come_sailaway | MARCH OPEN LOG

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MARCH OPEN LOG

[a soft chime of unplaceable music at 7 AM sharp. Friday's voice going over the daily weather (it never changes) and the daily schedule (it barely varies, though Friday does mention a "welcome party" set for later in the month with increasing amounts of poorly restrained glee. the mic is passed so that the captain can make his usual announcement. after a minute, it is passed back, so that Friday can wish everyone a fun and fulfilling day.

it's easy to fall into routine, on the serena eterna.

the spirits, or whatever they are, seem to have calmed down. they are still there, of course, but the plates are carried to tables instead of thrown, and any movement of the furniture is the kind that comes from normal use. wonder what they were so upset about. maybe someone talked to them.

an unfamiliar face in the hall balks at how their legs stop working suddenly. new passengers seem to arrive every other day or so, and it's always the same exact process. did you keep your lei?

the sun is shining. the air is warm. the sea is placid as a lake. you never meant to end up here. you certainly don't want to be here.

but, you can try to make the best of it.]

[ooc note: if any character decides to do some more than casual investigation of a location, be sure to ping the mod! there may be hidden treats! or hidden tricks! or maybe nothing! the best kind of prize is a SUR-PRISE!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Diana had always had a deep fondness for casinos. No windows. They were some of the safest places in the continental U.S. for a vampire. It sucked that the vampire population of Las Vegas was a little disorganized, but she'd spent many vacations--they could be called that--roaming through the endless hallways of the Luxor or Excalibur, enjoying the sounds and the lights and the feeling of security.

So it was only natural that she gravitated to the ship's casino. She'd never actually been on a real cruise ship before, but from everything she'd heard, the casinos had super terrible odds and even worse problems with smoke.

But then again. No windows.

She smiled slightly, when she heard one of the slot machines hit, and gravitated over to the blond girl, who seemed totally bewildered by her windfall. "Groovy," she said, leaning against the side of the machine. "I mean, I know, like, the machine doesn't require any skill and it's all just luck but...good job?"

Clarke holds no love for windows anymore either. Not after a childhood spent staring through double layers of aluminum silicate and fused silica glass, imagining life beyond the confines of The Ark to be much more pleasant than they'd turned out to be. Not once she'd felt the wind on her face for the first time, and the warmth of unimpeded sunlight. Marveling at Earth's latest wonders had been novel and exciting for all of a day before it became horrifying and dangerous, and now here she is. Several months later, not even trusting a machine that has no reason to lie to her.

Her flat, unenthused expression has dipped further into a proper scowl, somehow pushing the resentment of this entire situation onto the slot machine and the perpetual noise it's making. And only pulled from her spiteful reverie by another presence and engaging... semi-compliment?

"...Thanks." A tentative response, laced with suspicion and dissatisfaction that most probably wouldn't feel after hitting a groovy jackpot. A flick of her eyes to Diana's face, back to the ever-growing mass of casino chips at her feet, then back to Diana with a touch more confusion between her brows.

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"In a normal casino? Tip the dealers generously and then buy out the most expensive suite in the hotel. Here?" She shrugged, the love beads around her neck and shoulders clinking softly, lost under the chaotic noise of all the machines. "I honestly don't really know."

It was hard to cash in chips when there was no one working any of the counters. And Diana wasn't sure that cash itself had all that much meaning on the ship. She was carrying some from Phoenix and...well. The shops were weird.

Which left only one other option. Put the chips in a bath tub and swim around in them like Scrooge McDuck.

But this girl seemed a little too serious for a joke like that.

Another disconnect from life on the Ark, then on the ground — they'd never had any use for money. Ration cards had been a right, if not occasionally stretched thin amongst the population. Then it'd boiled down to how much they could hunt, farm, or barter. Clarke's only other exposure to money had been papering the floor of an ancient bank, just part of the aged remnant of society before it fell; mixed in with dirt, sticks, decaying leaves and blood. Commerce wasn't a completely foreign notion, she'd figure out the motions of paying for items in a few hours, even without any money to her name. But it's still weird to be holding something with supposed value in her hands, and trying to wrap her head around the idea of worth and wealth.

...yeah, no, ultimately it's unimportant and flies over Clarke's head. She's making a bit of a face, and eventually drags face up to look Diana's way again. Then extends her cupped hands, overflowing with chips.

"I don't want them." Bitter, bitter, bitter — she wants absolutely nothing from this ship other than answers on how to get home, and that sour disposition extends past Friday and the captain, apparently projected onto inanimate objects. "Do you?"

Diana, by contrast, was actually quite good with money. No one ever gave her the credit she deserved, but she'd helped to fund more than her share of outings for the Order of the Silver Crescent, with her shrewd investments and careful savings over the years. And to her pride, she was a big supporter of Oprah.

All the same, she shook her head. Money didn't seem to matter on the ship. No point in carrying around cheap bits of plastic. "Thanks," she said, "but I'm not sure it has much of a use. Maybe if someone ever catches a fish, it could be on the bottom of a fish tank but..."

She shrugged. The girl was clearly a passenger, same as her. Which meant that she was just as desperate for answers. And probably coming up just as empty.

Politely, she offered her hand. "I'm Diana, btw. Diana Abel. A-B-E-L. As in, 'Caine and dot, dot, dot...'" She always introduced herself that way. And hated it. She was actually fairly sure she'd been brainwashed into it, a few centuries ago. But that was a thought that she generally shoved into the darkest corner of her brain to, you know, not think about all that much.

That's about the response she should have expected, and for a moment Clarke's left absolutely stumped as to what to do with these casino chips now. But on second thought, that shrug and the subsequent extended hand feel like permission enough to just... drop them on the floor with the rest, and take a step out of the small hill of plastic disks that'd surrounded her feet. The machine finally stopped vomiting useless prizes onto the carpet, and is back to gently chiming — the soft, bell-like invitation to come play again.

"Clarke Griffin," comes the immediate response, because that's just how introductions go, as stiff and mechanical as Clarke shakes Diana's hand. The customary pleasantries stop there however. There's no nice to meet you because, let's be honest, it's not. Nothing's nice here. "Uh. With an 'e'. C-L-A-R-K-E, like the author."

2001: Space Odyssey would honestly be preferable to this, at least Hal wasn't supposed to have a face.

"Is it... useless to ask if you've been here long?"

Diana shook her hand. Her handshake was weak by design, by centuries of paranoia that a hunter might recognize the fact that she had no pulse, no real warmth beneath her skin. And she let go quickly, although not rudely. She hoped.

The question actually made her laugh. A weak laugh, to go with the weak handshake. But it was the first she'd had in a while. "Useless? I dunno. Maybe. To be perfectly honest, I'm having a real hard time keeping track of the nights..." No calendar. No cell service.

No E! News.

"Where you from, Clarke with an E? I'm getting some serious Midwest vibes from you." Which she wouldn't hold against her, of course.

Some don't have any issue keeping track of the days and nights. In fact, said some (it's Clarke, she is some) have been religiously marking down hash marks on the wall behind her bedside table in her cabin. Just in case things get weird, or she loses her notebook. "It's been three days since I woke up here. I'd estimate about... 41 hours. It's dusk outside, so, maybe 28:00."

It's so much easier to give factual data than have to try to figure out what exactly midwest meant. Yes, they'd had history books and oral re-tellings of the original Grounders lives before the apocalypse, but studying the intricacies of old state borders had taken a back seat to, yanno, figuring out what plants were poisonous to eat. How to properly do CPR. How to make a fire. How to fix an ailing space station.

The brief urge to evade or lie about her origin is ultimately overruled by remembering that nothing here really matters, everyone has their own story, and she also could not care less what people thought of her so long as she ultimately gets off this damn boat. So:

"I was born in space. We made a camp in the shadow of Mount Weather, but it's... it's probably gone now."

Diana wasn't sure what threw her more: The fact that this girl was claiming to be from space or the fact that she was so damn serious for someone her age. Then again, maybe she was an alien? Maybe she looked like she was young, but was actually an Elder?

Except that she mentioned Clarke--and decidedly earthborn author.

She resisted the urge to look at the girl's aura, instead settling for the lively art of conversation.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to back up a little to the part about being born in space," she said.

An alien? By technicality, that's probably true. Human? Maybe a few selective engineering traits, and after-market alterations to try to survive a world hellbent on killing everything in it (can you smell blood, Diana? does hers smell off?), but still painfully mortal. Young but serious? War and undigested trauma had that effect on everyone, age not withstanding.

If conversation is supposed to be an art, Clarke might as well be a vandal. She can draw, sketch, and map the land ⁠— just don't ask her to engage in small talk and expect it to be pretty.

"...What... part of that was confusing?"

"Uh...the part where you were born in space?" Diana tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Admittedly, she'd sort of lost interest in the space race, after the moon landing and Apollo 13 and the weight of Vietnam pulled her attention elsewhere. But she'd still watched a few launches. "Never heard of a pregnant astronaut."

It wasn't an accusation, though.

More like an invitation to enlighten her.

Diana spread her fingers, eager to hear Clarke-with-an-E's story.

It's a... long story. Spanning 98 years, only the last 18 of which she'd been around to experience. But the history of the spaceship she'd been born on was as deeply engrained into the minds of the Ark's young as the importance of utilitarian unity was; she could recite it as easily as the Traveler's Blessing. They used to do plays about it every holiday ⁠— Clarke had participated in it twice as a small child.

But it just seems so remarkably unimportant now. They weren't in space, they might not even be in a part of Earth proper. Clarke's accepted that very few of them might even be from the same time, but... It's not like she has anything better to do here than pass time and try to form tentative alliances ⁠— all the best of which start with candor and blatant honesty. So, let's try this.

"We don't call ourselves astronauts anymore, we were just the last survivors of the human race." What's a good horror story without an appropriate amount of drama. But carrying on: "Long ago, when the Earth was on fire, 12 stations floated through space, all alone. Then one day, Mir floated by Shenzhen, and they realized life would be better together. The other stations saw this, and they wanted to be together too. When all the other stations were joined they called themselves The Ark.

A few hundred people overcame whatever political, religious, economic, and ideological differences separated them, and became one community with the sole intention of surviving and returning to Earth one day. And I am their descendent."

This is a romanticized version, the same they'd laud as history when it was actually just history written by the victors. She doesn't mention the thirteenth space ship, that had been blown out of the sky and led to the salvation of humanity on Earth. And isn't willing to delve into the harsher realities of living on a failing spaceship, with strict death penalty rules and occasional mass culling's when resources dwindled.

Well, Clarke certainly made the human race sound like they'd gotten their shit together. But the thing was...they hadn't. And as far as Diana could tell, the Earth had never actually been on fire. Climate change was real and all that. Plus Phoenix had been a total disaster but...that was a very, very small piece of the Earth.

She nipped at her lower lip for a second.

Arty would think of the right question to ask. She was the clever one. Diana, meanwhile, had spent the better part of her life being told that she had nothing but rags and fluff between her ears. Call someone stupid enough, they eventually started to believe it.

So there was really only one question she could think of. And it sounded outrageous, even as she said it. "What year were you born?"

Navigating the variety of timeline and cultures here would be so much easier if they all had their dates of birth stamped above their heads, so Clarke quite appreciates this question. It's easiest to date one self, then compare and contrast against differing experiences.

At least this answer is easy, not up for debate, and not underscored by historical inaccuracies.

"2132."

And hey, fair's fair, Diana. Clarke's been honest, the challenge is there.

"When were you born?"

2132.

Diana generally wore her heart on her sleeve. So she was in no position to hide her shock. It was printed right across her face, her lips parting slightly, her eyes getting wide enough to show the whites all the way around.

2132.

Even as a Cainite, with her long life and her ability to roll with the punches, she still felt time. She felt it every second of every day, especially when she was alone, separated from love or family or--in this case--both.

2132.

If she were better at math, she would have done it, but instead, she just shook her head. "Way, way before that. Three days ago...I...it was 2009."

Although, to her credit, she didn't discount or instantly just not believe Clarke-with-an-E. Diana was on a magical cruise ship, surrounded by demons and ghosts. Somehow, time travel didn't feel all that impossible.

There's the distrustful part of Clarke ⁠— the part that's been lied to, deceived, betrayed, undermined, and used too many times to allow her to take anything at face value anymore ⁠— that notes the distinct lack of concrete answer to her question. But time is weird here. Way before that could easily mean some time 20-or-so years before 2009, and even 2009 seemed so far in the past that it was hard to fully grasp what that world would have looked like.

Sure, she could guess. They'd had history lessons aboard The Ark. They'd had books, and the oral retellings of their founders. Clarke knew what horses and flowers looked like long before she'd ever seen them, and knew the world used to hold billions of people. It shouldn't be surprising to come across someone from before the world ended, even if it feels like they're immediately at odds and unable to relate.

"2009?" Casting around for anything she remembers from their histories. It's... a surprisingly empty category in her mind, all unimportant facts shelved in favor of the necessary knowledge to survive. But give her a second, and eventually she can at least muster:

"So. H1N1 outbreak. Typhoon Morakat. And the oldest human skeleton was unearthed. And some big musician died."

Michael Jackson. She's talking about Michael Jackson.

The city of Phoenix had also imploded, but Diana was actually sort of relieved not to hear that mentioned. Maybe the damn Masquerade had actually worked for a change. She was optimistic, and yet skeptical at the same time.

But that was Diana. A bundle of contradictions on her best days.

She nodded slightly, raking a hand through her wavy, brown hair. "We're from different times? That's...that's..." A number of adjectives raced through her mind, but the one she blurted out was the last one she expected. "Cool. Kind of cool." She let the word settle around herself for a moment. "I mean...still kidnapping. Still prisoners. But people from different times? Can you imagine how impossible that is?"

And how powerful it clearly made their gracious hosts.

Cool hadn't been the word Clarke would ascribe to the whole situation. Confusing, maybe. Frustrating, most certainly. She's already had the conversation comparing science to magic, and trying to explain atomic particles and nuclear fission to explain the radiation burns splashed across her cheeks, and that hadn't gone over stunningly well. This wasn't her first time meshing with people of different cultures, some stuck in various stages of the past, but this is the first time she's come across such blatant... enthusiasm.

It's... weird. Not unpleasant, at least Diana still acknowledges that they're absolutely kidnap victims and all the implications that dragging people from various points of space and time together on one mysterious boat they couldn't escape held about their captors capabilities. Half the people here seem content to eat, drink, and ignore the impending second foot that was bound to fall sooner or later.

"Pretty impossible. You're taking it easier than anyone else I've tried explaining it to so far." Underappreciated relief not to be looked at like she's crazy when mentioning spaceships. "But I still haven't come across anything indicating why we're all here. What's the point, and why from all throughout history?"

Maybe even across worlds? Let's shelf that idea for the moment, Clarke doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with alternate realities.

"Yeah, I'm still trying to work out the how and why of this whole situation," Diana said. "But the way I see it, the best way to do that is to get to know everyone on board, you know? Maybe we all have something in common. I mean even if it's kidnapping, we don't know that our hosts are necessarily...you know...evil? Maybe they don't have a way to communicate with us. Maybe if we work together, we can figure out how to talk to them, figure out what they want."

Yeah, her optimism was showing a little.

Sue her.

Diana wanted to believe the best in people. Because people were...extraordinary. Groovy and industrious and creative and clever. All the wonderful things that could fade away in a Cainite, if she got too stagnant.

No, Diana loved people. And tried to be one of them, as often as she could.

"But, seriously, you gotta tell me about the future. Are there flying cars? Please tell me there are flying cars. Like The Jetsons?"

Optimism is dangerous, but hey. The logic behind at least some of her plans aren't terrible. The sooner they can figure out what it was that made them special enough to be dragged here, it would be a step toward figuring out who had brought them here and why. Is Clarke physically capable of relaxing enough to focus on socializing instead of filling up her Absolute Worst Case Scenario Survival Kit? Nope.

But the rest of it is absolute nonsense. They've got a literal PA system. They have Friday. There's phones with text capabilities, they'd all been left with a letter upon first waking up. In her experience, if someone wants to say anything, they'll absolutely find a way to do so. Therefore: captors? Evil. Suspicious. Not to be trusted. Nothing about this forced vacation is pleasant except not starving or burning to death — yet.

All this depressing internal monologue is successfully sidetracked from actually slipping out of her mouth as Clarke, once again, experiences the weird sensation of feeling like she should get a reference, but doesn't. Because she'd been born 80 years after The Jetson's stopped their reruns, and was lucky to have ever seen a recording of a soccer match. How to super gently break the news that the future sucks without sounding like an absolute drag, hmm....

"The world ended, and we're lucky to even have Rovers." And people, if we were going to get specific.

"They can't fly, and barely run half the time."

Diana's smile faltered. The light in her eyes flickered, like there was a power surge or something.

The world ended.

The notion of the end of the world wasn't new to Diana. It wasn't foreign or alien. The Order of the Silver Crescent--her sister--had prevented more than one apocalypse. But that was also what threw her. They had prevented them. The world hadn't actually ended. Thanks to the anonymous heroics of a group of Cainites who still actually...cared.

Had the Order failed? Maybe Phoenix really had been a disaster.

Then it was her fault. Her disaster. She and Selene hadn't saved the city. They're barely saved more than a couple of kids. And themselves.

"I didn't know Phoenix would get that bad..."

As comforting as it is to be in the company of others who also attribute everything going wrong in the world to their own personal short-comings, Clarke can't see the connection here. Watches some sort of distant grief flit across Diana's face, and tries to parse out the subtext.

"What's Phoenix?"

Because it was A.L.I.E, a truly terrifyingly capable artificial intelligence that considered herself a savior of the world, that had destroyed the world and killed all of humanity save for a few, cockroach-like survivors and cults.

"A city in Arizona," she said quietly. "Must have been where it started. The end of the world, I mean." Where she and her sister had failed to stop it.

Diana bit down on her lower lip. It was a bad habit from long before her days as a vampire. No matter how hard Ruth tried to train her out of it, she couldn't seem to stop. Now, it was something of an obsession. And she bit nearly hard enough to draw blood. Anything just to feel...

Well, what she deserved, maybe.

"There were signs of trouble. We went to see what was going on. Things...kept getting worse."

Clarke isn't following for a good few seconds, but beyond a lack of understanding of the intricacies of American geography, she absolutely recognizes the signs of distress flashing across Diana's face. Deep regret, some attempt to punish ones self, biting back anguish but failing to swallow it down completely. Clarke has undoubtedly worn the same expression on an almost daily basis for the last few months.

And somewhat mirrors it now, because ⁠— wait.

"I thought you said you were from 2009."

She hadn't meant to make Diana feel bad or guilty when mentioning the end of the world. She's learned enough about it to know there was no biblical Caine and Abel references in the oral histories of the apocalypse, and the woman across from her probably had nothing to do with it.

"The world wasn't irradiated until May 10th, 2052."

2052.

Diana wasn't sure if she felt better or worse. It was nice to think that maybe she hadn't completely fucked up. But still. It wasn't even half a century later. Who knew what kind of domino effect Phoenix could have had on anything?

Or how else the Order had failed.

Except...

"Irradiated?" she said, pulling her brows together, a little line forming between her eyes. "As in...nuclear war?"

Of all the disasters that had taken place in Phoenix...nuclear energy was pretty much the only one missing.

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