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come_sailaway2022-08-12 01:46 am
sailmods) wrote in come_sailaway2022-08-12 01:46 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: ekko,
- arcane: jinx,
- changeling the lost: giles,
- changeling the lost: oswald wuthridge,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- far cry 5: deputy pratt,
- far cry new dawn: sharky boshaw,
- fe3h: dimitri alexandre blaiddyd,
- groundhog day musical: phil connors,
- interview with the vampire: claudia,
- lavender jack: honoria crabb,
- lavender jack: johnny summer,
- mcu: ava starr,
- mcu: marc spector,
- mcu: steven grant,
- original: aiden copeland,
- original: lucas kovach,
- original: ylva wolfsdottir,
- overwatch: bastion e54,
- overwatch: maximilien,
- prodigal son: malcolm bright,
- rwby: ruby rose,
- sherlock holmes: john watson,
- skulduggery pleasant: skulduggery,
- tales of the abyss: jade curtiss,
- tales of vesperia: rita mordio,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the locked tomb: palamedes sextus,
- the umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves,
- westworld: maeve millay
AUGUST EVENT: DRAGSTRIP RIOT
[it begins with a PA announcement on the morning of the 12th, Friday’s voice coming through clear and cheerful.]
Any passengers that wish to debark to our latest port of call can exit the ship through the metal detectors on deck zero! Please be advised that all alcohol will be confiscated prior to your exit!
[and whoever heads down to the lowest deck will find that what she said was true: there is a metal detector set up there, with Friday manning it. after placing all metal objects (including weapons, and all your weapons) onto the tray, she gestures for the passenger to step through the metal detector.
they exit in an entirely different location. suffering from a splitting headache, and wearing an entirely different outfit than they had put on this morning, but unscathed. they even got their weapons back!
the interior of the diner is essentially your average jonathan rockets establishment. the narrow lane between booths and counter is manned by an entirely mute Friday clone, who cheerily takes orders and serves up food (cooked??? somewhere???) with an almost unnatural talent for roller blading. there is a jukebox in the corner that can be fed with quarters passengers will inexplicably find on their person. the available songs range from the 50s to the 80s, with a particularly wide selection of songs from the platters.
outside, the diner is a great chrome boxcar, circled by a small parking lot. a large neon sign proclaims it to be GIL’S; it buzzes and flickers on and off often. passengers who have regained vehicles will find these vehicles parked outside. there are also a handful of midcentury American cars; none of them seem to require keys, and the gas tank seems set at full.
past the parking lot is a seemingly endless expanse of desert sand and scrubland, bisecting by the empty highway that the diner abuts. a few miles down this highway, the road forks into a smaller one, which winds its way up a steep, ragged mountain until plateauing into another parking lot, with only a small, old wooden fence between the cars and the edge of the cliff.
should they wish to return to the ship, passengers can leave at any time the same way they entered: walking through a doorway that now claims to be a mop closet. passing through will leave them on deck zero, again with a splitting headache. it’s probably fine.]
Any passengers that wish to debark to our latest port of call can exit the ship through the metal detectors on deck zero! Please be advised that all alcohol will be confiscated prior to your exit!
[and whoever heads down to the lowest deck will find that what she said was true: there is a metal detector set up there, with Friday manning it. after placing all metal objects (including weapons, and all your weapons) onto the tray, she gestures for the passenger to step through the metal detector.
they exit in an entirely different location. suffering from a splitting headache, and wearing an entirely different outfit than they had put on this morning, but unscathed. they even got their weapons back!
the interior of the diner is essentially your average jonathan rockets establishment. the narrow lane between booths and counter is manned by an entirely mute Friday clone, who cheerily takes orders and serves up food (cooked??? somewhere???) with an almost unnatural talent for roller blading. there is a jukebox in the corner that can be fed with quarters passengers will inexplicably find on their person. the available songs range from the 50s to the 80s, with a particularly wide selection of songs from the platters.
outside, the diner is a great chrome boxcar, circled by a small parking lot. a large neon sign proclaims it to be GIL’S; it buzzes and flickers on and off often. passengers who have regained vehicles will find these vehicles parked outside. there are also a handful of midcentury American cars; none of them seem to require keys, and the gas tank seems set at full.
past the parking lot is a seemingly endless expanse of desert sand and scrubland, bisecting by the empty highway that the diner abuts. a few miles down this highway, the road forks into a smaller one, which winds its way up a steep, ragged mountain until plateauing into another parking lot, with only a small, old wooden fence between the cars and the edge of the cliff.
should they wish to return to the ship, passengers can leave at any time the same way they entered: walking through a doorway that now claims to be a mop closet. passing through will leave them on deck zero, again with a splitting headache. it’s probably fine.]
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His intentions change when he spots Johnny backed up against a wall and paler than usual. There's no decision to be made. César hurries over to him, letting the tote slide off his shoulder and arm to plop on the floor as he reaches Johnny, expression worried.
"Honey, what's wrong?" He rests his hands on Johnny's upper arms, and then be realizes what's opposite of them; his expression growing lighter with realization. "Let's get your out of here...."
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Plural, because Johnny needn't face this alone. Like any good adult, César doesn't blame Johnny for trying and offers to help next time.
César rubs Johnny's arms reassuringly. "Do you have everything?"
Best to get them out of here so Johnny doesn't have to worry about people seeing him like this.
Sorry, César, this is a top level, and it doesn't work that way.no subject
Though his coat is weighed down a bit by the revolver in the inner pocket, not always something he carries. He takes a deep breath and looks up into César's eyes. "I'm sorry."
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The truth, all said without hesitation. He let's go of Johnny's shoulders to pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder again. César holds out his other hand for Johnny to take, if and how he wishes.
"Your room? Tauva?"
The hand, the choice. Little bits of control in a situation Johnny can't. César will deal with it if Johnny needs him and a cigar.
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He takes the offered hand, twining fingers with his lover and holding on tight. Yes, yes he wants a cigar, but he wants to be held more.
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César nods, squeezing reassuringly before he leads them back towards the cabins. He knows where home is. Perhaps it's strange, but that only means César fits right in.
As they walk, César will stay silent as to not be overheard by any of the other passengers. He adjusts his pace to match Johnny's. César only comes to a stop when they're at Room 102's door.
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Unable to help himself, he reaches out to smooth his hand over Johnny's hair, his words coming easily, lovingly. "Te amo, bonito."
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"I wish being loved was enough to make me better."
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"It takes more than a day to erase years of torture." César points out that much, at least. "How'd you find the courage to try? I'm amazed and impressed that you did; that was completely unexpected."
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He laughs humorlessly, almost huffing mockingly at himself.
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That's enough to sink César's mood to something more neutral, but this isn't about his emotions right now, and he won't let it become that way.
"I'm glad that was enough for you to try." He states quietly.
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Maybe that question is rhetorical; César gives it proper consideration regardless, speaking with certainty. "It's far better, love."
Johnny's in kissing range, so César will give those lips a loving, lingering kiss before he leans back enough to look into Johnny's eyes warmly, twining together their legs. "Don't give up. Exposure therapy—it has a name!—takes time to work, and it will work. Because you're Johnny Summer. You started at the Blue Horseshoe Pub, remember? That's metaphorically where you are now. From the basement, the top floor seems impossibly high."
A pause, then he quirks a smile. "And this time, you'll have two cute boyfriends supporting you as you claw you way up, floor by floor, until you own the entire building."
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But it helps, to be able to imagine it like that, a climb instead of a binary, there or not. Johnny has been (like a dumbass) treating this like a failure without recognizing what a success trying is.
I am a serious RPer
(•_•)
( •_•)>⌐■-■
(⌐■_■)
"—build yourself up to it!"
The worst part about the pun being that it's definitely coming right off the top of César's head.
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"That was awful."
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César kisses that smallest of smiles, tenderly saying te amo with a kiss. There's no heat, just a familiar presence and sensation. He's kissing and holding Johnny in the same soothing way he always does when one of his partners needs sympathy, is in some amount of pain, or just wants to be close.
What just happened changes not a thing between them. César won't treat this moment any differently. Johnny wants and needs César here, so he will be. Simple as that.
"Do you want me to go on? Open a window into the inner machinations of my mind?" Oops. Another one slipped through.