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

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

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.

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"While we are on the subject, the small sections in the center are worth triple as well." The pattern here should be easy enough to follow. The harder it is to hit, the more it's worth.

"I've been known to play in a pub on occasion. It's a well-known sport in my age." He's actually quite good at it but he's not on his top form today. And he doesn't want to completely trample over Nobunaga right away and demoralize him.

When Nobunaga's dart lands in the one, Number 6 lets out a friendly chuckle. "There, there. The trick is not power, it's finesse. You want to hold it firm but loose, and snap the wrist as you let go." He demonstrates the motion as he says it. His next dart goes right into the black center of the 20. Nice and clean.

"I think I can handle that." Don't worry Six, it's impossible to demoralize this chuuni idiot. If you got ALL darts clustered in the center, he'd just announce you were a ninja and part of his army now (without the invitation and/or acceptance of a position!!!)

"Arigatou," Nobunaga bows slightly, once again struggling so much with with the foreign phrase he ends up saying it in Japanese, of course. "Pubs are like the Drunken Sailor?" He kind of wanted to stay more than five minutes, but even Nobunaga could get a little overloaded there.

The instruction reminds him of what he was telling Natsuno for skipping stones. Or how he taught children to throw rocks at rabbits in order to hunt. Also, he goes to thinking of the center as eyes. Aim for the eye. It's extra easy, because even if darts aren't knives (or rocks or bullets) the target isn't moving and can't duck. If he's got patience enough to wait for his turn, he can aim properly and throw the weapon in his hand to put someone's eye out.

He does manage this time, dead center, but -- "Only, because of your instructions," he blushes slightly. Fuck. Don't look at him. "Were you an officer in the military?" He's not as good at recognizing soldiers as nobility, but training is training. And Six is better than all Nobunaga's tutors were.

"Yes, The Drunken Sailor is very much like the ones I'm speaking of. It's modeled after the kinds of establishments that are native to my home country." He used to patronize one called The Anchor quite often.

"Well done," he says, eyebrows rising sharply in surprise. "You're a quick study." He must say, he's never seen someone pick it up quite so fast.

"I did serve in the Royal Airforce for a time, yes. But I was no career officer." Well. Not in that way, that is. Agents were something else altogether.

Since they aren't holding back any longer, he takes his next turn with more verve. His dart lands dead center, too, just next to Nobunaga's.

Nobunaga offers a bro-fist at 6's dart landing dead center. "Nice." He has no idea if this gesture will make much sense to the other man, but it's something he picked up from Sasuke.

"I've had to use kunai - throwing knives - since I could speak." Not an exaggeration. "My first battle was when I was six." Also not an exaggeration. "Albeit, in my father's saddle." His mom was pissed. "As you said, the technique is not in strength, but the wrist. Akechi would probably get it on the first try." Nobunaga has a tendency to try to overpower everything even when finesse would be optimal.

"Career officer," a quiet hum. If (a big if!) he understands English politics enough, that would be like a samurai or nobleman's status. So he gets it. His next throw isn't in the center, but edging into the 18, though he takes it fine.

"I usually try to enable my soldiers to go into other careers after a quick term - should they wish it." The war is never over, but that doesn't mean there aren't other ways to serve the Demon King. Production is his largest ambition, even more than conquering. "You don't strike me as a craftsman or tradesman, however." The idea of Six being a merchant was pretty funny! "What did you do instead?" Nobunaga stretches his arms. "Or if that's mercenary," because Nobunaga tried to enable his soldiers to be officers instead of ninjas, but it's not like he's unaware of how many freaking mercenary villages and ninjas there are that he still has to round up and convince join or die. And there's a code even the Demon King respects of not outing yourself (see also: Sasuke) - the other reason he has Mitsuhide to deal with such things. "Just let me know if you're an elite at it. Rank. You don't strike me as someone un-ambitious. And I want to be sure that even England doesn't allow castes to get in the way of competency."

Especially by the time of airplanes.

Number 6 looks blankly at the fist, not understanding the gesture or how he is meant to reciprocate it. He's too much an old-timer.

"Six? Heavens, that is too tender an age to be going into battle." Number 6 is on your mother's side.

"So, you are some form of authority? If you are in command of soldiers in such a way." He's just putting together the context clues, but he could never guess the real truth. Demon King is not on his Bingo card.

"I do crafts as a hobby, but no, I'm no tradesman. As it happens, I have recently resigned from my previous employment. It seems rather moot now." Not him attempting to sidestep the subject. (Yes, it is.)

That's okay, Nobunaga will teach it the same way he learned from Sasuke. Gently dragging Number 6's fist over to meet his own. See? Fist-bump!

"In Hell, the only way to avoid war is to be locked up tight. And even then, the wars will find you. Usually." He's done a damn good job of making that less true. "Less so now. I usually get my way."

How to explain his own rank? "I'm the Demon King of 6th Heaven. There is no one Earth more powerful than me in 1582. My aim is to make Japan surpass the endless wars of all the nobles squabbling over useless barren rocks and force them to join the rest of the world commercially -- even if I have to drag them kicking and screaming the whole way." So much blood and fire, but like he said, it's Hell. There's blood and fire without him dragging them too. "They'll not thank me for it, but they will do it."

Number 6 reluctantly lets his hand be moved. But he's looking very unhappy about it the entire time. He's a killjoy like that.

The explanation of Nobunaga's rank barely does much to budge Number 6 either, at least that's the way it looks from outside. consider him skeptical of all that. It sounds like a lot of boasting. And if true, it's edging far too close to tyranny for his taste.

"That's quite the lofty goal you have. Single-handedly uniting a nation that way is no small feat. You must have a great deal of influence."

"Conquering hell is boring," bluntly, casually. It is.

He is a tyrant, but a weird one.

"I always wanted to explore. Now I am. I'm not much of one for ruling things, so I had to set it up to run without me. If the Captain is like me-" childish, sadistic, obsessed with apotheosis and becoming the best, a tyrant, "Then I truly wonder his endgame stage. Yose. Exploring, reclaiming my freedom at long last, was to be mine."

"I wouldn't know." Number 6 still isn't sold on how literal Nobunaga is being.

"I don't think comparing yourself to the Captain is a very desirable thing." Since most of the passengers on this ship despise him to some degree. "I have done my share of traveling, and there are better ways than this. The end game for the Captain, by the looks of it, does not take our safety or continued existence into account."

It's for the best. It's not like Nobunaga can do magic, and as he constantly says, what is even the difference in that case?

Everyone keeps saying that about Nobunaga and the Captain too -- not to compare himself, but it's unavoidable whenever he asks and they fling his own flaws in his face all while completely unaware. He's too hungover to deal with that right now. "I always wanted to travel." At least he isn't whining. Because that would hurt his head. "But you can't as a Demon King. Not without setting up your people to survive without you." He rolls his shoulders in thought. Why would the Captain give a fuck about them though? But Nobunaga is hungover, not drunk, so he knows not to voice that thought out loud.

"That doesn't tell us what his endgame is though. Just what it isn't. And for us all to live happily ever after was obviously never it." Because... duh. "Maybe it's training the ship how to function." Ehhhhh more importantly, "Everyone should just enjoy themselves. Especially if it spites him and spits in his face emotionally." Nobunaga holds a hand up. "I know that's a tall order in the face of torture, I'm not asking everyone to be masochists. Just find their own way of undermining his torture." Yes.

"A sente that will help reveal his gote." Hm. More Go terms that didn't translate, interesting. "A play forcing his hand to reveal his response," Nobunaga slowly translates on his own. "I wonder if the Captain plays Go. Maybe not. He seems a bit lazier than myself." Many Demon Kings were.

"I'm sure he is working very hard to conceal what his actual endgame plan is, but I very much doubt he has any intention of training us. He has his ghosts to do the work, after all. And we may be destined to join them." He'll throw himself over the side before he lets that happen, however.

"I have a hard time enjoying myself when I know I am a prisoner. I know what you are getting at, but it is a tall order."

Nobunaga's mention of Go does make him wonder... "The captain does like games. You could try challenging him."

"No, I mean -- that is what I mean. We're training his ghosts. Ghosts are just mirrors, they specifically lack life, right? So by copying us..." Nobuanga rolled his shoulders. "It's just a thought."

Silly Six, throwing yourself overboard won't save you, didn't you learn that yet?

"Does he? Okay. I will." Every day. Every game he can think of. In postcards. Like Saw. Normal shit.

"These ghosts have been described to me as the shades of people who were here before. Souls trapped on the ship by the Captain after they have outlived their usefulness as anything else. They are not learning from us, they once were us." If nothing is done to stop the Captain, that is the fate they are all headed to.

"I hear he likes cards as well. Make sure to try that."

"European, I see. Probably better odds than Japanese-specific things," a shrug.

He thinks about the shade thing. Isn't it slavery? Or... if Nobunaga thinks of it as himself again: a refusal to waste anything.

"The opposite of muscle memory. Spirit memory," a small huff. It still ticks him off.

"To tell the truth, I have no idea if he prefers Western to anything else. He seems the type to have eclectic taste." That's putting it diplomatically.

"Imprints might be a better term. Or, to be less optimistic, remnants."

Nobuanga closes his eyes and... avoids nodding. Still too hung-over. "Remnants. I see."

As for the Captain's tastes. It's definitely Western. "This ship is Western. I've designed warships. I've taken in blueprints from Korean dragon turtle ships, Chinese Ming junks--" That gets a long pause the second he says the word. What the fuck is a junk? It sounds like trash. How the hell did it get there from, "Jonq." Oh English. What a language you are. "They are not refuse." Eyes narrow. "They may carry --" red eyes flicker, "Junk, yes, but they're juggernauts. Huge." A beat. "Okay, not as big as the Eterna." So fair play England. "Point is, this more closely resembles Spanish treasure galleons than even the Portuguese caravels, and Eastern is... far down on its influence list." Nobunaga pinched the bridge between his eyes. "But perhaps that has to do with how history shapes the future." That's a really tough pill for him to swallow. Japan survived though, but America seemed so over-represented on the ship, even in space travel -- well they were first after all, that it's hard for him to truly get the puzzles placed correctly when he has to guess at what each puzzle outline is, and through continual trial and error.

"I should really see about borrowing those history books from Cesar Salazar." He can't remember which name was supposed to come first or last anymore, so fuck it, both.

"Sushi and karaoke are Japanese," from the ship, "Tommy Bahamas is Western, Billy Joel is American." Random thought; "I wonder if Japan starts using chairs in the future." Fucking chairs man, you have no idea. Why are chairs? Literally why. How did they become so normalized? Why are they on a ship? Well, okay, it's not like they had to worry about waves or rocking about too much or sliding. But still! "Even the futons are absent. It would conserve on space, maximum efficiency, which the captain seems to prefer, but raised furniture is Western tradition so there's beds and--" Shit, what was that other piece of furniture called? Nobunaga rolls his hand slowly in a circle. "That... other one. The cushioned elongated chair." Another eye pinch. "Like logs to sit on." He means the couch or sofa. "It folds out." If he could figure out how to make the folding out device even springier, like a trap... He's distracting himself again.

"Though it's possibly he didn't design the ship at all, it just got salvaged." In which case there was another question of did more Americans survive and Western things in general, because presumably: more wormholes affected Americans in this direction to be taken from? And why?

"This ship is, yes. If I had to place it, I would say it's American specifically." Because some things aren't quite what he's used to in Britain, like the fact that there's only one water tap on the sinks.

That question of Nobunaga can be answered by Number 6, however. He isn't likely to like the answer. "Japan has adopted chairs, yes. And beds as well." Sorry to burst that bubble for you.

"I believe the word you might be looking for is sofa?" he supplies helpfully.

"And I suppose that could be possible. But I'm more inclined to believe he fabricated it based on some kind of media he saw. That seems to be his way."

"A lot of things and people seem to be from America. Is it so prolific in the future, or just a wormhole magnet?" Who knows.

"Sofa." Nobunaga nods. "I'll remember it." The last part makes Nobunaga a little twitchy. It's his own style too. The amount of Noh dances and songs he knows... Don't even get him started. "But no one recognizes it specifically?"

"I know nothing of wormholes, but America has become a world power and arguably one of the most influential in geopolitics." Much as it hurts this Englishman to have to admit that.

"Not that I'm aware of. If the Serena Eterna exists in some form of fiction, no one has managed to uncover that yet to my knowledge."

"Do you know why?"

A quiet hum. "Then it's probably salvaged like us."

"The reasons for that are too tedious for me to get into now after the kind of night I've had." Not exactly good hangover conversation either.

"Why don't we focus on our game for now and leave the speculation for another time?"

"Oh, right... sorry." He's extra hard to pin down, like a cloud like this, but he was the one who invited the other to the game.

He throws, and so much for dead center... he's way off again. Though at least it hit, but his wince shows he forgot everything he'd just learned five minutes ago. "I see... so this is what I get for my wandering aim." The metaphorical becomes literal, etc.

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

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okay with wrapping this one?

Absolutely