come_sailaway | My bad habits don't heal [OPEN]

Entry tags:

My bad habits don't heal [OPEN]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"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?

"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."

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."

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

"Is that an offer?"

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."

"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.

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."

"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.

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.

"You don't use her name." A quiet, thoughtful observation. He does the same to ~~Friday~~ the faceless dame, and he can't help but wonder if her reasons are similar.

"...used to call her Erin's pet detective. Or the crustacean." Technically, just 'the detective' is an improvement. In terms of politeness to Crabb, anyway. It still says something about Daisy, though. "Does it matter?"

"I'm not going to start picking a fight about it or anything, but I think it kind of might on some level." He finishes his drink, looks at her glass. "Care for another bramble, Daisy?"

"...sure." Daisy pushes her glass a little in front of her.

Maybe it does matter, maybe even she knows it. But it's become easier to put the distance between herself and Crabb-as-Crabb, as opposed to Crabb as a figure of... something. (Something Daisy never really was.)

She sighs. "If you can keep her off my back if an accident happens, and you're nuts enough to risk it, I— could probably teach you something. I guess."

"Sports deck or Calgona?" Even as he's asking, he's making a second round for both of them, knowing the alcohol will affect him and not her. How do you silently demonstrate trust? In the tiniest of ways, knowing it'll either be understood, or it won't.

If she understands it, it's subconscious and certainly not something she's fully aware of in the moment. Her brow is instead furrowed with thought, debating pros and cons of the spaces. "...Calgona. Enclosed space with stuff around reminds me to rein it in."

And means it's extremely unlikely that he'll accidentally trigger the Hunt instinct as there's not open space to flee through. Peter Smith was unlucky, if she'd been less starved the gym wouldn't have been an appealing arena.

"Sounds good. Thank you, Daisy."

...what the fuck has he just signed on for?

"Name a time and I can probably do it. My sleep schedule... isn't." As soon as the drinks are finished, she's taking a sip. "...and head the detective off before she finds out on her own."

Why the fuck is she agreeing to this...

"Agreed, I will inform Crabb before our first session. Perhaps after the morning announcement tomorrow? I can visit Friday's desk in workout clothes without immediately dying of mortification."

There is a moment, on account of her sense of time being irreparably fucked, where she has to think about what time that announcement has been happening, before she nods. "Sure, that works. Though why would... oh, right."

He's the one who keeps doing the timekeeping announcement. Duh.

"Yeah. Until someone else hops in to share the duty with me. It's something I think a lot of us need, a way of tracking the days.

"Can't argue with that." There's a reason her sense of time is as irreparably fucked as it is, and that's spending far too many months in places where time just doesn't feel quite right. The ship is one of those places at the best of times, with the eternal summer, but now... "It is disorienting, not knowing. You only get so used to it."

"I know. But the only way for us to know is to invent it ourselves. Friday and the Captain aren't going to help us with this shit; they've both been unmoored for longer than both of us. They don't know what structure looks like."

There's thoughts underneath that that Johnny's been stewing on for much longer than this. But he's sure Daisy doesn't give a fuck about those.

She huffs a short, dry laugh. "You're not wrong. You couldn't even track time based on excursions after a while, even on my go around. Too unpredictable."

It's true, though, that she doesn't exactly care to think about how it might be affecting others, or how to do anything about it. Daisy sits in a strange space where to call her selfish would oversell how much she cares to even make her own life better, but even as she settles more, slips away from 'me vs them', she struggles to find the energy to care about anything else either.

"Well. We'll keep a count of the number of days. And create whatever holidays we want. Build systems that work for us. Together."

That includes you, Daisy, even if you don't want it to. Fuck you, we're all dragging one another into getting better.

(no subject)

hadnoright - 2023-05-19 16:26 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only