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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A little flour never hurt anyone. He slathers the roll with butter and jam and plops himself nearby.

"I bet they're proud of you." He'd be proud, he knew. She was a lovely young woman and so talented.

"Are you going to tell her of your adventure here when you return home? Oh, this is delish." He chews on the roll with a hum of contentment. There is nothing like freshly baked bread.

It's not really a question, her parent's pride. They're not effusive, or the kind to hang her medals up in the living room, but they've been supporting her in her sport for this long, they kind of had to be.

"Probably are," Darcy offers a weak half shrug. It's chill. She doesn't need a ticker-tape parade for all of her achievements, and her parents weren't going to give her one. Just coax her to reach higher and further.

Then the idea of telling her mother about this is raised, and Darcy laughs, sharp and sudden, before she can think better of it.

"No, absolutely absolutely not. It would turn her hair white. No, this like my ghost hunting goes in the 'don't tell mum' pile. I don't want to stress her out."

And it's not like her mother would believe her, anyway. Her mum still didn't believe she'd died.

"I know they are." About her parents. "I would be!"

Though as for her exploits...

"I suppose you're right." There are things he won't tell his father either. Though he doubts they are much of a secret now.

"It's too bad the ghost hunting can't be done on the ship. Or the captain. Do you hunt many ghosts? And what do you do with them after they're hunted? Surely they can't die again?"

"Thanks, Captain."

It's sweet, and appreciated, and she can't help the prickle of pride in her chest.

Darcy settles in with the dough, really getting into working it as she spoke.

"Ehn, depends on the ghost. A lot of them, it's easy to deal with them. 'Hunting' is probably not even the right word- one time someone asked us to investigate cold spots in a nursery, and it turned out it was just... the ghost of a kid, still waiting for his last bedtime story. We read him the story, and then he just passed on. It's like... everyone deserves their last wish, ehn? It's usually not even something that big, but it's something that has to be done. That's a lot of what I do. The real issues happen when their last wish can't be done, when ghosts get stuck with no way out. It makes them... angry, violent. All you can do is try and break their grip on the real world, so they let go and move on. Or else you have to eat them."

"I wonder if the captain has unfinished business..." Or is even a ghost. The rest of it sounds downright spooky and he can't help but think she's brave for even considering doing that kind of thing on a regular basis. All of it tracks with what he knows about ghosts from books and things. Traditional lore. Sometimes they couldn't be appeased or exorcised of course so you just had to live with them.

The last bit of information however takes him by surprise.

"Eat...them? Literally or...?"

"I mean, probably. It's... weird. And a long story, but the short answer is, we think he does. Ghosts will keep doing the same thing forever until someone like us," she gestures to herself, "comes along and introduces something new. The Captain has been at this for a very, very long time, I don't think he even really knows why he's doing it anymore. I..."

Darcy pauses for the span of a breath.

"I want to try and help him, if we can. He said nobody's been dumb enough to try it before now. Not because he deserves kindness, or anything, fuck knows he doesn't deserve shit. But because it might be our only way out. And because he deserves mercy, like all people do."

A bit of control comes back when Stede questions the outlandish statement.

"Yeah, it's part of my powers. If a ghost is being bad enough, we can... just sort of absorb what they are. It's not a good thing, it sort of... makes them stop existing, and doesn't move them on. But we have to do it sometimes, for their own sake, and to protect people."

"No, I think so too. I think you have the right idea. If we can't kill him at least we can help him find some peace so this doesn't keep happening- and maybe he doesn't deserve it but, well, whatever gets us home again."

She's a very compassionate young woman too. It's a bit rare to see and not what he would have expected when he first met her, but first meetings can be like that. People will often surprise you.

"I wonder if, alternatively, we could find a way to absorb him en masse. Maybe it won't be as bad if everyone takes a little piece rather than one person taking it all..."

"Absolutely not."

Darcy shuts down the idea, stopping in the middle of kneading to gesture pointedly at him.

"First of all, eating ghosts is just a thing I can do. It's not a thing I can teach, or that I want to teach. Because second of all, if we even could do it, it'd be my burden to bear. It's worse than murder, Stede. It's the total annihilation of everything that person ever was. So just- not even a line of questioning I want to follow, alright? It's not happening."

"Alright just a thought." He holds his hands up. "You're the expert I'm sure." Though some people might deserve a little annihilation-especially if there's no other choice. "The first it is then, for now. For my part I plan to hug him and probably die horribly in the attempt." He sighs. "You know this place wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't so much murder."

Darcy huffs. If she wasn't so sure that her Geist had patched her up entirely after it happened, she could've sworn she felt the scars on her back aching. That was a difficult day, one of the very few times she had devoured a ghost, and she had spent a long time trying to crane her neck to look at the silvery scars in the mirror afterwards, half from the ghost's hatchet, half from the door as it splintered into her back.

"Don't plan to die horribly, please," is all she says in her weariness, too offput by Stede's other idea to argue against his first.

"The ship would be better with a kitchen. The camp would be better with less dirt. There's plenty to complain about."

"I mean, it's inevitable isn't it? But don't worry, I'll be back." He's sort of worried, but what can he do? Tell her he won't under any circumstances?

"And I like the dirt! Nice to feel something under your feet that isn't wood or metal. I mean, I wouldn't go digging in it but it's at least different to look at."

"It's not you coming back that I'm worried about," she states bluntly, but doesn't specify what that worry is.

It's genuinely a little humiliating that Stede of all people apparently copes with dirt better than Darcy does. It's almost enough to make her want to work harder at dealing with it. Almost.

"I guess. I'm not mad to be off the ship, I just hate camping."

"Then what is on your mind, Darcy," he says gently. "What are you worried about. I'd like to know if you'd care to tell me. It'll be good to be prepared." And he can't help her if he doesn't know. But he also has a feeling this is a young woman who has see things, so he won't press.

"You dying horribly."

Darcy ruminates for a moment, trying to work out how to phrase this without revealing too much of her own shit. Then quietly weighs if revealing some of her shit is worth Stede not making a mistake this dire.

"I had... a friend back home, who died, horribly and alone. She came back afterwards, it was a magic thing, but... it didn't stop how awful it was that she died. Even though she was fine afterwards, it still... fucking sucked. Sure, there are no consequences to dying here, but I don't want you going through that. It will hurt. And the Captain has ways to hurt you that are worse than death."

Dough that has been perfectly kneaded has the texture of a human earlobe, soft but springy and stretchy. The dough in her hands was well and truly overworked, tough and resistant. She was going to need to throw this batch out. Darcy huffed, frustrated at herself and feeling uncomfortably exposed.

"You're going to do whatever you're going to do, I already know I can't change your mind."

"Darcy..." It's said with fondness, affection. He can't help but feel touched by her concern. He can't help but feel a little bit loved.

"I...I wish I could say I wouldn't. I definitely don't want to. And the thought of...dying horribly is even worse." Maybe he's not making this any easier for her, but as he tries to think, he can't come up with anything that's not...absolutely horrid or a horrible lie.

"He has ways to hurt us all I suppose, coming and going." He sighs. "So we have to find the happiness where we can. Until we find out how to run." Beating the captain? Maybe not. But all they had to do was get away.

"But thank you, Darcy." He briefly rests a hand over hers. "I'm glad that someone as cool as you cares what happens to me." It's a joke, but told softly and with a smile. "And I care for you too. Like you're my own." And it's true.

Stede's an adult, and adults don't bend to her whims, even when it comes to keeping themselves safe. She knew this much about her Krewe, and her mother, too. But he's at least listened to her, which is more than most do. She's about to snort something derisive about finding happiness in hell, like she's one to talk. But then there's a hand on hers, and- oh. Oh. Her heart aches and there's a complex mix of expressions across her face for a moment. Trying to ascertain if he's joking, as if Stede is anything but earnest, an ache for the comfort of someone looking out for her, and then disgust at herself, at the depths of feeling that 'I care for you' brought out in her. It's embarrassing, she's too soft still, in spite of everything that's happened to her, and everything she's learned about people and how they hurt you. It's impulse that leads her to lean her head on his shoulder to reciprocate the gesture, and she'll schedule to feel awful about it later.

"Thanks." It's forcibly flat, and she hadn't managed to completely hide the choke in her voice from the word.

"You're welcome." He he puts his arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze, letting her stay as long as she likes and pretending he doesn't notice any emotions that might come from it. Sometimes people just need a hug.

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

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