come_sailaway | July Open Post

CHARACTERS: Giles & You
DATE: Early July
LOCATION: Windjammer, deck, potentially elsewhere
SITUATION: Conversations over dinner, and sitting in the rain
WARNINGS: Discussions of kidnapping and death, also general changeling Stuff

I. Windjammer Buffet

Though Giles largely prefers to keep to himself, it is unfortunately a fact of life that he must interact with people in order to keep a healthy store of glamour. So when he takes an evening meal at the buffet, he also looks for individuals experiencing strong emotions, particularly those for which the over-ripe sweetness of fear and anxiety hangs heavy.

"Pardon me," he says, and there's a chill in the air for all of a moment, not unpleasantly so but the sort that brings to mind a change of weather and the rustling of dry leaves, "I couldn't help but notice you seem in need of company, is there something troubling you?"

II. In the Rain

Giles doesn't generally like rain, but drizzling, miserable weather is something he's very much used to, and in many respects it makes a welcome change from the eternally clement weather. So, once he's dried himself off a bit, he can be found taking what shelter can be found from the rain whilst still remaining largely under open sky, notebook and pen in hand, sometimes writing, and mostly staring out into the rain with unfocussed eyes.

III. Wildcard

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They seem to be talking around each other as far as Giles can see, he's never been good at comforting words, he knows that, but he didn't think he was so bad as this. He's starting to think the best option might be to just stop talking at all, but he's also never been good at letting things lie. At least Pratt seems somewhat happy to be here, that's something good to focus on

"If you were better off dead there, then the same is true here. It matters not where you are, if your life is worth something it will be worth it no matter what. And if it's not, well then..."

A frown, "I mean, not really though? Like two different places and two different situations."

But he sounds unsure, Maybe Giles is right?

"Can't die here anyway. Just keep coming back."

"You're right, the circumstances are likely far more different than you could ever begin to understand, and the joy of this will soon make itself known"

There's a sound of leaves crunching under feet that aren't there, Giles may not be aware of what exactly he's saying, but he says it with the quiet gravitas of prophecy nonetheless

"But know this: you can die. This gift of near immortality bestowed upon us will be revoked. One day the sweet embrace of death with come for you, and it will not let you go. We can but hope that day comes soon"

"The... joy of it?" Now he's really confused, he's not sure what Giles is saying, and is having trouble following. All he knows is he's vaguely unsettled and starting to think maybe Giles knows way more about what's going on than anyone else he's talked to. And you know what.. he doesn't really want to know. He's fine not seeing behind the curtain.

"If you wanted me dead you could just kill me. I'm not even armed right now." Though he says it with the air of someone who doesn't care either way, he'd definitely fight someone who tried to kill him. He's a survivor through and through.

"I don't wanna know, don't tell me. Some people will do great things if they know they only have so much time to live - that's not me. I'll probably curl up into a ball and cry."

"I have every desire to kill you, and I suspect I could do so with ease, but what would be the fun in that?"

The conversation has definitely gone sideways. Giles is really not sure where Pratt got the idea he could predict anyone's death, let alone Pratt's specifically, but he's not going to correct it. It can be useful to have people think you can do more than you can.

There's a very sudden and obvious change in Pratt's posture. He had been acting sort of miserable and defeated, like a beaten dog in a corner just waiting for more abuse. But now he straightens up, eyes flashing as he actually makes eye contact with Giles. Normally he looks at the ground or the table top, but right now he's looking directly at him.

It's not a pleasant look either, he doesn't blink as much as he should, and there's an air of madness there that he's never going to be able to quash.

"What makes you think it would be easy?"

Giles stiffens just slightly, but he keeps his breathing even, doesn't allow himself to show his building trepidation. He's not a fighter by nature, and he's sure that if this took a turn for the worse Pratt would not be the one with the brunt of the injuries.

"I'm certain of it. To have allowed yourself to be kept captive can only mean weakness on your part."

Giles doesn't even get to fully finish his sentence, the moment Pratt hears someone call him weak his vision goes red. Quite literally.

Everything fades except him and Giles, the background of his peripheral vision swirling into a memory of the past the chairs floating away without the laws of gravity, the lights filtering to a deep red hue, and somewhere distant and distorted, music begins to play.

It's too bad that Giles can't see any of that because it would probably at least herald Pratt's outburst so it doesn't come as a complete surprise.

In an instant he has a knife in his hand and launches himself across the table at Giles, aiming to knock him to the ground and hold the weapon at his neck. He won't go for a killing blow, not yet, he's not that far gone. But he's close. So very very close.

Giles isn't quick enough to stop himself from being knocked down, but he manages to keep the knife from his neck at least.

He's not the pleading sort, but there's clearly been some sort of misunderstanding - or at least he hopes that's the case - so apologising seems the sensible option, with any luck it'll be enough to stop this mess before it can get any worse

"Is that the best you can do?"

He'll realize later just how weird the disconnect is between what Giles is saying and his tone of voice, but in the moment he's not noticed. Even if he did it might not have changed anything, Pratt is so hyperfocused on Giles' words that the cadence of speech and facial expressions are practically invisible.

What have I told you about hesitating?

Pratt grunts and breaks his eye contact with Giles to look over his shoulder at something that isn't there. And then back down at the man he's knocked over. The knife is still in Pratt's hand, he's close enough he could stab him right in the throat. But...

"Who are you, and why do you keep threatening me? Is this a trial?"

Giles doesn't really notice Pratt's distraction, if he had he might start to understand some semblance of what's going on, but he's far too focused on the knife for that. His thoughts narrowed down on just how quickly this could end for him.

He barely parses what Pratt says, replies instinctively, not thinking about the fact that Pratt must be hearing something different to what he thinks he's saying

"Trial? Of course it's a trial, one that you're failing. You should know very well who I am"

He makes a grab for Pratt's hand, trying to wrest control of the knife, or at least knock it away

Something is wrong, he should have noticed it from the beginning of this whole conversation. But he's far too distracted by what Giles is saying, the words he's heard before, almost lulling him into some kind of trance.

But instead of sinking into it he resists. Pulling back, with a glare at the wall, directed towards the hallucination that seems to have faded away. Giles goes for the knife and Pratt jerks back, refusing to give up control of a weapon. That had been so ground into him he'd probably die before loosening his grip.

"You're not. You're not who you say you are. And this..." He glances around, still seeing the Veteran's Center in some sort of ethereal red light and lack of physics. "This is wrong. The music is.... wrong."

He closes his eyes and sits back for a second. Humming what it should be and then snapping his eyes open again.

"This isn't happening." He shakily stands up, seeming to have forgotten Giles is even there anymore. He runs a hand through his hair, then suddenly jerks fully upright with a gasp at something through the far doorway.

Giles lives to see another day as Pratt turns and runs, knife clutched so tightly in his hand he's losing circulation to his fingers.

July Open Post

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