come_sailaway | Pack it up, pack it in,

Entry tags:

Pack it up, pack it in,

CHARACTERS: Darcy, and YOU?!
DATE: First half of September prior to the event
LOCATION: Sports deck
SITUATION: A pirate-sponsored fight club for the sake of ~~beating the shit out of each other~~ bettering each other
WARNINGS: It’s a fight club. Violence is to be expected.

I came to win

Fliers go up around the ship, as they so often do. This time put up with a reasonable amount of tape and written in a much less flowery hand than people would expect, the announcement ‘FIGHT CLUB TUESDAY EVENINGS SPORTS DECK: MAKE FRIENDS AND THEN HIT THEM’.
Anyone going to the sport’s deck after 7pm for the Tuesdays before the excursion will find tennis court set up for an impromptu fight club. There’s a notebook with a pen off to one side as a sign-in sheet, and a small list of rules written in the same handwriting as the fliers.
-No killing or dying
-Respect tapping out
-If you’re learning, respect your teacher/s
-If you’re teaching, respect your student/s
-Cause problems, get kicked out

Off to the sidelines, Darcy can be found supervising, keeping an eye out for any issues.

Battle me that's a sin

In one corner is supplies for fencing and swordplay. Three protective jackets, mesh masks, and blunt training sabers in a loose pile, plus whatever weaponry people themselves supply. There’s a circular arena drawn out on the ground, with a narrower fencing piste drawn through the middle of it.

I won't ever slack up

For those more inclined to hand-to-hand combat, a couple of the punching bags from the gym have been dragged out onto the court, along with focus-pads and a couple of long strips of bandages bandages to wrap one’s hands with. An arena has been drawn out, about the right dimensions for a boxing ring.

Punk you better back up

Over on the furthest side- deliberately angled to face off the ship- there’s a makeshift shooting range consisting of a bunch of water bottles and some mannequins from the Tommy Bahama laid out as targets to shoot at. A line has been drawn on the ground, presumably to stand behind when shooting.

Try and play the role and yo the whole crew'll act up

Right in the middle of everything is an arena marked out for no clear purpose, with no equipment nearby. It can probably be presumed that this is somewhere for people to spar, or more likely, show off in front of everyone.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I didn't say she was weak. I said she's weak if I'm weak," he says, "And I'm not."

Which he is still going to insist on, despite just getting his ass kicked. If his stupid memory hadn't acted up again he could still be fighting anyway, he reasons with himself to spare his pride.

A pause, and then he speaks again.

"I didn't move on. I thought I must have because I did what I set out to do, but I just went straight from there to here."

He's not sure why he thinks of that now, other than the fact that Darcy seemed surprised when he said he moved on the first time they met, and maybe it explains something even if he's not sure of what.

"She's not weak if you're weak either. Undine just isn't weak."

Fucking semantics. Darcy restrains the urge to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, no shit. You're probably still just as angry as you were when you died," she gingerly feels over the developing bruise on her face with the back of her fingers.

"Probably would've stayed angry until you forgot everything else, if you hadn't been brought here."

"Yeah, well, at least anger still feels good," he says, "Everything else fucking sucks now."

He can enjoy comics and music for a little while, but inevitably all the rage and grief and horrible emptiness come creeping back soon enough. Even his beloved pinball doesn't make him that happy anymore.

It's like having a buffet table of all his favorite food that he can smell just enough to crave it, but it turns to dirt in his mouth. He misses when his death wasn't hanging over everything he did. And, he realizes, he's starting to hate the people who keep inviting him to the table, even if their intentions are good.

"Fighting and revenge and anger are the only things that feel like they did before I died. You said I should try something new, but if I give that up, what's fucking left?"

It's not totally a ghost thing. But it's less frightening to dismiss it as such and say that he needs to act like a jerk all the time than it is to work through his emotions and accept that even if he heals he won't be the same boy he was before.

Maybe it's not fair on him to keep treating him like just a ghost. Because firstly, he's too much like a person to resemble any of the ghosts she dealt with back home. And secondly, even if he were to let that anger go, there's no way he'd be able to move on here. In many ways, he resembles her state between life and death more than he does the truly dead. Which means that unlike her convenient answers for dealing with ghosts, she's got to wade into the weeds of her own experience.

"I don't know," she admits.

"When I came back, I was the same. I was... so fucking angry that nobody had come to help me. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't talk to anyone without snapping. The only thing that helped was... meeting other people who went through the same thing, and finding something better to put my anger into than picking fights. I've been undead for more than a year now- I'm still angry," since clearly he doesn't want to talk about the sadness that permeates death, "but... eventually things got okay again. Not perfect, not great, not even good, but... okay."

"There's nothing better to fucking put it into here, if you're right about not killing the captain," he says, "At least back home I had a reason for sticking around. Now I'm just supposed to, what, sit around and hope you guys have it all figured out?"

As miserable as being a full ghost was, at least his anger was good for something and eventually served a purpose. Now he's (mostly) tangible and yet pretty useless, most people won't even pick a fight with him until he pushes them over the edge and attacking the captain is an exercise in futility.

"Believe it or not I'd rather fight over something important than start shit with the rest of you, but there's nothing to fight for."

"You could teach other people how to fight. You weren't here for the excursion, but we got attacked by a horde of zombies- we could've used another person who could fight on our side. You could help us with research, or help me with making pamphlets to catch new people up on what we've discovered. You could get Watson to teach you the basics of first-aid. There's a reason for you to be here, you just need to find what it is."

Darcy wipes away the blood pooling at her lip again.

"We should probably get you to the infirmary for your hands."

"My fighting style's more gut instinct than technique," he says, quietly ignoring the rest.

That sure is a list of things he could do, but at the mention of first aid and research and generally what Vance would file into the category of tasks for smart people, he becomes uncharacteristically sheepish.

He doesn't really care about school, but admitting that he's on his third try at eighth grade just doesn't feel good. The one nice thing about being here is that even if people think he's an asshole they at least haven't had the chance to write him off as a stupid burnout yet.

"It's not that bad, it'll heal fine on is own," he says, looking down at his bloody hands, "I hope."

He really should go to the infirmary.

"You can still teach a lot by being someone's training partner. And you can learn how to fight better, too."

And of course he's being a tough guy over this.

"You walk there or I'm carrying you there. There's painkillers and you don't want to risk your hands healing wrong, dude."

"I'll think about it," he says, "And fine, whatever, let's go."

He really doesn't want to be carried. But there's one more thing he's curious about.

"What do you do when you're angry? Punching a bag's not much relief compared to a real fight."

"Good," Darcy quickly trots over to the book and scribbles 'back in 5' on a fresh sheet of paper, then starts leading the way to the elevators.

"I have an answer, but you're not going to like it."

"Yeah, I don't like much of anything," he says, following her to the elevators, "Try me."

"I find somewhere away from everyone, listen to some loud music, and I meditate. Take deep breaths, that sort of shit. Sometimes I'll go for a run or train with someone, or just bitch until I feel better. But yeah. Turns out all those assholes who said to take deep breaths and count to ten weren't lying. Sucks, but it works."

Darcy hits the button for deck zero and waits for the elevator to arrive.

It's not anger that hits him right away, it's confusion. He blinks slowly, furrowing his brow like he must have missed something.

"So...you fight after you do all that shit?" he says, because not fighting at all is just too bizarre.

"Nope. By the end of it, I usually don't want to fight people anymore. Usually."

Darcy hits the elevator button another couple of times, just for fun.

"It sounded weird to me too, but my coach in fencing put me onto meditations and shit as a performance thing. It just... helps. I can teach you how to do it, if you want."

"You just don't fight?" he says, giving a small kick to the elevator door as if that'll make it hurry up, "Yeah, you're right. I hate that."

Fighting's fun, and gives a certain catharsis meditation doesn't provide.

"Why can't we just fight the captain? Like, he is torturing people, right?"

"Told you that you would. It's not like I never fight, only when it's important."

Darcy kicks the elevator door as well, not to be outdone.

"I mean, physically you can't stab him and he doesn't feel pain. But... he's like us, in a way. Doesn't remember who or what he is. He's stuck doing this until he can figure it out. So. We're... trying to help him, in a way, because once we figure out what he is, we can figure out how to stop him."

"Like us?"

That does actually make Vance think about things, for once in his life. Skulduggery had compared him to the captain, which he assumed was just an insult. He didn't think there'd really be anything to it.

"The guy who killed me kidnapped me and kept me in his house for a while. I thought the captain would be like him."

And if he was then he deserved every beating any passenger would give him, without question. If he wasn't, then that was more complicated.

"Yeah, I thought that too. But... I don't know."

The elevator chimes at last, the doors open, and Darcy leads them both in, hitting the deck zero button with maybe a bit too much gusto considering that her own hands are bruised and aching, again.

"I think he's scared. The assholes that murdered us, they had no reason to do it. They were just... doing it because they could, because they could get away with it, whatever. But you remember what it was like just not remembering your name, right? It's scary. And it's not exactly like he can leave and do something else, either. You know he told Skulduggery that he doesn't want anyone to control him ever again? He can't even remember who did, he just knows they did."

She's pretty sure that's going to hit Vance hard.

Vance might look like he lacks empathy, but he doesn't, he's just really good at keeping people at arm's length and burning any bridges before they can even start to be built.

"I'm still not gonna let him hurt me, if I have any say in it."

"You don't have to. I don't let him talk shit to me or anything. Just because he's hurting doesn't mean he gets to hurt people."

And wow that is some very pointed eye contact she's making at Vance right now.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'm just a guy who likes to pick fights, not some superpowered...torture thing."

So it's less bad when he does it, right? Maybe not good. But less bad.

"Yeah, and one of you picked on an eight year old."

Darcy leans against the wall of the elevator, taking the time as she usually does to surveil the rest of the ship through the glass.

"You ever read Asterix and Obelix?"

"I'm sure he's done worse than scare a kid."

He doesn't bother observing anything. Most of his attention is being paid to the pain in his hands.

"No. I don't actually read that much."

There's a conversation to be had about adhering to principles, of staying human in the face of monsters, but that's probably not a talk to be had with Darcy and probably not now. Instead she indicates roughly in the direction of the library and says-

"It's a comic we had back home. It's really funny, the library should have it I think- it's these Gaulish warriors fighting off the Roman Empire, I'll try and find it for you."

"Alright," he says, "Have you read the one with the fatass cat that keeps pissing off his total dweeb of an owner? That one's funny."

Yes, Vance Hopper, local tough guy, has just copped to enjoying Garfield. In his defense, Garfield wouldn't make it to Colorado for another year or so so he's just discovering it now.

"But even if you find it and I like it, you should know it's not gonna fix anything. I've done a lot of stuff I like and I'm still fucking mad."

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