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.

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Another forehead flick? She'll instinctually slap at his hand again, but ultimately whiffs and misses — which does absolutely nothing to quell the frustration bordering on anger, with a side dish of reckless.

"So? I want both." Brattiest, like that somehow undermined bitchiness.

The dick-joke registers. How could it not, with the blatant body language? But all he gets for the effort is a little twinge of disgust flashing between her brows and across her mouth, a sneer that gives hint at teeth beneath. Clarke watches his hands, though. Her list of physical skirmishes may not be the longest or the most varied, but she didn't come here to carefully catalogue fighters without a baseline for discerning obvious tells. Established she's not faster, assumed she's not stronger, he's wearing armor and she's in athleisure with one hand still carefully cradling a notebook to her chest. Even through a haze of displeasure and an urge to hit square in the face for those forehead pokes, Clarke has to consider other methods and lands on...

No verbal response, just slowly extending an arm and reaching for the gun. Unassuming and non-violent, like you'd reach to take a phone from a friend, or a detonator from a terrorist who's already surrendered.

It doesn't register to him at all as bitchiness, just pure brat. But brattiness is easily one of Nobunaga's biggest weak spots. It's probably why he spoiled Ranmaru so much even. Especially since he hadn't seen Oichi in forever, and Ieyasu didn't have it in him to be anything but tsundere.

The disgust made him split into the giantest of grins, and the measured way she still proceeded was working well enough on him. He is a bit of a wild animal, and the way you handle such things is gently and evenly with total composure.

Nobunaga took the gun out of his holster, carefully took her hands in his own, and put the gun into her hands. "Show me what you've got."

She gets a reward for not trying to set off his own anti-assassination reflexes, but still doing exactly what he told her to; go after what she wants. And he can't help respecting it.

He's still ready to throw her in a judo toss if she tries anything too much, or chase after her if she tries to run off with his gun. He's just testing to see if she even understands the mechanics enough that it's using old fashioned gunpowder and the rest. Although what would he even do if she shot him? Come back to life and make her miserable the rest of the cruise? Well, he keeps a little close to guide her wrists if she doesn't aim at targets. So a slight bit of trust. But again, she's earned the reward, so he'll take the risk, foolish as it may be, he IS the Fool of Owari after all, even now.

Well. Get on your chasing boots then, Oda.

Because past the summary weighing of the weapon in her hand and perfunctory inspection — it's a different type of weapon than she's ever handled, heavier, no immediately familiar loading mechanism but through history and intuition, Clarke could easily guess how it works — she's just offering a casual, "Thanks."

And half turning, pulling away from those guiding hands at her wrists, and makes to leave.

Yup, he saw that coming.

And instantly grabs her by the back of the neck. "Nice try."

He holds a hand out for her to give it back, just to see if she'll keep putting up a fight.

As stubborn as him, is it? Probably not. Even Ieyasu wasn't that severe. But he is definitely amused.

"Have you ever had anyone tell you no before this ship?"

If he deigns to look through his fingers and a swirl of loose blonde hair, there's a patchwork mess of scar tissue at the base of her skull; vertical line, surgical precision, where something was removed. But look quick, because hands on any part of her neck trigger the immediate hunching of shoulders — stiff, attempting to pinch off fingers between collarbone and the base of her skull.

Every danger instinct that tickling serves as the predecessor for is alight, but past a hard intake of breath at being physically halted in her step, Clarke's tone remains flat.

"Often. Get off me."

Interesting.

Nobunaga's neck is his physical weak point too, though his reaction is seriously different.

"Gun," an impatient growl in her ear, just lowly warning enough to still be a warning not a threat, but even if he can get another one, this is his Akechi model, and he doesn't have Mitsuhide himself here, so it's important like his left hand, even if he did take silly risks like letting her touch it at all.

And he reaches for it all the same, dangerous or not, he's still got gauntlets, and he's from centuries before "gun safety" was a thing. There's a reason everyone saw him playing the exploding boom boom sticks literally inventing the techniques for war before they took off, and thought he was a giant idiot going to get himself killed.

He's really not inclined to let go until he has his gun back, even if he'd rather not have to treat her like a grumpy bitey tiger cub. Just as cute though!

Dog with a particularly favored bone. Clarke can pretty immediately accept she's not getting out of this flirt of a chokehold (the neck's everyone's weakpoint, Nobunaga, this isn't special) without handing the gun back over. But that doesn't mean that, when he reaches for it, she's not immediately jerking the gun just out of reach. And will continue this grab game twice, three times over if necessary.

"I asked to have it, not borrow." This borders on bemused, even while uncomfortable with another's palm braced on her spinal column. That weird abandonment of sense and logic in the moment between getting your neck snapped and emerging from combat victorious, even if it's all over a gun she'll ultimately hand over without bloodshed. He just has to weather a few more moments of brat.

"— not my fault you just handed it over. So get. Off me."

No! Nobunaga is the most special, okay okay! ~~His neck is his most ticklish spot, though all of him is actually quite ticklish. It tortures him. Because he's a giant baby.~~

She's adorable, and he can't help laughing. It's so much like Oichi and Ieyasu. And probably not a side of her she gets to indulge much. And if this is how she's going to start? He's delighted.

If he thought Mai Mizusaki was good at standing up to him, nothing could have braced him for Clarke Griffin, and he loves it. He still holds onto her like an errant tiger cub.

"Tell you what, let's go hunting down better ones, more ammo, and you can show my old ass up outdoing me on target practice tomorrow. Deal?"

Demon Kings have a major weakness the whole world knows of: their princesses. They kidnap princesses they want, and can wrapped around their fingers as easy as anything. It's fine to have this weakness, Nobunaga always says. Because he'll never let it get in the way of his ambitions. His safety and sanity though? Another story entirely.

He wonders if she was like this in the past, or if he was ever like this himself. He can't remember. His days with Nobuhide were hazy at best. But he can be one helluva brat with his own generals and people he likes. But he is also a big brother with a dozen younger siblings (+ Ieyasu who might as well be a baby bro) so appealing to his big brother side will always get him in the end.

He has a feeling she'll still be petulant even with the reward compromise, just on principle, but he's really enjoying himself more than he can remember in years. Probably since having to send Oichi off into hiding.

Please don't ever call her Princess. It never ends well.

No one's ever called Clarke adorable upon first, contentious meeting. But, same hat, she'd imagine many call Oda Nobunaga absolutely fucking infuriating on first blush. Hand still on the back of her neck, she should expect that any attempt to step forward and disentangle herself wouldn't result in much ground gained, but damned if she doesn't at least try. She's only a few weeks from crashing her car through the plated siding of Gil's Diner in a mad dash away from zombies, though, and the residual whiplash leaves her sore and grumbling in briefly-pained discontent.

"Tell you what. I'm not signing up for shooting practice and — again, get your hands off me."

Ticklish or aware of how bad this could become but unwilling to back down, she's got a white knuckle grip around the barrel of the matchstick gun and is geared up to turn and crack him across the face with the handle. But there are people around them, and snarly as an untamed tiger cub as she might be, Clarke resists any showing of claws until the very last moment...

Edited 2022-09-21 09:05 (UTC)

Honestly, Darcy should've gotten an extra set of eyes or hands or preferably both to watch the club with. One minute she's watching the boxing area and the friendly fight happening there, and the next-

'Get your hands off me'.

Darcy whistles from where she's standing on the sidelines, taking a couple of steps closer.

"Clarke? This some new future fighting style I don't know about?"

She asks, trying to keep her tone light and not sound too worried.

Oh, hey Darcy.

Oh hey, Darcy.

It's not like she doesn't think it. Nobunaga talks of needing an army, and around the point where one considers people and weaponry, there's Darcy LeJeune in Clarke's playbook. Another just a teenage girl on the Serena Eterna, but caverns worth of space below that to fill with various descriptors. Friend being one of them, though any light of salvation by her approach is shuttered with immediate hooded eyes. A squint.

"No?"

Brow furrowed, lips pursed as if to ask — does this fucking LOOK like a fighting style? Again a wiggly squirm to try to dislodge steadfast fingers at the back of her neck, and again a failure. But where a wince hadn't seen the light of day for Oda (competition) in front of Darcy (camaraderie) she leans into the discomfort and makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and the low keen of a wounded animal.

"I just want to leave, and he's hurting me."

"You have his gun. I very clearly saw you take his gun, and you're trying to leave with his gun."

Look Clarke she'll give you a lot of things, and she does technically owe her for the rover, but she's not that much of an idiot.

"Give him the gun back and then I'm sure the tin can will let you go."

With a eyebrow raised at Oda, as if to say 'right?'

"Tin can..."

Because that's the important part of this.

"No, no, it's lobster." He uses the hand not holding Clarke's neck to gesture to the segmented armor. "Ah, I'm not wearing the helmet, but it's got a claws too. Lobster." Yes, clearly the important part.

Darcy goes to raise a hand as if to tell him to wait his damn turn while she's dealing with Clarke, but his protest of 'it's lobster' genuinely catches her off-guard?

"Why lobster? Are you weak to butter or something?"

"No, because the segments." He's never used butter on seafood before. The Portuguese have let him try their way of cooking things, but fish is Japan's specialty, for sure.

"Oh, and the helmet makes it look like antennae."

He very clearly has his priorities fine.

While he knows Clarke lowkey wants to see a lesson in diplomacy, unfortunately his best method is to Sun Tzu. Let everyone else trip themselves up. Plus, he's having a blast.

Edited 2022-09-21 10:08 (UTC)

"There's cooler animals with segmented armour."

But whatever, if this dude wants to be a lobster furry that's none of her business. She's here for Clarke right now.

Nobunaga just laughs again. "Cute." He teases point blank, and doesn't let go.

"Gun."

When he's in a good mood, you cannot shut him up. It's when he stops talking that shit's gotten real. But he's still smiling, waiting to see if Clarke can leverage it even more. The big bad Demon King manhandling the poor defenseless princess, if her pride will let her, if her own reputation hasn't sabotaged her already. He's new, so his reputation as the ruthless genocidal psycho is slightly lessened, but newcomers always have a potential to be as dangerous as him, after all, and have to face the scrutiny.

Edited 2022-09-21 09:53 (UTC)

Oh. Hey. Darcy — what the absolute hell.

In the time it takes her to register this complete and utter betrayal of friendship (she doesn't take your side one time, Clarke, calm down) the two of them are free to have a conversation about lobster shell right above her head. Darcy gets to witness a wash of initial confusion melt into petulant frustration across her features. But, you know, she had to try.

"I asked for it, and he literally put it in my hand. How's that taking?"

It's a bit of an internal war on two fronts now, an attempt at calm and more logical in front of Darcy grating against the white hot urge in her chest to come out on top of whatever stubborn clash of wills Oda flawlessly instigated the second he assumed she was the type to follow.

"Do you think. I'm an idiot."

She has to check because SOMEONE is treating her like one.

"You're very obviously trying to walk out with his gun. Give the gun back. I'm not asking again."

Darcy, babe, you willingly walked onto a knife point and denied medical treatment afterwards... Everyone's an idiot sometimes, but this moment reeks more of a distinct violation of the girl code. A small one; not life or death hanging in the balance, but pride winces and confidence in others falters.

Fine, then.

Her fingers are still entwined around the barrel of the antiquated gun. Fervent sky blue in her irises flattens to matte, and wordlessly Clarke extends her arm to drop the matchlock weapon to the ground of the sports deck. Up to Oda to catch it, or else let it bounce and clatter across floorboards and really play with gun safety.

Oh, he catches it. Not because of gun safety which is like CENTURIES past his time, and inapplicable in Hell, where they purposely maim and disfigure themselves for honor, (Nobunaga doesn't, because fuck your honor) but because it's his baby and he cherishes it. It does, of course, free her neck since he'll use both hands to safely catch it.

He should try not to gloat. Maybe.

He's gonna do it anyway. "Perhaps the gods will favor you next time." Get it? Because gods are fake. And his enemy. He'll go to war with the whole lot of them. "Oh, but don't think I'll forget my promise." To teach her, to show her, to drag her out shooting with him. Good job Clarke, you got an adopted warlord big bro forever.

"Alright- Clarke, I don't know what sort of bullshit was happening here, but start shit like that again and you're out. Lobster boy-"

She angles a finger at him.

"I didn't think I'd have to put a fucking 'no sexual harassment' rule in but apparently I should've. Keep it in your pants or find somewhere else to train."

Free of fingers digging into her spine and rooting her in place, Clarke takes several quick steps out of easy arm's reach, which brings her a lot closer to Darcy — like ducking gunfire magnetically draws you towards something stable and shielding. There's a brief look of absolute insult (me? start things I can't finish? never) but no outward argument. Her shoulders remain high and hunched, not quite free of the sensation of being trapped.

Sometimes intervention is the best exit point though. So casting a flat, haughty look back at Nobunaga, and giving Darcy a nod — acknowledgement, agreement with her sentence, thanks — she'll subsequently move to exit the conversation entirely. And the club gathering, making a languid beeline for the stairs with carefully measured steps.

Nobunaga just stares at Darcy, completely dumb-founded, and missing Clarke's exit entirely.

"I don't understand. What is--?" He mentally reviews the entire discussion he had with Griffin. "How was it any way sexual?"

OH WAIT! Yeah no, NOW he remembers, when Clarke asked for his gun, and he told her take it. Pfffft.

Can he even begin to explain that one? This is why he needs his 5 nannies.

"I am not sexually attracted to the young Griffin." That's reassuring, right?? "I wanted to see how far her boldness extends." A nod. True, and that was how she earned her reward. "But you are right, I will keep my weapons sheathed and holstered from now on." Anything below the waist ayyyy.

It's a very good thing that he remembered, because he was about to get asked the same question about misjudging her intelligence. She's a fencer, she reads body language like second nature, and 'hey touch my dick' is a pretty easy gesture to read. Any protectiveness she has in Clarke's direction is solely and specifically as a friend and not because she was stepping in as a butch in shining armour. Shut up. She attempts to imitate the vicious authority of her mentor in her closing remarks.

"Good. Same to you as Clarke; start shit again and get kicked out."

She nods, her wrist resting on the pommel of her rapier as she stalks back to her spot on the sidelines.

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Pack it up, pack it in,

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