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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As much as Ava can appreciate how well dressed some of her favorite people are, most of the time it just doesn't feel worth all the effort it takes to clean up. Not for herself, and certainly not for anyone else. Yet it feels nice for Malcolm to call her pretty, even with the qualifier of tonight. "Don't get too used to it, I'll turn back into a pumpkin at midnight," Ava teases.

Then gives a bit of an uncertain 'hm' at the question of the origin of her dress. "It's a little plain, isn't it? Maybe a bit of blood would make it more recognizable, but I'd prefer not to end the night that way."

She's heard of this crab, from Crabb, but she's not sure if it's somehow an exception or something that was abducted the way they were. Or even if it was another passenger that's gone missing, transformed into a crab. Magic is weird and stupid.

"What traits would you consider useful, then?" Ava asks curiously. "What is it that you think he's doing wrong, or missing? To fully achieve his goals?"

An… omnipotent god? [ …? ] Is that a common thing?

[ He may not have to, but he certainly wants to. No matter how the deep rooted jealousy is that sits in his brain, or the longing for orders and obsession with rooting out the evil of the world, at Mizuki's core, he is truly a kind and forgiving soul. It's likely that it gets overshadowed by his eldritch nature sometimes, but right now, with Clarke's hands in his, that isn't present. Right now, all he wants is for her to not have to have these worries. To not have to do things alone, as Mizuki has told her so many times before. He understands why she hasn't committed to this, despite her own vague agreement to such, of course. It's hard to change one's mental to such things after being… well, alone for so long, right?

But he really doesn't want anything to happen to her. He doesn't want her to get herself killed or do something reckless that could hurt her, when she's so important, when she's got him here, when she's…

…

Mizuki closes his eyes, and when he begins to sing, his voice echoes with some new, melodic tone that's just as charming as it is haunting. Meant to ease those who hear it into a sense of security, while also giving them a sense of some sort of alertness if they're too careful. Yet, it's Mizuki, so maybe it's not all that surprising. His song, at least, is… calming. Soft. Sung with all the affection he can muster. ]

You taught me the courage of stars before you left,
How light carries on endlessly, even after death,
With shortness of breath, you explain the infinite,
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again,
I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen,
I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time,
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes.

With shortness of breath,
I'll explain the infinite,
And how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist.

Edited 2022-07-04 23:21 (UTC)

"That's why I opted for pipe cleaners and foam. I should probably leave before someone sees me and coats me in glitter." That seems like something Fio might do, so he's sparkly and cheered up or something along those lines.

"Honesty isn't exactly valued in my circles. Everyone is constantly scheming and attempting to backstab each other for personal gain. Myself included. So this entire adventure has been a learning experience." he gestures around them, "The ship itself I mean, not just camping."

A sigh as he tucks his new little butterfly creation into the too small pocket of these too small shorts. "Hard work pays off over time, or however the saying goes?"

"Also the child probably deserved it," Max adds helpfully.

"While on the ship, what have you done that you think he'll disapprove of? Eat too many lobsters?" He's purposefully leaving off the Battle Royale because that's a little unfair. They all were trying to kill each other, and while Max is starting to realize he's the only one who had a good time doing that, maybe it's best to pretend it didn't happen in terms of maintaining future friendly relations on the boat.

Oh this is just terribly amusing, "Yes it is. The kind of business I'm sure a fine upstanding citizen like yourself would never be embroiled in. So I'll spare you the salacious details."

He pauses while he thinks about that, "In my world, no, I do not. I also don't eat or drink so that does make it a little more difficult. But in terms of here on the ship, hm." There's certainly people he's friendly with, acquaintances, people he doesn't actually think are going to sell him out at a moments notice to save their own hides. After a bit of consideration he finally continues in a lower voice, as if he's surprised by the realization, "Yes I suppose I do have a few friends here."

Two, specifically.

Well then. Steven could be friend #3, right?

"You don't eat or drink?" Steven asks, raising an eyebrow. Somehow the walking, talking skeleton not eating or drinking or sleeping makes... a teeny tiny bit of sense to him. Someone who looks literally more fleshed out like Max, he had assumed would do all those things.

"Sometimes I think it's a right hassle. And expensive too. I could do away with eating and drinking. But then I treat myself and try something delicious for the very first time, or have a cup of tea after a long day. And then I think it's not so bad, y'know?"

Well, I can tell you one thing, the worst thing you can possibly do as an immortal is believe that there's nothing left for you. Obviously, I cannot speak for the world your from, or the things you've seen, or whatever may be going on there, but I can at least promise you that somewhere, sometime, you'll have a place to belong and people to care about. It's a little easier for me to say, since... I do have an immortal brother, but... at the end of the day, I'm fighting for even him, too.

[ Especially him, actually. Lumine has a lot of feelings on whether or not she'd sacrifice people for him or not, really. ]

But I've seen gods and immortals lose their way too often for my liking.

"Give it a little bit more time for the market research data to come back in." Hell, Kiriya will roll with that because it amuses him--he's not so proud he'll indignantly defend his very neon tech. It's not like he designed it, anyway, and he's currently a bit put out with the guy who did. "And the CEO to pull his head out of his ass, you know, the usual."

The fact that there was mud-wrestling at all is kinda weird, buddy, but far be it for Steven to judge.

"Considering we're all trapped on here until further notice? Probably not." Especially ones that were-- considered villains in their own world, probably. But Ava seemed... mostly harmless beyond the bite she had sometimes.

"Last thing we need is a lot of feuds going on between passengers."

( clarke blinks a little in surprise at that. but her answer is relatively immediate, no hesitation — )

Of course it is.

( not the same measure of grace she extends to the likes of stede bonnet, who seems content to fluster over interpersonal relationships, his own ghosts, and the sorry excuse for a crew he's gathered together and claims to care for. it's different when a self discovery is just a side quest, something to chew over when new ideas on how to get out of here are few and far between. there's admtitedly more downtime than clarke's accustomed to, despite the constant needling fear that something new and horrible is just around the coroner. and if she'd any questions about herself and what she might be capable of doing, she'd be asking them too. )

I'm...sorry. I didn't know you still had questions about it.

( the downfall of stoicism and deadpan, others just sorta assume you know what you're talking about. )

"No, Cassie's actually really adorable..." Ava says miserably. It wasn't like she actually planned on hurting her, just holding her hostage long enough to get her father's cooperation. That's not entirely evil, right?

But Bill had drawn the line at that being unforgivable.

"I kicked all my cabin mates out," Ava admits. "Just for a few days. But they're grown men, they can handle sleeping in some dirt."

Basic chords he says, like she has any idea how to start with a simple scale here either. But it's not hard to mimic what she's seen between Danny and Diana — Clarke nestles the side of the body of the guitar over one thigh, a hand on the neck and another hovering over the sound hole for all over three seconds before curiosity caves and she's plucking at a string. A single clear note springs forward, dies in the air between them long before the reverberation through the entire instrument settles. And then just, lather rinse repeat — she's pulling at every individual string before trying to press the fingers of her left hand into the fretboard to change the tune.

There are callouses on her fingers, softened a tad by her time on the ship, but one can't undo years of hardening in just a few months. She'd spent so much time with her mother, tiny fingers threading needles for stitches or else gripping a scalpel a little too tightly. Doodling with the barest nubs of charcoal sticks, and then the newests being a writers bump from aggressively taking notes about their lives on the Serena Eterna, and the palm callouses born from gripping the butt of a gun too tightly. But this right here? The press of taught strung wires is an entirely new sensation. Uncomfortable, in that Clarke's probably pressing way harder than necessary, and jarring in how discordant and unpleasant some of her ill-placed fumbling's return sound.

In general she's a quick study, but this first few moments is going to be akin to watching a baby deer learning to walk and stumbling directly into a busy roadway.

Good thing Jade bothered to clarify the matter; Skulduggery had wondered just how visible the so-called slots were. Good to know they're of a less alarming nature, really... And while he'd noticed Jade's eye color, up until now he'd only assumed it was some naturally occurring color in his reality. Now, of course, he has to wonder!

Despite being completely alien from his own magical ecosystem, he finds that it makes quite a bit of sense. Interesting how the slots line up somewhat with what he knows of chakras, actually; if he were at all capable of explaining that, they might really find some strange similarities between their planets.

"It seems that there are as many magical systems as there are realities to choose from. I've run into several people from other Earths whose magic works completely differently from mine. Or who don't have any magic at all." He says that like it's weird because it is. He isn't convinced, honestly. "I can't imagine what it must be like to not feel your magic under the skin. So to speak."

She wasn't going to say it that way but, yes Pal. Clarke nods along firmly, ready to remind him that by his own admission, death gave off thanergy and being around destruction of souls made him stronger in case he took offense to the comparison. The Captain uses death and suffering to power his ship, ergo the mechanics must be a little bit similar. And it would track, that where their captor was strongest, so to would Pal be.

She's carefully buffing his glasses for a few seconds before handing them back over, and only really paying attention to the gouge along the back of her hand when she catches sight of how tendrils of black blood have run down to her wrist and forearm. He offers an absent sort of help, then bandaids, both of which Clarke just sort of shrugs off.

"It's not that deep, just looks bad. It'll be fine once it stops bleeding and I wash this off." Don't worry about it, in a few too many words. Still, as they continue to sit here, Clarke will prop her elbow on her knee and keep the hand elevated like a weird sort of bloody wave.

"So if it had worked, what would that have looked like?" Just to know what to expect, what any future signs of victory would manifest as.

The key is, obviously, not wanting to hurt the kid. Skulduggery will err on the side of Ava's compassion and assume that was the case.

"Back in my day, everyone camped outdoors. It's character building." He's old. Also, it was war. Also, it was the 1600s. Still!!! "They'll be fine."

( SATURN??? FUCKING, SATURN RUBIE? HOW ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME, I AM WRECKED. ANYWAYS, THOUGH MY TEARS I WRITE YOU —

it will take a lot, a lot of work to reign in the self sacrificial tendencies of someone who's found a comfortable grave in the shape of i bear it so they don't have to and chosen to slowly, methodically bury herself alive. clarke has come to dread the weight of responsibility she shovels on top of her own chest as much as she needs it. her mind still perpetually swims like she's looking at their troubles laid out on a chessboard, plotting which pawns are expendable in order to protect the king, but she's not so ruthless as to commit to any of these moves until certain they'd yield a win. would honestly rather sweep the whole board off the table. but keeps playing.

all that to say, sorry mizuki, the status quo isn't going to change just because you tell her to use you. clarke griffin takes and takes and takes, just not direction.

and in rare moments, she pauses to take in. whatever paranoid urge has had her regularly sweeping the treeline for a threat is dampened, like a flame guttering out in pooled hot wax. just for a moment, fleetingly, but in the moment entirely keyed in on mizuki and listens intently to every lyric dripping over his lips. the tune is unfamiliar, like many. and the affection in his tone is suffocating, but the words themselves...

how is one supposed to interpret deeper meaning behind what someone choses to sing to them? is there some underlying reverence, the implication she'd taught him anything so grand as the infinite nature of the universe? or was it the other way around — is mizuki the teacher here, trying to get her to take note and peel away defensive strategies of self preservation in an attempt to appreciate life here? as if it were somehow sacred, not just a fleeting inconvenience rife with pain? with shortness of breath, and oh does her breath catch.

but also what if it's neither and just his favorite song. clarke doesn't know what to ask here, how to seek clarification for those budding nervous thoughts in the back of her mind and thus just. listens. and when he finishes that last melodic note, she tilts her head. smiles, small but open. sincere, bordering on intimate. and the only sentiment she can return pales in comparison to song, but it's the only she can think to offer. )

You have a really nice voice, Mizuki. Sing more often, okay?

I didn't, until recently.

[He was a monster, he was dead and the Serena Eterna was nothing more than an unwanted delay along the way. Fuel his spite until this pocket dimension is no more, then stop existing like he was supposed to.]

But I guess... [A pause. When he speaks again, his tone is lower.] realizing just how many different realties and people are out there gives another perspective. [Natsuno scowls, sounding downright grumpy now, like he's admitting something he shouldn't.] And I don't know if I should keep thinking about it, because I don't want to get distracted. Or comfortable.

"Yeah, exactly. Enclosed spaces make grudges a death wish." Obviously, he's talking from experience.

"I'm just lookin' to be as chill as fuck with whatever happens. I figure most people on Survivor who make it are like that." He's watched two episodes of the show but you know, whatever, he's extrapolated.

"It'll be okay, though. He'll figure it out, right?"

( wow, she didn't know it was possible for him to ever sound more grumpy than his given baseline, yet here that is. )

You really think it's possible to get distracted from all of this?

( yes, camp is boring. but they both know even if this entire venture ends in little to no bloodshed, there was always more coming. interpersonal frustrations are mounting, enemies emerging, and each new person who arrives here throws a wrench into already grinding gears.

as for comfortable — has he ever been comfortable? )

...I wouldn't worry about that last point. The Captain won't let that happen.

( unacknowledged, the deeper implication is: i won't let that happen either. for as long as he'll have her, clarke will be at his doorstep, dumping newfound mysteries and theories before dashing off to put them to the test. and she's come to trust that he'll follow her into the mouth of hell and back with very little discussion. )

( "everyone here always seems to come from scary places."

marc is, without a doubt, absolutely correct. she doesn't know him, and doesn't know steven. but if first impressions are cripplingly anxious and the saltine and water guy, clarke still finds wiggle room to judge. it's gradually becoming her nature, from looking at opponents across a battlefield to looking at everyone and immediately seeing impetuses to the grander goal. not knowing the true scope of what everyone's seen and done is a real roadblock, oh to be gal friday and know most things about everyone.

oh to be the captain and know everything there is to know in this pocket world...

back in the mode of conversation, she has to concede a little. it has been five out of the seven days they're slated to stay here... )

The bus should be back in two days. You'd think if anything was to happen, it would have started by now. But I'm not discounting the idea that dozens of monsters could pour out from the tree line tomorrow night and attack us all while we sleep. Otherwise — what was the point of all this?

( what does bunk beds and campfire songs net the captain? she doesn't understand why this "pleasant" break in the blood, guts, suffering, tears, and death is happening. )

Guess not.

[It's tempting to just leave it at that, but after another pause, he admits:]

I meant comfortable with what I am. [He won't deny some it has been useful, even invaluable here, but it's didn't end with having a better nose or healing from damage. He could do so much worse.] Back home, the shiki acted like it's obvious I'd be like them once I turned. But now I'm here, and - I don't know. Should I pick and choose which part of it I'm willing to accept?

Some religions believe in them.

[He shrugs.]

I don't know if they really exist, but I'm sure the captain's heard of the concept and decided he likes it.

[ Get absolutely obliterated, nerd —

Mizuki, admittedly, doesn't expect Clarke to hear a song and go "Shit, all 18 years of my life are dropped just like that and I can right this moment turn a new leaf and maybe be self-preserving!" Especially not when he's had this conversation with her before and it had ended rather miserably. She had agreed back then to do so on Mizuki's request, but… well, it's a little hard to believe Clarke now, isn't it? Not when her actions thus far have proved to be all less than preservation-worthy. Mizuki refuses to give up on it all the same. After all, he does truly love ~~his commander~~ this idiot teenager. ]

Ehe… thank you. [ So he's been told. He doesn't understand it, honestly, but he does like Venti's voice, so…? Maybe he's just not hearing what they are. ] I will, I just… [ He squeezes her hand. ] Thought it might be something you'd want to hear from me.

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

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