come_sailaway | It’s The End of the World as We Know It

[shrugs] Chinese mythology. The moon god of matchmaking ties fated lovers together by their ankles. It can stretch, and it can tangle, but not even death can break it.

Strange.

[Though not new information.]

The given instructions were to put the string around your wrist. Do you have a lover outside of Mr. Pleasant who is seeking you perhaps?

... [crosses arms.]

I do hope you're aware that you aren't actually a passenger aboard this ship. My mercy for stowaways can only extend so far.

You may have tossed in the coins, Captain, but the Erda decided who you got and that includes me.

[Come Sail Away the gacha game!]

Besides, you would have fled this place with your Skeleton lover and left the rest of us behind if you could, so quit acting like you care, it's sickening.

What do I care for but my own life, Tiamat? I could part you from her and toss you into oblivion to rot as soon as look at you.

[cocks head]

So perhaps you should remember who you're dealing with before you run your mouth again.

[Surprising, why separate them? Seems out of step with what she would consider him to be. Nonetheless...]

Shall we test that theory?

[Thanks to the sunrise, there are plenty of shadows and each and every one of them comes to life. There's no threat, just action, as all the sharp edges shoot towards the Captain, ready to slice and tear.

At the same time, death spreads across the entire ship, trying to dig into sleeping souls. If the Captain really does care, perhaps he will try to defend them instead of himself.

The last thing to happen is that a sliver of light will fall across Clarke as Tiamat opens the place between shadows to allow her to exit that realm of darkness.]

[the Captain punches her in the face.]

( it's been nothing but darkness on darkness for what feels like days in this void, despite the very countable nature of the minutes. at some point clarke lost track and was left with nothing but her own heartbeat rushing her ears and the wavering sense of conviction that always sets in when one is locked in a place they can't escape. but no matter which way she twists herself about in this — it was a mistake to trust tiamat, we should have gone about this a different way, what if everyone else was right? — all paths lead back to the anger that'd set her on this venture to begin with.

and so she's sat and she's twisted her fingers around the string so many times that any normal fiber would have begun to fray. she has sat and she has waited for the right moment, not allowing herself to doubt ever seeing the light again because if tiamat truly wanted to see this through she'd need her. she sits and twists and mulls and waits and —

suddenly it is all rewarded by the rising sun slicing through darkness. just like that she's back on the ship, crouched on the deck, half blinded but blinking through it to bear witness to the captain absolutely clocking tiamat in valdis' face. no time to waste, then, even as the seconds themselves seem to slow. it's happening now or never, and every ounce of nervous energy cements in her legs as clarke shoots up.

the string had been tied in a loose knot around her neck and tucked under her shirt. it comes undone with an easy yank, held tight in both hands like a garotte, and she lunges for the captain — arms raised, aiming to loop it over his head and bring it tight across his throat. )

Edited 2024-02-08 04:17 (UTC)

[eavesdropping on the conversation has Skulduggery's nerves strung out like over-tightened violin strings. Clarke's sudden appearance is the turn that snaps them; while he might not have seen her coming, her involvement is expected. he throws himself into action all at once, dropping his cloaking sphere as he reaches for his revolver, lunging for Clarke with his free hand outstretched. there's too much distance, they're coming from different sides, the thread is already over the Captain's head like a noose, a garrote, he won't reach her in time!

no time for apologies or goodbyes as he levels his revolver at the Captain. not even enough time to see how all of his relationships end up here. he thumbs back the hammer, finger tight on the trigger, and --]

Edited 2024-02-08 04:47 (UTC)

[for one single, imperceptible moment, existence blinks.]

[the string is barely around his throat for a second before it melts into silver, wrapping tight to skin already going black, and the glamour allows him a last expression of pure, unadulterated terror before it falls completely, and there is nothing but a creature of smokeless fire, a silver cuff on one wrist and a silver collar around his neck.

the bullet passes through, utterly harmless.

and he falls to his knees, head bowed, hands folded. completely still.

in the distance, just over the horizon, a black freighter.]

[Tiamat recoils in shock, clutching her face as the impact breaks her nose. Damned jinn]

How dare you.

[It's too late though, Clarke is seconds from ending all of this and her nose is already healed. Neither of those things soothe her rage. So all the shadows turn on the stupid skeleton that just appeared, aiming to knock that revolver out of his hand.

It's too late though. Clarke is faster and they have succeeded. The shadows are dismissed.]

What was that about sending me to Oblivion?

Edited 2024-02-08 04:59 (UTC)

[reality shifts, and Skulduggery is rocked to his very core. he fires off two more shots at the Captain's head before he realizes they're passing through, and he can't afford to waste any more bullets.

just like the shackle, there's no removing the collar. he knows that without even touching the Captain. he nearly falls to his knees at his side, but manages to keep his wobbling legs underneath him. he needs to be standing when he faces whoever owns the freighter.

he can't bear the glint of light against the silver. he can't look at it, at the Captain, at his own failure slumped like a lifeless plaything on the deck. but all that's left to look at is the monster wearing an ally's face, or the one showing her true colors at last.

his vision tunnels as he pivots on his heels to face Clarke, snarling in a voice that promises worse things than oblivion:]

What have you DONE?

[he leaps at her, one hand reaching for her throat as the other balls into a fist and swings for Clarke's nose.]

( clarke is so completely and totally zeroed in on the task at hand. she doesn't even see skulduggery materialize out of nothing, nor the glint of gunmetal in his hand. the sound of that first shot is muted behind the blood rushing through her ears, and when no flicker of pain sprouts anywhere on her body, it's completely disregarded. all that matters in her narrowed viewpoint of the world is getting that string up before the captain can disappear or retaliate. and it looks like she'll do it, it really looks like she'll manage. and then — she does.

and then — reality blinks. it feels like the deck floor has just dropped down a foot or so, that sick swooping sensation lurching through her entire body and leaving guts and lungs and heart struggling to catch back up to the places they should be occupying within her skin. it's a little nauseating, but any discomfort is pushed to the wayside seeing as she just focuses on keeping the string taught. there's a heartbeat worth of worry that she'll somehow have to tie the ends together to secure whatever magic the anonymous sender had imbued the tiny sliver of fibers with, but that vanishes the second it starts to melt and twist in her hands. almost immediately too hot to the touch, she drops the ends and stumbles back to watch the captain revert back to smoke. to watch him crumple to the deck and go still.

she's breathing heavy, despite none of this taking a vast amount of physical effort. it'd been one mad dash across a few feet, not some drawn out fight. but a stabbing sort of victory has begun to prick between her ribs. and when something vast and dark on the horizon catches her eye, all she can do is stare and feel the way her heart hammers against her ribs. it's over. it's done. i did it. they could all be saved... something hot and wet pricks behind her eyes as she gazes at the freighter. tiamat is forgotten. the captain is considered indispose. and skulduggery —

oh, yeah, no. she shouldn't have ignored skulduggery.

because he's screaming to break her out of that full body trance one second, and the next clarke can barely turn and take half a step back before bare bones wrap around her throat and naked knuckles collide squarely with her nose. the pain is more than enough to remind her that this? this is still their reality on the serena eterna. the fight isn't over, and she's sure to have made a lot more enemies than she'd started out with. at least it's one of the original ones who sends spurts of black blood across her cheeks, down her throat, along his own hand.

who sends her stumbling, trying to escape the grasp — unable to answer for this crime even if she wanted to, unable to draw breath — but ultimately succumbing to gravity. whether he pushed her or she just fell doesn't matter, the smack of the floor alongside the back of her head stuns completely for a few seconds. )

[he crashes down on top of her, punching her in the face again and again. his rage washes over him in a cold, crushing current as he digs distal phalanges into the flesh of Clarke's neck. he imagines his fist grinding through her skull, setting fire to her and watching her burn, reaching out for the shadows Tiamat had played with and wrap them around her like barbed wire until she bursts. a thousand tortures rise up in his mind between the second punch and the third, inspiration dug up from the past he'd buried.

cold, calculating static fills his nonexistent ears. his hand tightens around Clarke's neck, then eases ever so gently, hand heavy over her throat. not enough to choke the life out of her -- only enough to make it hard to swallow. for a split second, the dawn doesn't quite catch on his skeletal face, as though the shadows have spilled from his eye sockets. a trick of the light taking the shape of a faceplate.

and then he rises to his feet. the pressure around Clarke's neck, however, doesn't let up. and for as long as Skulduggery knows where she is, he will ensure the air around her throat remains as tight and restrictive as the silver band around the Captain's neck.]

[Well, this is all rather interesting. Her alliance with Clarke ended the moment the Captain was rendered useless, so she’s under no contract to rescue the girl. The death and rage rising from the lovesick skeleton is quite fascinating though.

Tiamat stands back and watches the former human give into his anger, feeling nothing for the silly girl trapped beneath him.

Maybe he’ll kill her and they’ll all find out together if resurrection works the same way or if the Captain’s power is completely sealed. Either way her job is mostly done in this moment, it’s just nice to feed off the anger and anguish of the two foolish beings still under their own will.

Hopefully there will be more opportunities in the near future.]

( she's been here before.

flat on her back under a flurry of blows, feet scrabbling for vantage in an attempt to throw off the force above her. that first time it'd been hard to breathe because she'd been quietly aspirating on her own broken teeth and blood, not because of tight sharp bones digging around her trachea. and that first time she'd still tried to beg for mercy, staring up at shadows and a helm and empty eye hidden beneath it. at least this time she understands why her nose is cracking under fist, and who she's fighting. and survival instinct kicks in after the third blow to the face; unable to focus her eyes completely but able to grapple with the wrist bones at her neck and try to wrench them free.

it'd feel painfully poetic to die like this again. something about fulfilling that painfully obvious martyr complex skulduggery had accused her of more than once. in the split second between having the air crushed out of her and pressure releasing to the point of a heavy noose, clarke isn't sure which she'd prefer. but stubborn pride wins out the second she sucks in a hard, hissing breath and finally manages to spit some of the blood out of her mouth. or maybe the choice was made for her, as skulduggery stands. it takes an additional moment of half-coughing and reaching up to cradle her broken nose to realize the pressure around her throat isn't relenting completely; not like it would if the skin was just swelling in the after affects of strangulation. this is too present and too pressing; makes swallowing a mouthful of blood uncomfortable. and when she reaches to claw at her throat, her fingers pass through nothing.

but skulduggery pleasant had never gotten to know her well enough to know she'd survived on partial oxygen rations for more than a year. this is manageable.

clarke wobbles to her feet, dizzy and the lower part of her face blackened like war paint. he'd asked her a question, hadn't he?

what have you done?

what i had to. like always. )

At least I did something.

( a few of her teeth feel wriggly when she runs her tongue over them. one hand opens, then flexes fingers into a tight fist. the other starts patting at the pockets in her pants for her phone. no offense to tiamat, their captive audience, but she's momentarily forgotten when clarke is torn between facing off with her long time political opponent and trying to get ahold of her friends. )

Unlike you. I gave you time, Skulduggery. To find us a way out of this. And you failed.

[the noise Skulduggery makes is a guttural, bitter rendition of a laugh. how can he not, when she's pretending she gave him anything? she's been nothing but a short-sighted child about this, the same as the arrogant child she'd replaced. the only hope he had was that she wouldn't be willing to enslave a living being -- but that had been too much credit to give her.

he laughs in her face and then chooses for the first time, or maybe the last, to speak to her.]

Good. Now everyone will know who to blame for the deaths that follow.

[he turns his back on her, finally collapsing in front of the Captain, reaching for the collar.]

I will fix this. I swear, darling, I'll fix everything.

( it's best he beats her to that poor, guttural mockery of unkind laughter. to her ears, it feels appropriate from skulduggery, whereas it'd feel absolutely ugly emulating from the choked backing of her own throat. but in the end, that's where they are. two people who've abandoned any high hopes of the other, laying bare their priorities. in this moment skulduggery pleasant is the ugliest thing she's ever seen, and clarke griffin probably resembles something of a monster in his eyes.

she's braced for another attack, hence the hand curled into a fist. but the only assault comes in the form of words, placing any future blame on her shoulders. which, same as restricted breathing, is nothing new. it smacks, but no harder than that broken nose throbs. then he turns his back and she could take the opportunity to rip out a few more rib bones, or go for his whole skull (wouldn't be the first time she'd tucked it under an arm and tried to run) just for the inconvenience of his charade of helpfulness going on too long. but...

rage flares. then the moment passes. skulduggery falls into the trap of weakness that is love, and clarke moves toward action. what comes next?

with one hand, she finds her phone and types out a short and concise message to ones natsuno yuuki and rita mordio: ) It's done. Brace yourselves.

( more to come in the next few minutes, but for now she's sniffling blood and snot back with a pained wince, and turning towards tiamat. it doesn't feel like there's much to say, but she nods at the woman, and unspoken it's done and thank you all in one. )

Edited 2024-02-08 09:59 (UTC)

[She continues to watch, unfazed by the injuries being inflicted on her former ally. The skeleton taking his rage out on the human speaks to their history, pity he didn't kill her though. Murder would have caused more fighting between the passengers.

The sight of the Captain on his knees and Skulduggery's anguish is just as lovely as the brief fight though. Hopefully that will breed the necessary hatred between the already fractured parties. It may be wise to pretend her alliance with Clarke remains intact however, so she nods in return.

Looking out over the water, she notices the freighter]

Looks like we have company.

[ Speaking of company.

There's a wet thumping a small distance away. That grows louder, and louder. Thump like a body thrown against a sea wall, the creak of ancient driftwood, and then a sharp smell like something dredged up from the deep and left to rot.

The figure slamming up the stairs does not immediately read as Darcy. Or as a person at all, really. The sight of the collar coaxes a throat-shredding scream, more chimpanzee or wolf howl than human.

If this is what it has come to, then there is no point in pretence anymore. Darcy lunges for Clarke like a wave trying to drag her under. ]

( they sure do have company, impending and dark and vast across the water. mission accomplished, violence doled out, last words said and a solemn nod between herself and tiamat — clarke turns once more to squints against the rising sun and stare hard; like maybe even from this distance she'd manage to get a look at whoever is driving it. this is what she'd aimed for, but not exactly how she'd imagined. a bit of home world nostalgia had leaked in along the way, and clarke had half expected a spaceship to descend from the heavens, but this works. a long while ago, a hard lesson was learned about trying to jump from ship to ship, and she's already parsing out where is probably best to go in order to intercept a skiff.

the mission is done. tiamat seems pleased, skulduggery seems broken, and if there was anything he could have possibly done to reverse the strings manacled effects, he would have done so already. natsuno and rita aren't texting back, but they're probably waiting. everyone's probably waiting. clarke turns to leave and then —

one thought rules her brain in the split second between the stair door busting open and the green figure bares down on her — i don't have the fucking time for this — and the beginnings of a snarl shows cases white teeth peeking out from the curtain of blood currently draped over her mouth and chin. clarke makes for the steak knife currently nestled in the laces of her left boot, but darcy's on top of her faster than she can yank it free.

down they go, another sick thump of bodies colliding to the floor at full speed. clarke manages to avoid bouncing her head off the ground this time around, sets immediately to trying to roll them so at least she doesn't end up on her back (that's too open, that's too vulnerable, that's death and the moment has long passed where it would have felt acceptable to die today) but. that weighted collar of air still presses uncomfortably around her throat, it's hard to breathe in the middle of fighting for her life. )

"BONEPICKER," Darcy snarls in condemnation, fangs bared like some vibrantly venomous serpent, "PARASITE," the scent of salt water and death is putrid this close, a proximity they haven't had together in a long while, "SALOPE."

Darcy's first hits do truly resemble an animal attack more than anything else, scrabbling to dig blunt and jagged nails into any accessible span of skin, snapping fangs in her face as close as can be reached.

"YOU'D BETTER FUCKING HOPE THAT SHIP KILLS ME BEFORE I GET AT YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING CRONIES."

( one doesn't usually get what they want in life, at least not when it truly matters. so when clarke eventually does end up on her back with darcy wailing fury and fists and ferocious insults that would kill all by themselves had words the power, it isn't unexpected. she's better braced for this than skulduggery tackling her sideways earlier, and gets both arms up in front of her face in a vain attempt to avoid taking any more blows to her breaking, aching nose. but darcy gets hits in pretty much everywhere else.

the savage, animalistic quality of this attack makes the punches hit harder, the air around them absolutely reek in a way that reminds clarke of her first death. it makes these straits dire, it makes darcy actually scary. but it also lets lips loosen, and threats spill forth that any measure of composure would have warned against.

because darcy threatens her friends. and something inside clarke snaps.

both her feet find purchase on the deck floor. right in the moment between one blow connecting with her arms and the next being drawn back, clarke drives her hips up in an effort to unseat darcy, then drops her right leg and launches her hip into the side of darcy's thigh in an attempt to flip them. laying in wait to wrap the string around the neck had seen clarke panicked but practical; comforted by what she was about to do and feeling very little attachment. but this? crossed the line into personal.

and when she's grappled enough to at least get darcy on their side, clarke gets one knee braced beneath her and a hand again flies to the front of her boot. yanks free that steak knife from stellar, serrated edges gnawing at the shoelaces, raises it in a and )

It won't be that fucking ship —

( drives down right towards darcy's left eye. )

[ Yeah, that hit something vulnerable. Of course it did- all of them are animals with attachments like animals, you threaten a tiger's cubs and it will bite. Darcy was expecting some sort of response, some sort of flipping of her shit, had further screws to twist into her, but this-

It's happening too quickly, the arm Darcy braces only glances the knife blow, it doesn't quite strike home but it may as well have hit the neighbours, striking true enough into eye socket that for a moment Darcy can't fucking see, and another death rattle looses from this green knight.

There are no more threats, or even conscious plans past this next moment. Scrabbling, hair gets grabbed and attempted to be yanked from Clarke's scalp, fangs sinking into anything that can be brought close enough. If Clarke had any sense for magic, she would feel a dull aching throb radiating from Darcy. In panic, the Sin-Eater is trying to devour. Obviously it won't work on someone still living, but it is a line that Darcy has not crossed since arriving. ]

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cw eye trauma