come_sailaway | SEPTEMBER EVENT: WE'RE ON ISLAND TIME BABY

SEPTEMBER EVENT: WE'RE ON ISLAND TIME BABY

on the 16th, starting at 6AM and continuing until 10PM, Friday herself will be driving the ship’s tender back and forth between the ship and the excursion, making the trip about once every 30 minutes. those who board the tender will find that they are knocked out for the journey, but will wake up still on the tender, wearing whatever it was they’d been wearing before getting on, and with no side effects.

the destination is a tropical island, with white sandy beaches and turquoise water. the island is rather large, with dense tropical foliage inside the barrier of sand, but passengers will find it difficult to get more than a mile inland. not because of the trees or bushes, but because the villagers intervene around that point, and politely but firmly return them to the beach.

yeah, there’s a village. wood and frond huts built in a clearing just past the sands, populated by about twenty beings that appear to be some kind of bipedal salamander. if they have a verbal language, they aren’t telling it to you, and mainly communicate through gesture. there is a sort of vendor nearest to the beach, sitting on a blanket that holds a variety of exotic fruits, trinkets, and cool shells that they will exchange for literally whatever you bring from the ship. they are also trading bottles of a dark-red, citrusy rum; they also either have difficulty judging or don’t care about human drinking ages, and anyone who isn’t clearly a child will have no problem getting some.

the jungle is teeming with a wide variety of tropical flora and fauna. the plant life is whatever would normally be found in a tropical Earth location, while the wildlife is limited to what can be found on this island and in the jungles of Sumeru. why? because I feel like it. my fleeting whims decide every aspect of this game and i ain't stopping now..

the surrounding ocean extends out about five nautical miles before reaching what could most accurately be called The End of the Map: the water ends very suddenly, followed by the sky, and beyond it is an endless black void that makes your brain twitch the more you stare at it. if you try to enter it, you will die, and it will hurt the entire time you are dying.

there doesn’t seem to be any restriction on magic, except for one rather major one: anyone with the ability to fly will find that they are suddenly unable to. whether magical (i.e. Venti), biological (i.e. Phil’s wings), or mechanical (i.e. MB’s drones) in nature, anyone attempting to take flight will find it impossible to get any lift. just barely over the horizon, something gleams as it points to the sky.

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Doubt it, and even if he did there's a barrier around the ship right? So I couldn't really go anywhere with it. Though if we went to another place like the diner that'd probably work...

[A wistful sigh, because he might not have been a great deputy, but he sure loved being a pilot.]

It was fucking awesome back home, flying just above all the trees, getting glimpses of the river occasionally, and sometimes the sound would startle animals and you'd see whitetails, or elk or even wolves running along ahead of you through the trees... [He hates being homesick for a reality that doesn't even exist anymore, but he can't help it.] Top rescue story is definitely the dad and his kid that tried to drive from their cabin in the mountain down to town before the storm hit and got caught in a blizzard. Had to fly out during a lull in the storm, and then try and keep the chopper steady while the team rappelled down to grab them. And keeping that level while in violent winds, and people actually climbing out of the helicopter makes for a helluva story even if it was the most stressful shit of all time.

They both had frostbite but we were able to get them to the local clinic so they could be stabilized until the winds died down enough to get them to the actual hospital another town over. They made it and didn't even lose any fingers.

( it strikes clarke, as pratt's talking about flying above trees and doing daring rescues, that she's never really seen earth that way. it's always either been from so far above that the landmasses are blurred swatches of green overwritten with clouds, or down in the dirt. the drop ship hadn't had any windows, and staring out the access vault of a mountain dam had been about escape — not appreciating the view. it sounds pretty. )

That sounds like it was equally dangerous for you and the people you rescued. But it also sounds pretty exhilarating.

( would they have been able to find and save more of her people after the ark crashed if they'd had a helicopter? would they have been able to cross distances unimpeded by foliage, and a lot faster than by rover or horse? could some crises have been avoided with faster travel time, and would it have been really hecking cool to fly among birds? would her people have eventually turned the machine into a tool of war?

...yes. probably. obviously, actually — to all of it. and that's the sort of practical resource thinking that has clarke resolutely deciding helicopters are cool despite never having seen one. search and rescue doesn't sound so bad if the stories have happy endings. )

So why'd you decide to become a Guard? ( "cop" isn't an unfamiliar word, but neither is it part of the every day vocabulary. the insinuation is pretty plain there, though. )

Yeah, but the danger for me is danger for everyone. Because if I can't keep control of the helicopter we all go down.

[A frown because, well that actually happened once and led to the whole fiasco of them all getting tortured back home. But he's gonna try and not think about that while on this island adventure. He'll mope on the ship, not in a tropical paradise.]

I uh.. [He laughs, running his fingers through his hair.] I wish I could make up something noble, like I wanted to help people and shit. But.. I wanted to get laid, and I looked good in the uniform. And it uh, worked so. I wasn't wrong but..

[His own words ring back to him, what he'd told Rook when he was in the Wolf's Den, "The whole time I was locked in that room I just kept thinking about how I got here. You know why I became a cop? To get laid. That was it. It was a whim. And then after a while I tried to convince myself that I did it for the greater good. To help people. But I can't. I know that now. Jacob taught me that. I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. I don't even know who I am."]

But I did want to become a helicopter pilot to help people. That was genuine at least. And you know.. [Deep introspection incoming,] that's probably why I was good at it. I was a fucking great pilot, I was a pretty shitty Deputy.

( ah, well. that's leadership in a nutshell, she thinks but doesn't say.

besides, the thought is immediately curtailed when pratt's big calling ended up to be chasing tail. clarke can't help the first initial snort that originates in the back of her throat and escapes out her nose, but at least has the decency to briefly turn her face from him so pratt doesn't have to see the waves of bemusement and humored disapproval playing across her features. yanno, she knew a guy who started that way too, loved the power of authority and unabashedly had horny teenage escapades despite being twenty-three (responsibility repression, he still counted) and in a camp made up of tents with zero sound proofing.

ah, she misses him. )

Sometimes — often, I'd say — our original intentions don't really matter. It's all end results, and yours sound like you did an overwhelming amount of good for people. I hope you focus on them as much, if not more so, than anything else.

[He rolls his eyes.]

You sound like Sharky. Trying to convince me that helping Rook escape and making sure Jacob went after me instead of them, was super great and counteracts all the fucking horrors I did prior. Like .. Rook is still just one person. I killed way more than that.

And I'm gonna be real, I was fucking worthless when I finally got out of that bunker. Spent three days catatonic on the floor and then another week slumped in a chair.

But.. yeah. I did some good shit occasionally. Eventually. Hope I can here, but... I don't even really know where to start.

( ah, that's fair. that sentiment always sounds like a load of drivel unless it manifests in one's own brain. and even then, it's easy to override and ignore, and doesn't shine like a light when one's immersed in a pit of shadows. honestly, she doesn't think ten days sounds that bad of a turn around time from being tortured to being vaguely functional, good on you pratt. )

Yeah, well. It's a lot easier to kill someone than it is to save them. ( the temptation to ask how many is there, but not everyone's like clarke who has a suspiciously specific rough estimate in mind at any given time. )

Start small. Next time everything goes to absolute hell, pick a stranger and help them.

[He wouldn't be able to fully answer, he doesn't remember what he does when he snaps but he has woken up next to some atrocities and covered in blood. And sometimes Jacob filmed it and made him watch after to give him 'pointers'. The things he's done while aware are bad enough. Skinning someone while not in a catatonic state is worse. So much worse.]

Yeah. My current thing is trying to get to know as many people as possible so they kinda.. are aware I'm here? So if I start ranting and pacing someone will know something is off. It can't just be Sharky and you and Clara. Because I'm fucking stupid right before I fully go over the edge, but if I snap that hard... I'll avoid you guys. Like it won't be me, not really, but a... version of me I guess. And I'd know to stay away from all of you and go after someone else.

[He sighs.]

Sorry. Getting all depressing here on a beautiful fucking island meant for relaxing. Can't ever ignore it, you know?

( sometimes a little catatonia doesn't sound so bad. but, same time, being aware of every single awful decision, outcome, and choice she's ever made has settled into a very comfortable yolk around her neck. and clarke no longer knows what she'd do without it.

pratt sighs. and bidden by his words, clarke again looks out over the sparkling glint of gentle ocean in the distance, and the soft white crest of waves that slowly inches up the beach leaving behind a smooth stretch of unblemished, dark, wet sand. it is all pretty beautiful, isn't it? but earthly beauties have faded in their wonderment for her, and after a minute long of silence it's impossible not to open her mouth again. )

I get your approach. But I meant what I said before. ( stops with me or stays with me. ) Don't just go after someone else.

I won't. But it's.. you get that's not me right? I don't remember what I do if I fucking go full cultist, it's not me. I'm just a shittier version of Jacob. That's why I was his second in command, he could just .. turn me into him. Basically. Sort of. Look this is fucking shitty to explain and doesn't make any sense and I don't want to go ballistic for no damn reason.

[He glares at the light sparkling off the ocean, staring long enough to see residual images when he blinks.]

If I could control it we wouldn't even be having this discussion.

...alright. I'm sorry.

( sentiment strong as iron doesn't mean she's blind to how wide off the mark it's falling. clarke shifts her position in the sand, finally letting her legs away from her chest and settling criss-cross applesauce with spine arched in a c-shape, elbows on her knees, and chin in the palm of her hand. they can both stare out at the ocean for a beat, and digest what's been said. )

We don't have to talk about it anymore. But I have to wonder, long enough away from him, what if you could learn to control it?

If I wasn't, [ He turns to gesture at the hallucination of Jacob as if she'll be able to see him, only to realize he's not there. Of couse. Typical. He glares at where he'd been not a half hour before.] Asshole.

If I wasn't hallucinating him half the time maybe. It's not like he's gone. He's just, [ Pointing to his own head.] in here. For fucking ever. I can't get away from him even in death.

( politely, or just curiously, she looks where he gestures. the image in clarke's mind of what jacob seed must look like varies widely from reality; honestly she paints him more like the heretical flamekeeper titus, but looking at the expanse of sand, there's nobody there.

can't get away from him — )

Do you want to?

I don't know.

[Once again the honest answer before he can think of a way to dodge the question. ]

I need to. But.. so much of me is him now that I dunno how to sort out the pieces. [Then he grins. ] Though earlier I dragged that hot dude with the tattoos into the trees and that was all me. So maybe I'm getting myself back. Or something.

[One tryst at a time. ]

( the absolute face she makes in response to that confession is... best summed up as alarmed, a little concerned, shocked that they're apparently to this point in casual conversation, grossed out (bc she's a teen from a relatively repressed society) and then... like, the strange want to be able to laugh? or grin back in turn? but can't quite get her face to cooperate, and thus subsequently looks at the sand.

but the moment passes. sand is scooped into her palm and allowed to drizzle out into a tower, like the inside of an hour glass. and very, very clinically and dry — )

Never read in any textbooks that you could fuck your way out of a PTSD diagnosis, but — all the textbooks I read were seriously outdated and didn't account for the end of the world, so.

( shrug! )

That could definitely be a start.

[Oh that's a face journey even his fractured mind is gonna remember. He smirks, looking suddenly younger, like the Deputy he was before the cult.]

They never said you couldn't though. It's not like.. contraindicated. [Look at him with the big words.] And it probably won't fix anything, but at least I'll feel better about it all I guess.

Not being a wound up ball of anxiety has to be good for me.

( somewhere, someone with a medical or psychological degree absolutely specified that throwing yourself into interpersonal relationships detracted from any quest to focus on and thus better oneself. it was probably really well worded and had some other big key phrases, but boiled down to can't heal your own inner trauma while balls deep in someone else's inners. but yanno what they cared about on the ark regarding innards? stopping bleeding, and no one having any unregulated babies. not a psychologist in sight during the second apocalypse, and not a single person well adjusted enough to really logic themselves out of the ways you choose to kill your sadness won't work long term hole.

so that ultiamtely just leaves clarke, making another spectacularly scrunched up face in return to the notion of anxiety balls being unwound. )

Ew. Can we not talk about your sex life, maybe? I don't think we're close enough for that — where'd the lizard go?

( BRING THAT GUY BACK. )

Sorry sorry! [He holds his hands up in surrender. He's been around Sharky too long, it's starting to erode the three ounces of shame he has.] I'll shut up.

[He looks over to see if the lizard is still around, but it's gone to hide from these weirdos.]

I'll go look for another one and then uh.. not come back to show you.

[He gets up and dusts off his pants, and yes he fingerguns at her as a way of saying goodbye. This is the derranged cultist who killed a hundred or so people.]

( it's not like she'd mind horribly if he did come back. but, same instance, it's not like their conversation had been a nice, easy one like the backdrop of a tropical beach deserved.

so, to the deranged cultist's retreating form, the guilt-riddled genocider raises a hand in casual parting — after giving him a very age appropriate judgemental look in return to those fingerguns. stop, you're embarrassing us both. )

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SEPTEMBER EVENT: WE'RE ON ISLAND TIME BABY

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