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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Well, it's the end of their second night here and so far, nobody from their own cabin or another has made any indications that they're a homicidal maniac in disguise. Skulduggery is, truthfully, only semi-serious about the idea; if nothing materializes by tomorrow, he'll let that theory die a painless death.

He hadn't done much stargazing last night; maybe tonight he'll get a chance to see if the stars here resemble any of the constellations that occasionally appear above the ship. He'll have to wait until it's truly dark to go do that, however, so for now he'll spend a few minutes by the fire.

He's right about to come up on Watson and ask him if he needs a hand -- although Watson's only ever seen him throw fireballs, so maybe that suggestion would be taken wrong? -- when the man succeeds in catching the kindling on his own. Ever trying to be a good cabinmate, Skulduggery fulfills Watson's request with his customary grin.

"I'll stand here in case Stede comes by and asks after your buddy." Because that was a loose idea they'd all shared at one point, right?

Watson puts the log on his carefully cultivated newborn fire, with the ease of someone who's had to do this sort of thing a lot, before settling himself down near the fire to watch over it.

"Which 'buddy' did you mean, in particular?" he asks. He sounds tired, a little wary about the conversation.

"All of the buddies," he replies. "The pirate ones, maybe? I just know he's usually more comfortable when he sees his friends in groups." And maybe he feels a little bad for instilling the thought of a camp murderer in the man's mind.

But he can't help curiously tilting his head and asking, "What did you think I meant?"

Oh, now he just feels a bit silly.

"Oh, it... it doesn't matter." One of his boyfriends, Holmes, who knows. A moment's paranoia about his relationships and now he looks like a fool. For the moment, Watson wasn't thinking of his own safety in this place.

"I suppose I do appear to be vulnerable and unarmed and alone right now, and that we're not meant to be."

"If you say so." Skulduggery shrugs, the moment as soon as forgotten. The idea that Watson feeling bullied about his romantic liaisons would be enough gossip to keep him fat and happy for weeks, but alas, he's out of the loop on this one.

"And it would be terrible if something happened to you. I mean, our cabin would be left uneven, and who would I sit with at breakfast?" As dry as the bones he's currently standing in. Murder camp or not, Skulduggery is going to mock every aspect of the situation within an inch of its life. It's his coping mechanism.

"Whatever that terrible thing may be, however, it will not be coming from the woods. We can officially rule out bears or homicidal maniacs living in the woods." AKA a copy of Friday wearing a mask, which he's still 50/50 on being a thing later on.

Maybe not bullied, but a little self-conscious.

"What a very practical approach," he says. "Breakfast. Do you even eat?"

Follow-up questions if the answer is yes will probably not be appreciated, but he would definitely think them really hard. "Still, I haven't heard of anything happening yet, so either it's taking its time or isn't coming at all."

"Nope." He taps a finger against his (unfortunately exposed) collarbone. "No digestive system. I sustain myself entirely through sheer force of will." And magic, but that goes without saying. "And some people find the presence of a skeleton at the dining table... offputting, to say the least."

Their loss, honestly. He's great company, and he never talks with his mouth full.

"I'll be more confident about our odds after tomorrow night. The horror genre tends towards slow burns, and the captain... seemed to be inclined to make things difficult for us." So far, however, the only difficulty has been accepting the change in wardrobe. "I suppose I'll be grateful for the peace while it lasts."

"This is true. If the point is to build fear through suspense, then of course we need to wait." He's a writer, he knows how this sort of thing goes. "Not sure whether it's ideal for the captain's purposes for us to let out guard down first or whether to have disaster happen at the moment of highest tension."

He pauses, then adds, "Though as... strange as this is, the tension has nothing to do with anything actually happening here, only what we imagine."

Skulduggery takes a seat nearby for a minute. Standing, sitting, either way, the outfit looks ridiculous. At least sitting down, fewer people can stare at him. "The lack of direction is interesting." He means frustrating. "It certainly has let my imagination run rampant."

Now that he thinks about it, he's been in the woods all day. He isn't sure how many people have been playing into their parts, or how much. Stede had been taking it pretty seriously, but who else?

"Have you been spending your time around the camp? How do the others seem to be taking things?"

"People are tense," Watson says. "I think everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop and for some hidden horror to reveal itself. In lieu of that, people are attempting to occupy themselves with light-hearted interests. Miss Darcy was showing me how to braid little bracelets from coloured thread."

He shakes his head. "Frankly, I don't think anyone quite knows what to do with themselves, but no one has cracked, just yet."

"Darcy?" he asks, unable to hide his surprise. Darcy was doing arts and crafts? Really? Well, she did say to assume she had more interests than the ones he'd already known. He just hadn't expected friendship bracelets to be one of those interests.

"Well, as long as everyone's playing nice. I've noticed a few previous excursionists chose to bring weapons with them." He'd considered it himself, then decided that, quite frankly, his guns were too nice to potentially lose in a scuffle. "An appropriate response, even if seeing a flamethrower at camp is a bit disconcerting."

Watson chuckles, despite himself. "Yes, well, after last time... I think we all expected some sort of escalation. And yet we're here. I'm not sure what that says about the people who have chosen to be here, myself included."

He gives a laugh full of self-mockery. "I mean, I know I have neither sense nor self-preservation, but apparently I'm not the only one."

"The sign-up sheet did specify this wouldn't be too bad." Skulduggery is still under the impression that "not too bad" is still not "not bad at all" -- but semantics can wait for another day.

"I can understand why the temptation to join won out. There's always a chance that your experience in the Battle Royale could be beneficial here, and it isn't as though we'd be put through the same thing twice."

"The first sign-up sheet said 'strenuous' which isn't exactly how I would describe 'battle to the death,'" Watson points out, "even if it's technically accurate."

But he shakes his head. "It did seem too simple to just be a repeat of last time, and enough people who had no idea what they were signing up for... well. I couldn't let them wander off in danger without help."

"I felt the same way," Skulduggery admits. It's silly in hindsight, of course -- if anything like the Battle Royale occurred, he'd just be one more body on the pile. "Now I just feel silly for worrying. Which is probably the point."

Ugh. There really is no winning, sometimes. Especially not in this situation. "I'm sure that when the next sign-up sheet will be labeled 'Severe Distress' and I will, again, foolishly sign my name to the line."

What other choice is there?

"I can't rule that out, either," Watson says, wryly. "Unless there's some pressing need for me to stay on the ship. I think I wish I had, this time, but so long as it's a mystery, I'll feel called to go."

"Hopefully things there have been peaceful." It would be just like the captain to have them out here wasting time while the ship is undergoing some sort of horrible torture. Or would it? He's really not as sure as he was when he'd boarded the tender. "I'm sure it must be quiet, at least, with so many of us away."

"If things are peaceful on the ship, then I cannot ask for anything else," Watson says. "I would rather know that I am where the danger is if it means those who sensibly avoid it are safe."

Yes, definitely thinking of his boyfriends.

Skulduggery, having most certainly seen their display at the dinner, doesn't comment directly on the matter, but his head bows in momentary condolence. "It's good of you to want to watch out for them. Smarter of them to not have signed up in the first place." He chuckles. "All the people I would want to protect wound up signing up, which says nothing good about my choice in companionship."

His friends are all dumb, is what he means. He's also dumb, so at least it tracks.

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

THERE'S A FIRE.... ring

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