Harque "Babygirl" Ebalon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
selenokinesis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-07-01 01:57 am
selenokinesis) wrote in come_sailaway2022-07-01 01:57 am
Baa baa, black sheep, have you any soul? ☽
Who: Ebalon & Whomstever
What: Catchall for July
When: July
Where: Wherever. I know this is very specific.
Warnings: Typical Ebalon things apply including creepy bullshit, manipulation, discussions of murder, unhealthy relationships... Ebamizu... yeah.
General catchall for Ebalon & co. this month. Open prompts will be added as I think of them, otherwise it's mostly closed stuff for now.
Edit: I am quietly realising I dated some closed posts for June when they should read July. I know what's happening I swear.
source
What: Catchall for July
When: July
Where: Wherever. I know this is very specific.
Warnings: Typical Ebalon things apply including creepy bullshit, manipulation, discussions of murder, unhealthy relationships... Ebamizu... yeah.
Edit: I am quietly realising I dated some closed posts for June when they should read July. I know what's happening I swear.
source
let's say this is july 5th, day after laser tag
maybe it's simple avoidance at first, there's no no magic rule in their day to day life, but the second those doors ding with closure, she has to wonder...
no reason to disbelieve mizuki about ebalon practicing sigil magic. and also no need to wait to hear what her jellied associate manages to dig up if there's suddenly a prime opportunity to see for herself. clarke would never simply knock on ebalon's door and ask about magic, not without her tail between her legs and a shroud of shame associated with fraternizing with a self proclaimed enemy but. drawing level with the door to 101 and testing her weight against the wood, now she doesn't even have to imagine what would drive her to that desperate scenario.
covert is key. this isn't like when she'd shot the lock on 109 and snuck inside to chat with natsuno yuuki, only to end up assaulting jade curtiss while he slept. as handy as it would be to repeat the process, she doesn't want nosey neighbors sticking their heads out and waylaying her with questions about gunshots. so instead clarke presses, tests just how much the door will move around its locking mechanism, and the pinpoints the greatest resistance around the deadbolt. which is summarily where she slams the heel of her shoe once, twice, three times over until the door flies open and bangs off the wall behind it. luckily, there's not too much immediately noticeable splintering, anyone passing by probably wouldn't see it if they weren't looking, and despite an obvious warp in the bolt, clarke can still close the door most of the way behind her.
then for a few moments, clarke just stands in the entry of cabin 101, absolutely interrogating herself as to if this is a good idea or potential suicide. she hadn't considered the possibility of traps, alarms, or the fact he probably had a roommate, and now braces for some inevitable backfire only... it doesn't come. it's just a room, sparse and arranged exactly like hers sans a whole wall papered in notes, sketches, lists, and maps. )
Okay, ( she mutters under her breath, takes a deep breath and starts digging.
the dresser first, wondering if he's the truly anal retentive sort of keep his quarters clean and square, and basic enough to use the drawers as a hiding place. )
THE ROOM IN GENERAL, ALSO THE DRESSER
It is obvious from the state of the bed & the wall above it that Ebalon sleeps in the bed and not on the pull-out couch, however. There is a string tied up above the headboard horizontally, decorated with origami moon flowers containing a poem on them from Mizuki. I am assuming Clarke would recognize Mizuki's handwriting if she looked at these at all. Or maybe she doesn't. Otherwise, there is a moon jelly pillow sitting on the bed which marks this space as "definitely that moon-dropping rat bitch's".
The dresser's surface does not have much to speak of. Sitting on top of it is a box of tarts with blue fruits on them that are cut, but shaped like stars. If Clarke opens the box, she can assume that it once held twelve tarts, but three of them are missing. Other than that, there's nothing on top of the dresser.
Within the dresser drawer is a few more things. There is a small vial and syringe which are unlabelled, but look like they've never been used. As someone who received a vial of antidote from Mizuki, Clarke is free to recognize this as a similar antidote, or assume that Ebalon is shooting up hard drugs. Nearby that is a well-worn and regularly-used notebook with a nice, ship-branded fountain pen sitting within the spirals and otherwise unlabelled. Shoved off to the far back corner of the drawer as if they've been forgotten about are 15 epinephrine pens, and then front and centre is the star of the drawer: a half-used and slightly slick bottle of lube.
:)
lmfao fuck
alright, that was terrible. but seemingly the only booby trap. time to parse through the rest of the contents.
the notebook immediately draws her attention, and it's carefully picked up and stuck under her arm whilst clarke carefully thumbs through the vials and epi-pens. knows the latter the instant she sees it and has to wonder just why he's hoarded so many, buys into her own paranoia that there's obviously got to be something fishy about them and pockets one of the epinephrine pens. the former gets picked up as well, held up to the light and idly shaken. it's familiar though, she's got one of mizuki's antidotes hidden in the drawer of her desk back in cabin 108, and had been the one to tell him who else he ought to give them to. that vial gets placed back exactly where she found it, though the very petty thought to take it too crosses her mind.
the tart box is gingerly opened with the edge of a finger, then lowered back down with disinterest. then flipped back open and, okay, she's gotta know why they're so god damn blue. the delicacy gets a careful sniff, and an even more tentative nibble and she's just slammed with overpowering sweetness. coming from a world of protein tablets that met the bare nutritional qualification to even be considered food and occasional real food from the farm station, then dropping to earth and eating undercooked and unseasoned jaguar meat or chocolate cake baked by people who wanted to kill you, clarke's palate is relatively inexperienced. even on board the serena eterna, where she thought she'd tasted some great things after finally deciding to eat what the buffet has to offer, this is distinct. this is so sweet it's almost sharp, and she can't even stomach the thought of another bite.
not to say it's bad, though. and clarke takes the bitten tart (lol ebalon, lol venti) and notebook with her when retreating to sit at the desk. time to rifle through more drawers. )
THE DESK
The tarts smell tangy and almost sour, like they're made with an acidic fruit. The smell is a bit deceptive, though; they're less sour and more like a mix of blueberries and red grapes flavour-wise. That combined with the sweet custard base is definitely going to overwhelm someone who is used to only savoury proteins and nutritional tablets. This is the sort of thing that one may consider weird five-star dining food, if they're not from Ebalon's home world anyway.
The desk has a clean, nice surface with not a single thing on top of it. When Clarke looks through the drawers, she'll find several romance books that were either taken from the library or bought at the sundries shop, depending on if there's a checkout card in them or not. Most of these are historical romances, things like the Come Sail Away version of Pride & Prejudice, a book that sucks, and Gone with the Wind. There are an ungodly amount of these types of books, actually.
In the bottommost drawer are more pens and notebooks, but none of these have anything within them and seem to simply be Ebalon's dragon hoard of writing materials.
no subject
...snap a few pics of the spine of those books first and foremost. either they mean something important to him — either in the scope of his relationship or a personal genre preference, she's only here to judge a bit — or there's a secret buried in the depths of romance novels that pertains to their situation as a whole, and clarke's just not figured that out yet. she's also been on a reading kick as of late, paging hungrily through novels in case they get another battle royale scenario based off fiction, and now it's shaping up that they'll be having an unofficial book club. time for some bronte, austen, and marquez, or something.
each book will inevitably be put back into place, most likely in the same original stacking order. that last drawer is sensible, borderline respectable — doomsday prepper clarke griffin has a similar looking collection, probably even the same brand of notebook in her own room — but boring once she figures out the notebooks are blank.
exploration of the desk complete, utterly underwhelmed with the findings, and leaning back in his desk chair — she'll finally crack the pages of dresser drawer notebook and start scanning page after page after page. )
THE NOTEBOOK
Clarke will find that Ebalon's notebook is mostly-full at this stage and contains a seemingly-random assortment of things that actually make sense the longer she reads, but this really is his "every thought ever goes in Here" notebook. It's disorganized, for someone seemingly so orderly, so what she's seeking may be across multiple pages. Hopefully Clarke can read script because Ebalon's handwriting Is That Way.
The first thing to note is that he has multiple pages dedicated to things people have said to him about the ship and/or that he's picked up from down the wire written across multiple pages. It seems as though he does make an active attempt to dedicate certain pages to this — there are notes in page margins and notes crossed out, likely added over time, points where his handwriting is small and shoved into the nearest available space and points where he's actually written on the lines.
The other interesting pages contain several cringy drafts of Ebalon's trial-and-error peace note that Venti once mass-texted everybody. Another page contains what appears to be a draft of a love letter...
At least he has some self-awareness. Next to that are date ideas.
More interesting to Clarke than gossip and Ebalon's love life are probably the pages filled with sigils. Their explanations are not given on the pages beyond a few choice words, and they're scattered throughout the notebook as Ebalon seemingly comes up with them. She will note that each sigil has certain repeating patterns in it — the most glaring is the circle surrounding it and a crescent moon that takes up most of the pattern, nearby small scrawlings of moon phases. Otherwise, there are many repeating lines and shapes, and at times they can become quite ornate.
There is one rather glaring page in particular that seems to be a ritual of some sort. It very specifically mentions Mizuki and is much more complex in design, but is otherwise unlabelled. It rests next to several other sigils slightly resembling it that have been scratched out with pen.
Next to it are rather poor instructions — it seems like Ebalon wrote these but already had an idea in mind of what needed to be done.
Due to the ship's auto-translate, those magic words are going to become something more akin to someone translating and re-translating something through Google Translate thirty separate times. There are weird repeats of the word "wed" in there despite the fact that Ebalon would argue the word means "bind" in the ancient tongue, but he's not here to complain, so have your translated magical gibberish, Clarke!
In the far back of the notebook is a sigil that does not match the others. It looks to be drawn by an entirely different person, and the handwriting next to it doesn't even resemble Ebalon's at all. The page looks to have been removed from something and is folded up, tucked into the back folder of his notebook as if forgotten about.
Clarke will be able to see that parts of this Incubator sigil resemble some of Ebalon's sigils, particularly in the lines with the three dots.
And that is, essentially, the entire contents of Ebalon's notebook. There are several more drafts of sigils scattered about as well, but those are all scratched out and make the geometry almost impossible to decipher given that.
no subject
and that's the cycle that's repeated on... quite a few pages, honestly. not all of the gossip is worth copying, everyone on the ship with two brain cells and the inclination to dig into the circumstances of their situation tended to be on the same page. by this point she's garnered a lot of similar ideas about the lei's from palamedeus, and natsuno's religiously forwarded texts from skulduggery pleasant dealt with the highlander-esque selection from across various universes and timelines. but — portals? yeah, that snags the interest enough to demand a picture. something to think about later.
most of the more personal stuff, however... well, it's not as if clarke has any respect for ebalon's privacy here. she's literally snooping through his diary, but the drafted peace note — confirmation — just gets a brief scan. it isn't enough for redemption, her grudge turned into thread and tied around her heart with very little room to cut them away. and that letter to mizuki...
well, that's the first time she maybe feels a little bad about this venture. these were not the waters she'd meant to plumb, not a puddle she intends to stomp in, no matter how much it'd stung when she'd dragged mizuki away at the victory party and (clarke griffin style, in not so many words) entreated him to leave with her instead. she still reads the scratched out draft, of course. twice over, actually. but in the end just exhales a long, hard sigh. still of the hypocritical opinion that growing attached to anyone here was just begging for them to be used against you, and that dating is stupid. but at the end of the day, whatever is happening between her friend and proclaimed arch nemesis (at least until jinx or pratt win over that title) doesn't seem to be hurting anyone. and has nothing to do with the sigils in this notebook —
until it does.
sorry, what? wed? clarke admittedly pulls a little bit of a face at that rough translation. feels the same tug of intruding on someone's, two someones' privacy but. it's still a sigil. it, and all those instructions are getting thoroughly photographed. possible to undo — so there's a divorce clause? still not important clarke, focus. the love letter is not photographed, but the general idea of it is absolutely committed to memory.
then that last page. ripped out and tucked into the back of the notebook like a hidden gem. it's certainly different, and noted as such, but she doesn't know entirely what that means yet. can't make immediate heads or tails of the name of it either. what was ebalon attempting to grow here? this specific piece of paper she's actually tempted to fold up further and shove into the pocket of her shorts. it's loose leaf, would he even notice? but the drive to ultimately leave no trace and trust the door lock to mend itself so ebalon was never any the wiser of her intrusion wins out. nevermind the tart that's missing from the box, which has been occasionally nibbled on this entire time. her last order of business with the notebook is to photograph the incubator spell, then clarke's standing to return it to where she'd found the composition book.
and... scanning the relatively sparse room, that's kind of it, isn't it? she will absolutely check under the bed and poke her head inside the adjoining bathroom just to be certain, but doesn't expect much.
time feels like it's running short, she doesn't know where he's gone or when he'll be back, and a trickle of adrenaline starts to pulse up and down the length of her spine. it's probably time to leave. )
THE REST OF THE ROOM
Under the bed there is a whole bunch of sus stuff — just kidding. There's nothing of note there, not even a speck of dust, and considering how well the ship's ghosts tend to everything that's definitely not a surprise.
Inside the bathroom there is, well, normal bathroom stuff. Soaps and towels and the sort. Hanging on the wall is a hanger containing one (1) nice blazer that Clarke may recognize as the one Ebalon wore to the party where Max stabbed him at. It's plain and white, and there are fine stitches on the waistline where the knife tore the fabric, though luckily no bloodstains remain on it. There is, in addition to that stitched tear, another stitched tear around the collar area. The jacket itself is wrinkly, but there is nothing in the pockets; one might surmise that Ebalon might be using the steam from the shower to get rid of the wrinkles since there's probably not an iron on board. Similarly to this and for the same purposes, there's also a pair of slacks hanging on the back of the door. Other than that, the bathroom is immaculately maintained like the rest of the space, though if it's because Ebalon is generally an organized person or because the ship's ghosts won't allow him to be a slob remains to be seen.
All in all, it will probably seem like Clarke picked up most of the suspicious and/or gossipy stuff. If she wanted to go through Ebalon's clothes, they are clothes; there's an extra pair of shoes by the door that are kept out of the way so that no one trips on them. The man brushes his teeth since there's a toothbrush in the bathroom. Uh... there's lotion because having soft skin is important? These are pretty much the living quarters of Some Guy.
Sadly the guy's a shithead, but on the surface? Some Guy.
no subject
and moisturizing?
clarke neither recognizes his clothes from specific events, nor rifles through the pockets only to come up with lint. she'd probably only investigated the bathroom under the vague curiosity as to if there'd be more self-made antidotes to various toxins (maybe the knockout gas that repeatedly incapacitated them on the tenders over to their off-ship destinations) in the medicine cabinet, but that's a bust.
post the underbed and bathroom investigations, clarke's ending up in the middle of cabin 101 once again, casting another sweeping gaze around the interior in case there was anything pressing she'd forgotten to check. like between the folds of the cushions on the pull out couch, or in the interior paneling of the television, but — nah, that felt a little too complex. it still feels like there should be more here, but this preliminary trespassing has given her more than enough to chew over.
it's time to go doodle the waterproof sigil in her own notebook over and over again until she can do it from memory. half eaten tart in hand, she's heading for the door. )
no subject
Now that DMing has officially ended, though, Clarke is heading for the door and oh wow surprise it's a whole rat bastard bet you didn't want to see him again after y'all fought at laser tag. Nor did he want to see Clarke, actually, but—]
Can I help you?
[Girl why the fuck is his door gone.]
no subject
she just blinks at ebalon, like there's not tart glaze on her lips or the continually sticky residue of lube on her fingertips. and then shrugs. )
Nope. Don't think you can.
( what follows is a very quick attempt to slip around him and out the door. which isn't completely gone, just a lil splintered. it's fine, it'll be fine by tomorrow. )
no subject
Ebalon is still sporting a split lip — he'd healed the break in his nose shortly after receiving it, but he's passive-aggressive enough to keep that one injury. He'll probably heal it tomorrow or something.
Clarke can attempt to shoulder her way past all she wants, but if she gets too far out into the hallway, she'll be met with a familiar-looking binding sigil carved out of moonlight just sort of floating there in the hallway to snag her. Hopefully she absorbed those sigils.]
Really? Are you sure? You seem to be looking for something — if this is about my roommate, I'll take a message.
[And, in case she gets any ideas or thinks he wants to fight again, those words are followed by two shields of moonlight springing up on the both of them. One each. If nothing else, they can play bumper cars with them or something.]
no subject
clarke's a quick study and still plays host to creative, artistic ideals. she'd had enough time pouring over his notebook to at least track the general makeup of each sigil, and when coming face to face with this luminous life-sized version, she knows enough to at least pause. maybe the slightest intention to push against its bonds niggles at the back of her mind, another venue of magical research, but clarke ultimately just turns slowly on her heel to face the moon rat again.
she half expects another fight, and is squaring both shoulders defiantly when those shields manifest. huh. there's a lingering moment of thought, wherein clarke considers some sort of excuse; but she hadn't banked on getting caught, and thus put no foresight into coming up with a convincing lie before hand. he gives a hint of an out, she knows sarge in passing and could very easily leave some faux sort of message. but, on the off chance he and ebalon are close, she doesn't want to risk digging her own booby trap.
for someone with very little wiggle room, or power in this specific instance, she still has an air of command in the way she speaks to him, low and cool and relatively unbothered. it's a... occasionally problematic character trait. )
Let me walk away, Ebalon.
no subject
He's politely willing to give her an out. That infinite patience he normally has is back, just this once.]
I would like to allow such, really. I have no interest in continuing our altercation from yesterday, after all. However... I would like to know what you wanted. What you sought to gain by breaking in.
no subject
( that half-eaten tart is still in hand, and used as a prop now. it's ridiculously rich on her tongue, too sweet; she's not actually hungry or even wants another bite, but raises the pastry to her mouth and takes the slightest nibble for emphasis. heavy eye contact maintained the whole time. )
no subject
[The binding sigil still doesn't disappear.]
I might have been willing to share them with you if you had asked, huhu. They're from Elysion, a realm in the sky. I do hope you like them since you went to all this trouble.
no subject
is she now growing a little bold, enough to at least reach out and press the knuckles of her phone-holding hand against the invisible barrier that's keeping her here? absolutely yes.
does she care about his homeworld and their delicacies? arguably not beyond base information gathering, but there's at least a very easy conversational tangent to grab hold of. from the binding sigil directly back to his face, clarke drags her hard eyes set upon an otherwise impassive mask of faux calm. maybe even arches an eyebrow. )
Would you really have given me anything? If I asked?
( mizuki had encouraged her to just ask ebalon about magic and sigils and all that trash, and she'd immediately discounted that as an option. clarke's had been a quiet sort of anger, maybe a one-sided sort of ultimate enemy declaration that she'd just assumed the moon mage would recognize by osmosis. natsuno despises him, so does she. it's not difficult. and maybe mizuki hadn't been wrong if she'd asked before these past two days, but now? )
no subject
Yes? [/gen] You realise that I had no idea you were resentful toward me until very recently, correct?
[And then, sighing:]
I don't know what it is — some people on this ship seem to be entirely missing my attempts at making amends.
[Talking to Watson, making plans to combat the Captain with Lumine, being weird little science pals with César... All his promises to Venti and Mizuki both that he wouldn't act out again?]
no subject
but more pressingly: )
You hurt my friend.
( did he expect there wouldn't be consequences past the murder game? that grudges wouldn't be held? that dating another friend (and admittedly treating him fairly well) would just erase the fact she'd watched in real time while he attempted to skewer natsuno and drop another celestial rock on him? clarke gives a mild shake of her head, almost nonplussed. how could he not have known?
oh well, that's his oversight. now all she really has for him is a shrug. )
Maybe some people just clock your attempted amends as the insurmountable piles of bullshit they really are.
no subject
[For various reasons that he doesn't care to list. He frowns at the latter comment, though, crossing his arms over his chest as the magic dissipates. Clarke's shield goes down with it; his does not.]
Think what you wish. Go with your victory, if it pleases you; I care little for your petty games right now.
no subject
but — )
Only thinking about what I see, Ebalon. You want forgiveness? Show me something different.
( but even that double dog dare you sentiment might be overridden by pure, unadulterated loathing. it's with that sentiment however, that clarke finally steps back, outside the range the shield spell might have confined her to previously. she's going to make her great escape, with no bodily harm and only the psychological damage of lube, but first — )
You don't need to worry about this. I didn't find anything I actually wanted in there.
no subject
I promise you that I'm trying.
[It comes out more harshly than he'd intended it to; frustrated and huffy in a way that Ebalon usually only is in private and not in the middle of the hall with someone he's currently pissed beyond belief at. Between her and Venti, he might just have further motivation to try to blow up the ship.
Which is, like, not what his goal is; damn if he doesn't consider it some days. It wouldn't do anything besides create more problems but god.
...hm, it might piss the Captain off though— okay no.]
Yes, I do hope my collection of romance novels was enlightening for you.
[He knows there's nothing in there. But he'll worry about it anyway.]
no subject
there isn't much more to say hear. hardly anything at all, but there are a few parting moments which still prove telling:
ebalon insists he's trying, and clarke feels a distinct twinge in her side where he'd sliced near down to the bone of her ribcage yesterday. she isn't delusional, hardly thinks herself blameless for their hallway interaction. but chooses to highlight the fact she'd had no weapons other than words and fists, and that he was the one who'd seemingly been prepared to sever her spinal column. so much for reformed meets try harder. just a promise means nothing here, and ultimately she rolls her eyes.
you know, once upon a time clarke griffin railed in favor of second chances. but time and time and time and time again that sentiment's only proven to open one's self up for more inevitable heartbreak and pain. this isn't her world, where all humans were on a relatively level playing field and cruelty was only contained in the bounds of human capacity and imagination. someone as powerful as ebalon, who still needed to learn compassion and restraint? he gets significantly less slack, no matter who he loves.
a second point to hit on, his horrible collection of historic romance novels. barf. but this gets little more than a small shake of her head before clarke's taking full advantage of her escape door and turning on her heel without any further acknowledgement.
in one hand, she still holds the half eaten tart. and in the other — sweaty palmed and white knuckled — her ship issued phone. phew, it feels like a relief he hadn't deigned to snatch it from her fingers. time to go doodle some sigils from reference and hopefully not blow up the ship. accidentally, it would be accidentally if she did. at least... )