Alice "Daisy" Tonner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hadnoright) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-05-15 12:30 am
hadnoright) wrote in come_sailaway2023-05-15 12:30 am
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 inHurikane 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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam#5757/in the discord, or just throw something at her.
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
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
no subject
"It's been really strange for me to meet or hear about other kinds of vampires that are so different, too. Just feels so wrong." Recently, he discovered that Natsuno is one and he's still in awe of the differences.
His eyes crinkle at the corners in that way they do when he's touched by deep gratitude. Her calling him a puppy is so sweet. She's really not wrong, is she? He's even got the transformation to prove it now. It almost hurts to have to tell her what he did, because it might change the way she sees him.
"I killed my master's sister." He looks down at his hands, fidgeting with them at the hem of his shirt. "I didn't... mean to. She bit me and I panicked and... it all happened really fast. But she had allies. A lot of them. They were mad and they wanted to take revenge on me. Master had to take custody of me so they couldn't. That's why I have to be protected all the time."
no subject
"At home they're... real leech-like. Human enough looking at a glance, but... freaky mouths, no ribcages, weird tongues. Bloat up after feeding. Gross stuff." Certainly not the sexy kind of vampire, as far as she's concerned at the least. She's killed a lot of them in her time, most of them on police time but some... extracurricularly.
...Erik's sister, though. The sister said he got his act together for? Fuck, alright then. Daisy's eyes are wide for a moment before she huffs softly, tilting her head at him.
"Sounds like you had good self-defence instincts." Whether that's still true, well, she's not sure. "So, Erik was... protecting you. After you killed his sister. Must be one hell of a story behind that but, sure, okay. Not like I don't know something about accepting a shitty situation because the alternative's worse."
She runs her tongue over her teeth again. Sighs. "Still kind of skeeves me out. It's one thing to 'take custody'," jesus fucking christ, "of you to protect you, another to actually treat you like a damn pet."
no subject
He squirms guiltily when she points out that it was self-defense. He knows it was, logically, but it doesn't make him feel less bad about it.
"I know they used to be close but something bad happened... one time he told me I'd done him a favor by killing her. He didn't say much more about it but vampires have really complicated laws and I guess he couldn't risk doing it himself."
He's even more squirmy now as she says that last. It had been such a fact of life for so long that it stopped feeling weird. But every time anyone else hears about it, they always point it out and he never knows what to say
"It's ust... what I was."
no subject
Must have been a hell of a 'something bad', after what he told her, but... well, she ended up close friends with a guy she tried to kill and even intended to finish the job at one point, it's not like relationships taking a wild turn is news to her.
Part of her wonders if there's any point to keeping the secrets of a guy that's not around, if she could or should tell Max the things Erik told her, but— well, Daisy has some amount of self-preservation instincts left and she knows people can show up at any time, and this already feels a little like the conversational equivalent of a minefield. So she sits on that thought, for now.
"You didn't have to be. He could've just kept you his in name and not impose all the extra rules, if he wanted, surely. Look, Max, I can't be the first one to say this shit to you. And I'm not gonna try and—" she mimes smacking at him vaguely, "beat it into you, or whatever. And Erik helped me, like. Really helped, I think. But I'm not gonna pretend it wasn't skeevy either. If someone reminds me even a little of Elias Bouchard it's a bad sign."
She sounds like she's mostly joking with that last sentence, just a bit of ribbing.
no subject
"I know," he whines. "I know. I've had so many people tell me already. I... know." His head knows, but his heart still lingers in doubt.
"I understand what he did with me was wrong. But he helped you, and he helps others too. It's not all black and white. He's not... he's not a monster. I can't hate him. I don't want to hate him because I... I can't live with all those memories if I do. Part of me still misses him and no one... no one gets why."
no subject
Daisy's face softens subtly, so subtle anyone who hasn't spent much time around her wouldn't even notice, but, well. Max is no longer on that list, not really, through these oddest of circumstances.
It sounds a little bit like something she's been telling herself, is the thing. Not about a situation like Max's, of course, but... Basira. Her head knows, knows that by the end their partnership had been twisted and contorted into something neither of them recognised, that it could never go back to how it was because to go back to how it was would require Daisy to be something she could no longer be. Her head knows that what Basira wanted from her, how she looked at her after the coffin, wasn't right or fair. Her head knows that for all her practicality, Basira was still stuck in the mindset of a cop and still a hypocrite.
But her heart still clings to the hope they could've made it work. That Basira could have come around, if they'd had time. Grown to match Daisy, instead of away from her. She still loves her.
"...I get it, Max. Sort've. There's—" Daisy sighs. "There's someone that Erin keeps— trying to get it through my skull how she's no good, for me. Not anymore. And I know— I know why. I know she's right. But she was my partner for years. And I can't turn that off. People aren't— one thing. I know that, too. And it's as impossible to just ignore the good parts as it is important to remember the bad."
no subject
"Yeah. You really do get it." He flashes a sympathetic smile because, well, it's not a very nice thing for both of them to have to experience but it's better to know they aren't alone.
"I know why Erin feels so strongly about it. Yeah, she's right. My brain knows that. But we're right too, that it's not just... one thing or another. It's complicated." He's seen his master do monstrous things. But he's seen his master be kind and gentle too. Those moments when he cried into Erik's chest and his master held him for hours to soothe him, those were genuine moments. He knows they were. They had a bond.
"... And sometimes it makes me feel guilty for the fact that I wasn't miserable the entire time. You know? I didn't hate every second of living like that. I don't want to pretend like I did. Even if I don't ever want to go back to that, I don't want the only way I can move on from it to be... pretending that seven years of my life just didn't happen. But I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. I can't go back to being Jonah. I'm not him anymore, I'm Max. I'm always going to be Max now and... I want to feel like that's okay. I can't become a third person. I don't have it in me."
no subject
I can't go back to being Jonah. I'm not him anymore, I'm Max. Daisy's breath (the breath she doesn't really need) catches in her throat, just for a split second. Her gaze falls back to her hands, fingers curling most of the way into a fist, the tips of her claws digging into her skin hard enough to divot but not draw blood. When she shifts in her seat, enough of her upper back and shoulder is on show around her tank top to show the starburst scar tissue. Thick and old.
"Yeah. I hear you. It's... for me, I— I can't ignore the years I spent being the worst kind of person. I can't pretend I didn't enjoy it. Or that I don't miss the way Basira loved me when I was like that. And I'm trying to— figure out what it means to be me, when I don't feel like I've been me most of my life. I don't know what parts of the nearly three decades I spent being that person are salvageable and what was all... the Hunt. I've been Daisy since I was eleven. Alice Tonner as good as died the day I got my scar. And I made sure of that when I was twenty-eight. So I have to be Daisy. I have to make being Daisy— something I can live with."
Instead of something that she wants to kill. Excise completely. Because if she's not Daisy anymore, all she has left are the scant memories of a childhood that led her towards being Daisy in the first place.
It's not the same, exactly, but— she doesn't not get it.
no subject
He nudges her gently with an elbow, his smile and tone both lifting to inject some levity into the conversation again. "I'm pretty sure your love of Archers is all you. I never would have known about that if you hadn't shown it to me. So, that's one thing already. And there's definitely more. I know you'll find your place. I know it."
no subject
There aren't a lot of people in the world Daisy even so much as tolerates touch from, even less from which she actually appreciates it. Back home the list had been two long: Basira, self-explanatory, and Jon, who had been the first person she touched in eight months when he dragged her free from the Buried. Here on the boat, Erin wormed her way on after a while, and now...
She lets Max take her hand. She only tenses up momentarily at the nudge. She breathes. She tries not to get all mushy and ends up laughing just a little bit wetly anyway, not that she looks him in the eye for him to see it before she can wipe it from her face.
"Ugh, you're a soppy one," she says, with about as much edge as a particularly floppy beanbag. "...you're not the first one to point out the Archers thing. Erin did, once. Think Jon did too. And you're not— wrong. Used to listen with my ol' nain, before she kicked it. She'd been about when it first started airing and didn't even miss an episode when she was in labour with my mam. Nutter."
But it does mean it came from firmly before the Hunt was more than a whisper in her ear, more than a tendency towards being a bit of a mean kid with a bitter old cop for a father. Another breath. She hesitates to try and properly return the grip on Max's hand because of her claws.
"We've got time, I suppose. No masters here, of the eldritch monstrosity or vampire kind."
no subject
"I am, and I'm not sorry." He's totally fine being a giant marshmallow for all the world to see. "Sounds like a woman who knows what she likes. Not a bad role model. And now you can take up the flag for her and keep it going. She'd probably think that's brilliant. That's a little bit of heritage you don't ever have to let go of."
When she hesitates, Max decides to squeeze her hand instead. He's not afraid of her claws. He's not scared that she'll hurt him. Even if she did on accident, he'd forgive her.
"No master," he agrees. "Just friends and potential friends. And we are here to help you so you don't ever have to feel abandoned or alone."
He pats her hand one more time before he loosens his grip again. "Wanna go get a snack?"
no subject
Ever since Jonathan Sims dragged her from the Buried with the power of little but his skinny arms and utter disregard for his own life, Daisy world has felt like it was turned upside down and she was the only one that noticed. That sensation didn't change when she woke back up on the boat with everything different, everything— wrong. It still feels like that. It feels like she doesn't know which way is the right way up anymore, actually, with how things keep shifting in ways she never expected.
Maybe the world will never feel truly stable again. Maybe she can figure out how to keep herself steady anyway.
Daisy takes another steadying breath and then nods. "Yeah, sure. You did practically condition me to be hungry after all this— heavy emotional crap."
End~