come_sailaway | one, i'm still sleeping, and this, i'm just dreaming it [open]

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one, i'm still sleeping, and this, i'm just dreaming it [open]

Who: Phil and you!
Where: All around the ship
What: Exploring, orienting, experimenting
When: Early June
Warnings: None yet

(( ooc: a note before you read, if you haven't seen phil's ooc post, please keep in mind that he's a CRAU! mostly this means that he has a big pair of eastern screech owl wings stuck to his back. ok bye <3 ))

three, it's flashback from when i was twenty and ate magic mushrooms (meta)
So.

He's been spirited away. It's not the same as the last time this happened. The last time, it was a whole alien planet with a whole entire city--multiple cities, actually, and he could actually arrange his whole housing, get a job, get insurance, the whole shebang. He built a whole new life that lasted for about six months before the Magic Moon Apocalypse kicked in. It's also different than the longest day of his life.

This, though unlike the others, bears similarities to both of those things: first, in all three, death was never permanent (though in the second it had consequences). Second, like the last one, people from other realities have gotten pulled into the fray.

He doesn't know what that means. It's something he'll need to get a bigger sample size for before he can draw any real conclusions on it, and he doesn't really want to.

i. four, it's some kind of reality show

[ Knowing that this isn't a real vacation, and dubiously confident that the captain(?) here will do any actual announcements about inclement weather or that there is any crew that is both capable of reading and keeping an eye on weather maps, Phil has decided to put his skills to use. The bridge is completely locked off, meaning he can't access any of the actual, professional forecasting equipment. Meaning he has had to make do.

He's perched on the highest deck on the edge of a rooftop, dead center of the ship to minimize the rocking. In front of him his a collection of items that he's had to reach into the farthest recesses of his memories of middle school earth science experiments to construct:

- A barometer made of an upside down wine bottle in a glass, filled with some water and marked up with sharpie.
- An anemometer made of plastic straws, paper cups, rubber bands, and a pencil.
- A wind vane made of plastic straws and cut-up postcards. This and the anemometer are both stuck into one of those plastic cups with the lids and filled with water, just so they're reasonably anchored in place.

All of this, plus a fridge magnet thermometer and a compass keychain. They're cheap shit, but it's all he's got. He's been checking on these things for the last three hours. Occasionally he'll mark something down in one of those cheesy notepads with a Serena Eterna brand pen, but every reading has been the... exact same. It's only three hours, not the biggest timeframe, but still... ]

ii. five, it's amnesia

[ Music has always made him feel better.

He doesn't have his sheet music with him, which is kind of a pain, because that's part of what he finds so comforting about it. Not too much improvisation; everything he's being asked to do, laid out in detail before him. But that's alright. He'll do just fine.

So he sets up. After the Billy Joel set in John's, Phil sets up and dinks around on the keys a little bit, warming up his stiff, weathered fingers. He knows he's in a public place. He knows that practicing and warmups never sound pleasant. He doesn't care.

After about fifteen minutes, he picks something and starts to play. ]

iii. six, it's a stroke (wildcard)

[[ Got anything else? hmu! ]]

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[ She visibly preens at the compliment, as she always does. Hell yes she's good. But his question gets a wiggly hand-motion, as she prepares to launch into her own nerdy explanation. ]

Ehhh... Sort of. Fencing is a bunch of different skills in a trenchcoat; footwork, tactics, actually handling the weapon, fast-twitch muscle training, and that's before you sort out things that each weapon brings. You don't get far in sabre if you're not training offense, but your average épée player is going to have different defense training, because we score differently. Some things definitely translate. My fastest time from standing to touché is less than a second; if I can get my sword in your throat before you can blink, the rest really doesn't matter. But there's some things that it doesn't train you for. Fencing is a sport. There's points, rules, that shit. None of that matters if I'm fighting a dude on the street.

[ A small incline of her head, ] I'll probably win against anyone with less fencing training than me just from a standpoint of speed. The only exception is if they're trained in something like HEMA, then I might struggle, I've only been studying that sort of thing for a couple of years, and it's way more practical. Like, sabre just kind of assumes you win if you get the point first, it doesn't teach you to defend against a counter-attack after you've hit. There's people on the ship who lived in times when sword fighting was just a thing you like, did, and not just a sport, too. I wouldn't bet on me against Blackbeard, for instance. Probably fifty fifty odds there.

[ None of which answers why she just has a sword on her. ]

[ While Darcy may have gotten bored during his ramble, Phil is listening intently and with genuine interest. Hearing people talk about themselves and their lives and their experiences is his fuckin' bread and butter, baby, and plus, he's the kind of guy who likes to absorb a lot of facts about things, especially when they're first-hand accounts.

Hang on, ]

Wait, Blackbeard is here? Like the pirate guy? Like, the Peter Pan guy-- [ that's Hook, ] --or the real, historical, whole entire Blackbeard? He's not gonna mug me, is he?

The actual, legit, historical Blackbeard! He's my Captain- [ She adds with no small amount of pride, ] -well, sort of my co-captain with Stede. Stede Bonnet, he's like, a historical pirate too, but he's kind of like a deep cut. You know, everyone knows Blackbeard, but only cool people know about Stede.

[ Darcy says, as if she had any fucking idea who Stede Bonnet was before arriving here. Someone's got to be this dude's hype-man and it isn't going to be Lucius. ]

But no, he's not going to mug you. It's not like there's money here or anything. And I think he has more important things to do than mugging weathermen.

[ You know what? Yeah, okay. Adult life is already so god damn weird. This factoid is going in the filing cabinet. ]

Your captain, [ he repeats. She's a pirate on a cruise ship whose captain is not her captain. ] You guys do any pirating yet?

Not really. Because of the money thing.

[ And also because of Stede. Somehow she kind of doubted he was in it for money. ]

I kind of joined up for the swashbuckling, but there hasn't been much of that, either. There's maybe a couple of people aboard who are into swords, but like, nothing like how I was expecting. It kind of sucks.

[ Phil is smiling in amusement, not to make fun, but because of the fact that Darcy is a 16-year-old nigh-Olympic fencer who wants to be so cool so bad and signed up to have Real Blackbeard as a pirate captain, which is cool, but they haven't been able to do any actual pirating because everybody's stuck on a cruise ship and also she's an edgy teenager. ]

That why you keep the sword on you on your casual walks?

I keep tide-cutter on me just in case.

[ Oh yeah, so cool, she's name-dropped her sword in the same breath of trying to be mysterious and ominous. ]

There's a lot of dangerous people here, after all.

[ ...

She's a teenager who is going through a lot and really wants to be so cool and be taken seriously. He won't make fun. He won't. ]

Oh? Like who?

[ It's a little bit poking, but honestly, probably would be helpful to have a "maybe avoid or at least be warned about" list. ]

[ ... ] Me.

[ That's what she was getting at, Phil. God. Her ears might be going red. ]

[ Good god. ]

Darcy... [ How does he say this?

As he speaks, he is gentle and patient, and completely upfront, or as much as he can manage from his tone and his body language. She needs to know that he's not poking fun at her, or trying to belittle her legitimately incredible capability, but also, like. ]

You've told me that, at age sixteen, you're a nigh-Olympic fencer, which is an unimaginable athletic feat and I am both incredibly impressed and so proud of you for that. That is not something just anybody gets to do. I don't think I was doing anything at your age.

[ But. ] You have also, not a minute ago, told me that the real Blackbeard is here, the real actual king of pirates who is still a mythic figurehead after several hundred years. Like. Blackbeard.

[ Also his roommate could probably kill him by building a bomb with two sticks and a straw if she wanted to, and he's pretty sure he saw a guy with a sword heavier than a fridge this morning. ]

Blackbeard is a mortal person.

[ It's a statement of fact, and it's something she's witnessed for herself. In Lucius' room with Stede, there was a vulnerability to him, a fondness towards Stede, a tenderness. He was an excellent swordsman, of course, and no doubt one of the more dangerous people aboard. But Blackbeard was also human in a way that she wasn't, not anymore. ]

And I can do things that Blackbeard can't. That most people can't.

[ She leans back in his shadow and disappears entirely. She reappears on one of the radio antenna, leaning out of the thin shadow like she's breaching a cut in existence. Then she's gone again, re-appearing where she was just a moment ago. ]

Don't condescend to me.

Whoa.

[ He raises a brow as she disappears, and when she pops out by the antenna, he hears it--these ears, these eyes, he turns a little too quickly and pinpoints her immediately without having to scan, and again when she returns. At the very top of his wings, the wrist joint is where it's most visible: the feathers raise from smooth.

But. The look he gives her is still patient and earnest, and that's what matters the most. ]

I'm not, [ he answers breezily. ] That's not what I'm saying. What I am saying is that, while you could probably kick most people's asses, mine included, you're not the only person that I'd have to worry about here. I've got old man bones, Darcy.

[ Basically, he's not comparing their power. He's not trying to pit or bet one against the other, or how well Darcy is able to like, probably kill somebody. He's talking about the fact that, yeah, she's clearly trying to make a show of how powerful and cool she is, and he's not inclined to doubt it, but this entire damn ship is full of people who are well within their abilities to just beat the hell out of each other. He doesn't want to fight, and he doesn't want to learn how, either. He's...

Tired. He's tired.

He looks down at his little spinny weather cups, then out across the deck. ]

Though I'd guess it doesn't matter much, if all we do is come back.

Edited 2022-06-23 00:48 (UTC)

You don't need to worry about anyone, [ she states flatly, flopping backwards, ] if anyone has a problem with you, I'll fuck them up.

[ She hasn't known Phil for too long, but it's the same she'd do for any of her friends. A friendship with Darcy means a weapon at your side, whether you like it or not. ]

I don't tolerate elder abuse, [ Darcy tacks on the end. Can't let him think she likes him or anything. ]

[ Ha ha ha ha.

One of these days, he'll let her know the truth of that jab. How long he's really been awake. ]

I appreciate it.

[ Phil has to mind the wings, so he doesn't flop backwards, but he does lean back on his palms. He lets a silence pass through them before he speaks up again. ]

... Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you there. You're a really good kid. And I know you could bounce half these guys off the pavement if you really wanted to.

[ Darcy has honestly never been around so many adults this effusive and forward with praise in her life. Sure, her coaches had high hopes for her, and she knew her parents loved her, obviously, but she still doesn't know how to take compliments about herself as a person and not what she can do. It's like there's no script there, and it leaves her cycling for a moment to work out what to say. She gives him one of those half-smiles that mostly just smooshes her mouth on one side without any actual smile component. ]

It's fine. You'll know when I'm mad.

[ Not acknowledging it has been working so far, and so she continues to not. He can think what he wants of her, it doesn't make it true. ]

Alright.

[ Phil offers a smile, a subdued thing, then lets the world ebb back in. The ambling of people on deck, the ambient roar of the ship, the passing crash of the sea.

He thinks. Darcy talks about information. Everybody... everybody is always looking for an answer. The first time, he was alone. The second, it was so new that he didn't have anything to offer, and now all he can say is that he's more frustrated than he's been in a long time. He supposes that homesickness is just his lot these days.

She would appreciate knowing, he thinks. ]

You know, this is my second time. I mean--being taken. Have I told you that yet?

Edited 2022-06-28 22:39 (UTC)

You mentioned something about it not being your first time dying. When I pulled you out of the conga line, [ She specifies, absolutely not mentioning him needing to pull her out in turn. ]

What do you mean, being taken?

[ Phil considers. ]

This is, uh, the second time I've been taken out of my world. My life. And been dropped somewhere else. Alongside an entire crowd of other people from other worlds who were all dealing with the same thing. The last time, I was on an alien planet in an alien city with magic alien moons in the sky, and at least then I was still able to eke out a sort of normal lifestyle. This...

[ Hrmh. ]

If it makes you feel better, I don't recognize anybody here who was around from the last time.

[ If Darcy weren't already lying down, she would need to lie down for this. As it stands, she covers her face with both hands. ]

There's more than one of these psychopaths stealing people? Mary mother of fucking God.

[ Just... give her a minute to process this. ]

If I manage to escape from here and get dragged somewhere else afterwards, I'm working out how to become a God myself just so I can put all of these assholes in magic time-out. And maybe kill them a bunch too.

No, no. They weren't the same as the Captain--it wasn't nearly the same thing as this. No one was supposed to die. It was three goddesses who were trying to save their planet from dying or something, and.

[ Save their world through the literal magic of hugging. And any intimate body contact, up to and including... eh. ]

Okay, you know what, it's all a bunch of magic wish-wash crap, but we were pulled to help, at least. We weren't... I dunno, a personal soap opera.

Does that make it better? A nice cage is still a cage. At least here nobody can argue the motherfucker is evil.

[ She huffs. At least, she hasn't encountered anyone saying the Captain wasn't evil. Which was a good thing, for their sake. ]

I hate people telling me what to do.

I mean... yeah, it actually kind of does. Look, I'm not saying we all had a good time holding hands. I don't know if the goddesses even wanted us there or they just needed us. Nobody exactly liked it, unless wherever they came from was worse than where they ended up, but it was us or the death of a planet of people. At least I knew it wasn't for fun. And we weren't stuck on a cruise ship.

[ He doesn't really snap at Darcy, but there's this slightly dismayed tone to him that's arguably worse. Maybe have some sympathy for desperate people trying to salvage the entire civilizations that they're in charge of stewarding. It's not like they're politicians. Self defense charges are treated differently from premeditated murder for a reason.

(And look, he needs to feel less nihilistic about this ongoing kidnapping pattern. Being kind--isn't that what he tries to do? He feels glad, at least, that it was to help. To help. Not for nothing. Not for nothing.)

And if anything, it brews even blacker the disdain that Phil has for this place and the Captain, because they didn't have much choice, but he does, and so far all Phil's gotten is that he's doing it to fuck with people. He's still holding out, but... ]

Obviously when it was over, they let us go home. The point is that this is starting to feel like a pattern, so just... don't be surprised, I guess. You already know it's not always going to be because you're needed.

Edited 2022-06-29 02:11 (UTC)

[ Darcy bristles at the light scolding. The kid is still developing her moral compass, still feeling out the edges of what she can tolerate, and being a ghost hunter wasn't exactly helping with nuance there- it didn't matter if a ghost possessed someone for good or ill purposes, they were getting booted out. She gives him a baffled and slightly hurt look as she tries to articulate her objection. ]

So because they needed help, that makes it okay? They shouldn't be fucking taking anyone, I don't care why. I have people back home who actually need me, in my own fucking world, and this isn't happening to me more than once. Either I'm dying here forever or I'm going home, I'm not- no, this isn't going to be a fucking pattern. This is already the worst fucking thing that's happened to me, I'm not doing it again.

No, it wasn't okay, but--hey--hang on--Darcy! [ he bites, and he doesn't like the teeth of it, but-- ] You don't think I want to go home too? This is... I have left my wife behind twice, and now I'm waking up every day in a bedroom that isn't mine next to a woman who isn't her.

[ Tired is the easy word for it. Tired is the summary. There's a lot of things that have come to weigh in his stomach, and one of them is a feeling so familiar that he wears like an old, heavy, ill-fitting coat. He's so terribly homesick. He spent all day dicking around with fucking dixie cups and plastic straws, making third-grade contraptions just to grasp at a semblance of habit and home.

Phil is doing a good job at combating it. He knows he's going to get used to it. He'll settle. It's his third go-around. He's still fucking miserable.

One day, he'll learn.

He doesn't know what else to say without getting angry, and he doesn't want to be angry at her. He also doesn't want to leave. So instead Phil shakes his head and sighs out, like all the fight goes out of him with it, and instead of looking at Darcy he picks up the clipboard and flips idly through the pages of unchanging data with the hand that wears his wedding band. Clicks his pen and marks down another row. He doesn't double check the numbers. He doesn't need to. ]

... You can think whatever you want. I never get a choice.

Edited 2022-06-29 04:10 (UTC)

[ Darcy's face wrinkles defiantly at the bite, and for a moment it looks like she's going to snap back. She wants to, for sure, but then he explains himself, and... yeah it sucks. It all sucks, and she doesn't have the vocabulary to explain that she's angry on his behalf, that she's outraged not just for herself, but for everyone else taken from their worlds. That she's not mad at him. She's still young, and she hasn't had the need for justice in the world kicked out of her yet. She struggles for a moment to reconcile her gut instinct to snap back with any sort of reasonable considered response, settling on... well, it's not her finest choice, but it's a churlish- ] Whatever, [ And she sinks into his shadow, disappearing once again. Turns out her prediction was wrong; anger at the world is difficult to distinguish from anger at him specifically. ]

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one, i'm still sleeping, and this, i'm just dreaming it [open]

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