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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
Unlucky for him, the ground doesn’t swallow him up. A meteor doesn’t fall from the sky. The Captain doesn’t appear out of thin air and begin monologuing about his latest torture plans. They’ll have to fend for themselves.
Pal swallows a few times, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he takes off his glasses to busy himself with cleaning them against his shirt.]
Neither do I. Come on, Rita, it’s too hot out here for games. Tell us what you mean, or leave us to go inside.
no subject
Hmph--playing dumb isn't gonna cut it, you know!
[They must've fought over something seriously stupid, and while there's a tiny spark of nosiness in her, she doesn't actually care enough to know.]
Whatever...get in all the fights you want; it's not like it matters to me.
no subject
oh.
ohsweetlord — the absolute relief that floods clarke's nervous system and settles in her legs like cement... her shoulders drop about a full inch, she looks down at the layer of dirt covering her clothes, and a few bumps and bruises from scaling the cliff face, and would have laughed if not still perpetually horrified about where she thought this conversation had been going. literally never so happy to be wrong in her life, and blurting without much thought: )
Alright, yes, we were absolutely fighting.
no subject
The idea that they were fighting--physically fighting--is so ridiculous that Pal almost thinks he misunderstood. Come on, Rita. Have you seen Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Library, literally Chief Nerd of the Nerd Planet? He and Clarke have argued plenty, and they surely will again, but if she ever decided to kick his ass, she'd barely break a sweat.
He looks at Clarke sharply when she responds--okay, that's better than the truth, but it's still pretty weird!--but it's not like he can backtrack now.]
...Mm. Yes. You caught us out. Congratulations. Want a prize?
no subject
And then Palamedes sounds like he's practically making fun of her, and she crosses her arms and glowers. There's something fishy going on.]
Okay, now you're getting annoying. What were you really doing out there? I've never heard anything more suspicious in my life.
[Yeah, she's exaggerating, but whatever!]
no subject
We got into a very heated argument about — ( quick, rita hadn't understood nuclear power or splitting the atom at their very first meeting, what's something else that might fly over her head. ) — the Pythagorean Theorem. Escalated to a bit of a shoving match, I'm not proud of that. But we're fine now, we're going to get something to eat.
( possibly her worst lie to date, but told with a solid, impassive straight face. )
no subject
…Right! [Truth over solace in lies, except when dignity is on the line, I guess] Admittedly not the most actionable line of inquiry at the moment, but the theorem does have some interesting applications vis a vis bone reconstruction, or so I tried to tell Griffin here. She didn’t believe me, and I might have gotten a bit snippy. But all’s well in the name of scientific debate.
If you’d like, I can build a construct and show you both what I mean.
[need to get rid of Rita Mordio? Threaten to make a walking skeleton!]
no subject
nonsensicalanachronisticfunny thing here--is the Pythagorean Theorem still called the Pythagorean Theorem in Terca Lumireis? Sure, it'd be quite a coincidence if there was an ancient mathmetician by the name of Pythagoras...but then again, Rita's physical artes use incantations like Descartes, Laplace, Wallis...All this to say that one way or another, Rita's expression indicates that she clearly isn't buying it--and it's only the additional details Pal slips in relating to his necromancy that causes her to shudder and immediately back off.]
Ugh, don't you dare! Keep that stuff away from me!
[And with that...yeah, she's outta here. NO BONE CONSTRUCTS!!]
no subject
but no matter, that doesn't come into conversation at this point. clarke volleys an absolutely useless left-field lie, pal lines up his sights, and summarily spikes it over the net with the threat of skeletal marionettes, and that's basically a score. she doesn't even have to put on confrontational airs and half turn to face him, dare him to drag out a construct right here and now to prove his make believe point. rita's just up and immediately out, like a cat spooked by a cucumber.
which... kinda just leaves them in the dust again. like laying flat after falling off a cliff, heart still thrumming with preemptive mortification despite the call out threat skedaddling in a different direction. clarke almost laughs right then and there, but instead casts a sidelong glance at pal and asks: )
"Griffin"?
( surnames, pal? really? after the last two hours... )
no subject
And besides, it wasn't the most ridiculous thing one of them had said.]
Pythagorean theorem?
no subject
I panicked.
( plain, simple; attempted to be communicated with a straight face, but her mouth wobbles and cheeks bunch in a poorly suppressed smile. )
Completely forgot the words quantum mechanics and thermonuclear radiation. Those might have been better.
no subject
[And then Pal can’t hold it in any longer. It starts as a giggle, but quickly it grows, until he is laughing with his whole body.
It has been a long, long time since he laughed like this.]
no subject
pal gets a light elbow dig into his ribs. )
Shut up, she'll hear you and come back even more suspicious.
( then with the same arm, clarke smoothes her palm across the back of his damp, dusty shirt and gives a small push of a lead; herding him towards the diner. )
Come on. ( let's go get milkshakes. )