come_sailaway | 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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Sarge looks briefly, fleetingly puzzled by the question. "That's not really that personal. But no, I was alive. I was in an alley, and then I was here. I've been here a little more than three months, now."

"Some people get-- a little weird if you ask'em if they're dead." And he didn't want details. But it seems-- huh. He frowns thoughtfully for a moment. So this guy's not dead, just-- kidnapped away.

Unless he was jumped in that alley and just forgot about it.

"Three months, huh?" That feels like a long time, but Marc hadn't exactly... figured he'd get out of here anyway. Figured they'd all be in for the long haul.

"What's it like here? When people aren't being forced to-- kill each other or whatever shit I've heard you get up to."

"I'm not people," Sarge assures him. "Not really. Maybe that's why it doesn't bother me."

That might be a little weird, in and of itself. Sorry, Marc.

"Here, it's. Kind of empty, actually. There aren't a lot of us. Not for such a big ship. And there's no structure. No reason to do anything except to fill time." Sarge is pretty used to a very limited, regimented, mission-oriented life. This whole thing where they spend most of the month doing nothing at all is driving him a little nuts.

"How are you not really a person?" That's a weird thing to say, buddy, whatever acts of terrorism you committed prior to this.

"Yeah-- I noticed that. Feels like it's just an excuse to keep dragging more and more in, I guess." He's no better at this, honestly. The lack of anything to do beyond pass time.

:How do you keep from going crazy here, huh?"

"I don't know," Sarge answers the last question first, with an almost annoyed little sigh. "I'm not used to having this much time." At least that leads neatly into answering Marc's first question. He says wearily, "Before here. If I wasn't on a mission or training. Or with the. The doctors. I was in cryo."

He pokes at his own temple a little with one metal finger. "There was maintenance. If there was a person in here before, they fried him out. I'm just what's left."

"Yeah... guess I'm not either." He frowns thoughtfully, listening to the other man speak. "Uh, yeah. I think I remember you from TV. You caused a lot of shit."

He pauses. "Well, guess not you when it came to that king and the UN."

Apparently. "Didn't want to make you feel weird bringing it up, you know?"

Sarge doesn't remember any kings or the UN, but frankly that doesn't mean much. There's so much he doesn't remember. So he looks kind of vaguely hang-dog at the mention, but not confused or alarmed. "That mission was such a shit-show." He shakes his head a little. "It's okay. There have been people here who said they knew me, but I don't know them. You just knowing me from the news is. Better than that."

"Sorry--" He knows how unsettling it can be to learn shit about yourself you don't remember even doing. He doesn't want to drop any alarming crap on the guy.

"Yeah, that's... always a trip. Running into people who seem to be your best friend. Or hate your guts." He shrugs his shoulders awkwardly.

"How's it been, settling in otherwise? Must be a change of pace." But a good one? Bad one? Who knows.

"Yes, it really is," Sarge agrees. A change of pace, he means. "When we're not on an island having to murder each other, or being attacked by giant pirate women, it's. Pretty calm, really. The captain screams on the intercom every morning. But that's about it."

He hesitates, then allows, "It's safe from HYDRA, anyway. That's something."

"Good." No HYDRA, that is. Not the murdering each other or--

"Did you say giant pirate women?"

He might have preferred getting pulled here to see that, actually.

"Well, there was only one. And she didn't start off giant, she got bigger when she wanted to attack the Captain," Sarge explains. "It really wasn't fun. Lightning and waves big enough to rock even a boat this big."

"So she had problems with the Captain... you get the details?" He can't imagine anyone being cool with him from what he's heard of the guy so far.

"She's the one who first said the captain doesn't value our lives and was going to torture us," Sarge says. "She might have been a survivor from a previous. Batch. Of us."

So, really, she probably had reason, he just really didn't like her as a person, himself. And liked her storm even less.

"Yeah? Reassuring. Not hearing any good end for us here." Either they become ghosts or-- turn into crazy pirates, he guesses. Either way, he's looking less and less forward to meeting that end.

He isn't seeing a way out yet.

"Don't suppose anyone's ever tried to like... just-- kill the captain, take the ship?"

Look, it could work.

Sarge shakes his head sharply, once. "Doesn't work. He's not human. He's some kind of. Ghost-monster thing. We speculate he feeds off our feelings maybe. He manifests places based on where Friday is. When I say he screams every morning on the intercom. I mean. Screams. Sounds really creepy."

"Well, shit." He huffs, frustrated but not at-- this guy. This entire situation is just infuriating. "That's gonna be harder to deal with."

He has no idea where to even start, really.

"By the way-- Name's Marc."

"Sarge," he answers with a nod.

Then, reluctantly, "If you know the. The other name. From the news. I'm not. I don't really like to hear it. So I go by Sarge. Apparently it was my rank." And he knows he had to earn that. It's not something HYDRA shoved on him.

"Hey, man... I know you from some news clips I caught. That's all. I'm not here to start trouble for you." Hell, it'd be pretty shit of him to try, considering that he nearly ended the world back home. Helped to end it. Whatever.

"Sarge, it is."

His nervous air relaxes into something that's almost a smile. Sarge isn't great at smiles yet, but he's working on it. "Thank you, Marc. I appreciate it."

So far everyone has been... really nice about it, honestly.

"Anything else I can answer for you?"

"No problem." He wouldn't appreciate it if someone showed up, airing all his dirty laundry after all.

"Uh, guess not. Not unless you know the exit." There's a wry look. "But I appreciate the heads up. This place... it's a lot. It's been a lot."

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

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