come_sailaway | I'm on a train

Entry tags:

I'm on a train

Who: Marc Spector & You
What: September catchall
When: Throughout September
Where: Various locations
Warnings: Nothing in particular besides one prompt with co-dependent alters.

prompt I (lounge)

Marc has zero artistic talent to speak of. He's not an arts of crafts kind of guy any more than he's the type to sit with his nose in a book (though he's become increasingly that type with limited television around these parts). But he still has some tucked away supplies from that dumb summer camp experience and it gives him something to do with his hands to sit and scribble. It's nothing in particular, no discernable items. Just pencils on paper, maybe a stupid one-finned fish like he gave his brother shit about drawing once upon a time.

... So karma dictates someone should probably give him shit for drawing knockoff Nemo.

prompt II (pool bar)

Better than stewing over whiskey, right? You can't get that drunk on fruity, frozen drinks... that easily. Maybe. Either way, at least he's out in the sunshine and not locked away in his cabin, even if the dark circles under his eyes speak of a lack of sleep. That's not unusual for Marc and overall, he doesn't seem to be in that horrible of a mood as he eyes his next drink.

"You know, for something called Lava Flow, I'm not sure I was expecting something so sweet."

prompt III (sand dollars)

Is living on caffeine better than main lining booze? Marginally, hopefully. Anyway, it's less likely to upset anyone if Marc sits quietly in a corner booth, nursing cups of coffee than it is if he goes and drinks or pills himself into oblivion. Sometimes he looks entirely zoned out, other times, he might make a bit of an awkward nod of his head in greeting.

He won't say no if somebody wants to slide in across from him.

prompt iv (for Steven;)

He's got no idea what the time is, actually. He's been staring at the ceiling so long, his eyes feel dry and scratchy and even the times he's closed his eyes to try to fall asleep-- it hasn't happened. He jerks awake the very minute he feels even the start of a dream coming on. He somehow feels both restless like he needs to move and like his limbs weigh a ton. His brain doesn't quite turn off either.

Either he gets up now or he spends a long, frustrating night driving himself crazier. If he was any kind of good guy, he'd slip out and leave Steven alone. But he's not. He doesn't want to be alone right now, so that's what has him rustling the covers a little as he squirms to his side, watching Steven's back before quietly--

"Hey, you awake?"

prompt v (wildcard;)

[Want to do something not listed here? Hit me up or leave a prompt!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, you know." Nervous laugh. Pointedly ignoring Marc's gaze, looking at the carpet and swirly patterns on the wall.

"Just a wee talk, yeah. I thought, maybe, we could negotiate. Maybe the Captain would be willing to let the people who want to go home go if people like you and I stay and-- do whatever he wants us to do."

Steven didn't know Pratt wanted a waterslide, of course. It never came up either.

"If I kidnapped people I'd just want the nice ones who want to stick around, y'know. Not the ones who keep trying to attack me. Except you of course, you've got no choice, but like. We seem to get along. Most of the time..."

"Oh, you know how to make a guy feel special... Thanks for not giving me a choice in your kidnapping plans. If you can call'em that. Keeping people around who want to be kidnapped is kinda the opposite, buddy." He's tense though, despite the teasing, worried. He'd rather... Steven not draw attention to himself in that way, least of all with the Captain who seems to uncomfortably know too much about them anyway.

"Look, points for trying... but that guy's not reasonable. He's gonna do whatever he wants, when he wants." He idly bites the inside of his cheek before he shifts closer, reaching out for one of Steven's hands to take into his own.

"It'll be okay. We'll figure out another way, you know? To help people who want to leave. And--" He gives a look. "I don't mean by killing the Captain and stealing the ship."

... This time.

"I don't mean it like that," Steven protests. "I just mean, you and I are have to live and do everything together. Even though we don't have a choice I'd say we make it work." They don't always get along but they don't fight all that often anymore either. Maybe just old married couple bickering, that's all. That's a normal amount of disagreement to have with your other personality though!

"He said he wanted people who didn't want to be here. Like they've kept the ship running, somehow." Steven doesn't know how that's supposed to work. If it's like, ~negative energy~ or some magical woo woo. He's not a 'woo woo' kind of bloke. "I think he keeps putting us in these awful situations to make us want to leave. Along with-- whatever other sadistic tendencies he's got."

Steven's just not going to mention the whole versioning thing. It's all well and good that they're a fork from the original timeline or whatever and there's a happy or unhappy version of Marc and Steven back in Alexander the Great's tomb, dying or undying or whatever was happening to them. It means they've only got a version of Ammit sitting in their drawer. And there's a version of her back there. And everything they've done, everything they've been through, it might have all been for nought if her ushabti got broken back home and there's a version of her running amok. He doesn't want Marc to feel the way he does about that particular possibility.

They still shouldn't kill the Captain. Marc's done enough killing. But Steven might close one eye if Marc cursed or wished mean thoughts upon him.

"Yeah... well. We've had a lot of practice." And Marc doesn't find it unenjoyable work or he wouldn't have gone above and beyond to give Steven as normal of a life as he possibly could.

"Hm..." He's quiet, letting that sink in. "You'd think you and I have enough negative energy without putting us through additional hell."

Or at least Marc does. Steven's always-- got some optimism tucked away somewhere, some positive spin or love of life that never gets quite stamped out. "He say anything else besides that? Anything else that might clue us in on how to level the playing field a little?"

"Well, I-- quite like it here, actually. Until quite recently, anyway." Steven wasn't one of the people trying to kill the Captain - still isn't - and maybe he'd thought about getting off the ship once or twice but he hadn't made any concerted effort to escape. Mostly because he didn't have a plan for how to get back on the other ship they were on. And now, knowing what he knows, he's realising he doesn't have his life to get back to. There's another Steven for that. Another Marc. He wouldn't want to-- displace whatever they've got. Duat!Steven is enough of a nuisance to Duat!Marc already - who would want to deal with Cruise!Steven on top of that?

No, that won't work out. Cruise!Steven has Cruise!Marc and he should be grateful about it.

"I guess if we all stop fighting, and stop playing his games, then... I don't know. The ship would lose power? Or vanish? Or sink? But-- but think about it, right? If the Captain genuinely wanted people who didn't want to be here, we'd be locked up. Stripped down and beaten, made to fight each other over a tall glass of water and a slice of stale bread, or full Tower of London treatment with manacles and-- and did you know, they had this ingenious device called 'The Scavenger's Daughter'?" Steven draws a triangle with his fingers touching together at the top, parting down to the sides, rejoining in the middle. "Yeah your head would go in the top and your hands would be here and your feet would be here and they would fold the frame and force your head down, knees up, et voila! Your lungs would slowly fill up with blood from your nose and ears while your body stayed compressed in this excruciatingly painful position. It was devised in the 16th century during the time of King Henry the Eighth--"

"He breaks us too fast, then he still loses power, right? Eventually, there'd be nothing left to torment, nothing left to frighten us with..." Better to try to avoid fatigue too quickly. Maybe. Right now, Marc's too-- focused on figuring out what to do with their current predicament, oblivious to the fact that he might just be a copy or whatever.

Maybe blissfully so.

And right now, Steven's rambling on about a-- torture device or something. He wrinkles his nose and gives him a careful nudge to the side. "Alright-- alright. I get it, buddy. You painted a visual..."

That he maybe didn't need. "Maybe try not to give any ideas for ways to make us miserable, yeah?"

"R-right. Of course." Steven clears his throat and lowers his gaze, wringing his hands again. He's pretty sure the Captain is familiar with all sorts of torturous devices and activities for them to do. Marc's probably right - he's just pacing them so they don't burn out too hard too fast.

Best not to mention then that Steven had also offered, if they needed a pinata to bash up around here to keep the ship running. Look, he knows he's going to be an easy target anyway. Rather him than someone who's-- well, who he perceives to be 'more real' than himself.

"He won't let us go, in any case. Best we-- figure something out. On our own. I'm sure everyone will turn on everyone and the food will run out at some point. There aren't that many crabs in the ocean anymore."

"It won't be like that. We'll figure it out." He's not going to let Steven starve, or anyone else if he can help it. He reaches out after a second, resting his hand against Steven's neck to give it a brief squeeze.

"Although I kinda wish you'd told me you were gonna go talk to that asshole." He doesn't-- need to know everything Steven does, no. But he can't help that he worries. Especially when Steven's self-preservation seems... questionable at times, lately.

"You were going to worry," Steven insists. "Or come with me." And then he would have heard everything and wouldn't that have been just dreadful? Is it dysfunctional to still be trying to protect Marc from these difficult truths that he should really be facing head on while he's outside of the body now? Steven wouldn't know. It's just-- what he's always done, consciously and unconsciously. It's what they do for each other.

"Though I guess you wouldn't have gotten more sleep anyway..." he muses with a teasing little smile. If Marc's already losing sleep over other things, Steven can't possibly be burdening him with even more worries.

They round the corner and approach the restaurant. There's hardly anyone else there and Steven feels his stomach twist a little with dread. He's uncomfortable with so many visible and invisible serving staff, and just the two of them. It feels a bit too much like being in their head, surrounded by strange voices.

"Do you want-- here or upstairs?"

"Uh, yeah." On both counts. They're-- in this together. Just like Steven fusses over him, he fusses over Steven. They might show it in different ways, but it's there under the surface most days.

"C'mon. Neither of us sleep, you know." Once he stops seeing their zombified rotting mother or his bloated, wasting away little brother, then he'll sleep easier. Probably. Who even knows anymore. But it's not something he's going to shove off on Steven either way.

"Mm?" He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly at the clear discomfort the other's showing. And then he shrugs his shoulders. "Your call, Steven. Wherever you want. You wanna just grab some stuff and head back to the room?"

“I—“ was actually sleeping just fine before Marc woke him. Steven averts his gaze and clears his throat. “No, you’re right.” Steven used to have nightmares about Donna and little snippets of the terrifying bits of Marc’s life but these days if he has nightmares they’re about falling off the side of the ship or being torn apart by those tomb monsters or getting shot by Harrow or eaten by Ammit...

“No no, it’s alright. We can stay. I think we spend too much time in there as it is.” He’ll be fine once they’re seated and he has a cup of tea between his palms.

Shuffling into the eerily quiet restaurant, Steven takes a seat opposite from Marc. He doesn’t much care where they sit but Marc seems to like being near the window and facing the entrance so Steven naturally gravitates to the seat with his back to the way they came in.

“I wonder what’s out there. I mean, even if we were to get on a smaller boat and make our own way. Would we ever hit dry land or if this is all the Captain’s— construct or wha’ever.”

"Yeah... okay." He doesn't see the harm though, if they stay in their room or not. Not like it's hurting anyone. Maybe them on some level, but Marc's never really... cared about himself that much.

But he sits down where Steven leads them, idly scanning the restaurant. It really is eerie tonight. Empty and quiet. "I don't know, Steven... I feel like he's probably the one in control of all of it. Probably wouldn't get anywhere."

Nowhere good at least. "Why, you wanna set sail, buddy?"

"Well, how else are we going to get off this ship? We can't fly. The few land excursions we have gone on seem like fake magical places where we can't stay indefinitely." Dying also doesn't get them anywhere fast.

"This might not be real either, I suppose." A fake boat on fake waters powered by spite. This might all even be fake food. It's less than ideal.

"I don't know, Steven." He's not sure they even can. Everything around them is fake, food and ship, and everything else, probably. He's come to accept that as much as he can, but it doesn't instill much hope for their future.

"It's been-- a long night, right? Let's just not think about that right now."

“Yeah alright. Of course. Let’s see what’s on the menu.” He’s only too aware that the staff are kind of hovering, not intentionally but there’s just no one else here at this time of the (fake?) night so they’ve no one else to attend to.

“Ooo, there’s yuca asada!” Steven coos. Of course, he looks at the sides first, then the dessert, then the appetisers, then the main courses like a normal person. “Baked cassava, Colombian style. You must have tried these before. They’re very popular at those Colombian barbecued meat places.”

Well, at least one of them gets enthusiastic about food. Marc can't help a bit of a smile as he watches Steven look over the menu-- before he realizes he ought to be looking at his own.

... No burgers. Those might be ruined for him for a while.

No steak either.

"You know, now that you mention it, barbecued meat actually sounds pretty good..." Just. You know, any kind. Good thing the menu seems to have a little bit of everything.

"We should grab a dessert to take back... Unless you wanna go full date night and share it here."

If he wasn't so exhausted all the time Steven wouldn't mind being a bit of a foodie. Even with all the meat and dairy cut out of his life he'd still happily chow down on colourful dishes and different kinds of grains. Chips are vegan so it's not like he's completely healthy.

"We can do dessert here. You might not want to head back straight after and it's always messy when we bring food back..." As in, Steven can be a bit of a messy eater and Marc is probably tired of cleaning up after him by now.

"What about the costillas, for you? Smoked marinated beef ribs. That could be nice, eh?" Because one should always take barbecued meat recommendations from a vegan.

At least here -- there's less prep to worry about and plenty of options for Steven to try and sate that side of himself. There's something-- well, entertaining, watching Steven experience things. Seeing the enthusiasm and the interest, even over mundane things.

Not that he's gonna be ridiculous enough to say it, or make it too obvious. Steven gets weirded out enough by the fly-on-the-wall comments without making him put up with it now that they're not in the same body.

"Yeah-- sounds good." And even if Steven had suggested the worst thing on the menu, Marc's shoved down enough questionable shit in his life to not really care all that much.

"There's an apple crisp on the menu," he points out. It'd be more vegan friendly than some of the other options, he figures.

"Oh yes. We should try that too." Hopefully they won't get sideeyed when they make their indulgent, gluttonous order. Which only consists of four or five dishes and a couple of drinks, sure, but it's the middle of the night.

"You know, I hate that all these evil magicians have come into our lives, but. My life was also terribly boring. Not sure I could really go back to it now. Is that-- selfish, do you think?"

C'mon, the ghosts have no room to judge, and neither do any of the people still hanging around. They've earned the right to stress eat a little bit, right?

"Selfish? Nah. You deserved some adventure, Steven... just wish it would've been something better than." He makes a vague motion. Angry Gods, cults, crazy ships... the Duat.

“Better than you?” Steven teases with a lighthearted laugh. “Of course I suppose I’m out of your league. But I had you. And I got to have a happy childhood, with mum and dad who were always there for me and a miraculously disaster-free bar mitzvah. And you were always there for me when things got too hard, or even when they didn’t, and you made sure I was taken care of anyway. I could have died living vicariously through fake postcards experiencing nothing more than the four walls of a museum gift shop, but I got to go to Egypt and meet Layla and save the world. I have been angry with you. And I will be, sometime in the future. I don’t— always agree with how you do things. I don’t think you know how it makes other people feel. But you gave me this life. You have been your brother’s keeper every night and every day. What more could I have ever asked for?”

Steven reaches over the table and squeezes Marc’s hand fondly. “Come on mate. We’re dead now. No use dwelling on all that too much.”

It's not fair to be that sweet to him. How's he supposed to counter that? Well-- he could. Marc Spector is always good at reminding others he's... not that great. But maybe part of him doesn't want to when Steven is laughing like that, when he sounds content for once.

He could have asked for so much more than the life he got, but--

He curls his hand around Steven's, huffing out a laugh of his own. "Yeah, well-- I got what I wanted to. I got to see you happy. Knew you got all that stuff. Hopefully I still manage to at least make you a little happy, even like--" This. It still feels wrong, being separated. They're supposed to be together.

But they can't change that. They can at least try to make the most of it though.

“It— hasn’t been easy,” Steven admits. He’s wanted Marc out of his life for a while but he’s finding living on his own to come with more challenges than he’s comfortable admitting. It’s not Marc’s fault they’re split up like this. And they’re both doing the best they can, really.

“But I’d rather be stuck here with you than without.” Steven wouldn’t last a week on his own, even if all he did was shuttle back and forth between the library and occasionally pop into a place like this for food.

“Don’t worry about me alright? Well. Don’t worry too much...” Steven’s aware that he’s generally a cause for worry, even when he tries his best not to be.

The drinks arrive at their table in short order. He expects the food to take a while in the oven, but they can at least hold their drink stems and ~~not be so gay in public~~ act appropriately.

“I hope I’m not keeping you up at night at least. I want for you to be able to rest too. That’s what being dead is all about, innit? Resting ~in peace.~”

"I know." It hasn't been easy. Marc came in and wrecked his life even more than when he'd kept to the shadows. But-- it doesn't matter now, does it? He can't change it, and Steven won't just... accept him leaving like that. He wants him around.

Now they've got a night fooling around in the back of a car to complicate things, even if it feels like a significantly better complication than usual. Even if Marc is sure he's gonna fuck it up somehow.

"Yeah, well... sorry, buddy. Worrying about you is second nature." But he can try to dial it back. A tiny bit.

He takes his own drink and brings it up for a sip. "C'mon. I'd go crazy if it was all resting. You would too. Gotta find some kind of excitement somewhere."

"I'm-- getting better about being on my own," Steven points out, wringing his hands a bit. He can admit that Marc's been really helpful but he knows he can't always rely on Marc. He wants to be more independent. Let Marc worry less. Surely Marc wants that too, doesn't he? Since he's not as keen to-- absorb Steven back into himself or whatever.

"I thought that's what dying was all about. Just resting." Clearly not. There's only little pockets of R&R to be had while the ship burns around them apparently.

"Well. This beats fighting off sand zombies, at any rate. You know something's off when dying is more exhausting than living."

I'm on a train

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