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come_sailaway2022-07-11 01:34 pm
be_seeing_you) wrote in come_sailaway2022-07-11 01:34 pm
[Open] Arrival + Event Catch-All
Who: Number 6 & OPEN
What: First few openers repeated from the TDM + New event prompts ALL TRUTH BECAUSE HE WILL HATE IT (All the TDM prompts except for the first one can be truth flavored, too)
Where: Locations stated in the prompt
When: The first one on the 11th, the rest throughout the month of July
Warnings: He's very upset and might be shouty
Over His dead body [7/11]
Waking up in an unfamiliar place is nothing new to him at this point. Not that it makes him any less boiling with rage over it. And that note only makes the steam rise higher over his head. So, they're doing cruises now? How novel. And using days of the week for names instead of numbers, too. What won't The Village try? He obstinately ignores the suggestion to bring his life vest with him. But the order to go to their mandatory drill is less easy to ignore. When did they gain the ability to paralyze him if he won't go where they say?
He can be found in the halls, not very far from the cabin he woke in (113), frozen in place with his hands balled into fists at his sides absolutely seething with rage. His entire body trembles with the force of it. He knows what he has to do to get unstuck. He'd experimented with taking a few steps forward and back. But will he go where he is directed? No. Never. He'd rather go red-faced in this hallway waiting for their unseen will to control him to run out than take one more step. Even if it takes hours.
Don't Look Down - Elevator prompt from the TDM
After, presumably, someone convinced him to finally just go do the god-forsaken drill, he thought the worst was over. How naive of him. He steps onto the glass elevator and reaches to hit the button. But nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing. No movement. Turning to the person beside him, whom he has failed to acknowledge up until this point, he asks, "Does this happen often?"
There won't be time for a reply before the elevator quite suddenly lurches up one floor, and then drops. His stomach rises into his throat and he desperately puts his hands out to grip the side, fingers squeaking on the slippery glass, as they careen down, down, down!
Then stop.
He's thrown from his feet, landing hard on his side with a grunt. But rather than worry after himself, he's turning to catch sight of his unwitting partner on this fun-house ride, asking urgently, "Are you all right?"
Since When Did the Food Fight Back? - Mikabo prompt from the TDM
"What in blazes?" he exclaims as a knife goes soaring past him, followed quickly by a roll of sushi and the whole plate too.
He turns in shock to see the conveyor belt, seemingly with a mind of its own, winding up for another throw.
"Who is running this place?"
The truth will set you free?
Well, how was he supposed to know not to drink the water? Who would be stupid enough to poison the finite water supply on a cruise ship? After splashing some on his face in the morning to wash and shave himself, and then using it to brush his teeth like any decent hygienic person, he goes about his day none-the-wiser to the sudden change that's taken place.
His newly formed routine is to prowl the ship deck first thing in the morning (and last thing at night), scowling while he checks the waves and sky for any hint of a clue about where they could be. He checks the life boats, too, as if paranoid they might vanish without warning. It's unfortunate for him that it's been raining so much, only compounding the problematic effects of the water.
Once he's done his lap around the deck, he will work his way down level by level. He's memorizing the lay of thing, taking note of cabin numbers and all the many and varied amenities. It's almost staggering how many venues there are, and all of them host technology he'd never even dreamed of.
For instance, the arcade full of flashy computer games has him mesmerized. He stands in front of a cabinet, hand on the joystick while utterly transfixed. He doesn't make it past the opening stage of the game, but he keeps trying, getting visibly more upset each time the death screen animation plays. Until, finally, he shouts suddenly, "what's this all about?!"
He's keeping that angry-old-man-shouts-at-technology vibe with him through the rest of his explorations. Nothing on this ship makes any sense. The music is different. The decorations are all unfamiliar. If he believed in such things, he'd think he got abducted by aliens. Maybe he shouldn't rule it out.
To add insult to injury, his assigned dining time of "6:66 PM" feels like a particularly stinging slap in the face. Surely that was done on purpose to mock him. And so, when he sits down at his assigned seat, he is looking incredibly sour. He would shout at their servers, if he could see them. Instead, he has no recourse but to sit there, elbows on the table like a petulant child, seething quietly while the meal is served. And to quench that rage, he drinks more water, of course. Looks like mealtime chatter might be about to get a lot more interesting, or rage inducing. Probably that last one.
Good thing he doesn't have a roommate.
Speaking of rage, Number 6 is in one now. An hour after a conversation with someone, he somehow sobers-up and realizes that what he actually said doesn't match what he thought he said. AT ALL. And he is livid.
A chair goes flying into the hallway, crashing against the wall opposite Room 113. A glass goes soaring out after, smashing in rainfall of shattered shards.
If anyone is brave enough to stick their head through the open door after all that, they will find him in the process of attempting to upend his bunk. And there will be pieces of his furniture and personal effect thrown all around the room. It looks like a hurricane came through.
If he catches sight of any onlookers he will shout, "What do you want!" His piercing blue eyes narrowed down to slits as he locks his gaze on them. Taking one step more might feel like stepping on your own grave. Enter at your own risk.
What: First few openers repeated from the TDM + New event prompts ALL TRUTH BECAUSE HE WILL HATE IT (All the TDM prompts except for the first one can be truth flavored, too)
Where: Locations stated in the prompt
When: The first one on the 11th, the rest throughout the month of July
Warnings: He's very upset and might be shouty
Over His dead body [7/11]
Waking up in an unfamiliar place is nothing new to him at this point. Not that it makes him any less boiling with rage over it. And that note only makes the steam rise higher over his head. So, they're doing cruises now? How novel. And using days of the week for names instead of numbers, too. What won't The Village try? He obstinately ignores the suggestion to bring his life vest with him. But the order to go to their mandatory drill is less easy to ignore. When did they gain the ability to paralyze him if he won't go where they say?
He can be found in the halls, not very far from the cabin he woke in (113), frozen in place with his hands balled into fists at his sides absolutely seething with rage. His entire body trembles with the force of it. He knows what he has to do to get unstuck. He'd experimented with taking a few steps forward and back. But will he go where he is directed? No. Never. He'd rather go red-faced in this hallway waiting for their unseen will to control him to run out than take one more step. Even if it takes hours.
Don't Look Down - Elevator prompt from the TDM
After, presumably, someone convinced him to finally just go do the god-forsaken drill, he thought the worst was over. How naive of him. He steps onto the glass elevator and reaches to hit the button. But nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing. No movement. Turning to the person beside him, whom he has failed to acknowledge up until this point, he asks, "Does this happen often?"
There won't be time for a reply before the elevator quite suddenly lurches up one floor, and then drops. His stomach rises into his throat and he desperately puts his hands out to grip the side, fingers squeaking on the slippery glass, as they careen down, down, down!
Then stop.
He's thrown from his feet, landing hard on his side with a grunt. But rather than worry after himself, he's turning to catch sight of his unwitting partner on this fun-house ride, asking urgently, "Are you all right?"
Since When Did the Food Fight Back? - Mikabo prompt from the TDM
"What in blazes?" he exclaims as a knife goes soaring past him, followed quickly by a roll of sushi and the whole plate too.
He turns in shock to see the conveyor belt, seemingly with a mind of its own, winding up for another throw.
"Who is running this place?"
The truth will set you free?
Well, how was he supposed to know not to drink the water? Who would be stupid enough to poison the finite water supply on a cruise ship? After splashing some on his face in the morning to wash and shave himself, and then using it to brush his teeth like any decent hygienic person, he goes about his day none-the-wiser to the sudden change that's taken place.
His newly formed routine is to prowl the ship deck first thing in the morning (and last thing at night), scowling while he checks the waves and sky for any hint of a clue about where they could be. He checks the life boats, too, as if paranoid they might vanish without warning. It's unfortunate for him that it's been raining so much, only compounding the problematic effects of the water.
Once he's done his lap around the deck, he will work his way down level by level. He's memorizing the lay of thing, taking note of cabin numbers and all the many and varied amenities. It's almost staggering how many venues there are, and all of them host technology he'd never even dreamed of.
For instance, the arcade full of flashy computer games has him mesmerized. He stands in front of a cabinet, hand on the joystick while utterly transfixed. He doesn't make it past the opening stage of the game, but he keeps trying, getting visibly more upset each time the death screen animation plays. Until, finally, he shouts suddenly, "what's this all about?!"
He's keeping that angry-old-man-shouts-at-technology vibe with him through the rest of his explorations. Nothing on this ship makes any sense. The music is different. The decorations are all unfamiliar. If he believed in such things, he'd think he got abducted by aliens. Maybe he shouldn't rule it out.
To add insult to injury, his assigned dining time of "6:66 PM" feels like a particularly stinging slap in the face. Surely that was done on purpose to mock him. And so, when he sits down at his assigned seat, he is looking incredibly sour. He would shout at their servers, if he could see them. Instead, he has no recourse but to sit there, elbows on the table like a petulant child, seething quietly while the meal is served. And to quench that rage, he drinks more water, of course. Looks like mealtime chatter might be about to get a lot more interesting, or rage inducing. Probably that last one.
Good thing he doesn't have a roommate.
Speaking of rage, Number 6 is in one now. An hour after a conversation with someone, he somehow sobers-up and realizes that what he actually said doesn't match what he thought he said. AT ALL. And he is livid.
A chair goes flying into the hallway, crashing against the wall opposite Room 113. A glass goes soaring out after, smashing in rainfall of shattered shards.
If anyone is brave enough to stick their head through the open door after all that, they will find him in the process of attempting to upend his bunk. And there will be pieces of his furniture and personal effect thrown all around the room. It looks like a hurricane came through.
If he catches sight of any onlookers he will shout, "What do you want!" His piercing blue eyes narrowed down to slits as he locks his gaze on them. Taking one step more might feel like stepping on your own grave. Enter at your own risk.
no subject
"The Captain brings us here to this little... pocket of a universe, I guess, in order to use our pain and suffering to fuel the very ship we're living on. Don't ask me why it's dressed up like a pleasurable experience when it's really just a floating slaughterhouse, I just imagine he thought it'd be funny. There's no real connection between us all. Some of us come from the same worlds, some are family members, sometimes absolute strangers. Friday says we all seem 'to come from scary places', but that's more of a majority rules sort of thing; there's people here who at least seem like they've never faced a day of hardship in their lives."
Belatedly, Clarke notices the tiny cut from the glass in her heel has started to bleed too-dark blood again, and fusses with the sleeve of her long sleeved black shirt in order to pat at it. But she still talks at length, that special sort of numb shock still persisting hours past her most recent near-death experience.
"My take away is that a lot of it's random. Like he's sticking his hand in a bowl of lots and just drawing whenever he feels like. A vampire here, a god there, a human back here again, an eldritch horror over there... For as powerful as he is, he's sloppy and lazy about it."
no subject
He can't just stand there and watch her dab at the dark blood oozing from her heel, so he yanks a folded white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and holds it out for her.
"Have you got anything in the way of proof?"
no subject
"His own word, and that of the only person who's ever escaped. And the way things work around here lends to the hypothesis, especially the resurrection of the dead."
Dab dab dab, then a careful drag of her eyes back to his face.
"...There's a point were disbelief stops being a coping mechanism, and just starts to hold you back." Complacency is the death of progress, and stubborn idiocy was dangerously unhelpful.
no subject
"Someone has escaped?" That has his full attention. So far, no one has indicated that escape is even remotely possible. "How?"
He meets her gaze unflinching, his mouth still set in a stubborn line. "Your warning has been noted."
no subject
"Her name is Pirate Jenny." And if Clarke was being completely honest, escaped is a generous term. The storm goddess in human form still seemed as shackled to the Serena Eterna as the rest of them. "And she played five games of chance against the Captain, and only won once. Blackjack, specifically."
no subject
"And her boon for winning was to be set free from this ship?" he leans in a little closer without realizing it. That sounds too good to be true. There must be a catch. "If the Captain can control everything, then is there such thing as random chance?"
no subject
"Who's to say, really? He likes games, plenty of those require some sort of chance to be played honestly, and I doubt he wanted to let Jenny go."
...or did he? Clarke gives a mild shake of her head, that is a rabbit hole to dig into later.
"Can control doesn't mean he does. He's not controlling the individual people here so far as I can tell, doesn't care enough to. We're usually just left to our own devices until he wants something from us, so if we were to flip a coin right now I don't think he'd mess with it. And he's not infallible. He makes mistakes, like this stupid truth or lie thing we're dealing with now."
no subject
"If we are here in some capacity to be his personal play things, then allowing luck to exist might be a way to keep it entertaining." A bleak way to look at things, but it tracks with everything else he's seen so far.
"It is both encouraging and concerning that he can be fallible. It presents us with a chance to best him, but it makes things far more dangerous. And that's before we get to the other passengers themselves."
He leans back against the wall again and lapses into a ponderous silence. No, he doesn't like it at all. This business with being forced to tell the truth, without even knowing it, stands to do a lot of harm to him personally. Perhaps it already has.
no subject
You're fuel for my research. Nothing — more. I never sat down and talked to a can of gasoline to tell it how it was going to burn. — Can cans of gasoline talk back in your world.
No one likes being reduced to a living, breathing, suffering toy. One may burn themselves out for their own purposes, but the second that choice is taken away it breeds discontent and stokes rebellion. Tragically, their attempts to lash back just haven't found any purchase yet. Maybe never will, or maybe it was just a matter of time — but knowing they were not the first set of passengers to endure years of bending to the Captain's whims isn't an encouraging statistic. Also knowing how hands off the maybe-man-turned-almost-god seemed comfortable to be, confident they'd destroy themselves with only mild intervention... It rubs salt in the wound, but hurt in a relatively familiar way. Of course they would, that's what people just did.
Even as Number 6 falls into thoughtful silence and Clarke continues to dab at her heel with his handkerchief, she continues to talk. Specifically about the passenger makeup.
"We're just like any other small community in forced proximity. There's those angling for leadership and trying to enforce order, there's those lobbying for peace, there's the ones who keep to themselves by default and the ones actively trying to hide. There's innocent civilians, useless liabilities, children, anarchists and soldiers. Doctors and musicians, scientists and hippies, scholars and imposters.
"And psychopaths who pose a threat to everyone here. Plenty of them. Enough that it's at least a point of concern, and more and more people showing up every few weeks."
Even if Number 6 isn't looking at her, Clarke's very readily looking him square in the face. Then dipping her gaze to the chaos of the room, a reminder of why she was here; had heard wanton destruction and immediately thought danger, with enough of a panic response to run (hobble) headlong into it while nursing a fresh stab wound and fresher army-style triage burns.
"Do you know what type you're going to be?"
no subject
"I'm not helpless. I'm not what you would call a civilian. I'm also not a present danger to anything that isn't a table lamp or other piece of furniture. Where do you suppose that puts me?"
no subject
And hm indeed. Were any of the options really good ones? Please believe she locks the qualifier of present when it comes to whatever danger the man may pose to the masses, but right now doesn't push it.
"Guess I'd prefer doctors —" As close as Clarke gets to humor is at her own expense, that cauterized stab wound to her flank still radiates pain with every heartbeat. Dry sarcasm rolls off her tongue, mask of fierce judgement giving way to a hint of teenage sass. "— but am willing to accept if you're just a musician."
no subject
"Bad luck. I only know first aid and a smattering of field medicine. I'm no surgeon. I've a little talent for the piano but I'm no musician either."
no subject
Clarke's pulling a face, a silent expression to communicate: pity, we could have used more of both. But it's brief, moving right along to another round of guesses.
"Scholarly hermit, then? Or solider?"
no subject
"You're getting warmer. I was a soldier once." And if he ever gets out of captivity, perhaps he will choose to become a scholarly hermit. That sounds appealing.
"It's a trick question, I'm afraid. I recently resigned from my previous role."
no subject
"I don't think our pasts count for much here, past whatever importance we put on them. So — if this is retirement, what do you want to be here? I'm making a list."
Has been since day one, honestly. It's (admittedly almost like a hit list, but not so official) an ever evolving list, with each new arrival. But with most, she doesn't get the opportunity to sit down with and cut through the meat of the issue like this.
no subject
His frustration is palpable, which might suggest it has more to do with just being trapped on this ship. It's only the tip of this iceberg, really. He's been fighting to get free for possibly a year. (He isn't entirely sure how long it's been without an accurate way to keep time.)
"I mean no one here, save for our dear captain, any harm but I do not wish to get deeply involved with them either. I do not plan to stay long enough for that. I will not be content to live out my retirement in captivity."
no subject
Clarke absorbs his answer, seemingly visibly tallying the weight behind his sentiment with a slight incline of her head from left to right. But ultimately it's deemed perfect, respectable. And I was a solider once is immediately translated into he could be one again.
"So you'll fight with us? Those intent on killing the Captain, and hopefully returning to our own timelines?" It's strategic omission, leaving out that she personally believes they're going to have to kill the wannabe god governing their lives, die alongside him as this reality collapses, and just be content knowing nothing like this will ever befall another person. Whatever endgame people hope for here, it doesn't matter so long as killing the Captain is the agreed upon first choice. The end result would sort itself regardless of the passengers wants and needs.
"You know freedom doesn't come without a great deal of suffering. You ready for that?"
no subject
"I'm no stranger to suffering. I don't cower in the face of it. I'll fight, with or without you. I never intended to do anything else."
no subject
Good chat; all the boxes marked for this to be a very pleasant first impression on her end.
"Great. That's everything I wanted to check here." And now she can begin the greatly pained journey from the couch to the still-open door to cabin 113, paying even less attention to sprinkles of glass shards along the floor — the need to lay down and nurse her gut wound with some liquid painkillers and sleep far more pressing than small cuts along her feet.
no subject
"Can I help you back to your cabin, at least?"
no subject
A gentle one, though. Not derisive. Almost good natured and polite as a scoff can be. She pointedly presses a hand over her patched wound instead of taking his arm.
"I got here on my own. I'll be fine getting back."
In truth? Taking his statements at face value and finding them satisfactory didn't equate with wanting him to know which room was hers. If you pop your head out five minutes after this and spot her leaning heavily on a wall, just pretend you didn't, Number 6.
no subject
"It's your funeral." Just because he's not going to stop her doesn't mean he won't make his displeasure about it known.
"I'll be listening, in case you change your mind halfway there." And, yes, he will poke his head out to watch her go and to check frequently on her progress. What is she going to do, come back to tell him off?
no subject
Classic stubborn teenager, right here. Walking like she's not a mild inconvenience away from stumbling into a puddle or starting to cry.