be_seeing_you: (Fencing w/sword)
be_seeing_you ([personal profile] be_seeing_you) wrote in [community profile] come_sailaway2022-09-01 10:51 pm

September Catch-All [OPEN]

Who: Number 6 & YOU
What: Trying out the new fencing gear he got, drawing portraits, casino daydreaming, trying to steal jewelry & more!
When: September 1st for fencing, thru the month for other prompts
Where: All over the ship, see individual prompts
Warnings Potential for violence, alcohol/smoking, will warn for more as necessary



Challenge him to a friendly duel

When the notification comes that he has a package waiting in Sundries, he has no earthly idea what to expect. But, he must say, once he's torn the nautical paper off to find a fencing practice kit inside, he is rather pleased. Well, with one exception. The Epee he's been provided is neither blunted nor is it tipped with plastic the way it should be for safety. It very much seems to be a live and dangerous blade. Admittedly, he's not too sorry to have a functional weapon given the characters around here, but it means he'll have to be especially careful when practicing with it.

He's up on the sports deck making use of one of the empty tennis courts as his makeshift practice arena. In the absence of a tip protector, he's wrapped some gauze and medical tape from the infirmary around the sharp tip in an effort to achieve close to the same effect. That way, when he stabs the wall at the back of the court, it leaves slightly less of a divot.

He puts himself through some familiar drills, re-familiarizing himself with his technique and generally working to improve his stance and remember his form. It's clear just from looking that he's had some experience with this. If only he had a proper partner to fence, alas.


Have your portrait drawn

He doesn't tend to flaunt it often, but Number 6 actually does have a bit of talent for the arts. Perhaps he's not the most creative of minds, but he's rather good at capturing likenesses in portraiture. So, on various days and in various places throughout the ship, such as the dining hall, the sports deck, the library, and even in some of the pubs and bars (or anywhere, your choice), he will sit himself down quietly in the corner with a pad of paper over his knee and a pencil in hand. Anyone who catches his interest may become the new subject of his drawing. For the most part, they are flattering renditions. He doesn't mind if someone wants to observe, he'll simply nod to them and keep scratching with his pencil until he's satisfied.

Once he completes his drawing, he'll approach his subject and hold out the sketch to ask, "Excuse me, I wondered if you might like this?"


Lost in the game

With a cigarette in hand and whiskey in front of him, he sits at one of the blackjack tables idly playing against an invisible dealer. It's hard to tell if he's enjoying himself. He's got a far-off look on his face as he idly scratches the table to request another "hit." Win or lose, he doesn't seem to have much of a reaction. His mind is obviously elsewhere. He's so zoned out, in fact, that on this rare occasion even someone who isn't particularly stealthy might be able to sneak up behind him unawares.


Jewelry shopping

Right. The time has come to investigate that jewelry store. Why is it that no one is allowed to take anything? Of all the places on this ship, why there? He can be found bending over the displays, scrutinizing the various pieces through the glass. There doesn't appear to be any way to get at them. Not any way that doesn't involve a bit of violence, that is. So be it.

He goes, briefly, to the nearest bar and brings back with him one of the bar stools. Raising it over his head, he prepares to bring it down on one of the cases. Little does he know, that won't be enough to shatter it no matter how many times he bashes the glass.

But, he has to try.


Wildcard!
Hit me up with anything! Feel free to plot with me over on plurk [plurk.com profile] KansaiBanzai or on discord Cmdr.Crackers#5481
skaikru: (pic#8799132)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-17 04:23 pm (UTC)(link)
There's a weird mood of blanket acceptance for most things on board the ship, and plenty of passengers who share details of their homes at the drop of a hat. At a point among strangers who couldn't really care less, it's fruitless to keep secrets yet Clarke... seemingly can't let go of that habit. Not outside a select group of people, and even among those sometimes it'd been a mistake. Rita Mordio's scorn and Diana Abel's fear puts a bit of a kabosh on storytime from the future.

But bare bone facts? That can't really hurt, save for unintentionally opening doors for more questions. So to his question, she gives a slight nod. "There are no gardens like those in space."

They had hydroponic farms, sure, as the one and only source of food. But the florescent lighting doesn't match the simple beauty of sunlight Clarke could almost feel on her face when gazing at pages of Berthe Morisot.

"Later in life, though, I got to see Starry Night in person. And you're right, there's no real faulting his talent." It was a shame the backdrop for so many fine works had later proved the grounds for a massacre.
skaikru: (pic#8798421)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-19 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
Her mouth opens, then closes with the click of teeth. That's a little embarrassing but, ah, well enough. It's been a long time — and has felt even longer — since she had the time and mental energy to consider art. Skills in sketching portraits gave way to sketching out maps, escape routes, and battle plans. After a beat of fluster, Clarke manages to smile, though it only partly reaches her eyes.

"See? This is why I need to study."

The anecdote about being born in space falls by the wayside. People often underestimate the shock value of their own lives.
skaikru: (pic#11470437)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-21 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
Ah, well. Conversations are a give take, one minute the victor and the next made to feel small and stupid.

Any bristling discontent that they'd reverted back to her mention of space is masterfully shrouded in a simple shrug — he can't see the way her tongue presses to the back of her teeth in distaste.

"None, actually."
skaikru: (pic#11655183)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-23 07:20 am (UTC)(link)
"A whole lot of high-grade steel and titanium."

Metaphorically stomps on his toes.

But give any significant breath of silence following, and some of the proverbial pressure lets up. She's told more people less, and less people more. It isn't like facts about a dilapidated space station that no longer exists is going to weaken any defense mechanisms.

"...and fluorescent lighting. And darkness, with big reinforced windows where you could see... so many stars, the glow of Earth still drowning them out. And whatever we could make, or our predecessors saw fit to bring on board. But not much else."
skaikru: (pic#9056146)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-26 05:01 am (UTC)(link)
"It was everything I'd known for the first seventeen years of my life. It was home, with no other alternative. Familiar at least, if not safe. But when life support measures start failing and breathable air has to be rationed, it was the very literal definition of suffocating."
skaikru: (pic#8799132)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-09-29 02:15 am (UTC)(link)
Population control.

Mass cullings.

A lights-out policy that cut out the oxygen to the lower portions of the ship while the populace slept, so low that small children and the elderly appeared with pronounced signs of hypoxia induced blindness throughout the following weeks.

The unilateral upper control decision to send a hundred juvenile delinquents — the only offenders onboard the Ark that weren't immediately executed — to the ground in equal parts science experiment and death sentence, buying the rest of them at least a month of air...

All good answers. All still deeply distressing wounds, the last of which had directly affected Clarke after a year long stint in solitary confinement for being the daughter of a whistleblower. But for the most part she tells herself that they're past that now, all the survivors are. And thus when she speaks, she speaks of her people as a whole unit.

"We had to go to Earth and hope it was survivable. It was — we'd discounted that solar radiation would mutate our DNA and we'd be able to survive in the ambient radiation levels left on ground. That's where I saw Starry Night."
skaikru: (pic#11470426)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-10-02 06:58 am (UTC)(link)
There's a small shake of her head, as if to denote I didn't have much of a religion back then. But that seems a stupid point to argue or correct over, so that shake dies off with her head tilted at an angle of consideration.

"It was everything I'd ever dreamed it could be, at first. Then more than we were ever prepared for." Earth Skills 101 didn't include invading foreign territory and going to war with a bunch of untrained teenagers against 300 battle hardened Grounder warriors. And that'd just been the beginning.

"And no, Virgina." Close enough it hardly warrants mention, but. Mount Weather had proved a formative part of her Earthly experience, and it'd been deep in the bowels of the mountain bunker that she'd seen fine art that predated the end of the world. "My guess was always, museums had an evacuation and storage plan for if there was going to be a nuclear event. Paintings more important than people..."
skaikru: (pic#8799050)

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-10-06 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
Subsequently to thinking about the masterpieces in Mount Weather, Clarke's reliving second hand stories of how it'd burned from a terrorist attack launched by the Ice Nation, and how the remaining pieces ended up behind the workbench/bar table in Arkadia and probably burnt too. What an absolute waste.

"Yeah," she says, dry and bordering on rueful. "Well, it's always easier to celebrate the dead; the living are the one's who still place expectations on you. Inanimate objects, too; they just sit there unchanging, and never disappointing."
skaikru: (pic#8799050)

yup!

[personal profile] skaikru 2022-10-08 07:38 am (UTC)(link)
See, he gets it. In all the immediacy of the statement, and the underlying poisoning of death that sneaks from the heart, into the bloodstream, and rots at the soul if left untreated. Heavy is an understatement as much as the weight of the dead around her neck had grown comfortable; oxen, meet yoke.

It dawns on Clarke — belatedly, because of course it's belated — that she's shared more here than intended. They'd surpassed art, and moved onto actual, personal histories which leaves her feeling exposed and vulnerable. A few too many layers peeled back from the onion. And thus, when catching wind of an out to this conversation, she takes it.

She'd never sat down, and now just hefts her "studying" supplies more securely in her arms and pivots her body away, clear intention she means to leave soon. But not without a last, sassy, parting sentiment.

"Of course. That's what I was trying to do before I saw you over here, sucking at cards." Her eyebrows make a trek up her forehead, a silent and dubious duh. But it's at odds with the pinched corners of her mouth; no real humor or superiority here.

"If you get better, we should play."

And, unless otherwise inhibited, Clarke's turning to leave. To exit the casino entirely, instead of continuing on to her little hidden corner. Gonna have to find another place to recklessly practice blood magic, he's too keen eyed.