Die Another Day [Post-Death Open Post + some closed]

[be_seeing_you]

Who: Number 6 & YOU
What: Waking up from death after a sliiiight miscalculation
Where: Cabin 113 + Other places around the ship, just going about his day like nothing happened
When: The day after the beach party
Warnings: discussion and depictions of death, trauma, grief



That was unpleasant.

Pain is the last thing he remembers. Pain, and the distant sounds of screams. One of the voices may have been his. The black abyss they'd tipped into was akin to being swallowed whole in a nightmare. Fittingly, when you die in a nightmare you wake up. So too, does Number 6 awaken again at exactly 6:00 am the next morning, safe in bed. But not safe from the memory of the black and the way it scraped at his mind like a dull cheese grater.

He lies there a moment reorienting himself. Above him, the sight of his familiar cabin roof is both sickening and a comfort. He's alive. He's... unharmed? Why does that fact make him furious? He'd hoped, foolishly, that if he did meet death out there on the water it would be the kind that lasts. It would free him from the fate of being tied forever to the Eterna. No such luck. But if he's here then... Arthur! And young Steve! They must be just waking up as well.

There's no time to wallow in his failure. If he must continue to live here, then he may as well get on with it. He should go see how his fellows are doing. He thought he saw a group of people lingering on the beach after the last call went out. Were they planning their own escape, or was there something else going on? The only way to find out is to get out of here and go see for himself.

Number 6 can be found all around the ship, going about his day like he didn't just fall off the edge of the map like a chump. And, no, he really doesn't want to talk about it, thanks very much. (So definitely bring it up to him, wink.) He kicks off this brand new day with his usual routine of training on the sport's deck. Does he seem like he's hitting that punching bag just a little harder than is necessary?

After training and then a long shower, he'll go down to Sand Dollars to order himself a coffee (yes, you heard that right) and a cake. Today, apparently, he's making an exception about his no sugar rule. He'll stay there for an hour, reading a book with an aura radiating off him that threatens violence to anyone that approaches. (But when has anyone let that stop them?)

Full of caffeine and sugar, he'll spend the next part of the day pacing the decks and the promenade, feeling the need to just move and keep moving. During that time, he will realize with dismay that he knows neither Arthur nor Steve's cabin numbers, so he will either have to ask someone else or wait to find them on his own. Mostly, he's choosing the latter.

He finished the book Clara gave him this morning over his coffee, so once the pacing gets too tiring, he tries popping back into the library to find something else. All he ends up doing is staring at the titles without hardly reading them. He's not really in the mood.

Eventually, he will drag himself to the Windjammer for an evening meal. And sit alone. As one does when trying to avoid talking to anyone about their first death experience. He's got himself an entire plate of bangers and mash but he's mostly just pushing it around his plate. He just keeps seeing the black. Over and over. How is he going to sleep tonight? He supposes he will cross that bridge when he comes to it. Which won't be until well after midnight this time. He's got some more pacing on the deck to do first.

But he's fine. Really. He's fine. There's no need for anyone to talk to him about this. Ever.

Comments

[Closed To Six] cw: death/corpse

[be_seeing_you]

It can't have been pleasant coming home to find a corpse tucked into bed. It may just be a good thing that Six's stated routine is to be out during the wee hours. Number 6 is not grievously wounded, and if not for the lack of breathing, one could almost miss that he's not just asleep. Still, what a thing to spend a night with?

On the bright side, Number 6 barely does more than gasp in surprise when he wakes. Six won't have to put up with any hysterics or panicked reactions--just deadpan acceptance. But Number 6 also won't be feeling particularly talkative right away, either. Good luck with that, roomie.

[sixthdeadliest]

Six did not go training that night.

Instead, he watched over the corpse, waiting. It was one thing to hear that death wasn't permanent on the ship. It was another thing entirely to witness it. If nothing else, he needed to see for himself what the process was all about.

At around 5 AM, he briefly left the room to "borrow" a carafe of hot water and a pair of mugs from the lounge in the atrium, bringing them back to the room. He placed a tea bag of Earl Grey in each, pouring the water over them as the clock ticked over to 5:50. It wasn't the same as the traditional Japanese tea ceremony One had taught him when he'd been under the man's tutelage, but it held the same solemnity and reflection of the Japanese-style tea ceremony rather than the more celebratory Chinese one he should've known. He wasn't sure if Smith was a fan of sweets, so he decided against providing any. Hopefully the man wouldn't take it as a slight.

He removed the tea bags at just before six, not wanting to oversteep the tea. The timing was almost perfect, Smith waking up a little over a minute later.

Six said nothing, rising from his seat on the couch and walking the mug over to set it down on the bedside table close to Smith. Then he retook his seat.

[be_seeing_you]

He cannot quite express it, but he feels a deep sense of gratitude knowing that Six isn't going to immediately start fussing over him, asking him if he's okay. He's still taking account of that himself.

The aroma of tea is the most pleasant thing he could possibly have woken to. He looks to Six with a brittle but appreciative smile and slowly sits up and wraps both hands around that warm mug. He'll blow on it carefully for the moment, knowing it's still slightly too hot to drink.

"Thank you."

Before coffee

[konpeito_aji]

Nobunaga rarely sleeps until dawn. So he usually did wake up to greet Amaterasu: the sun goddess he used to insist wasn't real, but now concedes, maybe in some form, kind of sort of, even if he's still the stuck cleaning up after her descendants messes. He doesn't usually get as drunk as he did the night before, however. But there's a lot of new things here. Like not having constant assassination attempts, kidnapping attempts, his soldiers, his reputation since childhood, and so on.

It's an adjustment.

So he drags his sorry hungover ass up the stairs. Which is a workout itself, but his brain isn't functioning to find and use the new-to-him untried elevators.

Oda's full plate mail is down to the minimum. He took it all off in public yesterday, and nothing happened. No assassination attempts. No smiting by Gods or demons. He should be.... happy about that? Maybe? It's definitely not like he WANTS to be attacked! But also, he really doesn't want to get lax. It only takes once.

He's not using his Hasebe because the weight is immense, and he's not trying to kill anything. So he just has a practice bamboo kendo, and goes through the kata like he has every day since he could hold one. He didn't have toys, he had weapons. But Nobunaga's sound sensitivity has never been this bad. He's getting old. So Nobunaga is for once really really quiet, and planning on keeping it that way.

Amaterasu is surely mocking him with her bright disposition and canine laughs. Amaterasu is a bitch.

Whatever Six's plan,: trap, escape, joining the lizard folk, or other, seems to have failed. That's a shame. It would have been hilariously random if it was all that easy. If escaping a despotic tyrant like himself was just trying to do so. So Nobunaga's not surprised. He doesn't say anything for a bit. He can't. His head is pounding and he's never been this sick before.

Finally, he wordlessly hands the other man darts, gestures to the board... and telepathically tries to signal they should practice together, because it is boring without competition. And.... Nobunaga will be very silent. So. Very.

"Darts." Yes. Those are indeed darts he's trying to give the other man awake way too early, probably much sooner than the test of the ship. For those who drank alcohol the night before, especially the teens, Nobunaga expects they won't be alive until noon.

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 gives the man a wide berth at first, not being in the mood for company or to give any comfort this morning. He can tell Nobunaga is feeling under the weather. Or, more likely, hung over from the festivities of yesterday. It's a small grace that Number 6 escaped that for himself.

When Nobunaga offers him the darts, however, he hesitates for just a moment before finally taking them. Very well, as long as they don't have to talk too much.

"Do you know how to score?"

windjammer

[inhairently]

[ Steve Harrington and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Chapter 1

Steve now believes beyond the shadow of a doubt that he never died back home and this is no kind of afterlife, because he would definitely remember it. To put it bluntly, dying fucking sucks. Death by raft-over-the-edge-of-the-world-into-a-horrific-void really fucking sucks.

He'd awoken that morning in a panic, flailing his way out of bed and onto the floor, certain he was still on the raft and still falling to his excruciating demise. Once reality set in he did the only sensible thing: he crawled back into bed, and he stayed there. All day.

His growling stomach eventually forces him to emerge, hair uncharacteristically disheveled with dark circles under his eyes, and still wearing the same outfit he'd died in. He makes his way to the Windjammer and once he's there he scrounges up a burger with all the trimmings. It's paired with the best-looking french fries he's ever laid eyes on. He doesn't think he can stomach it.

Nevertheless, he goes looking for a seat, and when he spots a familiar face he doesn't wait for an invitation to slide into the empty seat across from him. ]

Hey.

[be_seeing_you]

[Steve has saved him the trouble of looking too hard. Small miracles. He also happens to be one of two people who won't be immediately told to go away today.]

Mr. Harrington. It's good to see you looking well enough.

[What else does one say to a teen you've accidentally helped kill?]

Have you seen Mr. Lester yet today?

Promenade

[businessorlibation]

Johnny's exiting Tauva when he encounters Number 6. And at first, he just watches for a moment, and then he jogs over to catch up.

"Smith, I hope you'll pardon me being so direct, but you look like you're recovering from more than a hangover."

He knows the look--he remembers the night he and Cesar slept with Watson's corpse so he wouldn't wake up from death alone. He remembers the absolute State Watson had been in, afterwards.

[be_seeing_you]

This time, Number 6 doesn't even have the heart to pretend Johnny's observations are wrong. Hadn't he told Dr. Watson on the beach to give a personal apology to this unlikely friend in the event he never made it back? No need now. But Johnny should hear this from Number 6 himself, first.

"I said I would try to escape here by any means. Those means failed. Spectacularly."

Sand Dollars

[chickenchoicejudy]

[Later in the morning, if he looks up between his coffee and his book, Number Six might catch a glimpse of Ryan Akagi walking into Sand Dollars, ironically looking like death warmed over himself.

For the moment, he does not seem to have noticed Six - he makes a beeline for the counter instead. He mumbles a coffee order and pulls up a chair, resting his head right on the counter on his folded arms, eyes closed. Has this café always been so fucking bright?

A moment later the ghostly barista sets Ryan's coffee down by his face, but he doesn't move to take it. That would require moving and that would suck.

Will Number Six approach him? Or put him on planned ignore?]

[be_seeing_you]

[Number 6 pretends not to notice the young man, at first. Only glancing covertly over the top of his book while turning the page. Dying horribly last night took much of the sting out of his petty anger at Ryan, and seeing how the boy is laid so low this morning by, presumably, a hangover does a lot to dispel the rest of it.

Still. He can't let Ryan get away completely without some punishment. Time to turn the tables. Quietly, so very quietly, she shuts his book and slips out of his seat. He glides up behind Ryan with barely a whisper of cloth. And then...

THUNK

He lets his book (hard cover) thump onto the counter right next to Ryan's head. Was that loud enough for you??]

Oh, my apologies. I hope I didn't wake you.

[Said in the most sweet and yet terribly insincere way possible. He apologizes for nothing.]

sports deck

[goodweather]

[ Phil had seen the man from a distance plenty of times before, both of them regular visitors of the sports deck as they were, but he'd never bothered to approach him. Something seems off today, though. Phil likes to think he's keyed into when things are a little different than they should be.

When both of them have stopped to take a break, Phil comments, ] Really going at that bag today, huh?

Re: sports deck

[be_seeing_you]

[Likewise, Number 6 has seen the man around, but on most occasions he's been too entrenched in his routine to think of approaching. Today, it's no different. In fact, as Phil points out, his focus on the workout is eve more intense. Noticeably, so, apparently.]

Yes. I took the day off yesterday, so I'm making up for it.

[The lie is almost smooth enough to pass muster. Almost. If not for the haunted look in his light blue eyes that belies a man who did not really get rest yesterday.]

Night-time Deck-time

[broshaw]

Sharky doesn't know shit about what happened -- not during never have I ever, and definitely not what happened after. He'd been too busy helping a faded Pratt get back in one piece to notice the dumbasses sailing off into oblivion.

Sooo, when he sees Smith pacing, he doesn't actually register that there's a reason for it? The dude's just high-strung; pacing's in his nature. Like Pratt, kinda, except without the homicidal urges. Hopefully...?

With a hurricane glass in hand, Sharky just sorta winds up matching Smith's pace and giving him a little tip of his frozen daiquiri.

"Hey, man. What's... uh, what's up?" Because now that he's looking, Smith's face is kinda... you know. Haunted, or whatever. (It's probably just the gnarly hangover, TBH.)

[be_seeing_you]

Sharky isn't wrong about Number 6; the man is incapable of staying still for too long. Especially when agitated which is... almost always. But especially today.

"Nothing," he lies a little too sharply.

"A little early for a drink, isn't it?" Number 6 must admit, just looking at that drink in Sharky's hand make him feel green.

library

[littlefairytale]

Ruby woke up this morning regretting her life choices. The absolute worst of her hangover is behind her, after she and Undine spent the first part of the morning holed up in the latter's room (ah, the overriding power of helping a friend), but it's not totally gone. She's eaten some food and taking some painkillers, but some areas of the ship are just too noisy, so eventually she retreated to the quiet familiarity of the library.

Where, at some point, she apparently dosed off mid-trying to read a book, tucked up in a corner on the floor.

Someone coming in is enough to make her stir, though, and she stretches out with a groan— then goes wide-eyed seeing it's Smith who's just arrived. Oh, Brothers...

"Uhhhh. Hi?"

Re: library

[be_seeing_you]

He's looming over her just by nature of his being so tall and her being curled up in that corner. But, the look on his face softens the moment he notices her freight. Ah, she must think he's still angry about last night. He could have mercy on her... or he could tease her just a little.

"I take it you've learned your lesson about not drinking enough water now, eh?"

sand dollars!

[fonomena]

The previous night had been a long one for many passengers here, it seems, albeit for quite a variety of reasons. The majority of the poor souls wandering in and out of Sand Dollars look to be victims of hangovers, more than anything, but...

Jade's already been seated at one of the café tables for a bit of time, when Six steps in. He's nursing a coffee of his own, in the hopes that it'll perhaps go some way towards propping him up for the rest of the day, seeing as he himself barely slept at all last night--between the collective wrath of a gaggle of teenagers and the steady gnaw of his own thoughts, at the various discoveries made back there on the island. But, despite the slightly weary bent of his frame, his attention drifts to Six and finds itself sticking.

...Because it was from a distance, but...doesn't this...look just a bit, like one of those people on that raft last night?

Granted, the man's having a seat at another table across the way, and soon sinking into a book, with a projected aura that does rather scream 'bother at your own risk'. So Jade doesn't....not directly. But Six probably has the spatial awareness to notice the speculative staring being leveled over at him from a couple empty tables over anyway, broken up by an occasional sip of coffee, as Jade continues to try figuring whether the recognition quite matches or not.

He's in his blue uniform again himself, after putting it through the wash earlier in the morning. It might have stood out like a sore thumb on the beach even at a distant view from a raft in evening, actually, distinct as it tends to be...

[be_seeing_you]

Someone with Number 6's background can feel eyes on themselves from much further away than just a few tables. The hairs at the back of his neck are practically buzzing with awareness of it. But he pretends not to notice for a while, hoping the sensation will subside. It doesn't.

With a sigh, he shuts his book and lifts his head to look Jade right in the eyes, unflinching. When he does, it strikes him that the color of the man's clothing is familiar. Yes, hadn't he seen someone in that hue on the beach after hours?

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks, getting up from his seat and approaching, never dropping his intense gaze from Jade the entire time. He's never been one to run from potential conflict.

library

[neverleave]

Unlike Number 6, Natsuno had a nice time on the beach. He let himself relax for the first time in months and his shiki resilience kept him from getting sunburnt or hungover.

Unfortunately, his good mood faded the moment everyone got back and he realized Jade stayed back on the captain's behalf, so now he's back in his usual Serena Eterna mood, which is 'incandescent rage behind a stoic face.' He notices Number 6 in one the aisles, wondering where he went last night. Clarke said he was missing, but Jade didn't mention him when they punched interrogated him.

"If you're not gonna pick one, can you move? I'm trying to get to that shelf."

That shelf has several books about Greek mythology.

Re: library

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 suffers from a similar disposition, which is almost sure to guarantee more sparks flying when the two rub up wrong against each other. He doesn't move aside as he's told, merely folds his arms and stands up taller. Immovable object meet unstoppable force.

"Is Greek mythology an interest of yours?"

[promenade]

[light_mischief]

At some point, Smith will probably realize that there's another person walking toward him. It's the tall, burgundy-suited skeleton who watched him sail over the edge of reality just the other day. (It would be his normal, black-suited self, but somebody had gone traipsing through the jungle last night, and is currently down a clean suit...)

Skulduggery stops directly in Smith's pathway, hands comfortably tucked into his jacket pockets. It's usually difficult to tell exactly where he's looking, but Smith can likely tell that those sockets are firmly fixed on him as he waits for the space between them to close.

[be_seeing_you]

He takes note of that burgundy suit and for a moment he wonders if there's some special occasion for it. That foul-mouthed woman had been yelling about her intent to murder him this morning, after all.

Oh, but it seems they have something to discuss since Skuldugery has put himself conspicuously in Number 6's path. Empty as those sockets are, he can, nevertheless, feel that intent gaze on him. And yet, he does not increase the length of his stride; Skuldugery can wait for him to get there in his own time.

"Good afternoon, Skulduggery." Said pleasantly, as if he hasn't noticed anything amiss.

[hellonspectacles]

“You’re going to wear out the spines with all that staring.”

Palamedes isn’t in the best mood himself. After a surprisingly pleasant day at the beach, he had barely slept the night before, too busy worrying, fretting, and seething about those who had not made it back to the ship. What fools they had been, creeping away like that. What idiots, to tell no one of their plans. By some miracle, Skulduggery and his merry band had made it back to the ship alive, but Pal is pretty damn sure that their heroic return had had more to do with luck than sense.

He’d been particularly…clipped with Jade. I never realized you were so fond of subterfuge, Colonel, he had told his friend and sometimes-mentor, grey eyes boring into him. I’d thought better of you.

As a soothing sort of distraction, Pal is attempting to bring some order to the bookshelves, grouping them by subject and author in the closest proximation to the cataloging system they use in the Library. The books won’t stay in sequence, but at least he will feel like he has accomplished something after twenty-four hours of feeling mostly useless. Now, he stands just behind the man with a stack of five or six books, all horror novels with trashily grotesque covers. “If you would move, I’d like to put these back, please.”

[be_seeing_you]

"I wasn't aware there was a limit on how long one was allowed to look." Grumpiness is met with grumpiness. However, he does grudgingly stand aside.

"Why are you bothering with this? They never stay organized."