come_sailaway | JUNE EVENT: CAMP

JUNE EVENT: CAMP

early on June 10th, Friday's morning announcements end with a request for everyone going on the latest excursion to meet her in the atrium. she seems in noticeably better spirits than she had been last time, and she leads them cheerfully to the tender. once they are all aboard, and the door is securely shut, the interior fills with gas, and, perhaps, their last thought before they slip into unconsciousness is "oh shit, not again."

passengers wake up on a rickety old school bus, driving down a dirt road surrounded by woods. what is it that they notice first? that, no matter what they were wearing before, they are now wearing a camp t-shirt and legitimately horrifyingly short shorts? the overstuffed backpack between their knees? the words "take one down and pass it around" dying on their lips? the fact that Friday is absolutely driving the bus?

or, maybe the fact that it's already slowing down, pulling up in front of a massive wooden sign, saying:

CAMP AION

when they get out of the bus, Friday is the one to divide them up into their cabin groups, and she is the one to give the counselors their very official-looking clipboards and whistles. she explains that they are in charge, and that she will be back to pick them up in a week, and... very little else. she responds to nothing outside of whatever is on her unseen little script, and she gets back on the bus shortly after, leaving them there.

welcome to camp. let's make some summer memories!

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[ Amazing. Mizuki really is out here accidentally injecting all these very brand new emotions into Ebalon. Soon, even, quite literally.

Mizuki releases a bunch of tension from his body that he wasn’t even aware was there. He knows this, theoretically. He’s seen Ebalon get shot by Watson and burned by Natsuno and lived, somehow. However, if there’s one thing that anxiety is very good at not doing, it’s being rational. It doesn’t matter if he knows Ebalon is durable as hell, his anxiety will gladly twist and pull at his thoughts to make it feel like he’s done something wrong. Because he’s always done things wrong.

But he doesn’t want to be wrong here. He loves Ebalon just… so goddamn much. And judging by the concern and gentleness of his touch, Mizuki doesn’t have to question if he does, too.

…

Another kiss for Ebalon, then. It’s fortunate they’re in the water, so if Mizuki is being a crybaby right now, no one but him will know. ]

… [ He fiddles with his hands for a moment, since he’s suddenly got the urge to start biting his nails and just doesn’t want to do that. How is he supposed to explain his thoughts when Mizuki is so aware that he’s, perhaps, one of the least bright passengers here? ]

It’s… just a theory I have, it’s probably not even true. It’s even something I got from a video game, so that probably makes it even more dumb. Ehe… [ … ] But the way we… respawn, so to speak, leads me to believe we might not have been “taken” from our worlds at all. It… um… kind of seems like the Captain just has “copies” of our consciousnesses? And he’s able to shove those in… [ He waves his hands around a bit. ] …replicas of our bodies.

…

It’d explain why some people suddenly remember stuff from home, too, even though they never went back.

She's definitely started to take notice in all her wandering around. It's strange and kind of unsteadying, even a forest right before a Grimm attack doesn't get this quiet. Still, she just flashes him a smile.

"That should definitely be reassuring, thank you!" Notably, that does not actually mean that it is reassuring, but she's counting on that subtle difference not being noticed. "Where I come from the woods are very dangerous by default, so..." A one-shouldered shrug. "Anyway, I'd hope if we only have each other to worry about then there's not much to worry about at all."

Murder game? What murder game.

Works for me! [ she'll have to grab something to write on from the craft supplies, probably, but she hasn't thought that far ahead yet ] Alright, well— time to give it a shot, then!

[ She gives Kano a little salute and will back off to the forest to actually give this a try, and... yeah, considering it's apparently about five miles out before it circles around, her aura definitely breaks before she gets anywhere close and forces her to walk the rest to figure out that it just circles back to camp, somehow.

She will absolutely need a nap before she can report back which does, in fact, come in the form of a note made with craft supplies when she's awake again. ]

"A few thousand degrees, so even an industrial oven won't do the trick. Good thought, though." Briefly, Darlington considers checking the morgue once they're back for a crematory oven--but that would be ridiculous. At least when it came to pottery.

Max keeps talking, and while the observation is a reasonable one, there's something about it coming from a mechanical man that tips it ever closer to absurdity. "It's easy to take it for granted," he allows. "To assume that a plate or a mug will just be there through no effort of your own. And I daresay that's how it works in your world or mine, no matter how different they might be otherwise."

"I don't know which is the better theory," Darlington admits, looking up from the stones in time to see Palamedes grimace. "There's a weird comfort in it being a mere freak of difference between universes, as opposed to an actual shift in the nature of the soul."

His grandfather had taken him to church all his life, and even after he'd died, Darlington had kept going. Part of it was tradition, keeping up this thing Daniel Tabor Arlington III had more than once threatened to tan his backside to get him to do, but not all of it. Sometimes, he'd sat in the Arlington family pew and hoped for the same thing all his reading and learning was pulling him towards: a glimpse of something beyond the tangible, proof that there was more to this world than he'd been led to believe. That the human soul could be altered, its nature shifted to loosen an already-tenuous grip on the Veil--or the River--was unnerving. And fascinating, and worthy of exploration. There was still something of the blasphemous about it, even so.

"But for your world's Resurrection to have shifted things to that degree...that's a compelling idea too."

"You make it sound like a computer program," he says, although it doesn't feel like a terrible comparison. Both were efforts to encode something within a system, both used for multiple purposes. It was simply that one was more necromantic--more magical--than the other. And, really, all spells were a set of steps, all elixirs a formula to follow; the magical and the scientific had more in common than Darlington thinks either might choose to admit.

He laughs when Palamedes mentions the hazards of inexperienced necromancy. "Better the skeleton than the necromancer, I'd say," he says, "though there are plenty of new delegates who've made slightly less fatal errors at their first ritual." He matches Pal's sly look with one of his own. "You might not know how many San Joses there are in the world, but all twelve of the 2004 Scroll and Key delegates learned pretty damn quick."

He nods, this part of Pal's experience ringing familiar. "Unfinished business, as most of the books and movies and Haunted Connecticut ghost tours would put it," he says. "I shouldn't be so flippant, because it's actually fairly accurate, but it's taken on a bit of a clichéd air all the same."

Pal asks about the famous--or infamous--Greys, his curiosity clear and utterly familiar. Still, he reminds himself that none of them can be invoked here, that speaking of them isn't likely to pull them through whatever part of the Veil occupies this place. If any at all, which is an idea both worrying and compelling. "There's a pair of them, a man and a woman, who appear at the operating theatre used by Skull and Bones for their rituals," he says. "He's a former student, died in 1880 in an opium den an ocean away, while she had a botched operation in 1926 and died on the table. Hysterectomy. An avoidable tragedy. They've been present at every ritual for decades, the magic drawing them in."

He looks around the cabin. "The most famous, though, is the Bridegroom. He shows up almost everywhere."

Ruby stops chewing her marshmallow where she'd finally actually tried eating it, and swallows. "You were just— given weapons on the last excursion? Everyone?"

From the Captain that doesn't sound like a boon that would be without expectation or consequence. Because everything else Maximilien says sounds right, too: they're at the Captain's mercy, here, and this whole affair makes sure they don't forget it. Weapons purely for self-defence don't sound like his style.

"I mean... I have my own weapon with me, but that's because I take Crescent Rose everywhere, so..."

[ Ruby, still so blissfully oblivious to the things Jinx is actually thinking, just tilts her head a little as she thinks back a few years. Signal Academy feels so long ago, now... ]

From concept all the way through to actually building her it was abouuut... nine months? The actual building part maybe a month's worth of classes. We had a class dedicated to weapon design. [ a little shrug and a smile ] But I've been doing maintenance and tweaks ever since; gotta make sure she's the best she can be for every situation, y'know?

Most people design way simpler stuff, I just kinda reaaaally love weapons and may have gone a teensy bit overboard. Heh.

[ Well, no, but Aiden understands the importance of good party music, and what a bummer but predictable thought it is that the nuclear apocalypse would totally just nuke all that shit. At least people would still have campfire tunes, though? ]

Gonna be real, dude, I think you could definitely just take it. I mean--we're all not coming back to this place once the night is over and the trip's all done, and I don't think there's anybody here 'cept for us, soooo.

[ INB4 Ava drags an entire kayak onto the bus when they all leave. ]

"Aww, thanks—I put a lot of thought into designing and naming her, I've always seen a huntress's weapon as almost as much of an extension of yourself as a semblance."

Obviously there's the aesthetics, but how you design them says a lot about how you fight, your priorities in a fight, so on.

Her head does tilt a little, though, "I used to name our team attacks, but— marketable? I guess you guys must end up pretty well known, defending just the one city and all, huh?"

"They do not," Sarge says sternly. "Or if they do. It is not your name. You have to be someone already on board."

Sarge gingerly climbs off and gives the motorcycle a hard look. The voice does sound familiar. "I know you," he states.

"Flashy and impressive is not what's necessary," Sarge says firmly. He's not really picking up on the loss, at the moment; he'll need a little more of a hint than that. "Completing the mission is the important part. And what you just did showed good control. Maybe you should use smaller projectiles," he suggests thoughtfully. "Less raw power, more precision."

Haha totally what murder game. But for real, the way Aiden sees it, it means they have less errant hazards to worry about. Nothing except for each other and, like, tripping over rocks and breaking your head open or something.

"Yeah! Plus, it means none of you guys have to worry about any mosquitos."

He has no respect for his bloodsucking kin.

"I'm Aiden, by the way," he says, and holds out a cold and wet hand.

[SUCH A GOOD IDEA...]

That... is such a solid fuckin' plan, bro, I can't believe I didn't think about it. Then again, I usually only think about stealin' shit when I'm fucked up, soooo... [Being sober almost ruined his chance at love! This is awful. He's never being sober again.] I'm gonna wait until everyone like, files out and then grab it before the doors lock, or whatever. I got no idea how any of this works, but... worst thing that'll happen is it'll disappear, right?

Fuck yeah, I just do not want to listen to techno ever again.

It's called veal, Ava.

"That's how I feel about it. Like, go ahead and burn the old Grisham novels and shit, nobody needs that. And if you don't wanna listen to fuckin' classic rock now, that's cool, but don't bring my ass into it." Ugh, "Religious extremists are always like that, though. They always like, gotta get up into your business. Before Joseph, I was constantly gettin' these fuckin LDS motherfuckers comin' round my place, tryin' to, y'know, convert me to their weird polyamorous cult thing, but they were real dicks about drinking and smoking so I told 'em to fuck off."

They probably got murdered by the Peggies, but hey. He's not going to give a shit about missionaries. "Sorry, uhh, it turns out that being a doomsday prepper is kinda fuckin' boring and also depressing. But at least you're not the only one -- pretty much every try-hard survivalist back home got the same rude wake-up call when they had to live years in their shitty home-made bunkers."

[ Look, it's fine. They can just get another one! That marshmallow and live in the flames and die gooey or whatever. Mizuki isn't concerned. He's way more interested in these kisses, actually. Of which, he absolutely steals another, brushing some of the hair out of Ebalon's face with a cheeky grin. Everyone will just have to deal with this being in front of their ~~salads~~ s'mores, honestly, because Mizuki's having such a good time. ]

You're just a terrible influence, my love. Asking for something as vulgar as kisses... next you're gonna want to hold my hand or something.

[ meanwhile venti is king of Avoiding Troublesome Feelings when his modus operandi is to ghost. someone annoyed by him? annoy them more! someone need help or look sad? chat and offer a song! someone get close to him or even confess their love? time to get out of town and move the hell on--

just maybe. his smile to mizuki is wan but there's a distant look to him again as his memory reels back to that island. ] Mizuki, you already gave me a reason to worry about you. [ ... ] Actually, I probably have many. If you're in danger, please call for me.

But, otherwise... mhm, I'm just Venti. [ 'just', when if he really thinks about it and remembers, even that name was lifted from his friend. he used to be wind, he didn't have much creativity to think of his own name, and meanwhile barbatos was the god's name bestowed from celestia. he glances down at their joined hands, quieter now because the thought occurs to him, maybe even his friend's name should be put to rest. but maybe he can't quite let go yet.

... ] Back in Mondstadt, in Teyvat, I could hear the prayers from believers to Barbatos. [ all gods could have that faint connection to their followers. when believers pray, deities listen. ] Like a choral song, like faint music. Constantly, always, the refrain of wishes, confessionals, offerings for blessings.

Then all of those prayers disappeared when I came here to this realm. I don't think I ever really wanted to be a god. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I simply wanted to let people lead their own lives and country. Even so, I don't think I realized it, but... [ that hum and quiet song of prayer throughout thousands of years, the voices of his people invoking him--he'd grown used to it. it was that connection to his country, the voices of his nation, that even after centuries of never appearing to them they hadn't forgotten him, they would continue to live and strive and have faith in him. even for an absent and independent god, that worship sustained him as he traveled, like he was never alone. ]

That works for me~ [ in a sing-song again as he lifts his bow, his wings arch in anticipation towards the sky, the readiness for flight. the arrow poised to the skyward harp glows with blue-white anemo magic, an arrow of light nearly illuminating them like mizuki does; venti turns just so to offer a wink. ]

Ready, then? Don't underestimate the speed of wind!

[ and then he lets the arrow fly. it carves a glowing arch through the sky like a shooting star, like a wish, but one that would slowly fade as it slowly falls towards the impossible distant shore. and then the light dies when the arrow hits the water.

in a rush of wind venti ascends to the sky with a laugh, then flies off towards the post in the lake. ]

[ Perfect timing, she lifts up the front of her shirt enough to display the wound, shifting aside the bandage so he can get a better look at it. ]

I got stabbed. And my expertise is only being on the other end of the stabbing. So yeah, stopping it bleeding would be nice.

[ Her gallows humour is back at least. ]

It's not too deep. Clarke says I'll live.

"It is here," he replies. Malcolm supposes that's why the ship is so well-stocked with alcohol. People are going to drink their stress away. He resolves to not allow himself to fall into that trap.

"I'm not sure either." Malcolm smiles. "You kept disappearing on me in the middle of conversations or when you would put the cards under my door."

Ruby at least feels pretty safe on the random injuries front. In theory. So long as she doesn't break her aura doing something stupid like tripping over rocks and hitting her head repeatedly. ...though she can't exactly rule that out, she saw heels at the bottom of her bag earlier. If she has to wear those, she will be a hazard to herself.

"Ruby," she says, taking the offered hand without even hesitating at the fact it's wet. She might be more surprised by the cold, but she doesn't say so if so. "Would you... not have to worry about the mosquitos if there were some? I mean, I wouldn't either, but that's because bugs can't really get through an aura."

And so far she's pretty sure no one else has one. Not like she does.

"There are many reasons why people kill," Malcolm says as he works to translate the letter into a block of text. "The hardest to catch are the type that kill strangers for fun because there is no obvious connection between the killer and the victim." Those are the cases he enjoys working the most though. That requires solving a puzzle, not merely following the logical steps to get to the husband or father or daughter who did the crime.

"Yeah," he replies with a little smile. "She did. Oh, and when you have it written it, you'll need to recopy it starting in the bottom left corner and then going in diagonals from left to right. She didn't make it easy at all."

Malcolm is kind of impressed, if he's being honest.

Max is legitimately trying to understand here, and he wouldn't at the best of times, but coupled with having some sort of mental breakdown and disassociating himself into a shrub, he has no hope of getting it right now.

"But don't lightbulbs do the same thing? And the sun?" A pause, "Nevermind, I think this is something I'm not going to understand because it's not the same for me."

Well, now that he's helped construct this ring of stones he's back to not knowing what to do with himself and it's time to meld with the forest once again. "I do hope you enjoy it however. Something good should come from this entire experience."

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

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