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come_sailaway2023-11-01 01:16 am
teethoftherisk) wrote in come_sailaway2023-11-01 01:16 am
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)
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)
no subject
It's still mildly said, and Fever walks closer to also look at the circle, but giving enough respectful distance that the woman would have every chance to scurry away if she wanted.
"Will you tell me a little about what kind of ritual you're after? I'm a sorcerer - I might be able to help you. Or at the least, I won't look at you strange if you explain it."
no subject
"W-we'll see. If you look at m-me strange, it just means y-you've got working eyes." She sets her hands on the rim of the circle, taking a slow breath to compose herself. Careful. Take it slowly.
"It's... a l-letter. A warning. To myself. The... the version of myself out there, b-beyond the barrier." She gestures vaguely to the boundaries of their world, the shell keeping them from escaping, or from anything coming inside that isn't brought here on purpose. Though, she got here, a little flotsam bobbing in Siffleur's mind. "S-saying that I'm- I'm really her too, and h-he's Siffleur and don't... don't kill us. Don't c-come here and kill us all."
A desperate plea to the vast creature she's become to turn a blind eye to the ship.
no subject
"I get it. The other me, if she finds out I exist, she'll be intent on killing me. Which isn't really ideal since I plan on killing her, if I get a chance, but..." She shrugs, and crouches by the circle, looking it over. "Is the magic just not taking to make it a proper message? Could be a matter of components."
Where is a wizard to bully into explanations when you need one.
no subject
As for the magic, she waves her hand a few times. "I-it's not a- not a component thing. The magic just c-can't work here. It- it needs a direct connection to m-my power source, the- the beings beyond space and time. Then it- it can be read and understood. But we're- we're cut off here."
She tucks a leg up against her chest, her left hand still on the rim of the circle. "B-but I don't- I don't know when the barrier will go down, but it w-will. A place like this? It won't stay s-shut. Nothing ever stays shut forever. And I... I n-need to have it ready, for when it opens. I need to make sure there's... there's no chance of a mistake."
Though... she looks to Fever. "W-will your other self sense us?"
no subject
"Strange idea, but humor me for a moment." Fever raises her head, looking over at the stranger - a warlock, she now thinks. "If the problem is the power source, then there might be something on this ship to substitute. Hells, we've got several gods wandering about, one of them might be willing to lend you a connection to make it work. All you'd need to do then would be to tap in to their borrowed power, and since they're here same as us, it wouldn't get cut off."
no subject
"I-it's a good idea, it's- it's a great idea. B-but, the problem isn't power. I mean. It is bu-but... the power comes on it's o-own. It'll f-find this anywhere. Even now it's- it's w-working but..." And she makes a shape with her hands, a dome to encompass the ship and everything. "T-the barrier's in the way. Even if we- we powered this, broadcasted it, it won't- it can't get through. That's... that's the secret of this place. How the Captain k-keeps out the kind of people who w-would barge in, either to take back s-stolen copies, or to just... eat us all. Take the Captain as a t-tasty little snack, a bit of fuel to fill them. They c-can't see in, and we- we can't see out. Clever stuff. I'd do it, if I w-were him."
no subject
Or why their jailer was content to trap himself in the place. But if there's already something trying to get in and kill all of them...that's actually a more familiar place to be, if she's honest. Yet, all the same, she'd like to live, along with everyone else on board.
"I'm Fever, by the way." She can't think about her as the stranger forever.
no subject
Fever - a good name, solid, strange and apt. She nods and gestures to herself. "I'm... I-I've had a few of t-the others call me 'Devon'. I don't have a name a-anymore. H-had to be rid of it. T-too much power in a n-name to w-waste on wearing it. Too easy t-to control someone if y-you know it. So I b-burn it up, tore it apart and n-now I'm nameless. Safer that way o-out there. But. Inconvenient i-in here."
no subject
Look, Devon told her about her other self being intent on killing, she more than earned that particular fact from Fever. It's no great secret, anyway, it's just her current state of being, slowly filling up that hole in her head with new experiences, day by day.
no subject
No memory though. That's a difficult one. "I'm s-sorry about y-your memory, that's a- a huge vulnerability t-to have. It's- b-bad enough to be known by others. S-so m-much worse to have t-them know you, wh-while you still d-don't know yourself. Is it p-permanent?"
no subject
The problem being that every piece that returns makes her all the more certain that she was the exact sort of person whose head you want to empty out.