come_sailaway | sunshine, you're the best time i ever, ever had

Entry tags:

sunshine, you're the best time i ever, ever had

Who: Marc Spector and you
When: Early June
Where: Various locations
Summary: Just trying to get his sea legs, so to speak.
Warnings: Some cursing, some references to substance abuse. Nothing major. Will update later if needed!

I. a little shopping trip

It's the restless urge to be up and doing something that has him browsing through the shop, maybe grabbing a chocolate bar, browsing through the paperbacks. He's not really one to read all that often, but-- there's Steven and maybe he's trying to decide on a book or two to bring back to their cabin and leave inconspicuously on the bed so he can begin hoarding up a new room. It won't be French poetry or books on the Gods, but... honestly. Screw the gods. He'd rather read some trash paperback about some bosomy chick and her dangerous ex-soldier solving some mystery and falling for each other or whatever any day.

When he's not staring down whatever trash novels are in this place, he's plucking up a few extra toiletries on the way out, maybe a few pain meds for any unfortunate hangovers he might acquire along the way.

He might turn a curious eye to anyone who's in there with him and ask, "Does anyone actually see how this stuff's restocked?"

Or who keeps this shit clean and dust free or whatever. Yeah, yeah, ghosts or whatever. But there's got to be more behind it, right?

II. let's hit the sauna

Self-care might come in the form of alcohol and other substances for Marc, maybe the odd brawl here or there, but here he is, trying a little bit of a healthier way at the spa. It's a good thing there aren't any massages -- he'd not be interested in them anyway. But the sauna? Oh, yeah. He can get behind that.

Really get behind it. Marc finds a time when it seems to be empty enough that he can stretch out with his towel spread out over his lap, eyes shut. Fake some of that peace and quiet he's never truly known in his head, maybe.

It's when someone comes in that he seems to go back to alert, sitting up a bit straighter and clearing his throat. "Oh-- uh. Sorry."

He'll even scoot over to give plenty of space to whoever decides to join him.

III. big pills, little pills

Somehow, Marc ends up int he infirmary. Well, not just... by chance. He's curious, just in case he ever needs to perform surprise minor surgery on himself or needs a hit of something stronger when the alcohol isn't enough to knock him out or bury the bad memories.

That doesn't mean he doesn't scowl a bit at some of the-- medieval torture devices, er, medical supplies. "What the fuck is this thing?"

Do they... do they do lobotomies around here still? Bleed people with fucking leeches, what?

But once he finds the pills, he seems to perk up a little bit. "Hey, they got some of the good stuff..."

Guess who's gonna be sleeping a little easier tonight?

IV. tauva

Maybe this isn't his type of joint, generally, but he's finding himself enjoying the atmosphere... and the whiskey doesn't hurt it either. Better than the place that keeps playing Billy Joel too, in his opinion. He might be huffing out a quiet laugh when he picks up a bottle with yet another weird date he's pretty sure is a lie. Whatever. It could have been back from the beginning of time and he's not gonna be choosy.

"Hey," he'll start if he notices someone close enough with an empty glass. "You want a refill?"

Never let it be said he can't be nice on occasion.

V. wildcard

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"A few months," she replied. Long enough to replace the bellbottoms and tie-dye she'd arrived wearing, although she was still clinging desperately to her lovebeads. A part of her kept expecting to just wake up and find herself back by the side of the road in Phoenix. And she didn't want to leave her precious jewelry behind, cheap though most of it was.

It was a part of her. Like the guitar strapped to her back.

"I'd love to tell you 'it gets easier' or some junk, but the truth is that it's mostly just getting weirder." She smiled nevertheless. "Some good, some bad. All of it super weird."

"Yeah?" A few months. He hasn't even been here a week and it's already plenty weird. Marc isn't sure he's-- looking forward to how weirder it might get.

"What's the weirdest thing you've seen here?" He tilts his head. "And what's with the guitar? You some kinda musician?"

Diana reached back, patting her guitar like it was a beloved pet. And to some extent...it kind of was. It was a faithful, old friend who'd seen her through more than a few lovers and several decades.

When she needed her music, she relied on it. Way more so than her stupid MP3 player, which she usually forgot to charge.

"Yeah," she said. "I am. I guess you could say that I'm the official pirate musician of the ship. Because the weirdest thing I've seen so far? There's a group trying to put together a pirate crew. And their first way to go about it was to hold a talent show in the auditorium. Leader's a guy called Stede Bonnet."

A name that was still eating at the back of her brain. She was sure she knew it. But she didn't know how.

"... A pirate crew. How in the hell are you gonna be pirates when the Captain seems to decide the course of the ship?" Hard to pirate shit when you only stop when someone else says, right? Not judging, but he's curious.

But Stede Bonnet? That-- sounds familiar. "A talent show... How'd that go?"

It was a very good question. One she had been repeating a lot, not that anyone listened much to her.

Which was fine. Okay, she knew she was stupid. And she knew what kind of image she cultivated. It was protection. Better than armor. Except that this wasn't the world she knew. She couldn't keep falling back on the same tricks.

She just...needed to learn some new ones.

"Well, I guess some people on the ship have genuine talent. Although see our earlier problem about the Captain and all."

"Can't imagine the Captain would want you pirating shit, no." Do they even get the chance? Between battle royales and all that.

"How much does he interfere with our shit, anyway?"

"Difficult to say," she admitted. "Still kind of feeling it all out. No idea how much he's watching us either." She gave a meaningful look to the corners of the shop, as if imagining a hidden security camera, or something.

So far, she hadn't been able to detect any auras.

But when she looked at Friday's aura, she'd seen a whole lot of nothingness. So she really didn't know just how strange anything else might be.

She turned back to the stranger. "My guess? The Captain's watching all of our antics with popcorn."

"Oh, great. That makes me feel so much more comfortable. Gonna make showering so much less weird." He gives a wry smile, not even-- surprised. He doesn't have it in him to be surprised anymore, if he's honest.

"Has anyone actually left this dump? Just out of curiosity..."

She gave him a quick once-over. Didn't seem like he had much to be ashamed of in the shower department.

Then again, Diana was something of an exhibitionist herself.

"Not that I'm aware of," she said. "Although I don't know the exact numbers we've got going here. Organization is definitely not our strong suit."

Well-- you know. He doesn't have much to be ashamed of if you're talking about purely physical. But he likes to choose who gets to see the goods.

He lets out a snort, shaking his head. "Maybe it's just because I'm new, but this place feels big enough that I'm not surprised it's hard to keep track of all the people kidnapped on it."

Cainites kept track of cities far bigger. But they had several things going for them, including time. And a sense of actually knowing the rules.

If there were rules on the ship, Diana still wasn't sure of them. The fact that so many people were being drawn in from so many different worlds kept muddying the water, complicating things.

Which was wonderful.

Also a bit of a headache.

"What's your name, new guy?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

After his little welcome letter, it feels like Marc's been traveling blind here. Feeling out what to do, what rules there are. It'd definitely be nice to have some sort of definite list of them.

If there are any at all.

Seems a bit chaotic at times.

"Ah-- Marc. You?"

"Diana," she replied, offering him a hand, her bracelets clinking softly. "Diana Abel. A-B-E-L. As in, 'Caine and dot, dot, dot...'"

She cringed a little.

For some reason, Diana always felt compelled to introduce herself that way. And, nine times out of ten, she didn't. The problem was, she hated it. It wasn't something she did for fun.

Best she could figure? Somewhere along the way, the Father had conditioned her to do it. It was an instinct, buried deep in her subconscious.

It was just so tacky!

"Uh--" Well, that's a way to introduce yourself, isn't it? Not one you get every day.

"Well... better to be Abel than Caine, I guess. Or maybe not, considering how things ended up." But hey, Abel was the favored one, right?

She shrugged. "Matter of perspective, I guess," she said, wishing she could apologize immediately for that introduction. It was just a part of her, woven into the tattered fabric that was her psyche.

Hardly the worst thing there.

But definitely one of the more embarrassing.

"Where are you from, Marc? I'm picking up an accent...I want to say...Chicago?"

Hey, at least as far as he knows, it's just a quirk on her part, or an attempt to be funny. He doesn't seem all that bothered by it, and he gives a nod, letting out an amused huff. "Yeah-- you'd be correct about that. Been traveling a lot, but I guess the accent's never faded."

Chicago, born and raised.

"How about you?"

Diana flashed him an impish smile. It was nice to know that her perfect pitch was good for something. And as it happened, she loved Chicago. It was more or less the only redeeming feature of the entire American Midwest. And oh had it been a happening place, back in the 1920s.

"Originally from Notting Hill," she said. "Like the movie with Julia Roberts. Lost my accent years ago, but I can put it back on command."

Her eyelashes fluttered and all of a sudden, she had an proper RP accent. "Although I hardly have much of a need for it," she said. "Unless I'm trying to be terribly posh. And then, I make sure to spell the word colour as C-O-L-O-U-R."

"Notting Hill, huh..." And suddenly, that is quite a British accent, isn't it? "Nice."

But he may be a little bit biased about those accents. Just a tiny bit. There's a quiet chuckle and a shake of his head. "You're kind of a strange one, you know that? Not saying I don't like it... I do."

And here she thought the dude had game.

Diana laughed, a bright, bell-like laugh that tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Is this your normal approach to women?" she asked, dropping the accent. "I mean, I know I'm a super freak, but I don't normally get called out so quickly."

She wasn't offended. But she was a little surprised.

Hey, no fair. He didn't realize that's what this was.

"Hey, I said it was a good thing. You're interesting." He huffs out a laugh actually. "But, you know... I could make it up to you with a drink. Give me another shot."

She sucked in air between her teeth. "Lucky for you, I'm not just interesting, I'm fascinating." Yes, she could pretend to be modest and lower her lashes, like she'd been taught back in the day, when her only real interest was landing a husband how was richer than Selene's husband.

That just wasn't really her style, any more.

Besides, she was a damn Cainite. That made her interesting by default.

"Not much of a drinker," she said, "but you can make it up to me with a walk instead. I've been cooped up for hours with my roomie and she's not big on the conversation. Besides, I gotta know what's happening at the Goodman and Steppenwolf."

"Oh, well-- my mistake." Honestly, Marc wouldn't go for the demure type anyway. He likes a lady who knows what she wants, who'll take it when she wants it. They should get along just fine if she wants to be bolder.

"Sure, I can do a walk." He's better at listening than talking, but-- he can fill her in on what he knows, sure.

"But you know, feel like I gotta warn you... I joined the marines as soon as I could and barely been back to Chicago. But I'll be glad to fill you in on what I do know."

Diana's eyebrows jumped a little at the mention of the marines, but she decided not to comment. True, she'd pretty much marched against them in the 1960s. But this wasn't the 1960s any more, and geopolitics were infinitely more complicated.

Maybe they'd always been.

It was nice to think that humans were capable of learning from their mistakes. And they were certainly more likely to than Cainites.

She filed away that piece of information for another time.

"I suppose I shoulda asked what year it is for you," she said. "I'm here from 2009, which is way in the future for some people, and way in the past for others. It's hard to keep track."

"Oh, uh... 2024. Bit into the future for you." He gives a shake of his head, a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Not enough that this guy can kidnap people from all over, but he's gotta do it throughout time too, huh? Must get confusing."

"So confusing," she said, heading out of the shop, her guitar thumping against her back. "And not just time. There's some sort of element of different worlds, if you can believe it."

She was only coming to terms with the concept of the 'multiverse' herself. Sounded like something out of a comic book.

"But 2024 isn't that far. Please tell me we at least have flying cars. Like in The Jetsons."

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