My bad habits don't heal [OPEN]

[hadnoright]

Who: Daisy Tonner & you!
What: Daisy's... dealing?
When: May???
Where: Various places around the ship
Warnings: Mild passive suicidal thoughts, possible references to police brutality, possible poor attitude towards other non-humans/left-of-human types, others added in subject lines
Notes: Hunt Sense Permissions, what does your character smell like? Feel free to flip me to brackets I am comfortable with either style.



1. I'm coming down with something [Laundry Room]

Daisy is sat on top of one of the machines. It's running. Sometimes, so is the tape recorder that sits next to her. She doesn't turn off the tape if people come in. No one will be able to understand it well enough for it to matter. The audio that floats out of the speaker is, frankly, nearly unintelligible; it's distorted horribly, and even what little sense you can make of the contents doesn't actually make sense out of context. The sound of growling and gore and Daisy laughing manically. Questions like 'do you even know what a hand is?'. Strange, unnatural voices. An explosion.

The Unknowing made no more sense from the inside than it does out of it, but Daisy keeps playing it over and over anyway. Sometimes, she rewinds and replays one part a few times in a row: Her own growling and laughter, the sound of a creaking hinge, and an exaggerated cockney accent saying: "Almost a shame you don’t know your own coffin. But you will. You will."

If the trend continues, she knows which tape will come next. After that... after that she's not sure.

Should you walk in at the end of a wash cycle, you might find her pulling out sopping wet and yet still inexplicably filthy clothes. A practical t-shirt and jeans, a jacket, even some old trainers. Caked in dirt. With a frustrated growl, Daisy throws them back into the machine and starts another wash cycle.

2. I lost my own respect [Stan the Man]

The bars are back the way they used to be.

Stan the Man, Rainbow Renly, Bobby B's. It's not like she'd ever really got used to calling them by the bastardisations of Jenny's brothers names—old habits die hard, and all that—but it's still weird to see the change. Feels like being back on her first cruise again, but she isn't.

She's the only one left who ever was, now. The only one who remembers what it was like. Even Jenny's off, reunited with her brothers (and oh doesn't that sting, when Daisy still remembers watching Basira die before Jenny got her too?). She doubts there will ever be anyone else, not after all the hourglasses got smashed. How many souls from her voyage are still down there? How many of them were finally set free?

Why is she the only one left when she wanted nothing more than to be done with it all?

For the first time since she reappeared on the boat, when Daisy takes a seat in Hurikane Stan's she orders actual alcohol and starts drinking. It won't get her drunk, not unless she really pushes it, but it's just that kind of month.

3. My hands, they wander off [Calgona Spa]

Daisy is painting her claws.

They can look like a particularly sharp manicure at a glance already, and painting them in pastels, brights, iridescents, even adding patterns (especially, predictably, daisies) is a habit she developed after they became prominent. Part of that front of hers, the soft, pretty things layered over strength and violence. A way to draw attention away from the little inhuman things that piled up over time, make her look and feel more human.

So maybe it says something about how she's feeling that she's in and out of the spa changing the varnish every few days, this month.

Anyone who comes in at the same time will get a passing look and maybe a wave of wiggling fingers, flashing the claws. "Don't worry. Won't be any slashing from me until they're done drying."

It's a very dry joke. Perhaps an inadvisable joke, but a joke nonetheless.

4. I'm not afraid of death [Pool Deck]

Daisy is floating in the pool in a tankini. She's staring up at the sky, or, occasionally, lying on her front staring at the bottom of the pool in a way that might look just a little bit concerning to a passer-by. It's fine, she technically doesn't need to breathe, it's just more comfortable to.

Still means she's sometimes lying face down in the pool though.

5. I'm just afraid of feeling numb [wildcard]

Find me at bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam#5757/in the discord, or just throw something at her.

Comments

[hadnoright]

Daisy's gaze follows him the whole way. It's not a conscious choice to look predatory, it's just... her natural state of being. But true to her word, there's no biting.

"Bobby's," she corrects, half on reflex. "Cocktails are kinda... more my thing anyway? Usually taste better. Don't get drunk unless I drink enough to kill, like. Three men. At least. So. Might as well have fun with it."

She shrugs a shoulder. Harmless enough information, as information goes. She doesn't get into how she usually drinks them virgin for that reason, though. Not that that's exactly sensitive information, either, but...

[businessorlibation]

"Alright, what's your pleasure?"

He is nothing if not a professional, and she is here inside what he still thinks of (entirely illogically) as his bar, even if the name's wrong and the bottles aren't refilling themselves every time he sneezes.

[hadnoright]

Daisy eyes him for a moment, again. Those odd wolf-yellow eyes briefly meeting his own almost golden gaze before flicking ever so briefly down towards the scissors.

Then she just leans against the bar and shrugs. "Know what a Bramble is?"

She knows it's past his era, after all she knows what year he's from because she knows what year Crabb is from, but he's been in a modern-ish era long enough.

[businessorlibation]

He's grabbing for a bottle of gin even as he answers her.

"Yes, Daisy, I know how to make a bramble. I got a book of modern cocktail recipes from Sundries, back near the top of the voyage."

[hadnoright]

Daisy gives a very flat smile, if it can really be called that. "Had to ask. Hit and miss what you old timey folks pick up when. Not like Sundries is reliable. All it gives me is useless crap."

Tapes. Reminders. A muzzle. 'Useless' isn't exactly the right word, but it's the safe one.

[businessorlibation]

"It gave me the scissors. What more can I ever ask for from it?"

He's actually mixed up a double-portion, so he can have a drink with her, because why not? Her glass is placed in front of her, then he sets up his own. It's not his usual drink, but he's fond enough.

[hadnoright]

Daisy huffs air out her nose. Her tongue drags over her teeth and there might already be a hint of red on them when she goes to take a sip from the glass. Johnny gets the bare minimum politeness of a nod for making it.

"I don't know, maybe a less cursed weapon?" Her mouth twists. "...you've kept using them. I can smell it on you. Y'know, back home, there's whole cults who'd fight over those things."

[businessorlibation]

"I used them in the crew quarters, cutting people out of the tubes. Not on people. Mostly, they're a deterrent."

Mostly, against her. Mostly.

[hadnoright]

"Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, at this point," Daisy says, half a murmur around the rim of her glass. "I don't actually. Want. To attack anyone, you know? Even you. Even the detective."

It's a simplification, in some ways. A part of her very much does sometimes imagine hurting people and enjoys doing so. She is, and likely always will be, a predator who thrives on playing with her food. But that doesn't mean she wants to give into that part of her, that she wants to actually hurt anyone anymore. Two types of want. Two sides of the same coin.

[businessorlibation]

"I recognize that. Daisy, my fear when it comes to you is just about entirely something I own. A me-problem."

He realizes he's never been open about that with her before, and buries whatever expression his face was going to make with a sip of his drink.

[hadnoright]

A single brow raises. "A you problem, huh. You afraid of the big bad wolf?" Her head tilts, slightly. "...no, if that mattered I'd smell it on you too. Not just whiffs of Lonely. So, what, October spook you that bad?"

[businessorlibation]

"October sure was a reminder that I'm smaller, weaker, and still much more human than the majority of people on the ship. Normally, that doesn't matter because I'm not fighting anyone, but if tensions break into disaster again, I need my edge. I didn't have any, back home, except my pocketbook."

[hadnoright]

"You're taller than me," Daisy said, flippantly, knowing full well that's not the point. She took down people stronger and taller and tougher than Johnny, in February. She can't say he's wrong. "Scissors'll still only help for as long as you can keep 'em in your hand."

[businessorlibation]

"Sure. But what alternatives do I have at this point?" He lets out a bit of a scoff.

cw: referenced eye trauma

[hadnoright]

Daisy rolls her eyes as she takes another drink from her glass. "You know, that Cassandra girl almost killed me? Normal dagger. I was on top of her and she got me right through the eye. Pure bad luck she didn't get it deep enough. And she held onto that thing 'til the bitter end. Got me in the throat, too."

There's a point to this. It gets delayed by her glass raising back to her lips again.

"...look, there's gotta be someone around here that can, I dunno, train you on how not to get disarmed if you haven't been already. At least."

[businessorlibation]

"When I first arrived on the ship, I was being trained by Sarge. He disappeared, though, fairly early on." And Johnny had never seen fit to replace him as a trainer.

[hadnoright]

"And you haven't asked anyone else? I thought you were close to the detective." To her, that just sounds like an outright contradiction. She might not like Crabb but she was in her head long enough to know she can fight, so why would he not take advantage of that? Or even anyone else?

[businessorlibation]

"I am close to her. I love her, she's family to me. And her fighting style, for me, would be like a chihuahua trying to learn from a German Shepherd how to protect a home." He means this with love, truly. "Okay, maybe not a chihuahua, maybe more a housecat."

[hadnoright]

Despite herself that actually gets a muffled snort of amusement out of Daisy, which she attempts to cover after with another drink.

"Sure, fine. Cats and dogs. But you can't tell me there's no one on board. At all. That could teach you something. You're scrappier than you look. I know that."

[businessorlibation]

Johnny gives Daisy a long, considering look, then leans in slightly.

"Is that an offer?"

[hadnoright]

Daisy sits back a few inches as she blinks.

"What? No." Beat. Considers how she'd put that. Frowns. "—not on purpose? Not like I expect you to trust me to— well, anything." Daisy leans her elbows against the bar and rubs her temples. "Look. I wasn't always a powerhouse, you know. Had to learn how to defend myself as a tiny little policewoman surrounded by big brutes. So."

[businessorlibation]

"Then your style might be more suited to me than Crabb's. I love her, but compared to me, she's a 'big brute'."

He smiles slightly, not entirely sure if he's goading Daisy or asking her for help right now.

[hadnoright]

If he's not sure, she certainly isn't. She narrows her eyes at him, trying to figure out how much he's just fucking with her. He's not wrong, in some ways that was rather the point of offering the description, and yet why? Why are either of them even part way to considering this?

"Mmmmm. Sure. Maybe, yeah. Even now I have to know how to deal with size and weight difference." Ugh. She rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Think I'd get fucking crucified if I made even the. Slightest scratch."

[businessorlibation]

"By whom? My husbands? Watson would give you a stern talking to if you seriously injured me, but he knows I'm no weak sister. Cesar's aware of what I'm like. Erin would probably experience new heights of compersion in the non-romantic sense. Crabb might be huffy, but I can talk to her."

Shit, he's working through this like he's serious.

[hadnoright]

There's yet another snort of laughter against her better judgement at the comment about Erin—he's probably not wrong, there. "Mm. I was thinking about the detective, yeah. Suppose if anyone can make her back off besides Erin herself..."

Well, it'd be him. Shit.