come_sailaway | every action has an equal opposite reaction [OTA]

Who: Cassandra de Rolo and all comers
When: January post-launch
Where: Pick a location
What: Reactions in the aftermath of the launch and subsequent announcement
Warnings: Game-typical angst

1. fractured into factions (immediately post-announcement)

After Tayrey's announcement fades and Darcy withdraws, Cassandra's left on the Promenade. Things are still burning, chaos is still running rampant; not everyone has stopped when the reason for the diversion ended.

She sighs, and starts moving down the deck to see what actively ongoing destruction she has any chance of stopping. If she sees anything still on fire, she'll do her best to put it out.

2. we're breaking down like fractions (over the next handful of days)

It's some time yet until the first of the month, when damage to the ship gets repaired. Rumor travels fast on this ship, and Cassandra is aware that there may have been some lasting effect on Friday; it's possible the damage won't be repaired even then.

Under the circumstances she doesn't feel right trying to recruit people to help, as she did when her house in the Village was vandalized. Instead she'll do what she can on her own: find her on the Promenade, in the bars, on the sports deck, in any of the public areas of the ship where damage has been done, dressed down in jeans and a plain t-shirt and with her hair braided back out of the way, working on cleaning up the mess.

3. I get no satisfaction (through to the end of the month)

Helena had said something, in the aftermath of the Village, that struck her: crisis may be the only thing we all know to unify on. Either that was wrong, or this isn't yet the right kind of crisis. The population of the ship feels more splintered than ever.

So she'll be looking, in communal spaces like the buffet or the bars, for anyone she hasn't talked to in a little while -- especially anyone whose alliance she's uncertain of. And, perhaps, one or two of the people she knows are in opposition but might be good to talk to anyway. For various reasons.

4. Wildcard!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Optimism isn't one of my most notable traits either. I have strong reasons to be ... wary of despair, though."

She examines the tin, nods, pockets it.

"And if possible I want to know the difference between a risk and a certainty. Even if it's too late to do anything about it."

Well.

The Captain said 'over in minutes' at first.

But it has been considerably longer than minutes.

They turn the idea of mentioning his hope to be scrapped for parts rather than anything else over in their head, but they haven't spilled any of his secrets to the enemy yet and they're not planning on starting now.

So.

"This isn't despair," and they should know, in fact this is accompanied by another rattle as Darcy reemerges with another pill bottle in hand.

"And you're right. It's too late to do anything about it. Things will shake out how they will. Let's hope whatever shows up is something we have half a chance of killing and leave it at that."

"I'm still going to hope that whatever shows up is someone who might give us a way to escape." Faintly dry, again. "As being eaten or being destroyed, depending on how one looks at it, are by all accounts what we have to look forward to if we stay here and nothing changes."

'We don't get to know if he ever would now' comes to mind, but those aren't Darcy's words. They're Skully's. Always has been. They've been impatient as anyone else about the Captain's improvements, and usually to his face. So instead, they say-

"And I'll keep getting to enjoy being right about everything forever."

The bottle in hand reads 'zoloft', which might be the name of a wizard as many meds of that nature so often resemble.

"The 'I told you so' I unleash before we die will reach the throne of God."

"It would be nice if something would."

Even as she bites off the words sharply, she finds herself standing back and observing, noting with disapproval how quickly she's dropped from a sense of guilt and obligation to this harsh sniping. If Darcy still seemed to have any of that terror left, maybe it would be different, but --

Her glance goes to the bottle in Darcy's hand, and flicks away again.

Then she sees, briefly, Darcy's hand tighten around it.

"Nothing is coming to save us."

That isn't a snipe, or even as dry or as they have been up until now. No showing of terror, not in front of her, not now, but.

They flip open the notebook and turn the bottle to read something closely, comparing it to something written in the notebook.

"Even if something that doesn't immediately eat us shows up. There is never rescue. The cavalry never comes. God helps those who help themselves."

"If that never were true I'd be dead. Several times over."

She folds her hands at her waist, trying hard to keep them steady.

"I know about the times when rescue doesn't come. And I know about the times when it does. You may be right that this won't be one of them, but if you are it'll be by chance."

Just raises their eyebrows directly at her.

"And I'm dead several times over because it is."

Seemingly satisfied with whatever they've retrieved, they stash the notebook and the pill bottle in the pocket of their jacket. At least they were right about it turning into a fight. Whatever honesty seeped through dries back up, again, as they heave theirself to their feet.

"Do me a favour and fuck off with that fake 'listening to both sides' shit. You don't care, and none of you care, or have ever cared, what any of us actually think. Do literally whatever you want, think whoever you want is coming, I absolve you of having to act like you give a shit because we both care about Phil or whatever this was."

The frustration that swells in her is like Percy's black powder touched to a spark: burning too hot and expanding too quickly to be contained, forced outward in the only direction possible.

"None of this has anything to do with sides. There's no 'any of us' or 'any of you' here. Yes, I care about Phil Connors, and he loves you as his own, and that above many other reasons is why I do not have the choice to not give a shit."

(The vulgar phrase is pronounced with precision, enunciated with perfect edges and corners, enough to make an elocutionist weep.)

"You didn't put this on me and you can't absolve me of it."

"So you launched a probe to get us all eaten behind our backs because there aren't sides. Okay, cool," if that's how Cass wants to see it then sure. Not like Darcy wants to argue the point. They're done.

"That's something you can choose to believe. You might not 'have the choice' to not give a shit, but I do and I choose not to. So."

And they're moving to leave.

"We were already being eaten."

Her voice cracks like ice underfoot, with endless cold water below.

"You can choose to believe otherwise if you like, you can choose not to care, but you knew that once and I don't think you've forgotten."

The first impulse Darcy has very nearly disgusts them the moment they recognize it. It'd be so easy to play into the worst of what she expects. That no, they were getting eaten. That's a problem for other people. That Darcy is still sitting fine in the pecking order.

They don't even have to get to the end of 'we are what others perceive us to be' in their head before they feel sick from it.

But, by the same measure, they are... so tired.

"Okay. You're still not getting me to join you. I know where my loyalties are."

And continues to leave.

Just as well, notes the limited-omniscient narration, that Darcy didn't go with that impulse. Cassandra's likeliest response would have only irritated Darcy by echoing their own words back at them: This isn't like you.

As it is, there's nothing she can say to that. First, because getting Darcy to join anyone was no part of her intention here; second, because ... well, because there's nothing to be said once loyalties are invoked. Especially since it seems that maybe that's all there is to Darcy's position in the first place.

She stands where she is, and watches Darcy leave.

Darcy would argue it if Cass had implied so. That the plan to help the Captain was Darcy's first, before they knew anything more than that nobody else had ever tried.

But however good or bad that initial plan was, it's now calcified in place. Gnarled and grown over with obligation, duty, zealotry. Any room for doubt shrunk with every push-back, every threat, every move against them. Now it's too late. Whatever paths they had out of this have all closed off. Only one way out now. Victory, or death.

And with any luck, either way, Darcy won't have anything to do with her- or any of them- again.

every action has an equal opposite reaction [OTA]

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