saltwaterlungs (
saltwaterlungs) wrote in
come_sailaway2023-05-10 06:27 pm
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You must fix your heart
CHARACTERS: Darcy and probably someone
DATE: it's (already) May
LOCATION: Various
SITUATION: Depressed teenager has a normal time
WARNINGS: None yet!
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.
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.
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.
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.
(For anything else)
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)
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"Unless you can magic me the equipment we're missing in here or find a way to get Rita to shut the fuck up, I think I'm pretty good here actually."
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"Best I've got for you is a recipe for hobo pie."
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Because. Y'know. Erin.
"But I know what- ehn- empanadas or hand-pies are, and we don't need to resort to... great depression food just yet. Not unless people go apeshit with the ingredients. I've seen videos of great depression water pies and shit, if we get to that point I'm just planning on starving."
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"Well- we're still fine. We could probably just make regular pies if I could be fucked making a pie crust. I don't think I saw shortening in the fridge, though, we might need to see if the Erda provides."
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Of course Erin has eaten cool things and hunted bear, of course. The bitch eating crackers energy is so strong that she doesn't even ask if snake really tastes like chicken.
"Captain can't make animals, so we'll just have to see if another carcass or something turns up."
Darcy you're Catholic you can eat beaver for Lent
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"Pig-killing. It's, ehn, a rural thing," said with the same minced distaste as Erin might recognize someone talking about rednecks, "but my Aunt and her family still does it. You kill a pig and spend like three days preparing it- sausages, pâté, lard, cured meats. It's cultural heritage shit. Some people have tried to revive it for whatever reason but my family are all farm people, we never really stopped doing it."
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Fuck her for thinking Darcy might be into a grand hunt she guesses??
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She'd like to get on better. Really. She would.
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Darcy folds her arms, "no but- I'm really interested, what do you think you've done wrong, Erin? Not even, like, starting on the 'amends' part, what do you think you did?"
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"From the top? There's the training incident, fucking up the 'miss' bit for eight thousand years like a god damn clown, the screaming match I very much started, trying to appoint you my executioner, and..."
She trails off.
Her voice is barely there: "...I couldn't...stop Undine from disappearing. Or even look for her in that fucking glass room to try again."
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So says the granite voice of the psychopomp.
"Undine has been dead since December. Lots of people are dead, and have died. I'm not your fucking priest, Erin, I can't absolve you of not doing enough. Nothing anyone can do is ever enough forever. Death is death. Dead is dead. I hate that I have to even say 'her dying wasn't your fault' because you meddling in our relationship absolutely was. I didn't even know she was gone because of you. She wasn't talking to me. At all. She never even told me that she gave up her powers. That's what I have to live with now."
Deep breath, continues.
"Then there's the guard-dogging for- and again, I really hate to give you any sort of advice but you are so creepy with the fucking wife bullshit towards Daisy, okay, she nearly murdered my friends and I still feel bad for her having to put up with that. You're incapable of listening to the word 'no', you never let anything go, and you are so agonizingly stubborn with anything you think is a good idea. Okay, the armour with me was one thing, but you pulled the exact same move on Ava, and that's how I know you're not sorry for it, you never learned, and you're not going to. You talk a big game about turning over a new leaf and then you just- what, you hear people telling you not to do something and you try it on someone else? Did you try policing people's food on someone else too? Have you found anyone who's accepted your fucking dead birds yet?"
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(We just gonna walk past her casting shade at Daisy?)
Yeah, until we figure out if that's obfuscating hostility like she often does or an actual beef.
"Anything else? Don't hold back, give me the business."
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It's the same routine she always does.
"No, Erin, I'm not going to 'give you the business'. You want to feel bad on purpose, go see if the Tommy Bahama stocks hair shirts. What do I need to do to get you to leave me alone? Genuinely, honestly, am I going to have to start stabbing you when I see you? Is that what it's going to take? Please," and her frustration has tears leaking into her voice now, "what is it going to take for you to stop bothering me?"
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Erin walks off, hands in her pockets.
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