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

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

Who: Tiamat(Valdis), Clarke, The Captain and Skulduggery
What: The Beginning of the End Part 2
When: February
Where: The Bridge at Dawn
Warnings: Potential violence

After all that, waiting until dawn seems like little consequence. But wait she does, though she can’t help but send a little taunt to a particular party before making her way up to the bridge. The sun rises just over the edge of the water, the stars beginning to fade from view. She can sense Clarke not far behind, and the Skeleton must be here somewhere, though maybe they will get lucky and he’s elsewhere. Tiamat leans against the railing to look out over the realm a scared little child created, musing over the various outcomes of what is about to happen. Even if the Captain knows who she is, he’d entertained her before, there’s no reason to suspect he won’t now.

“Oh, Captain,” she says, still watching the sun come up. “Care to watch the sunrise with me?”

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[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. ]

[Oh, this is a fantastic show. Hopefully one of them will die, she'd bet on Clarke since this furious undead monstrosity that seems to hold Darcy's soul has less sense of self in this particular moment.

Then there's that little prick of something similar to the Void. That hungry, ravaging, feral force that comes with trying to take a soul.

Interesting.

Everything seems to be going according to someone's plan at least. Hopefully whoever is on that new ship is prepared for these chaotic munchkins.]

( the tip of her blade finds resistance, then purchase. something grates beneath the teeth of the bone, and through vision already swimming in red clarke can still make out the sight of blood.

rips back the blade, fully intent on driving it down in the same spot again — this time with all her weight behind it to really drive that strike home — before darcy manages to tangle fingers in her hair and wrench her head back. drags her throat down towards snarling teeth with such speed and ferocity that the only option really at hand is to...

shove her right wrist between darcy's teeth. feel sharp points ripping through the layers of jacket, shirt sleeve, skin, subdermal black-inked tattoos and blood — instead of her trachea.

that's the moment clarke well and truly screams, more in frustration and anger than pain. )

[an entire universe could be fueled by the grief Skulduggery feels, clawing uselessly against the Captain's collared neck. it's a despair that molds his rage into an oppressive shroud, turns his thoughts only to the death that surely has to come next, because he can't possibly live with his failures. he failed the Captain, Fio, Darcy -- he's to blame for all of this and more. Friday had been right. reality is worse because of him.

he feels Darcy without realizing they've arrived, dead things calling to one another in their rage. it's a strangely familiar sensation, as if from a cold, dark dream. the death magic calls to him the way it always has, offering cold, comforting certainty that all things come to an end. he could ensure the end of the entire realm if he just let himself.

Clarke's scream is what stops him, piercing through the haze. it isn't necessarily enough to save Skulduggery, but it does save the ship the pain of dealing with an enemy on two fronts.]

I'll be back, darling.

[he doesn't even know if the Captain can hear him, but he won't let him think he's been abandoned. he shambles to his feet like the undead creature he is, then reaches out for the air between Darcy and Clarke's scrabbling forms.]

Not yet. [he pushes at the air, expanding a ball of force between them to try and force Darcy off.] Don't waste good energy on garbage.

[ This would be the part where Darcy snaps something, something like 'there can be no peace while she's still alive' or 'why don't we shove a rosary down Natsuno's throat and see what he does' or. Anything really. Any semblance of who Darcy is, in any array, good or bad. Their viciousness, their decisiveness, their cruelty. But it isn't even conscious thought that locks jaw and scrapes fangs through Clarke's arm. No strategy or tactic involved, just a death drive that mirrors Skulduggery's. If this cannot be won, then let it end, let them hash it out here instead of in politics, let might make right as it always does. The jaws of the shark dictates the final word.

A mix of bloods smears against the algae green of the hood as Darcy is forced away, a knife prying an oyster shell open. Still, though, Darcy scrambles for purchase around the sphere, the fight not over until one or both of them are dead. ]

Edited 2024-02-09 07:25 (UTC)

( skulduggery is so far outside the field of red currently clouding clarke's vision that the sudden gust of air rapidly expanding between the two of them comes as quite a surprise. one second she's got her arm locked within darcy's jaw, and the next those monstrous teeth rip free as they're separated; one second she's screaming and scrabbling to get a solid grip on the knife in order to go after darcy's face again, and the next that invisible yoke of air around her throat goes taut, cutting off all sound. like two hounds being pulled apart by their bite collars, neither seem particularly willing to disengage.

the skeleton says something. her combatant claws at the ball of air between them, gnashing at the bit to cover the temporary ground between them and start all over again. and clarke braces for another seemingly inevitable round of being pummeled and punctured, because darcy'd brought her friends into it so no, they're right, this doesn't end until one of them's dead. dead or...

the ball skulduggery had dropped earlier when he'd manifested from seemingly nothing is only a foot or two from clarke's head when she comes to a rest after being simultaneously yanked and pushed. it's right there, something of a mystery but today seems to be the day to take chances. and the repeat thought reverberates in her head once again — i don't have time for this. with a graceless lurch and pained grunt, she gets the blood smeared hand attatched to her mangled wrist cupped over the top of the cloaking sphere and promptly vanishes.

—

a few seconds later, the sound of imperfectly masked footsteps can probably be heard. there's a drop of black blood to be found here and there. clarke absolutely pauses to watch ava bear down on tiamat and briefly wonders if she should help. but... ultimately there's nothing she can do against ava, and tiamat hadn't lifted a finger for her sake so — onward and downward.

the door to the staircase flies open again, and slowly swings itself closed in her wake. )

[he'd forgotten about the cloaking sphere until the moment Clarke scrambles for it like a rat running for a crack in the wall. the theft sparks outrage for only a second before it's washed away. let her flee from the consequences while she can; she'll trip up eventually, and then they'll have her.

and so, instead of going after the invisible snake, Skulduggery focuses his attention on the rabid dog going after it. he knows Darcy well, knows tey can be shaken out of the bloodlust long enough to refocus their attention; all they need is a moment of rational thought.]

Darcy. Not her.

[his hands extend, fingers grabbing hold of the back of Darcy's neck before he can consider whether or not she'll even give chase.]

[ The cloak squishes a little as he hoists Darcy, who reacts to being scruffed like a cat with all of the dignity and grace that is already being demonstrated. The hood is dislodged with all the writhing, and like blinkers off a horse, Darcy is forcibly made aware of the rest of the situation. The freighter, Tiamat, anyone else beginning to gather. Darcy has blood and Clarke giblets stuck to their face, and the eye Clarke struck at foams with pink frothy tears. ]

Let me go after her, [ they rasp, ] he should've killed all of us while he could've, I have- have to clean it up, again, let me go.

[Skulduggery stands still in the face of all their writhing, holding tight despite it all. his voice is grim and flat when he speaks.]

We'll deal with her later. She can't run forever. We have bigger problems at hand.

[he jerks his hand on her, trying to angle her gaze toward the freighter.]

They're the ones we want.

I don't care, [ they hiss, turning their attention back to Clarke's cool blood spattered on the ground, ] there's not going to be a fucking later, let me go make them fucking pay while there's still time-

Not. Yet. [his words hiss out from between his teeth. for once, the words he needs are out of reach, and he struggles to speak at all.] She'll stay invisible until she can find her friends. You'll be outnumbered, and we'll need you when that ship boards us.

[the chilly pragmatism is oddly tinged with concern for her wellbeing, peeking through the cracks in the ice. he offers an additional promise, one he'll gladly keep:]

There will be a later, one without Friday's resurrections. And when that time comes, I promise I will not stop you from tearing out her throat. [but this may become a battlefield, and he knows where their talents lie.]

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cw eye trauma

{Essentially not here}

do i need to cw for biting?

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