come_sailaway | I want God to come and take me home [OPEN]

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I want God to come and take me home [OPEN]

Who: You and... Siffleur?
When: 3-days after the end of the Oct expedition, into November
Where: Daisy's cabin, various places around the ship
Warnings: Gore, body horror, cosmic horror, self-harm, CPTSD/trauma, etc.

1. who am I supposed to be? (Closed to Daisy)

It’s common for Siffleur to show up in the room after expeditions, his body dragged in by Friday sometime in the night and left to finish waking up. They’ve got a system by now - he wakes up, grabs his emergency clothes, and takes off. It’s fairly predictable and simple.

Today, Siffleur starts breathing like usual. His body twitches as he’s on the edge of waking up. Then spasms. And then, with a terrible crunching sound, his ribcage splits wide open and blood splatters over the walls and furnishing. The split doesn’t stop there, quickly spreading up his throat and skull, his face opening like a book until even the bone splits and his pink throbbing brain is on full display. His eyes roll and slither, no longer held in sockets, and his lower-half kicks and twists as it splits in two as well. All of him folds open, and keeps opening, keeps turning until his insides are outside, his organs sliding out of the cavity, his intestines writhing and crawling and still, he keeps turning.

Until finally, with one last wet crunch, all of him inverts again and from the gorey mess on the bed comes flesh - hands and arms and a torso, a whole body birthed from the mess that was Siffleur. It’s an old woman with white hair, scars all over her, and missing toes on one foot. She’s somehow sound asleep despite it all - despite the entrails sliding inside of her unseen back, until the only trace remaining of all of that chaos is the blood still flecked everywhere, and the puddle underneath her.

The woman’s chest rises and falls a few times, and her eyes slowly open.

2. the illusion that you feel is real (Assorted - Open)

There is a stranger on board the ship. She gives a wide berth to people, carrying a nervous and somewhat frantic energy as she ducks out of corridors instead of sharing them, or quickly puts a table or shelf between herself and whoever has come in. She’s older, weighed down by layers of clothing taken from the Tommy Bahamas, but she wears no shoes as she pads silently wherever she goes.

A select few who have the ability to see what others can’t will notice there’s something in her skull, a long sharp sliver of something that glows with a sickly deadlight, an oily shimmering sheen that flickers. Looking at it directly for too long causes an awful headache to form right behind the eyes. She sometimes swats at it, though her hands always go through it.

Occasionally, she’ll stay in one place and not scurry off when others come near. This is mostly at the buffet or bar, where she’ll guard her food or the bottle of vodka she’s drinking from. Occasionally, she has a book in front of her instead - the book Siffleur almost always seems to be writing in. The page she’s on is blank and nothing appears, no matter how much she glares at it.

Anyone who does approach her will get a wary look if they’re a stranger, or a more nervous look if they’re someone who knows Siffleur - and who knows her. She’s older than those who met her in dreams will remember her being, but her voice will be much the same as she tries to fend off the inevitable questions with a- “I don’t know how I got here.”

3. I survived. I speak, I breathe, I'm incomplete (Sports Deck - Open)

Despite how apprehensive she is, despite how much she shrinks in on herself, that’s not her only mood.

As those unfortunate souls who come up to the sports deck will find, emotional regulation is not something she’s capable of. In fact, some poor soul’s first introduction is likely to be of the woman muttering furiously to herself while drawing intricate ritual circles on the deck with sharpies taken from Sundries, her irritation quickly and violently boiling over into screaming, full-body tantrums. She howls and thrashes, slamming her hands and face against the deck, contorting her body and clawing at herself until she draws blood, until she exhausts herself enough that she has no choice but to be calm as she lies on the deck, panting while her wounds slowly heal.

And when she’s calm enough, she starts over, trying desperately to finish a SOS call that can go nowhere.

4. Does anyone ever get this right? (Wildcard - any prompts welcome, DM me if you have any questions)

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He wants to hold a hand out for her. Hell, he actually wants to hug her but he doesn't dare do anything that might upset her delicate balance. Especially as she begins to explain. By the time she reaches the gory detail of turning inside out, Max's face has gone a few shades paler. If Daisy said that's what happened, he believes it but... what?

"Y-you... traded places?" Panic swells beneath his breastbone, until he feels like he might turn inside out too.

"Can you feel him?"

"I can't, I c-can't feel him and I- I got the book, I put the pen down s-so he could write but i-it's been blank and I don't- I don't know if he j-just can't figure out how to do it, or if h-he's gone..." She stumbles over her words and a few tears roll down her cheeks. Her hands squeeze one another tight, until they're pale and bloodless. "And I can't help him from out here, I can't figure out w-what part he's having trouble with and I hate it so much!"

"Would you like to hold my hand?" Max offers his palm to her, resting it across the table. If Siffleur could see his mother so distraught, he'd want her to have comfort, wouldn't he?

"He's not gone." Max has no way of knowing that's true, but he just can't allow himself to believe it for even a second. "You weren't gone, so he's not. But maybe he's sleeping like you were."

There's a half second of hesitation and her visibly struggling before she reaches over the table and grabs Max's hand in an iron grip, holding tight to him.

Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath. Her other hand slides under the table as she pinches her thigh again and again, using the comfort of Max's hand and the fresh pain to ground herself. When she's able, she opens her eyes to look at him again. "He's not gone. It's- this is his body. I can feel that at least. It's w-what he remembers. And he's... he's probably still asleep. It was hard enough for me to wake up. I only really fully woke when Valdis came in during the... the breaks. Before that I was just... there. Sleepwalking. Oh, ooooh, he's walking- he's probably in my m-memories of him, just... just walking through old sad stories in his younger self's shoes. Poor boy..."

He can't quite hide a wince at how tight her grip is, but he doesn't pull back, he grips her just as strong and stays quiet while she works through the panic, though it aches for him to witness.

"He loves you, so... maybe for him it's not all bad to be walking through them. I hope." He knows it was sorrow, but he prays that for Siffleur it's a bittersweet kind. Like looking through old family photos of people that are gone.

"Maybe we should find Valdis. Maybe she could help again?"

Maybe... she hopes he's young, hopes he's too small to realize how abnormal their life is, how abnormal she is. She hopes he's sleeping well, but all she can think about are the nightmares waiting in her mind. Her hand loosens it's grip a little and she rubs her thumb along his finger.

Valdis though... She trembles a little. "I... don't know if w-we should. I frighten h-her. A-and I know she... she hurts when others hurt and I'm-"

She was hunched over a plate at the far end of the buffet, wrapped in layers of clothes, in the midst of a rolling meltdown that started when she was twenty-four and had continued the rest of her life. Valdis had undoubtedly been aware of her presence since she arrived, and was doing her best to shut out the lighthouse of pain and rage.

"I j-just... I have to figure out how to undo this, and I can, I can. I can." Her voice isn't confident, but it's persistent.

"Valdis knows you don't mean to hurt her. She knows you can't help it." Honestly, he suspects Valdis probably already can feel it, which makes him worry even more about making it worse.

"You will," Max says, his voice is firm with the confidence she can't have in herself. "But you won't be able to concentrate on it until you can be in a little less pain. Last time I met you, you wanted lemon chicken. What if you come to the kitchen with me and I make you some? It will be just the two of us in there. I'll tell everyone else to stay out."

She's opening her mouth to... what? Argue? He's right. Valdis knows. And she knows that she's trying her best to get under control.

But all of that is forgotten the very moment Max offers to make food for her. Both of her hands grasp his, a much gentler hold than before, and with her eyes so sharp and so clear, she breathlessly asks- "C-can you make me a brownie? Or a-a cream puff? A pumpkin pie? Anything sweet, a-anything at all. Siffleur never eats any deserts and I've b-been desperately wanting something for ages."

"You've come to the right place," Max tells her, excited beyond words that he can do this to comfort her. Already her entire demeanor has changed.

"I can make you all of that and so much more. It would be my absolute pleasure. Any dessert you can name, I can do. Come on, let's go to the kitchen."

Edited 2023-11-12 00:13 (UTC)

Her smile is warm and she gives Max's hand a squeeze. "You're such a good boy."

There's a moment of hesitation as she looks at the food left on her plate, but she takes a breath and stands up. It's fine. It's... it's fine. There's still lots of food left at the buffet and it must be near the refresh time. There's no waste in a closed system like this. Her plate will still be here if she comes back later. So it's fine. It's not a waste.

And before her brain can linger over it more, she's quick to lead Max away to the kitchen. "It's- it's so nice you all have a kitchen now. It's s-such a treat to be able to make things."

He can see her hesitating because of the plate. There's an easy solution to this. He picks it up when she stands and says, "We'll bring this to snack on while we wait for things to bake." That way she can keep her eyes on it and it won't get cleaned up accidentally.

"It's so nice," Max agrees. "It was the only thing I needed to make this place feel like a real home for me. Actually, do you mind if I ask how much you were able to watch through Siffleur's eyes? Did you see that time he was helping me in here by doing the dishes while I made breakfast?"

He brings the plate. He's such a good boy... Her hands tangle in her outer jacket, squeezing helplessly a few times before she nods. Even a kind excuse for such obvious bad behaviour. "Y-yes."

"O-oh, you can ask a-anything, it's- I just won't tell you if I c-can't but-" And she laughs softly. "B-but I don't- I don't need secrets here, do I? I-I saw that, I saw him w-washing dishes with you, a-and I've- I saw in the- the room full of heads, w-when he and Valdis calmed you, and when you took him t-to the spa. I s-see all of his memories."

Though she pauses, and makes a face like she's tasted something gross. "B-but not the sex. I always- al-always leave those memories."

"You don't need them, no, but that doesn't mean you can't have them." Well, until something happens on this crazy ship to make them public knowledge, which sucks. A lot. Like seeing that head on the wall she mentions.

"I'm glad you get to see him being happy here. I hope it helps you worry about him a little less. Doing his hair was really fun, I should do that with him again when he gets back." When is said very deliberately.

Despite himself, his cheeks do heat up a little. "Yeah...I mean, I wouldn't be mad if you saw them but I feel like that would be way, way awkward for a mom to see her son doing spicy stuff."

"Had them for t-too long..." She says softly, but moves past, moves quickly chasing after all of those lovely things Max is saying instead. "He l-liked your hands on his head. You were s-so nice to him..."

Poor boy goes red, and she bites her cheek, wishing sometimes she could hold back how she feels. "Very, so m-much but- but even if he wasn't- it's all... I hate it all. Sex is... repulsive. Too ph-physical. Too many fluids. Undignified. Just..." She makes the face again. Can't help it. "Never liked it, never never ever. T-thankfully he didn't- he didn't get that from me. He's normal."

Normal may be doing some heavy lifting here but normal compared to her is still normal.

"I like it too. He's always been good to me. He's protective but not in an overbearing way. I know he'll keep me safe if I need him to. He's always been willing to help me even though I know he prefers not to get involved in things." That's something he's always appreciated. Siffleur goes out of his way for him.

"Oh," Max's expression lights up with sudden understanding. "I'm not sure 'normal' is really being fair to you. My roommate, Security, feels the same way about sex that you do. There's nothing wrong with that, just, so you know. I don't think differently of you for it at all."

It's an instant nod from her, and a slight smile. "He's good at that. He... he wants to help. H-hates to know anything but... always wants to g-give comfort. Oh he- he hates that brand on the b-back of your neck so bad. Wants to rip it off of you constantly. But he did it once, and... that w-was enough. He k-knows you can't... you can't keep people. Not without ruining things. People need to be w-who they are, loved as they are, and... and you make space for them, but o-only an idiot pens in someone who needs space."

He's being kind, she knows it, but still - she snorts and raises her eyebrows at Max. "Y-your roommate is a cyborg. Or. M-more than that. Biomechnical in the t-truest sense. Normal for it t-to not have a sex drive. I'm human. W-was human. It wasn't n-normal. But don't- don't think this is me wishing for it. I was glad I d-didn't like it. Kept me focused. Kept me out of trouble. It's not normal but it's not wrong, not for me."

Her one hand rubs her other wrist as she thinks of some of the memories she wandered through, of Siffleur's past partners. "... there's - there's a joke I saw, through h-his eyes once. About wanting cake. Stupid thing... but they weren't wrong. I've always had a sweet tooth."

"I know," Max answers with a quiet nod. "Sometimes I think about letting him do it again but... it doesn't feel right to." Too many people would be upset about it. That's more of a deterrent than the pain. "I hope he knows how much he's helped me actually become my own person. He's done a lot."

Max is being kind, but he also believes what he's saying so his reply is just slightly pouty. "I mean, yeah, but..." But she doesn't need him to argue on her behalf, does she?

"Wanting cake? Not sure I know exactly what you're talking about but, speaking of. I do owe you all the sweets so let's get started on that."

She's clearly not much of a baker herself, but she can help with measurements and does - and in those moments, when she has that to focus on, her hands shake a little less and she seems less nervous in general.

But the best part is when all those delicious treats come from the oven - brownies, cream puffs, a pumpkin pie and the most dark decadent chocolate cake she can remember seeing in years. It's a feast for the eyes but even moreso for he mouth, and from the very first bite of gooey hot brownie, her eyes close and she lets out a quiet sound of satisfaction.

Now that's what she's been desperately missing in all of his memories.

He doesn't say anything, but he notices the grounding effect these small tasks have on her. Maybe he should offer to turn this into a routine for as long as she's here. Anything he can do to help soothe some of that anxiety would be worth it not just for her but for Valdis, too.

"Now that," Max says with laughter in his voice, "is the sound of baking done right. No higher praise in the world."

That gets a soft laugh from her too, hand over her mouth to keep from spitting anywhere. Her eyes sparkle, and there's mischief in them, close to the kind that Siffleur often has when he's gotten his way when he shouldn't have.

She swallows, and though she tries to resist so she can speak first, she can't help it - she goes for another bite, and another, devouring her slice completely. Only then is she sated enough that she can sit on the counter and actually speak instead of wanting to dig both hands into the pan and cram as much into her mouth as possible.

"You're a wonderful baker. Truly, truly wonderful. I'm- I'm going to b-be hanging out here every time I smell you making anything sweet." She will. It's a nice place. Feels safe. Helps that there's knives she can reach, if she has to.

"It's... it's funny. I always knew he didn't care for sweets but I didn't... I didn't really think about it. N-not until I was- I was searching his memories and could only find a-a handful of things to enjoy." Oh she's waited long enough. This time she goes for one of the cream puffs.

He loves that sparkle in her eyes, it really shows how much Siffleur is hers. It's a nice thing to have inherited. Better than what he got from his own mom... which wasn't much besides especially curly and coarse hair.

"That means you'll probably be in here daily because I can't stay out of the kitchen for long." Ever since this showed up, he's been in here nearly every day. Except for during some of the hardest times. "You'll be welcome. I do actually like having an audience. Makes me feel like I'm hosting my own baking show." If YouTube was a thing here, he'd already be a viral food vlogger.

"Yeah, sometimes I'm sad he doesn't like it more, too, because I'd love to bake for him. At least now we can make you lots of new memories of it. And, who knows, when he comes back I might just have to use this as leverage to get him to take a bite or two of cake for you."

"O-oh yes, you'd- you'd be a natural on those." It's easy to imagine him on the various cooking shows she's seen on TV over the years, usually on in the middle of the day. She liked those better than the soap operas, even if sometimes it made her cry with anger because it was a life she never had a chance at. Not that she would have been a good cook, but it would have been nice to have her own place, her own pots and pans, her own bad food, flubbed recipes-

But that was gone. There's lots she mourns still. Not this, especially not now while she's got a mouth full of whipping cream and light pastry. She chews slowly this time and enjoys every bite as she nods along. And it makes her laugh again, because oh yes, it will be very effective leverage. It makes her feel relieved knowing that Max is sure he'll be back. She's trying to feel the same way.

"Y-you should, you- you need to. He'll do it. He's a g-good boy, he'll do nearly anything for me. A-and you too. Just give him your puppy eyes."

"I'm very good at the puppy eyes," Max says with a mischievous twinkle in those big brown eyes of his right now.

"Tell you another secret? Most people probably assume I don't know when I'm doing it." He looks around like he's checking for anyone listening. "I do. I perfected it by doing it in a mirror a bunch." Along with all the other facial expressions he practiced or, in some cases, practiced not showing at all.

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I want God to come and take me home [OPEN]

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think we can handwave the baking part of this?

Absolutely!

thank you!

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