come_sailaway | literally and figuratively at sea

CHARACTERS: Dimitri, Fio, you!
DATE: June-July rollover
LOCATION: All over
SITUATION: Various
WARNINGS: trauma, mental illness -- not necessarily foregrounded, but they're the constant background radiation of Dimitri's life

pleasure to meet you, under the circumstances --

sabigoe

Dimitri doesn't like sleeping. As such, he hasn't returned to the cabin he woke up in since his 'orientation'. It isn't his cabin -- there's a second bed, and it's plainly been slept in. The picture books on the bedside table made something in his chest wrench the first time he saw them. Dimitri's only shared a room once before, under ... unique ... circumstances, but he knows he won't make a good roommate.

So he just won't go back to the cabin. Easy.

Forty hours later, his body is approaching its limit whether he likes it or not. Despite all his fears, and against his better nature, he wobbles back to the cabin, driven by hindbrain instinct to collapse someplace protected. He crumples facedown onto the bed and out of consciousness without registering the room at all. At least he's so exhausted he doesn't dream.

He's still wearing his boots.

i. you can check out, but you can never leave

Having somewhat acquired his bearings, and moderately assured that the ship won't <em>actively</em> try to kill him, Dimitri once more makes a foray into the sensory nightmare of the infinite Tommy Bahama. He needs <em>something</em> that's relatively more clothing-like than the pajamas he turned up in. And, ideally, a weapon that isn't a broken lampstand determined to repair itself.

But the infinite Tommy Bahama is, well, infinite, and the options are both baffling and bewildering, a dazzle-camo of chaotic prints and synthetic dyes in colors Dimitri can barely process, let alone name. Even if he were a fashion-minded person -- and he isn't -- he's wildly out of his depth amidst the sea of Margaritaland prints. Before long, despite his best efforts, he's lost all sight of the entrance, and is developing a pounding migraine.

... he might need some help.

ii. manually enforced rest cycle

Discovering the gym and sports deck is a god(dess)-send for Dimitri. He has one reliable way to cope with stress, and that's pushing his body hard enough he doesn't have to think. The weight-training equipment in Calgone looks more like a collection of torture devices than anything he wants to operate, and even in Fódlan they've invented the concept of spotters; he tried bouncing one of the hard orange balls(?) on the sports deck and sent it rocketing over the rail to parts unknown, but the running track, at least, requires nothing but him and his body.

Northerner that he is, there's the heat to contend with, but "fortunately", night is also the time he's most desperate for a distraction. So he's up on the sports deck running lap, after lap, after lap, after lap, after lap, after ... huh, is the sky getting lighter?

Try to interrupt him, or catch him when he finally staggers off the track to scrape the sweat off and collapse somewhere. Whether he makes it to an actual bed or folds up in a comfortable-looking corner, the Goddess alone (or you, the responder) can decide.

iii. foreign waters

The pool intrigues Dimitri. He's been taught to swim well enough to save himself from drowning, but the idea of recreational swimming is a foreign one -- for most of the year in Fhirdiad, if you wind up in the water, your immediate priority is getting out of the water before you freeze or drown. If it's not the cold, it's torrential meltwater floods. Also, the idea of putting an artificial pond on a boat just seems excessive. And then there's the unsettling, sterile clarity of the water, and the acidic smell ...

You might find Dimitri skirting the edges of the pool like a skeptical cat, poking gingerly at the water's surface, or -- if he's feeling particularly brave -- sitting on the edge of the shallow end with his pant-legs rolled up and his ankles dangling.

iv. wildcard

This ship is bigger than some of the palaces Dimitri's seen. It just keeps going. In an effort to familiarize himself, and to feel like he's doing something productive, he's gone exploring, improvised spear slung over his shoulder. (It's a lampstand he broke the shade and base off of. It makes him feel better.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mizuki lives in the pool far less than he used to, especially what with how many other options he has for water now. The chlorine made it particularly unfun to breathe in, after all. Sometimes, though, he's perfectly content with hanging around, anyway. After all, it's where he's made a lot of his friends, and where he's managed to save a few people from accidental drownings, so maybe he considers himself an impromptu lifeguard of sorts? You know, if lifeguards sat at the bottom of the pool daydreaming while cloaked in a camouflage that makes them look practically invisible. That's what lifeguards do, right?

And furthermore, when people touch the surface of the pool curiously, clearly unused to swimming at all, it's fun to wait until they dip their feet in and then grab at their ankle with one of your icky, slimy tentacles, right? That's also what lifeguards do, clearly. He's very good at his not job.

Dimitri screams. Trying to fling himself away has the opposite effect; he slips off the edge of the pool, getting a flood of chlorinated water up his sinuses and into his open mouth. It is the shallow end, but there's still a horrible thrashing moment before his feet hit the bottom and he lunges back into the air.

He wastes no time scrambling back onto dry land, coughing and shaking his head like a soaked dog. The moment's terror breaks through his usual restraint: "What the fuck?!"

Oh.

Well, okay, so he had meant to start the newbie just a little bit, but maybe that was a little far. He panics a bit as he falls into the water, and makes some effort to swim up and help him before anything happens, though it seems like he has himself sorted. Part of him wants to laugh at his overreaction, but another far stronger part of him is instantly guilty about it. He shyly pokes his head from the water and drops his camouflage, pouting just a bit.

"Are you... okay?" He's talking. So, like, that's a good sign?

"Ye -- yes." There's someone in the pool, where there definitely wasn't before. It's not as if the water's murky enough to hide it. Dimitri snorts the last of the poolwater out of his nose and scrapes the hair off his forehead. "I'm alright. Where did you come from?"

Mizuki gives him another moment, tilting his head to ensure he's telling the truth here or not. He certainly seems okay, at least? So, you know, it's probably fine.

"Oh, I've been here~," he finally chirps, once she's ensured that Dimitri isn't just going into shock. "I didn't startle you, did I?"

literally and figuratively at sea

iii

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