come_sailaway | APRIL OPEN LOG: PIRATE JENNY

APRIL OPEN LOG: PIRATE JENNY

[early risers with odd-numbered rooms might notice that the morning sun doesn't quite come through the curtains as much as it usually does; they can peer out the portholes to see their views blocked by black-painted wood. everyone else won't realize something's off until the morning announcements. there's the chime, and Friday speaks, but...]

Passengers, I'd like for you all to join me in the atrium at your earliest possible convenience! We have a… situation!

[there is no bind on their legs; going is their choice. but, who wouldn't? something interesting is happening, at least. for once.

when they arrive, they will find Friday, and find that she is not alone. a woman - tall, dark, with a flowing coat and a lit cigar hanging from the side of her mouth like an old movie gangster - is standing on the raised area by the stairs; they are having a conversation that's too quiet to hear, and the woman's face is nearly as inscrutable. when enough have gathered, Friday steps forward, her empty hands clasped together in front of her, as the woman puts out the cigar on the heel of her boot and tosses it thoughtlessly to the ground.]

Good morning, everyone! I.. I'd like, I'd like to, well, I'd -

[the woman places a firm hand on Friday's shoulder - spins her, grabs her, dips her low to the ground, and kisses her soundly. at the first touch, Friday freezes; but, at the dip, she squeaks, and throws her arms up to hold herself up. the woman returns her to a normal position, and grins widely.]

Let me handle this, Dajutia. Hm? [Friday nods, and the woman turns to face the passengers.] Tau, everyone! My name is Jenny Storm, but all my friends call me Pirate Jenny! And I'd like to think we're all friends, sí? You could call me an... alumnus of the Serena Eterna; I spent a good five years being a thorn in the side of our good Captain! So, when I heard that he was getting up to his old tricks again, I decided to come around and see the fresh meat! And maybe have a bit of a vacation myself!

[she looks at each of them in turn. her grin widens, showing sharp canines.]

Now, I am sure you are thinking, "Señora Storm? You are a pirate! Are you here to rob us of our valuables?" [she barks out a laugh, then shakes her head.] No, no. First off, we're friends; it's Pirate Jenny! And Pirate Jenny is not interested in such things. In fact, I have valuables for you!

[she makes a quick movement: she sticks her pointer finger in her mouth, and then immediately uses that same finger to make some sort of sketch on her palm. seconds later, that same palm closes around a single white rose, which she extends to Friday. she pauses... then takes it, careful, holding it gentle as a bird.]

I may not be the Captain, but I happen to have a little bit of magic of my own! And, for a very, very low price, I can grant you a few small wishes! Trifles from home, maybe - do you like rocket launchers? I am getting very good at rocket launchers!

Jenny...

Okay, okay, no rocket launchers... Machine guns are as big as I'll go, promise!

[Friday just audibly sighs and shakes her head, but there's a clear sort of fondness in it, and Jenny laughs again.]

So, be sure to chat me up, sí? After breakfast! I may not miss much about this damned ship, but I do miss those little omelets!

[she salutes the audience, and then immediately leaves, taking the stairs down three at a time and needlessly pushing her way through the small crowd on her way to the elevators. Friday merely watches her go; her fingers have worried the rose to shreds that fall at her feet.

the rest of the month, until the 13th, is very much the same, with one exception: Jenny's ship remains at the Serena Eterna's side, a sailing ship somehow keeping pace with a modern engine craft. and Jenny doesn't seem to be keeping an especially close eye on it.]

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César's has only seconds of reassurance that his things and his vest will be handled. Then Watson asks the dreaded questions, and his hand stills in his left breast pocket. Slowly, quietly, César pulls out a ticking pocket watch.

"She picked up broken glass from a wine bottle. Told me to slit her throat in the middle of Topy. I suggested the morgue instead, so that no one would have to see. But I had to know the truth of it. To know if we would really be expected to sometimes kill each other to survive. If she was bluffing, she'd back out... but she never did."

Early 1900s rolled gold with a simply embossed cover—a women's pocket watch, not that he knows. He pushes the crown to pop the lid open to reveal the face and a picture of himself with his parents and young Rex on the other side. César watches the movement.

It's all a telling delay tactic. His wide eyes search desperately between the face and the photograph. Eyes so focused, he can avoid seeing either his companion's reactions.

"Fucking hell, you look like you're about to cry. I'm doing you a damned favor at this point. Stop being such a fucking virgin on his wedding night and do it!" Word for word, he repeats hers, all but the last two words lacking any of the emotion, and then as he continues, his hands begin to tremble. "Her left carotid artery. She wasn't bothered. Had no fear. She was used to dying, and didn't think to warn me about all the blood. And then Friday, she called me dramatic, just cared about the convenient clean up compared to the jewelry store...."

César abruptly pushes the watch's crown down and closes it before setting it slowly down and away from him. His throat and chest are tight, his mouth open as he stares out into nothing in horror. Not only had he done it, but the action had meant nothing to his victim.

"The only person who felt like they suffered was me. What the fuck?!"

Edited (added where he stabby slicediedy) 2022-04-06 21:10 (UTC)

"Jenny and Friday are accustomed to it." The comment comes over the sound of the sink. "I talked with her--the pirate dame, not the faceless one. About her previous experiences on the ship and what it's all about. How the captain delights in torture. Jenny told me about another passenger being vivisected, after losing a foot race against the captain."

He doesn't look over his shoulder, but he does pitch his voice to be heard in the room. Vocal control is, for some reason, something he's learned.

"She told me a few other interesting things about the Captain, too."

"Vivisected," Watson repeats. What he's heard, well, he'll wait on that, for the moment. He can well imagine the mess that resulted from a severed carotid artery, and he has his doubts about whether César was remotely prepared for that, whether he even could have been. He shakes his head. "A severed artery would have been much faster than that, but yes, it would have been a great deal of blood."

He lifts César's hand to better look at it up close for a moment. "At least I don't believe you'll need stitches for this. You're at least that lucky. What else have we heard?"

César was not even remotely prepared for that. And he couldn't have been. Johnny's statement adds to the growing list of potential future horrors. Vivisection?!

"At least that. ... People who die get tucked into bed and awaken at 6 AM the next morning." He sighs quietly, half-glancing towards Watson before cleaning out the rest of his pockets.

Not having anymore to say on that subject, César lets the other two talk as he empties the rest of his pockets. Right stomach: wallet, two cell phones (his own and the ship's), passports (Argentine, Mexican), and a small insulated pill case. Left stomach: custom multitool, phone charger cable, soldering pen, and a small key fob.

And then, very carefully, he reaches into the hidden inside left pocket and pulls out something that looks like... a tuning fork. This, he puts down extremely carefully. He then points to it and looks between them both.

"Do not touch this. It induces unconsciousness." Clearly, a 'weapon' in that regard; he stares at it for a moment, then adds, raising his voice. "My pockets are clear."

Edited 2022-04-06 22:53 (UTC)

Johnny comes out of the bathroom with a warm, damp washcloth in his hand. Before he tends to the vest, he begins to clean César's face. Slow, gentle, tender, trying to get rid of some of the blood. At least, enough that he can lean in and kiss César on the forehead.

"Jenny says the Captain doesn't watch the cabins, and the reason why is that he hates people touching. That's at least part of why she kissed the faceless dame, at the announcement. I...look, this is going to sound nuts, but. I think somehow pain and torment feed the Captain. And the opposite repulses him."

And that said, he leaves César with the washcloth and takes the vest into the bathroom.

"My own conversation with our friend Jenny, well. She led me to believe that much of the violence that may come will be at each other's hands, not from the Captain's." Watson starts bandaging up César's hand, his touch very gentle, and his expression very grave. "She also implied that she didn't expect me to believe her when she told me that we would hurt and murder those we love and care for, and that they would hurt us."

He sighs. "I cannot... I don't want to imagine."

César looks up to Johnny in surprise when he cleans off his face. Oh, blood. Johnny can watch his ministrations chip away at the edges of César's upset. How his shoulders start to relax again, his brows start to relax. César has always been weak to his needs being acknowledged, and he finds himself weaker still to the gentle kiss on his forehead.

There's the briefest of grateful smiles, fleeting before the subject steals it away again.

He's quiet as the others talk, using the washcloth to clean his head and neck further. To know ahead of time that things may get so terrible is both a blessing and a curse. Death being normalized will only be one of many worries.

"I'm glad Rex isn't here." César firm states to the both of them, the normal energy in his continence all but snuffed out. "I'd never recover if Rex became a part of this. Despite everything he's had to see and do, he's still fift—sixteen. Still so innocent. He only sees the world in black and white...."

To wish to perhaps never see his brother again is a terrible thing, yet, he has no choice.

He looks to Watson as he bandages his hand, heartsick. "Can we even prepare for such atrocities?"

Edited (OOPS I forgot to state what he was doing at the end) 2022-04-07 01:54 (UTC)

"To know is something. We'll see where it all ends up leading, but at least we can think about it, and tell the others, and stick together as much as we can." He begins to work on the vest.

"Watson, would it be alright if I invited César to stay the night with us?" Because yes, he's not going to assume Watson's alright with that, but also because he wants that us to be heard. It's not just 'I want him to stay with me' in this instance, but 'let's both offer him comfort'.

"I haven't any notion how to prepare, either, or if it's even human possible to prepare for such a thing. Even if we do come back to life after being killed... well, I don't plan on letting it happen, if the alternative means becoming like Pirate Jenny."

There's the smallest twitch of an eyebrow at "us," because he's a little surprised to be included in quite this way, burgeoning romance that he's been watching. He's not unhappy about it, either. "I think that would be an excellent idea. After an experience like that, I don't believe César should be alone."

César has opinions on the topic of discussion. He does. Those opinions are forgotten when Johnny asks if César can stay the night, and Watson says he believes César shouldn't be alone.

He's human here. Allowed to experience emotions. Johnny and Watson are protective of him, they want him to feel safe, and they care. Just like how they all piled into the same bed that first night Rex had nearly died. Just the opposite of his first night at Providence that he slept that first night alone after losing his parents and finding his brother had no memories of him.

It's overwhelming to know he's supported like this, and it hasn't stopped being overwhelming. Over half a year of nothing, and then suddenly, he has just the support he needs. Support he knows he'll be able to return when the time comes, and they need him.

Just like it had become with his parents and Gabriel. Sharing that hug between the four of them when they saved Rex. Offering his mother and father hugs of support when he found them also struggling with what had and had nearly happened. And much later, the three and four of them talking together about what they had to do in order to save the world, all of one mind....

His parents would have loved Watson and Johnny. Papí would've spent hours talking to Watson about a great many things. Mama would've cooed over the fledgling romance between him and Johnny. She would've gone on and on about how she always hoped César might find someone that could eventually share a deep connection to each other's needs. Especially César, whom she always worried about, who wasn't the best at fulfilling or expressing his own needs. Both her sons had emotions as strong as hers, and while César was the easier going of the two, even his emotions exploded out of control sometimes.

(She of course would've wanted grandchildren, and César wants children himself, but he'd just build, test, and develop that artificial womb idea he's half-kicked around in his head before....)

César's allowed to feel here. His mind cycles through these images quickly and uncontrolled, all prompted just from the fact he'd be sharing a bed with someone who cares. A neurotypical mind wouldn't be slammed with such weak-strong connected memories, wouldn't have such thoughts rolling together through their brains in a tempest. Now he knows why he's like this when most other people aren't.

Back home, César kept his mind solely focused on work for this reason. He doesn't have work, here. Who he does have is Johnny and Watson.

It's impossible for the two of them to know the thoughts that just slammed through César's mind, and he knows he needs to try to offer up an explanation. But first he has to make it through the emotions overwhelming him in the moment.

César drops the washcloth on top of the blood-soaked shirt still in his lap. He chokes back an unmistakable sob. Then he covers his eyes with his left hand and twists his body so that he can bury his face into Watson while still letting him tend to his other hand.

"Sorry—! I-It's that...." ADHD, per mentioned to Watson, a completely incomplete explanation; then, louder, to them both: "My parents would have loved having you both in my life...."

He certainly is suddenly very emotional, huh.

Watson lets out a breath, part surprise and part fondness, and maybe a little bit of annoyance because he's trying to work here, César, if you haven't noticed.

"Easy," he says, soothing, and slightly awkwardly pats César's shoulder with the back of his hand -- awkward, because his hand is full of bandage. "Easy, there. For the time being, we're all quite safe, but you've had a serious shock."

Johnny at the sink stops moving completely for a few seconds at the mention of parents. It's quick, so easy to miss, and then he goes back to scrubbing the vest and drying it off with a towel.

It makes sense, though, that César's parents would accept him, given everything he'd said about them at Mikabo.

He grabs a hanger from the closet and hangs the vest up to finish drying, and then lingers in the doorway between bathroom and bedroom, watching Watson work. "I can grab a handkerchief if you need one. Or some toilet paper, your preference."

César tried his best to not get too in the way of Watson's work, but there's only so much one can do when they lean against someone's chest. Which of course means he misses the sound of Johnny's motions ceasing then restarting. Gentle touches and voices. He's grateful.

To keep successive thoughts from forming, César turns his attention fully outward. Remembering where Watson just pat him with the back of an occupied hand, where Johnny's voice is coming from. The way they care. Everyone's exact position in the room.

He breathes deeply and regains control, leaning away and sideways to look at Johnny with wet eyes. "Handkerchief." Sniff. "Not just this. My brother nearly dying. My parents' deaths. Months of horrors. What happened the day I arrived. And I got reminded about everything at once."

He didn't think about all those things just now, but he knows they're a part of it.

César looks devastated. "I'm sacrificed so much of myself back home. Buried everything deep. Focused only on work." A choked laugh. "But then I ended up here with the two of you. And now I-I just want to cry about everything at once. It's so hard to stem the tide, now...."

"These things don't stay buried, in my experience," Watson says, seriously. "As I know, to my sorrow. You might manage it for a time, but never permanently."

He ties up the bandage with practiced care. "Still, next time... well, let's not worry about next time. Right now, we need to take care of you. "

It comes without thought, breathed out through a tightening throat. "People don't take care of me. Not anymore."

"You hear that, Watson? We're not people." It's so light and playful, as he hands César a handkerchief and moves to sit on the bed behind him. Chest to back, lips brushing the back of his neck. Literally and figuratively offering himself to be César's support. He's close enough to feel every breath, to feel every word.

And he hums, quietly. Mostly tunelessly, letting César feel the vibrations. It's as close as he can get to purring comfortingly like an oversized cat.

"Goodness, and here I thought I was."

For a moment he just takes this scene in, smiling. It feels an eternity since he was involved in anything so... well, quietly domestic, if it wasn't for the massive amounts of blood. He's sort of missed this, which is terrible because this is not a good situation.

"Perhaps I shouldn't try so hard."

The outburst brings with it a round of embarrassment. He sounds childish. But Johnny doesn't respond with condemnation but a lightness that feels so oddly comfortable.

His swimming vision makes the colors of the handkerchief bleed together as he looks down. Johnny settles in behind him as Watson replies with the same lightness. He blinks as Johnny leans up against him, gentle lips on his neck, hands softly resting against his outside thighs. There's gentle, loving humming vibrating against his skin.

It brings a measure of calm, enough that César's vision clears for a moment as he blinks tears down his face. He sees the way Watson is looking at them tenderly. An auxiliary thought occurs to him, one that also has nothing to do with the grief at hand.

"Oh. You know about—...this?" The second he asks, he realizes how truly obvious they had been.

Did he just get distracted from his own grief for a moment? Yes. Oops.

"You and I haven't been particularly subtle, at least not within this room. And I haven't tried to hide anything from Watson, either."

He chuckles, remaining close.

"He knew about me being transgender before you did, even if neither of us had the words at the time."

Watson laughs, all in a rush, with his face colouring a bit. "Grant me some talent for observation," he says. "I'm hardly -- well, one of those things was entirely new to me, and the other would have been extremely illegal in my time and a matter for some extreme subtlety, but you two have been rather obvious, you realise? But it's very sweet."

César even manages a laugh for a moment. His emotions are everywhere. But that's okay, being between these two.

"I suppose not," César acquiesces. "But I promise you we were subtle compared to my parents—ah."

His expression falls away to melancholy again, and he looks down at his hands. With Watson finished, César can compare the two of them, flexing them slowly with only a small twinge of pain in the right. Bandaged and bloody versus not. He hadn't gotten rid of all the blood under his fingernails. Too distracted.

César leans back into Johnny a bit, eyes growing unfocused; his rising crescendo of emotion had been interrupted, reset to quieter note, almost like he had forgotten. "Rex—" Who has amnesia, they both know. "—and his new family... They're good people. Yet I had to bury my grief. They didn't see me as a person who could grieve. Because to them, I'm a little off, kooky, crazy, and strange... a mad genius whose only contributions were his equations, algorithms, and contraptions."

He reaches over to take the up his watch again, pushing down the crown to click it open. A picture of his family. He's between his parents, just like his much younger brother. César watches the second hand turn.

"Or memories of our parents, for Rex. So I-I don't understand, how do you already care? They couldn't."

Johnny's arms slowly move, snaking up around César's torso in a gentle hold.

"You're not the first mad genius I've met. I know that you brilliant sorts have layers to you that the world doesn't always see or understand. But perhaps more than that, we're not comparing you to him. For us, you've always just been our César, not 'Rex's brother'."

"What a wonderful way to put it," Watson says. He sits down beside them. "Mad geniuses are not difficult to love, in my experience, for anyone who has the patience to look past the surface." Frustrating, impossible, ridiculous? Certainly. But nothing but admirable when the soul under that is a good one. "I cannot speak for your brother, or what he might be struggling with, but I know a good man when I see one."

"Your César—I like the sound of that." He gives in to the two of them, letting them comfort him properly at last; he presses the crown of the watch down and closes it, setting it aside. "You're both good men."

César leans a bit, just enough to rest his upper arm against Watson's. He tucks his cheek against his own shoulder and closes his eyes. With that and the arms encircling his torso, he could let his emotional exhaustion take him. Except not so much, with his bloody shirt resting over his bloody pants still.

"As for what Rex struggles with—he's sixteen. So, puberty. But he's safe and in the care of people who also love him, so that's all that matters in the end. It'll just have to be enough. I need to let him go...."

"Not entirely, but stop using him as the marker by which you measure your self-worth." With Watson close, he can keep his voice low and sort, gently squeezing the man in his arms. "You're a complete person in your own right."

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Interjection w/ permission and now heeeere's Johnny!

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