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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.]
no subject
I was so excited to see this car... But more than half the things Friday and the Captain deem to give us from our home worlds seem like they're gifted with the intention to hurt.
( the pendant molded by her dead boyfriend. the broken watch of her dead father slipped into the pocket of a familiar jacket. mizuki's pictures from home, and natsuno got just a gun — that he hadn't asked for, like a threat of impending violence and the need to use it. her thumbnail is pressing into the worn plastic edging around the goggle lenses — and now these. )
Usually in those giftwrapped boxes. I just... wasn't expecting this one. Here.
no subject
[ Neither's completely acceptable too. Gods knows Ruby's used that option more than once when people try to check on her. So she doesn't draw attention to it. Her brow just furrows a little as Clarke speaks. ]
I think I've only heard about the gifts in passing. I mean, I figured this car didn't exactly fit the setting so it probably belonged to someone, somehow, but...
[ She doesn't know about all the weird mechanics of this place, yet, apparently. Now she wonders what she might get one day... anyway. ]
One thing to get the car, a whole other thing to get the memories inside and attached to it, huh?
no subject
His name was Jasper...
( clarke's not amazing at opening up lately. she's either a tight lipped statue in the form of determination, or a puddle of emotional lava that demands actions in the place of words. she and ruby haven't talked much, despite sharing a living space; maybe chatted about the ship, but in terms of specifics about her own earth, clarke's kept it vague. and this detail dangled out serves as a... semi-invitation. the other girl's welcome to ask more, or offer well wishes to the memory of jasper and disengage. )
no subject
...a friend of yours? I mean, I guess that's a bit of a stupid question, but...
[ She sort of slowly moves to sit on the very edge of the open back of the rover so she's not standing, doing the almost familiar song and dance of doing so without pulling at the long skirt, somehow—it's not totally unlike making sure she's not sitting on her cloak she wears literally all the time. It's weird for her to not be wearing it. Clarke's seen her without it less than most people aboard, not counting camp, but only inside the cabin.
Which... is sort of relevant, as things that remind you of presumably dead people go, but she's not bringing that up right now. ]
no subject
We weren't close anymore. But yeah, he was. One of the original 100 people I fell to Earth with.
( a beat and then in a bit of a rush, scolding herself in a round about way — )
I hadn't thought about him since I woke up on this ship, though. Like I betrayed his memory, what right do I even have to cry over this when it's my fault he — I just —
no subject
It's not about having a right to cry or have feelings about something, Clarke. No matter what happened, everyone has a right to feel what they feel.
[ Ironic coming from the girl who doesn't think she has the right to have any negative emotions at all because it'll discourage other people, or to want anything because she has to focus on what other people need, but she wholeheartedly means that sentiment. It just applies to everyone but her. ]
He was your friend, even if you did something wrong, or just blame yourself, or... whatever it is, it's only human to cry over it. And, with everything going on here... who can blame any of us for not thinking about some things from home on top of that?
[ She sighs, softly, and offers up, ] If always keep them with me in spirit, but if I thought about the people I've lost too much I'd... probably not be doing so great. You know?
[ Borderline a lie. She thinks so, so much about the people she's lost. She just represses it and shoves it into a little box. ]
no subject
but they're both liars here. or a borderline liar, and a full blown hypocrite — that's not the sort of comfort clarke allows to really take root in her soul; no vines of self forgiveness growing over the cracks in the cement of her atrocities. hopefully that little box has a cousin-container, because now comes the herculean task of shoving every ounce of self loathing and regret down into it. attempting to regain some level of composure, even as it feels like everything's being ripped apart at the seams.
clarke sniffles once more, pathetically. but swallows hard next, and when she speaks there's a more even tone rolling off her tongue. )
Forgetting the dead feels like the first step towards forgetting our homes.
( she can no longer recall if she's getting her mother's facial features right in sketches. it eats at her. )
I don't want to do that, grow complacent here. Replace people. Only remember things when the Captain deigns to gift something heartbreaking...
no subject
Then... I suppose all there is to do is try not to, right? Not thinking about them all the time doesn't mean forgetting them, not if we don't let ourselves.
[ She considers her words for a moment, before doing that thing she does yet again: offering up a bit of her own emotions as bargaining chips, rather than actually letting herself feel them. ]
It's... [ she chews her cheek for a second ] it's been fourteen years since my mom died, all I really have of her is stories, but I haven't forgotten her yet.
[ She was maybe three years old, but the losses that have shaped Ruby's life started before she was even born. Raven may not be dead, but her abandoning her dad and her sister is the reason Ruby even exists. Summer Rose dying on her final mission is why Ruby was raised by her sister for a few years when her father became depressed. Then Penny and Pyrrha died less than twelve hours apart and set her life on a whole new course.
Loss is the reason Ruby Rose is who she is, and yet she's rarely let herself actually grieve. ]
The Captain will keep being the Captain, but I think that's one bit of power we can try to take back. Remembering home for our own sake.