be fantastic.

"You just look like things have been rough. I don't know. Dumb thing to say."

The horrendously oversized towel gets dabbed gingerly at the back of her neck.

"That's it. Just. Ehn."

[skaikru]

Darcy gestures towards her whole face? Oh, so it's the pink sunglasses that are the issue here. Beneath them, Clarke's eyes are dry, and not even ringed with the puffiness that would indicate she's been crying — because she hasn't really yet. They're completely necessary indoors, but at the same time feel comforting. The world shaded in dark tones, nothing too bright, even meeting peoples gazes is a nice sort of muted right now.

A little further down her face, Clarke gives a loose half-smile.

"Things have been rough," she says lightly, as if that was some gallows humor sort of joke Darcy just doled out. And for once, it was funny.

"You look like you're actively hoping to pull a muscle." So, also like shit, but a different brand.

[saltwaterlungs]

"You only pull muscles if your form is bad. I used to make gym bros angry because they could never find anything to correct me on."

She sits forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Usually I'd be smashing plates, but that's not really an option anymore. So. Was there something you wanted?"

A story, perhaps?

[skaikru]

The conversational jump from strained muscles to destroyed dinnerware does not disprove her point, and Clarke gives a mild little half-shrug.

"No, not really. I mean, I kinda wanted to ask if you were doing okay? But that's a really redundant question around here, isn't it."

[saltwaterlungs]

"Yeah, no offense but I literally could not imagine a dumber question to be asking anyone right now."

She folds her arms, resting her chin at the point where they overlap.

"So if I don't ask it back, don't take it personally. I've literally seen graveyards with less sad people than the ship right now."

[skaikru]

"Got it, not taking it personally." The descriptor of graveyards sure does seem accurate, especially lately. The general low flicker of lighting here and there, the delayed restocking of food, the strange sense of quiet that tends to follow harrowing experiences on board here... If the Serena Eterna hadn't been a ghost ship before, it sure felt like one now — and that's not even touching the vague mysteries of what's beyond them, or the grief that's like a gaping wound in the side that's been wrapped in duct tape.

"I guess I just imagined you'd be more... content?" The phrasing doesn't really do a good job encompassing what she means, so after lightly clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth and casting her gaze upward Clarke continues. "It's over for now, we got out. Skulduggery got the Captain back, Fio's fine."

The root of the issue is mostly that she doesn't entirely know how Darcy felt walking away from the Bridge after what felt like the whole passenger manifest congregated around Sparkles.

"Was that not the best possible outcome for you and your friends?"

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy stares outright at her for a few long beats, remembering Helena's words but also... really unsure as to what the good faith way to take that would even be.

"If you're here to argue about ship politics more, I'm too tired for it, Clarke. I won't do it. I don't like arguing in front of everyone with people I care about, I don't like being locked in a room with shitty people who hate me, and I don't like watching people I care about go into a meat grinder without knowing if they're coming back. Sorry I'm not setting up a fucking 'we did it' party, the road to get here fucking sucked."

[skaikru]

Turns out it's actually really hard to talk to Darcy — especially fraught, fresh off the press from hell Darcy — without an angle. Without wanting something, without an ulterior motive, without the constant reminders to keep a straight face and keep the conversation clipped. It's also really hard to keep the fresh bubble of apathy intact when the other girl's talking about the meat grinder — which she'd actually walked into, on the list of people Darcy cares about or not — and coming back — which Palamedes never did.

And sooooo...

"I'm not trying to argue about anything, it was just a question. But alright, fair enough. I'll leave you to it, keep the towel."

[saltwaterlungs]

"You asked and you got my opinion, sorry it wasn't whatever answer you were looking for," God on high Clarke is good at 'just asking questions' that are weirdly pointed and kind of insulting. Darcy doesn't know about Palamedes, wasn't actually there to see Clarke go in, and above all she's too damn tired for this shit. She's tired and frustrated and keyed up and dead on her feet all at once. All of that without the underlying residual terror of having someone she's keeping at arm's length having seen her at her lowest point. But Darcy is fucked if she's addressing that with Clarke. All she can really do is wait to see if she hears about it from someone else, and then beat Clarke's face in for spilling her secrets.

"What was this, Clarke? Honestly."

[skaikru]

It would really hurt to know the other girl was just waiting for her to spill about the time they'd spent trying to break out of the hospital together. Clarke is actually incredibly adept at keeping the secrets she wants to — no one, not even her other friends, have ever heard the word vampire pass her lips in regards to Natsuno. Very few people know that she murdered Pratt when he was in the middle of a psychotic episode. Everyone in the lobby may have seen Rita crying into her chest, but like hell she'd ever bring it up.

And this is the same.

But Darcy isn't the only one who's tired here. They're just situated on two opposite ends of the spectrum with how one showcases that special brand of exhaustion, and Clarke's got no energy for games or obfuscation so —

"Just an attempt at friendly conversation, Darcy. Honestly."

[saltwaterlungs]

"You only ever try and talk to me if you want something."

Whether in the hospital because Clarke wanted to play-act at heroism in helping a wretch so far below her, or in an opportunistic attempt to get dirt on her, she doesn't know and isn't asking. But she's not stupid, arguably, and her paranoia isn't going away after one halfhearted rousing speech that she's still processing.

"Leave me alone."

[skaikru]

"And maybe this time all I wanted was friendly conversation," she grumbles, half under her breath. But she's being summarily dismissed, and just sighs a little.

Vaguely thinks about the new need to go find a new towel if she's actually going to try out the swimming pool for the second time since arriving on the ship, then turns on her heel without any further argument.