come_sailaway | and i will find the enemy within

Entry tags:

and i will find the enemy within

Who: Dean and You!
What: All of the above
When: late march, early april.
Where: all over.
Warnings: will be noted in the warnings ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

adult pool;

[ sometimes, you need to breathe. Even when the sea swells and rolls and dips underfoot as far as the eye can see, no land in sight, boat swaying under boots -- sometimes you just need to breathe.

And sometimes you need to do it with a drink in your hand and your feet propped up - that's what's Dean is doing. Being on another metal tube that may sink at any given moment has triggered anxiety he didn't even know he had, and, well - drinking is always a good excuse for therapy.

He can't find any rhyme or reason to what is happening in this place anyway, and after the his first soup drenching, he's not bothered to put on clothes he likes when heading out to partake. Instead, he's shied away from the buffet tables a little and is instead lounging by the pool in his newest (and lets be real, his new favorite) pair of boardshorts and a wide brimmed hat, eyes protected by a comically large pair of sunglasses, which is all that was available in the shop.

God, he looks like such a douchebag, he knows. He also doesn't care.

Cash him outside, bitches. ]

cabins;

[ Should you actually know what Dean's cabin is (and even if you don't, knock knock bitches), then he could be found there, maybe, provided his weirdo roommate isn't lurking around. Crowley's fine, it's fine, Dean doesn't get the vibe the guys gonna take his shit, but still. Weird.

He's only ever roomed in close proximity like this with his brother and his father, and sharing a cramped space with a stranger is weird. So if they're both avoiding each other, that's fine. It's totally fine.

Not awkward at all.

At any rate - he can easily be sought out there if you happen to notice the shifting patterns, or a note can be left. Whatever you fancy. If he knows you, there might be a note slipped under your door or a message sent via shiptalk; ]

hey. drinks?

wildcard;

(( ooc; make up your own! dm me at pincurls or on this account. ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

doesn't matter to me. got a preference?

Hurikane.

( she wants those damn olives outta the garnish dish, okay )

[ ...kids are weird. ]

cool, see you in ten?

Sure, see you there.

( and she'll be there with bells on!

just kidding, even a boldfaced act of rebellion against the ships rules isn't enough to put a smile on clarke griffin's face. but after a near solid month of waiting for something horrible around any and every corner, she's ready to allow herself a minute to breathe. not relax, but not spend every ounce of energy on high alert. at this point, if death comes for her while she's drinking, death can have her.

not like it's permanent anyway.

she's allowed in the bar unaccompanied, but gets there first and still waits just outside the entrance. back to the wall, butt on the floor, knees propped up to support her arm and fiddling with a small metal figurine of a two headed deer. )

[ He'll be there a few minutes later, clad in denim and plaid, relieved he located the laundry room and was able to get the blood off the few clothes of his own he came in with. ]

Hey. You alright?

I'm fine.

( chipper enough of a response, and any notable deceit is not further expanded upon. yes, that is absolutely a lie, but that tiny figurine is getting pocketed as soon as clarke stands up and won't be addressed again if she could help it. nothing like a reminder of tragedies past at home to deepen the sense of dread running parallel to her major arteries. it's fine. everything's fine. )

You ready? I'm ready.

...Uh huh.

[ She doesn't have to elaborate, because he sure as shit never does. He can tell she's not 'fine', but he lets it go. ]

Yup. Lets go see if we can net me another misdemeanor.

I'll break you out of the brig, if it escalates that way.

( how would she do it? clarke doesn't heckin' know, nor offer any ridiculous explanation in place of actual facts. everything on this ship is too magical, she's so painfully human and learning as she goes. but it's the sentiment that counts right, and keeping something of an even repetoir between the two of them if he's about to risk a slap on the wrist for getting her a drink.

inside the dim bar, things are... as eerily quiet and empty as about always. this ship felt like it had been built for far more people than it currently housed, and every event space lacked the bustle that the square footage of the room advertised. maybe one or two other people sitting here and there, the constant quiet clink of invisible hands washing dirty cups behind the bar. and... not a lot more.

clarke will ultimately set the pace and arrive at her predetermined destination first; a bar stool, not that far off from where she'd sat while initially discussing the ships workings with macolm bright that first week on board. but once sliding onto the hard curve of the stool and trying to figure out the next steps here... clarke's mind goes a little blank. )

I'm not sure what I'd like. ( she comes from a world of moonshine brewed strong enough to sterilize wounds, along with knocking you on your ass. maybe has had wine once or twice, but in scanning the array of liquor lined along the back wall, clarke eventually lights upon a bottle of mid-shelf vodka and points. it's clear, and looks like water. can't be bad right? ) That doesn't look too abrasive.

I'm gonna hold you to that.

[ Cause, well. Dean doesn't particularly want to end up in the damn brig for giving alcohol to minors. That would suck. ]

I think that's vodka. Not my favorite, but a lotta people like it. We'll start with that.

[ A ROUND, BARKEEP ]

( and miraculously, this time that round is served! clarke's mildly taken aback honestly, not expecting it to work but two shot glasses drift in front of dean (and only dean) and not entirely sure what to make of the work around to the captain's rules just being... have a baby sitter.

but also doesn't care. if he wants to clink their glasses together, she'll oblige. but otherwise clarke's — just gonna instantly shoot the entire shot. one big swallow, a familiar but not well practiced toss of her head. and after a lifetime of only ever being exposed to rough-brewed moonshine from a farm station teenager, vodka is... unreasonably smooth. like, basically water. )

...I'm not impressed.

( where's the visceral burn in the back of her throat that felt so much like choking back tears? where's the cathartic discomfort? why else did people drink? )

[ Well, at least it worked. Babysitter or no. He shoves it at her, clinks classes and down the shot. ]

No? Not a vodka fan? Wanna try something else instead?

Yeah, which of those is going to burn the most? ( there's a jerk of her chin throw in there, at the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. even as the unpleasant aftertaste of vodka spreads across her tongue, clarke feels... remarkably nothing. and wants more. )

[ Okay, weirdo. Dean gives her a funny look, but squints over the bar, peering at the options. ]

Probably that one. [ Some bottom shelf tequila, maybe. Not his choice, at all, but hey. ]

( everyone's looking for catharsis in a bottle, right? some just want that relief to come with a side of pain — of their own doing, for once. )

Alright, let's do it.

( another round, ghostly barkeep! nevermind they seem to ignore her until dean's actually the one to ask. clarke shoots tequila with much the same efficiency as she had the vodka, but — yup, that was gross.

perfect. a slight gag, but still perfect. it sparks a wave of heat down clarke's esophagus as it goes down, and after a few hard swallows of tequila-flavored saliva, she'll finally relax back into her barstool a little bit. )

How are you doing?

[ Absolutely. ]

Eugh, [ God, he hates tequila, and he shoves the shotglass away from himself with a face, pointing to the whiskey. Just. Let him wash that nastiness down, thanks. Gross. ]

So far so good, [ he says, thinking she means liquor wise, cause what else could she mean, really. ]

( it takes clarke approximately twice as long as normal to clock that they're talking on two separate levels. )

No, I mean. Here. On the ship. How have you been since the party?

[ Does that mean another round? Dean thinks it means another round. ]

Eh, I mean. I'm still here, so I guess that's both good and bad.

[ means he's not dead. Unless. ]

Hey, do you think we're dead back home? And that's why we can die here and it doesn't matter?

( it absolutely means another round is required, though clarke's stalling out with the shot glass halfway to her lips at that question. it stings worse than the tequila in her throat, and she swallows around the thought. )

I know some of us are dead before we woke up here. ( natsuno. yuri. palamedes will be added to this list later. ) Some others were dying. ( herself, most likely. ) But I think the majority were just fine, and the fact we come back to life has more to do with the captain's bidding than any actual... rules, you know?

I wouldn't be surprised if I was dead. My brother had just raised Lucifer, crazy shit was happening. If I got blown to bits, wouldn't be surprised.

[ it ees what it ees, he guesses. ]

Oh.

( that sucks for him, but wouldn't be the most surprising revelation. clarke masks her mild ping of surprise by finally shooting her tequila, forcing back a gag at the way it's settling in her stomach, and then clearing her throat. )

That sounds awful... But, sorry, Lucifer Lucifer?

( just because god and biblical reverence didn't seem to have survived the apocalypse doesn't mean the age old stories and terminology are completely erased from the human history. just... the devil clarke pictures when she closes her eyes is a neatly made up woman in a red dress, clasping her hands in front of herself like friday does, and warning of a second wave of nuclear radiation. )

Uh huh. Yeah, that Lucifer.

[ The amount Dean info dumps on this poor chick, he should really shut the fuck up.

And yet. ]

It's the start of the apocalypse, basically. The biblical one.

( sometimes all one has to say on a matter is — )

...oh.

( — several times over. other times one's just gotta go yikes and move on, but dean drops the a-word and clarke's interest is somehow even more snagged. )

What does a biblical apocalypse look like? I've only seen man made ones.

So far, it's a shitload of demons being an enormous pain in the ass, but with Lucifer up and kicking, man...I dunno. It's not good, though.

[ He drags a freshly refilled glass of whiskey over, gesturing for another tequila, then pushes it at her. ]

Man made, huh?

( at least this drink she nurses slowly, thoughtful and trying to paint what demons descending on humanity would look like. they don't have museums where she'd come from, no renaissance replications of hell and all it's devil's. but clarke's seen a decent chunk of war and loss; of blood thirsty men and women dressed in anything from rags and furs to retro dinnerwear. at the time she'd thought that carnage to be hell, and wonders exactly how off base that description is compared to dean's. )

Every nuclear powerplant on Earth melted down simultaneously. It was also... not good.

( just kidding, at the memory of the fiery orange deathwave bearing down at her heels, clarke feels compelled to take a very sizable sip of tequila. )

Jesus Christ.

[ Yeah, that sounds terrifying as fuck, and not something he would want to fuck with. ]

That sounds pretty shitty, too. [ Everyone on this damn boat has a tragic backstory, it seems. ]

and i will find the enemy within

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