[OPEN] the labour and the wounds are vain

[theotherright]

Who: Arthur Lester and YOU
What: The walk of shame after rafting with two other idiots off the edge of the world
Where: Around the ship
When: The day after the beach party
Warnings: The normal Arthur stuff. Traumatised man hours. Death happened. Sad about blind. Also, the thread with Bash eventually contains a couple references to 1930s homophobia, plus displays of ignorance about queer people.


Mistakes were made. Big ones. For those sensitive to that kind of thing, an invisible death counter has ticked up in Arthur from zero to one.


i. scoops

It's a big ship, but unless you count Tommy Bahamas, it's not infinitely big. Why the hell can't he find Smith or Steve? Particularly Steve-- you know, the teenager he just helped kill?

In truth, Steve is hiding in his cabin and he happens to keep missing 6, but Arthur's brain is pleased to conjure some more unpleasant scenarios, and the effort of talking it down is exhausting. Looking for people while fucking blind only compounds his frustrations, and he's already feeling a few SAN points down after the whole 'fell into the fucking void' fiasco, and he's currently searching on the promenade which is already fucking overwhelming, and so his reaction when he collides with a fucking stool that's sitting outside of Scoops is, as soon as he's regained his balance, to pick it up and toss it as hard as he fucking can across the fucking ground.

"Fuck!"


ii. tauva

...not long after that, Arthur realises that he needs to calm the hell down.

He forces himself to stop pacing and pacing and pacing and pacing. And once he stops, it's like the energy leeches right out of him, both physically and mentally. Part of his mind is still just spiralling down that invisible void, screaming.

The whole raft thing is a part of it, but it's far from the whole. He's so far out of his depth and he doesn't even know which way up is, and he's been holding his breath for as long as he can, focused on the possibility of escape, but now escape has put him right back on the ship and it feels like he tried to take a breath and instead filled his lungs with salt water.

He ends up in Tauva. It's not consciously planned. But he has been thinking about someone else who frequents the place: someone to whom he once again owes an apology.

Arthur's slumped back in one of the leather armchairs, his useless eyes closed. Until now he's perched on the edges of chairs, sat with his feet beneath him, ready to move if he needed to. This time he's just... folded into it. Head tilted down. As still as if he was asleep, or even more so, because even sleeping people murmur or turn over once in a while. The only parts of him stirring are his lips, which move as if silently singing to himself, and his hands, whose long fingers bat restlessly against one another and against the soft arms of the chair.

He is not super okay.

Comments

[midnightroads]

The sound of footsteps, which abruptly stop a few feet into the cigar bar.

A whiff of coffee and tobacco.

A soft sigh, and the sound of someone turning to go.

[theotherright]

Arthur catches the scent, clear and distinct even in the middle of a smoking lounge. He realises who's there, and he sits up suddenly.

"Wait--" The raft ride really must have knocked him silly, because right off the bat he already sounds a fraction desperate. "Wait, please."

[midnightroads]

"Didn't think you wanted to talk to me anymore."

He hasn't turned back to face Arthur, but his movement has stopped. There's something of a lingering hurt in his voice; he has been so very good about avoiding the man. But he knows. Not about the raft, not in detail, but the lingering scent of death even though Arthur's clearly alive again. Alive and...well, not well.

[theotherright]

Yeah. Yeah, Arthur has really fucked this one up and he knows it, and Bash's tone only confirms it.

"I'm sorry," he says, and knows he's going to have to do better than that.

"You were right. And I was a real piece of shit to you over it."

Scoops

[be_seeing_you]

He knows that voice. Arthur, he's caught up to the man at last. Just in time to see him venting his frustration on a stool. Number 6 can't judge. His first week here he'd torn his entire room apart. The only reason he hasn't done it today is out of consideration for the roommate he has now.

He's not trying to sneak up on the man, but his footsteps are just naturally muted. He doesn't speak until he's gotten closer.

"I'd ask how you are, but I believe I've gotten my answer already."

[theotherright]

For a moment, Arthur reacts to the surprise presence as a man who's just been attacked, freezing in place like an animal about to spring before he realises who's talking.

It's just been one of those days.

Once he recognises 6, though, his demeanour flips over into relief. "Jesus-- Smith. You're alive. Thank fucking god-- have you-- have you seen Steve? That fucking Friday creature wouldn't give me either of your rooms-- I couldn't find you."

[be_seeing_you]

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." It's true this time.

"I'm fine, Arthur." First names now. Dying will do that for a guy. "I did try to look for you, but I didn't know your cabin either. Mine is 113, for the future." God help them if this ever happens again.

"I met Steve in the dining area not too long ago. He's in one piece. Shaken, of course." Shaken in a way Number 6 doesn't appear to be himself. "I think he will be all right."

An unasked question still hangs in the air. Will you be all right, Arthur?

Scoops

[konpeito_aji]

"Hey." Nobunaga grabs his arm gently. "Come with me." And brooking no arguments, drags him inside for ice cream. Very normal things. "It's too bright and everyone's having a bad day, but you're not alone. Have some ice cream, and use your ninja-level voice. What flavor do you want? I'll scoop it."

Yeah. That's a bit... much. Hopefully Arthur doesn't lash out too much because Nobunaga got the rest of his armor on after his morning exercises and darts, so full plate mail might bruise. He'll try to catch any flailing though -- since he expects such a thing.

Normally, Demon Kings kidnap princesses, but it's fine. He's been known to kidnap people he wants to make soldiers too and usually in the interviewing process, which this might be. Or he's just doing normal Demon King over-seeing-his-not-Kingdom thing. That too.

[theotherright]

Arthur freezes like a rabbit when he's grabbed, which may or may not make the dragging a slightly annoying process. His legs do unfreeze at some point when it becomes clear he's going to fall over otherwise.

"What the fuck?"

The surprise has dislodged his anger a bit, but his anger was so well-seated that doing so has knocked him fantastically off balance.

"Ice cream?"

Wait, he knows that voice. Is this the monk story guy???

[konpeito_aji]

It is indeed. Nobunaga knows a lot about unseating anger, although this means he usually kills in ice cold passion instead. Arguably worse.

"Sugar always helps. Always. Have you ever had ice cream before?"

Tauva

[theweakhavepurpose]

Arthur sure is having a time right now. And his little crisis in the armchair is largely uninterrupted for about fourty-five minutes (more than enough to have several breakdowns Arthur!), and then something stirs.

"Hnnnghhhhh..."

Is it human? Is it even alive? Whatever it is sounds like it's on the floor, behind the next set of chairs.

[theotherright]

It's always important to block out a good amount of time for your breakdowns! If Arthur caps out those 45 minutes with red eyes and nose, and snot on the sleeve of his Tommy Bahamas shirt, it was almost certainly allergies. Out at sea. With no animals or plants around. Yes.

He's quiet now though -- eyes closed, trying to imagine that if he opened them there would be something to see -- and those 45 minutes have vanished as if they were ten. And then there's a sound that, if only Arthur had the cultural context necessary, he would classify as a zombie groan.

Suddenly concerned that he isn't alone here, and ashamed to be caught, Arthur raises his head. He starts to say 'hello', but the first words after crying are always a real bastard, and he has to clear his throat and nose a bit (quietly, he hopes) before he can get out a roughly normal-sounding:

"Is-- someone there?"

[theweakhavepurpose]

"No." That might be audible, a little hard to tell since Pratt is talking directly into the carpeting. No one loves him the way floor does. Floor has never betrayed him.

There's a clink as he tries to go for his canteen and down a bunch of water only to remember it's empty and the reason he's on the floor in the first place is because he fell while heading to the bar to get a refill and decided getting back up was too much effort.

"If I promise not to be mad, will you just shoot me?"

Tauva

[inhairently]

Steve wants to go back to his cabin and roll back into bed after his impromptu dinner with Smith, but he needs to find Arthur first. It takes a while because Steve takes his time, simple as that. He's eager to find Arthur and make sure he's okay but he seems incapable of moving any faster than a snail's pace. He feels disconnected. That's all it is.

Tauva is among the last places to check, and he may as well have announced his arrival with a fanfare of trumpets and confetti, loud as he is as he makes his way through. It stinks in here. Steve's not a smoker (he tried a few times to be cool) and walking into a big ol' smoke room is is like walking into... well, a big ol' smoke. He doesn't even try to hide his coughing and general noises of disgust.

He finally spots Arthur situated in a cushy leather armchair that wouldn't look out of place in his own father's home office. He feels relief paired with a bit of dread, though he doesn't quite know why.

Still, his relief is palpable as he sinks into the nearest empty chair. "Arthur! Shit, man. We didn't know where you were."

[theotherright]

That is an absolute cacophony of noises associated with not enjoying tobacco smoke. Arthur hears them from a long way away at first, and then stops noticing them, and then by the time Steve's drawn near to him, it's occurred to him to wonder why someone would stay in here when they're clearly having so bad a time.

He doesn't open his eyes, because what would be the point?

They open a little way when he hears Steve's voice, but then close again, because he just. He just can't deal with it right now. He'd rather look like an idiot talking with his eyes closed than stare into that black wall right now. Otherwise, though, he reacts with surprise, and relief to match Steve's, sitting up suddenly in his seat. The tapping of his fingers increases in nervous pace.

"Jesus. Steve? A-are you all right? I managed to run into Smith in the end, but -- are you all right?"

[inhairently]

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says without hesitation. "Absolutely. I'm good."

He isn't, and there's a waver of uncertainty in his tone that he wishes wasn't there, but he's used to being the eldest in a group of teenagers who're no strangers to the threat of death, and all the other terrible things surrounding it. Vulnerability isn't a luxury he often allows himself, at least not when it comes to the truly bad stuff. Like dying.

It had been a little easier talking to Peter. It might have something to do with how odd Arthur had behaved when he and Steve first met, and then how cheery and friendly he'd been any time Steve had seen him after. It's hard to explain, but talking to Arthur now conjures the same kind of nervousness as visiting a dying grandparent in the hospital. Like he's compelled to put on a brave face.

"Are you?"

A Wildcard: John's

[businessorlibation]

There's a piano bar. Mostly it plays Billy Joel by itself, but on this occasion, as Arthur is walking past it, there's someone else playing. It's not professional level, not some virtuoso, or even a ghost who knows what they're doing. It's someone stumbling through Clair de Lune, punctuated by the occasional sour note or soft 'fuck' as he fails to find the melody.

Johnny does not have sheet music, and hasn't touched a piano in years (there is one at the Margravine Club, but he doesn't play it), but something lured him into John's on this occasion, in a thoughtful enough mood to poke at his deep spiritual bruises.

[theotherright]

Arthur is, by now, moving at less of a walk than a meander. What else is there to do when your whole world very suddenly encompasses the four corners around a strange ship, with nothing but gnawing void beyond them, and one's own world moving on without realising you're gone?

So far it's been a rough day.

The imperfect strains of Debussy get his attention, not because of the tune itself, but because it sounds like there's actually a person playing it. Usually he would be hearing a flawless rendition of something hummable that he doesn't recognise, played by ghosts, which he assumes puts it basically on the level of a supernatural player piano. This is... not that.

The realness of the music, bum notes and all, draws him in. He has wondered, on and off, if there is anyone here besides ghosts who plays piano. He finds himself lingering inside the doorway of John's, just listening, wondering who the player is.

[businessorlibation]

Johnny gets a few good measures into the next attempt, before he realizes he has an audience and startles.

"Oh, uh. Sorry, am I making too much of a racket?" It's a very controlled voice, trained perhaps, with a European accent of some sort that's nearly impossible to place. French? Swiss? Italian? Something that blends all three, perhaps. Posh. There's an inherent poshness to his voice. Her voice? No, his voice. "I can head off for a bit and try again when there's no one around, if you prefer."

Tauva

[tempingainteasy]

The scent of smoke approaches, standing out from the ambient smoke of Tauva by its freshness. There are the sounds of very soft footsteps, not intentional stealth, just the way the shoes were built.

The footsteps stop and the smoke doesn't go away. When a reasonable amount of time to notice has passed, there is a soft inhale of smoke, and then words: "Rough night?"

The voice is familiar, of course.

[theotherright]

Oh. It's April.

No... you know what, he remembers being pissed about her question during the game, but that's probably because he was, well, pissed. He's died since then, so... who cares, that's probably the biggest line in the sand anyone ever gets. He only remains annoyed with himself for actually reacting. Christ, sailing off the edge of the world wasn't the only mistake he made last night.

He leans forward in his chair, but it's only to rest his elbow on his leg and his face on his hand, not once opening his eyes.

"Well," he says, thoughtful, as if he's actually weighing up the pros and cons, "I made a fool of myself, but on the other hand, I didn't get a hangover."

Does she have the context for that remark? No idea. He kind of hopes that the entire ship hasn't heard about the raft incident just yet.

[tempingainteasy]

April doesn't have a hangover either, so maybe it doesn't occur to them to think anything odd about that.

"You and like, 6 other people at that party, at least." April says, verbally waving it off. "Wouldn't be a drunk beach party without 'em."

A beat, and they add, "Well, you probably wouldn't have seen much of that during prohibition, not in your neck of the woods at least."

The smoke and the soft shoes in move, crossing in front of Arthur before dropping heavily into the chair beside him, not that the chairs here are particularly close.

1

[obeyseventually]

The stool dings against the ground as it bounces - but it never hits the ground.

"Arthur?" Jack asks from behind the stool floating in front of him, the 'you good?' implied in his tone.

[theotherright]

"What the fuck is it now?"

Clearly this is someone who knows him, but it'll take him a moment to place the voice: partly because there is no shortage of nondescriptly American accents on the ship, but mostly because he's distracted by being in the middle of a collapsing mountain of frustration.

[obeyseventually]

Jack's eyebrows rise, and after a second to glance down the promenade and make sure it's clear, he lets go of the stool. It slams and skids down the way with the force of a bullet and the noise of a chair stampede, but Jack hardly seems to mind.

"You're yelling in front of the ice cream shop and throwing a chair around." Jack says, so Arthur has no excuse to pretend not to know what he's talking about, "Is something wrong?"