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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"Oh, those are rather clever," Watson says, peering over Darcy's shoulder to look at these intricate little knotted bracelets. Not exactly something he's used to seeing, but they're pretty. Then, of course, he sees the profanity, and after a moment's surprise, he busts out in laughter.

"What a lot of talent and work gone to some obscenity," he says, still grinning.

"It's for the Captain. We're trying the 'power of friendship' approach, and what's friendlier than hand-made jewellery with my real feelings on it?"

She grins, "you ever made one of these? It's not that different to braiding hair, and these don't complain while you're braiding them."

He laughs again. "If you give that to him, let me know. I'd love to see his reaction."

Yes, he's not carrying around any complicated feelings at all, not him, no way.

"I haven't had the most experience with braiding hair, but I like to think I'm decently good with my hands." Sutures. Watson is good at sutures. "I'm willing to try, if you're willing to give lessons."

"I'll get someone to film it," she jokes, "no point in just keeping it to myself."

No complicated feelings here.

Darcy pats the seat next to her, gesturing to the small array of string she had around her.

"First, you need to tape the string to the table, I think you need like... six strands? Then you need to knot it off, so it'll hold the pattern you're going to make with it. I kind of fishtail mine, so it's- how do I- actually, just watch."

She demonstrates the twisting and folding over of the string, with an ease that could only come from practice.

"My fencing team-mates always wanted help putting their hair up before tournaments. I always said 'why do you want it pretty if it's just going under the helmet', but they insisted. I never got it. You want to make sure the tension is even, so there's no gaps, ehn?"

Watson takes a seat, watching her with a gravity that's probably unnecessary for friendship bracelets.

"Never having had long hair, I couldn't even begin to guess," he says. He starts picking out a few strands of colour that appeal to him: some brown, some yellow, some blue, some green. He knots them together, and reaches for the tape.

"If you could show that to me again, slowly," he asks. "What do you call this technique?"

"It's the worst. All the brushing and the tangles and how greasy it gets. It's why I keep mine short now."

She demonstrates as asked, slowing down her own process, even as it makes her clumsier. Some things are hard to do at anything other than top speed.

"It's called a fishtail braid. Since it looks like a fishtail. There's other ways to do it but I just know this one, and it's not like that fucker left us any guide books."

Oh, no, he understands this, but the chance to see the process slowed down from the blur of her fingers is an important. His own braid is hardly the neatest, but it's careful and methodical. Occasionally, he has to back up and start over as he gets the order wrong, but it's not difficult. Not for him, anyway.

"I assume weaving obscenities into the pattern is an advanced technique," Watson says, with a bit of a laugh.

Darcy laughs, "yeah, gotta work out your spacing before you can start adding beads. And then you've gotta be careful. If you fuck up the order it might not be as cutting. Nobody's ever been insulted by a bracelet that says 'fckuer' or 'tnuc'."

She's finished before he is, of course, and leans over to examine his handiwork.

"Pull it a bit tighter when you're weaving it, and maybe twist the strands a bit more, a couple of your threads look like they're slipping and falling out. It's good, though, you're a natural."

He chuckles. Part of him is sort of amused by the energy of misspelled swear words on a bracelet.

"I know my way around a needle and thread," Watson says, adjusting as she has suggested, "which probably helps. It's not a bad way to keep your hands busy, at least."

"Right- the doctor thing, right? Since you're probably from before medical staples and shit."

She wasn't a doctor herself by any means, but her mother's extensive hospital stay had meant she had some familiarity with what doctors used to fix people.

"There's definitely worse ways. The ship gets so boring, I'm considering just stuffing my bag with some of the supplies to give myself something to do."

"That would be it. Though I've had to darn my own socks, once or twice. I thought if I could do one, I could do the other."

He hums thoughtfully, though. "Perhaps not a bad idea. We did have some notion of you showing my something of fencing, so perhaps we should revisit that."

"That's right, I was going to come find you but-" the failed training of Stede rattled her confidence to teach anyone much of anything- "I've just been busy. And it turns out teaching fencing with one sword is really hard. I'm probably going to just... I don't know, write to Santa and hope I get another sword in the store. If I do, then I can teach you."

"That's a reasonable obstacle. On the other hand,I do have this."

Watson sets down his braid for a moment to pick up his walking stick from where he's leaned it against the edge of the table, and he pulls the blade free enough to show it off. "Though whether or not it's any good for fencing, well. Perhaps not. I still rather like having it around."

He did manage to stab Ebalon with it, after all.

Darcy's about to give a brief lecture on how the flexibility that rapiers bring makes wooden implements bad for training, when he reveals that his cane is also a fucking sword.

"Oh shit-" she says, leaning in to get a better look at it, "that's so fucking badass. Okay- okay, I'll come find you when we get back on the ship, and we'll see how it's weighted and if it's any good, ehn?"

He laughs a little. "A gift from our mysterious benefactors. I think on the whole I prefer my revolver, but there's certainly an appeal to something so easily overlooked."

Watson sheaths the blade again, and sets it aside. "I like having it be kept a secret, for the most part. I've only had to use it the once, but the surprise is a benefit."

Darcy taps her nose, "I get it. I won't ask to borrow it to teach other people, then. I'll just... keep hoping I get another sword, and not something shitty like martial arts movies, again."

She scoffs.

"I hope I don't keep getting useless shit. Maybe it actually is a Santa thing, ehn? If you're good, you get what you want, if you're not good, you get something weird or useless."

"I can't imagine what I've done to deserve anything nice," Watson says with a shake of his head. There's been some doctoring, sure, but that's just his job. "I haven't done anything terrible, surely, but that's hardly enough. Besides, I certainly have received some... unwelcome gifts as well, so if I'm being rewarded or punished, I haven't any idea what for."

Trust that the Catholic should think of reward and punishment immediately, although the doctor's analysis is solid, and she can't think of anything to refute it immediately.

"Might just be the same as how we got here then, ehn? Totally random, occasionally lining up to screw us over or help us out."

"That could very well be it," Watson sighs. "It would help if we knew who precisely was choosing these gifts for us, but at present I haven't any notion how one would find that out."

"Yeah, that's the thing, isn't it. Even if we like, hid at the shop to see who delivers the gifts, it'd probably just be Friday, and she isn't going to tell us shit."

A huff.

"It's like there's a wall between us and anything genuinely useful, or like we're fighting someone with a perfect guard. There's not even anything to dig into, it's just... nothing. Kind of makes me wonder how we're going to figure this whole thing out."

If they even can, the anxiety goes unspoken.

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

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