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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You know, he'd just been about to go out and look for Steven, but apparently Darcy found him first... and he's worked himself up and seems to think this is a 'let me talk to the manager' type of situation. He winces as he circles around the beds and comes closer.

"It's not-- an egg allergy. He's vegan." An egg won't kill him, thankfully. He huffs out a sigh.

"Steven, c'mon, buddy. Let's calm down, alright?" He'd been kind of hoping to tell-- Steven about the whole murdering-each-other shit himself precisely for this reason.

"No one's killing each other, alright?" They'd surely know that's the game by now. Hopefully.

"Marc!" Steven exclaims excitedly, dropping his comfort stick in favour of his comfort personality. He forgets they have company and hurries over, barreling into Marc and flinging his arms around him.

"Marc, you're here!" Steven looks like he might burst into flames although from excitement or from all the stress remains to be seen.

"I'm-- sorry..." he blindly signed them up for this. And now they can't stay together anymore for a while.

Okay that's- okay, okay she sort of thinks she gets what's going on here. She mentally notes down that the British one is Steven, and sort of... looks between the two for a minute, nodding slowly.

"Okay- well, sorry for telling you to stop being British, and for being a bitch earlier, I thought you were him and that he'd lost it."

She thinks she's got them the right way around.

"So. Yeah. There's a spare bunk in here if you guys want to like... hang out here? Uh."

Darcy doesn't even really know where to start with this.

"Whoa--"

Okay, so they're hugging. And he'd say he's sorry about it, but... he's not really. The level of codependence here is-- painfully there on both sides. It's what happens when you're used to being a voice in the other's head and suddenly you're just... not.

"It's alright, Steven." He has no idea what Steven's apologizing for exactly, but he does pull back enough to give the man a squeeze the shoulder in reassurance, turning towards Darcy.

"Uh, guess I should've warned you earlier. Didn't think you'd run into Steven before I got a chance though."

... Did he come equipped with a stick? The hell were these two up to?

Wait til she finds out that Steven is Marc and Marc's lost it. Steven just shakes his head, not really minding what Darcy had said to him, and plops down on possibly Marc's bed, possibly someone else's. Whoever is closest to his butt. And he pulls his hands into his lap. He's a little calmer now that he's not having separation anxiety.

"Everyone's been telling me we're going to die. I went to grab a stick so I could like. Die with a stick in my arms. But I kind of cut and grazed myself a bit." Steven swallows, glancing at Marc, then Darcy. Then he glances at Marc again. Then at Darcy.

"...are you two sleeping together?" Is that why she asked him back to sleep it off with her?

There is a loud and sudden noise of disgust, and suddenly the girl that was there is no longer there. Darcy, invisible, storms out of the cabin.

"What? No!" What the hell, Steven?

And what the fuck, Darcy? His eyes may not be what they once were, but he's pretty damn sure he just saw her disappear? He blinks rapidly a few times, questions his sanity for not the first time, and then turns an exasperated look back to Steven.

"She's a little too young for me, man... what the hell are you-- I'm not sleeping with anybody! This is our cabin, that's all."

This is why Steven keeps making just... piss poor impressions. He reaches out to grab for one of Steven's arms to look over. He said something about getting cut up, right?

"A stick..." Really?

"Yeah, well, good. She is too young for you. Half of the ship's passengers are, feels like. And I'm trying to save our marriage with Layla." Steven glances and, sure enough, he has to do a double take as well. The young lady's gone somehow without either of them noticing. It's almost like she's a ghost or something. That's a little unsettling.

He lets Marc take his arm. It's nothing major - just some scratches, cuts and grazes from blundering his way through the greenery. A couple of them are a little itchy though.

"I mean, I know, 'til death do we part and all that. We're not dead dead yet, alright? She still loves you. Don't worry, I can fix this."

"No-- we are dead. We're dead and Ammit's here with us, so." He shrugs his shoulders, huffing out a sigh. Since when did it become their marriage anyway? He gets it. Layla's great. But she also probably hates his guts right now -- she wouldn't want to be with him.

"We're done with our business back there, Steven." Satisfied that Steven isn't actually hurt in any real way, he lets out a sigh and shifts to sit next to him instead, letting his shoulders slouch a bit, tipping his head forward.

"Which means if we wanted to fuck someone else, we could. But I'm not exactly-- looking for that either."

He never conscientiously means to cry. It just kind of comes. By the time there's telltale signs that the waterworks are coming, it's usually too late. He grips on the edge of the bed on either side of his knees. His breathing gets a little more laboured as he lowers his gaze and closes his eyes, clenches his teeth. When his face twitches it's all over and it's nothing loud or wailing. His eyebrows just knit together and he breaks down. His hands don't really seem to know where to go. He's hugging himself low across his tummy, then he's pushing his invisible glasses up the bridge of his nose, and finally he settles for hiding his face in his hands.

Things have just been so crazy that he hasn't really gotten to deal with the fact that they're dead. For a while he was trying to give Marc all the reassurances he needed. Then he was able to stave off the feelings by busying himself in the ship, enjoying something of a holiday for a few days before coming here. But hearing Marc say those words, just feeling him give up like this, it's all too much for Steven.

It's just not fair? They'd saved the world. There was-- there are so many things Steven wanted to do. He never even wrote a bucket list. But-- but he could have gone to Paris. Gawked at a terracotta warrior. Visited every single ancient ruin in Greece. Found someone who would be willing to fall in love with him. Tried the romanesco dish at his favourite restaurant. Maybe even had children. Or-- let's not be ambitious. Just the one.

And it's all a lie, wasn't it? His entire existence was a lie. He has nothing. Nobody even knows who he is, or care that he died. Apart from maybe Layla, and all Marc wants to do is throw her away. Finally, here and now, he has something real. He is someone real. But all he's done is sign up for more soul tormenting and make people mad at them both. Not that it matters because they're already dead and he can't live any of that life he could have led.

It's really unfair. It's just-- really unfair. And Steven is beyond upset.

"Hey-- hey." Fuck. Now Marc's-- parts anxious and guilty for making Steven cry like that. He's not even saying anything, not yelling at Marc for being mean or telling him off for anything. He's just doing this helpless, pitiful cry and Marc's--

Well, Marc just tries to wrap him up in his arms and hold him. "Sorry. I shouldn't have-- I didn't mean to say it like that."

He can't help the fact they died, and if Steven wants to hate him for getting them killed... he gets it. He really does get it. But right now? He doesn't have anything else to offer besides the comfort. "C'mon. I know I'm not the best guy to be stuck with for eternity, but there are other people here, okay? You're not alone, Steven. We're not frozen in sand. We still... got something. We still got each other too, man, for what that's worth."

Probably not too much right now, but hey-- he's trying. He hates seeing Steven like this. Hates knowing he keeps failing him. He really is just... a total fuckup when it comes to trying to keep Steven safe or happy. Why is he even surprised at this point?

Steven melts into Marc's embrace almost instantly, a tightly-wound spring finally able to find some release. He is trying to talk but he's also sobbing and he just sounds like a blabbering hiccuping corrupted audio file. His words are barely coherent but Marc can pick out the fact that Steven's trying to console him while still being a complete mess, that all this wasn't his fault, that it was Harrow and Ammit that got them killed and not Marc, and at some point he might have managed to voice rather petulantly that this is all not fair and he's not ready.

After a few more shaking sobs, Steven sniffles and tries to compose himself, although he seems reluctant to let go of Marc. But his face is red and wet and he's clearly still upset. He at least manages to apologise yet again and make something up about being stressed. As if he's not just constantly stressed and anxious all the time and this place is working him up more so than usual.

"...I want to spend eternity with you," he mumbles against Marc's shoulder, voice partially muffled against his shirt. Even in this-- stupid place where everyone's going to try and kill them again, or whatever is supposed to happen next. He rubs his eyes a few times, sniffling again.

Sometimes, it's probably best to just let Steven cry it out until he's red and blotchy, and Marc's shirt is a mess. It's not-- how he copes with things, but Steven isn't like him, and that's a good thing. He'd argue that-- maybe there are a bunch of things they could have done differently and maybe Harrow wouldn't have shot them dead. But what's the point? They can't undo it.

So he's just quiet while Steven babbles and cries himself into a mess until he's finally-- able to slow it down a bit. Not better, but he's not sobbing into his shoulder anymore. Progress, right?

And Marc can't... stop a smile at those simple little words. He's not sure he's quite the guy to spend eternity with, but it gets him reaching up to brush through Steven's hair fondly. "Well, that's a good thing, buddy... because looks like that's gonna happen."

"I'm in Aquarius." He sniffles as though that can help stem the tide and takes Marc's other hand, turning it over and drawing the constellation out on his palm. Not the zigzag lines but the actual constellation, from the top with its long diagonal line and then forking out twice.

"I-- don't think I can stay here. But you can come over, find me there." At least until Ava kicks them out tomorrow.

"You can keep the stick. In case you need to defend yourself." He's finding the depiction of the Captain to be quite deplorable, but he's still against the idea of killing him and stealing the ship.

"You could stay. I don't care." And Marc doesn't care what anyone else thinks at this point, honestly. Not when it comes to Steven. He's-- an exception for so many things. But he does relax at the touch, watching with interest as Steven makes his marks against his palm.

"You can always come find me, you know. Whenever you want."

There's a soft laugh at the offer. "It's alright. You sure you don't wanna keep it, man?"

"I want to. I really do. But it might undermine your--" Caveman grunting ex-marine manliness if he's seen cuddling incestuously with his highly neurotic, sensitive twin.

"...air of authority." Let's go with that.

"And my cabin's a mess." There's a bear attacking a twink kind of mess and if Steven's not careful the bear might take this otter out too. "Miss Ava's either trying to get us killed or turn us against each other. I want to make sure the young lads are alright. If I bring the stick in, the bear might attack me with it."

"Air of authority?" He's in a room full of teenagers, man. But alright, the incestuous cuddling might make some people uncomfortable.

... "I'm sorry, what? Did you say bear?"

What the actual fuck is going on in Steven's cabin?

"Boss lady made us prepare for a bear attack and the bloke she designated as a bear tried to lunge at me because, I d'know, maybe I looked like an easy target. He bowled a young lad over instead and I think they both got hurt." It was so silly and pointless but if he said anything she might never talk to him again. Steven wrings his hands anxiously.

"Marc," he ventures softly, resting his head against Marc's shoulder. "If you have to do something to get out of here, I want you to, okay? I won't blame you. Promise me Marc." Steven's voice drops down to a raspy whisper. He might cry again. "Don't come back for me."

"What the fuck..." It's very silly and ridiculous, but he can't stop a soft chuckle at the mental image. Bear attack. Did Ava think that was likely or did she just-- want to see her cabinmates act like total idiots?

... Of course Steven has to go and make it so serious again. He huffs out a sigh, tilting his head to rest against Steven's. "Sorry, Steven, but I can't do that. I'm not leaving you behind, whatever happens."

He just-- can't. Steven can't make him, no matter how hard he cries. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I keep-- failing at it. But I'm not gonna fail this time."

They look so pathetic sitting on a bed leaning on each other like this. He's supposed to be the pathetic one and Marc is supposed to be the strong and fearless one. This state of affairs is just sad.

"I'm not worth it Marc. I'm the weakest person here." He frowns and tugs on the hem of his shirt. "I've lived plenty of life with you. Because of you. You're the best thing that's happened to me. You don't-- owe me anything, or have to do more."

"You're not weak. Would you just--" He lets out a frustrated grunt as he straightens up a bit. What he wants to do is tell him to just shut up and stop it. He's perfectly capable of stepping up when he needs to... or did he forget fighting zombies like it was nothing already? He might have lost in the end, but...

They'd been set up to fail there, and Marc had been the one too weak to do much in the end.

He's not sure he's the best thing that's happened to anyone. It's-- weird, hearing it. Especially when Steven's dead because of him. "It's not about owing. I want to, Steven. You're-- the best thing that's happened to me too, you know. Why would I want to leave that behind?"

Steven's frown deepens and reluctantly nods, feeling like maybe it's a little selfish to not want to live with the guilt of something happening to Marc because of foolish heroics without realising that Marc has had to live with the same when he thinks he's let Steven down.

"We'll look out for each other then. Do you want-- half a stick?" They can probably swing it at a doorframe and break it in half or something. Sleep with it under their pillows just in case.

"Yeah, alright. That's a deal." They can even split the stick if it'll make Steven feel better, but-- he's the one who's more of the 'hit it until it stops moving' guy. He's more the knife guy.

"We'll be okay. Right? And remember-- death's not permanent here. So if I do get it, don't sit up crying yourself sick over me. Alright? Just keep the bed warm." Which is hypocritical because Marc's probably... gonna lose it if Steven's ever hurt. But eh. He doesn't have to know that.

"I'll do the same."

Steven makes a high-pitched little whine. He doesn't want to think about Marc dying, even though he said he would come back. He shakes his head and has to sniffle a few times to try and keep a plug in the waterworks. Taking two big gasps, he swallows down the discomfort and nods a few times.

"Okay. Okay I will. And you-- you have to come back! I'll be waiting. Waiting until I'm cranky." And Steven is extra mean when he's cranky! It is known.

"I'll come back, promise." He just hopes it's a promise he can keep. But it isn't the first time he's promised Steven something impossible, so it's easily done with a reassurance or two. He lifts his hand to try to wipe away a few of those drying tears at least.

"You can be as cranky as you want." Terrifying threat, that.

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