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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
It wasn't easy, it was never what I wanted. It hurt and I couldn't even save them all, but each and every time there were no better options.
( rita's hot take on war doesn't sit all that well with clarke either, and after a beat but before the other girl can get another scathing comment in edgewise, she's volleying back — )
How many times have you fought for the right to not be slaughtered like livestock? Were any of those instances stupid?
no subject
[Because, you know, it's not easier said than done or anything...
It's easy to take this stance when it's all hypothetical to her. But there's also another thought that's been building with each fraught conversation--argument?--they've had, and she just goes ahead and blurts that out too because why not-]
Ugh--seriously, has there been a single thing in your whole life that wasn't terrible?
no subject
( here they are, once again, edging towards a screaming match. pushing on the jagged edges of interpersonal wounds, and clarke's pulled back her lips to bare her teeth by invoking the names of those already lost.
temper, temper... yeah, no, temper's on a direct flight path to crash out the window of the diner. but clarke at least manages to keep her voice to an angry-yell whisper, even if she's not leaving any room for rita to respond before launching off that last question. )
And no, Rita. There hasn't been, I grew up a hundred years after the world burned and all of humanity was nearly wiped out. I was born on a space ship where there wasn't enough food, water, medicine, or oxygen to go around, and people were executed if they had more than one child. The sick were left to die, the lower class was worked to the bone for scraps, my father was murdered for lobbying against the Council he and my mother sat on, and then they sent a hundred kids down to die — and all of that was still the safe part of my life!
no subject
Any response she can make now is fueled only by anger, not logic or empathy (even if she might have time to reflect on how messed-up all of that is later, thanks Clarke).]
Then your entire world was seriously rotten, and I don't know why the hell you'd murder hundreds to protect them, you...!
[She points at Clarke but stops short, unable to come up with an insult that properly sums up everything she's feeling right now.]
no subject
rita's up, inclined over the table, pointing angrily — and clarke's suddenly snaking out a hand to wrap around the other girl's forearm and yanking. not to the end of dragging rita over the table and clattering between milkshake cups, but enough to serve as an unpleasantly abrupt shift in center of gravity. grip still tight, clarke takes this opportunity to rise halfway out her bench seat as well, keeping their faces level and leaning closer until there's about a foot between them. angrily burning eyes scorch much more effectively at close distances, chances are they're both going to walk away from this nursing burn wounds. )
You don't have to get it. I don't think anyone ever really knows how far they'd go for the people they care about until they're actively stepping across the line. You don't have to think highly about me, either. Gods know I don't. And you don't have to kill to protect your friends if you're not able to. Just maybe let them know that ahead of time, given the bloody, deadly circumstances we all find ourselves in this time around.
But what you do need to do is expand your sheltered world view and temper your judgements. Or just shut the hell up about things you've never experienced and couldn't possibly understand.
no subject
[The abrupt tug sends her off-balance, and she slams her other hand against the table to brace herself before curling it into a fist. She's sorely tempted to send that fist flying at Clarke as the other girl leans closer, and now they're furiously glowering at each other with all the heat of one of her fire spells.]
Don't talk like you know everything! [Because that's clearly not what Rita's been doing. Not hypocrites, either of them.] You think I won't protect my friends?! How about you shut up with that world-weary jaded "there was nothing else I could do" garbage?!
[She tries to yank her arm back, teeth clenched so hard her jaw hurts.]
And how about keeping your hands to yourself!
[Yeah, not hypocritical at all.]
no subject
rita tries to yank away, but clarke's grip is firm and, yeah, she's older, taller, and has a few pounds on her side. it's not hard to counter that with a locked elbow and slight twist of skin between her fingers. you think i won't protect my friends?! )
I'm sure you'd do your very best. We'll just have to hope that's going to be enough.
( if the other girl tries to break free a second time, she'll release her without much fuss. )
no subject
A faint grimace crosses her face as Clarke holds fast, before her dark scowl returns.]
It will be. Now hands off before I--
[She wrenches her arm back again, but this time there's no resistance and she stumbles right back into her seat, her left hand half-raised to ready a spell. She glares at the other girl a moment longer.]
...I'm done here.
[--And decides there's no further point to this argument, too, so she slides out of the seat and stalks off, right to the diner's exit and off to...nowhere in particular besides somewhere else. She even leaves her milkshake behind.]
no subject
the door to the diner jingles upon exit, and it's only then clarke resumes her seat. but attention returned to the milkshake and fries in front of her, any trace of an appetite has died. dunking salty potato wedges into melting ice cream doesn't hold the same sort of spiteful delight with no one around to be disgusted by it either, and she'll ultimately pushed the glass and basket over the tabletop to join rita's abandoned drink. and just sort of... fold her arms, put her head down on top of them, and breathe. )