Wait Dear, The Time Is Getting Late [Open + Closed to Johnny]

[crushed_pearls]

CHARACTERS: Erin Peters and Johnny Summers, Erin Peters and YOU
DATE: Post-excursion
LOCATION: Tauva, Decks, Tommy Bahama
SITUATION: Erin recovers from a lot, Erin seeks fashion advice from her first friend aboard
WARNINGS: Self-harm, Discussion of trauma

I'm All Washed Up And Graced With Faint Applause

Shortly after the excursion, Erin can be found at Tauva having what appears to be a Time. There's a glass of whiskey, a glass of water, an ashtray, and a selection of cigars, and she seems to be partaking of all of them in different amounts. The cigars she nurses most slowly, looking deep in thought, but any time someone else walks in she turns her head up and at them.

Catch her at the right time and you'll find her grinding the cigar out against her bare arm, resting on her saber that lies on the table. The blade has been peacebonded, but that might not count for much, especially not with the mass of ugly scabs on her knuckles.

Dressed In A Cheap Facade [Closed to Johnny]

Erin makes arrangements to catch up with Johnny "and seek some fashion advice from someone with living eyes", just outside the Infinite Tommy Bahama. She sits on a bulging backpack to wait for her friend, slowly working her way through the songs of The Scarlet Pimpernel to entertain herself while she waits.

She arrived far earlier than the time she gave him, to work up her nerve.

I Was Never Here

In the nights following the excursion, Erin can be found moving through the ship with a certain amount of inconsistency. On the one hand she's still doing that thing where she walks to make noise on purpose, meaning she doesn't mind being seen or found. On the other hand, she keeps trying every door she comes across that isn't a cabin door, and if it opens, exploring the room it leads to. Erin Peters can't write any more, but you can practically read the notes she's not taking.

Comments

Dressed in a Jeep Wrangler

[businessorlibation]

Johnny shows up precisely on time, like the clockwork mechanism he absolutely isn't, hair slicked back and a bit of a wry smile on his lips.

"Fashion advice, Erin? Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

He's heard from Crabb--he's teasing.

Re: Dressed in a Jeep Wrangler

[crushed_pearls]

He's picked up fast, and relief washes over Erin, if only briefly. She seems tense, and she won't stop flexing her injured hand, which in turn makes her wince.

"No, not just that," she agrees, flashing a winsome smile. "But also yes that. I've got a series of half-helpful tools here in this backpack and you'll understand shortly why I don't just pick something out of it and put that on to go meet Crabb for a drink. But I also figured I should catch you up on things from -" here she gestures vaguely starboard, "- the island. I met a lot of folks! I might've even made some friends. But..."

She stands and stretches. "Fair warning, a large amount of the items I'm about to pull out of this backpack are lingerie. They are uh. Not under consideration, but this stuff was stolen pretty quickly and I didn't exactly stop to sort it."

[businessorlibation]

"If you did wear lingerie to see Crabb, she might explode in embarrassment, so good decision there. Alright, wherever you want to start, then."

He's amused, and stays relaxed to contrast her tension, because if he gets worked up, they'll just spiral. So calm for him, that's easy enough.

[crushed_pearls]

Deep sigh. In. And then out. Erin's cheeks turn bright red anyway while she squats down and opens the bag. Her warning was not in jest; the selection of lingerie is deep and wide, woven from impossible things - moonbeams and strips of cloud, candy, even -

"An orichalum bikini," Erin says in a flat voice. "Of course Colors grabbed the mythic metal tit hugger."

She tosses it aside with an almighty clunk.

"So, I can see these. I can see them very well. These are Hedgespun, made with Lost magic - like my blindfold, or the ribbon I wore to your tasting." She seems to have finally found what she was after; two skirts and what must be called a top if only because it is not pants. The top's neckline goes down to the navel, and is made from thousands upon thousands of tiny blooming flowers, each no bigger than the head of a pin. One skirt, clearly meant to match her ribbon, looks for all the world like a stolen strip of blue summer sky; the other is a thin skin of nothing restraining crystal-clear sea water, in which swim tiny fish.

Both are scandalously short.

"...I dropped some heavy content from back at home on Crabb, when I met her," Erin admits. She Only Gets Redder. "I'd like to show her a little of the better side of things when I see her again, but uh...I kinda stole these from an extradimensional slut. You might be able to tell from the way that they're. Slutty. And extradimensional. So I wanted help picking out something to layer under them, since I can't see normal clothes as well when they're...not owned."

[businessorlibation]

"Before I attempt to offer advice to that end, I need to ask: are you attempting to make Crabb explode? Because that feels like something that should be done intentionally, if at all."

He laughs a bit, not really at her, but like. A little bit at her.

"I think there's at least one talk to be had between the two of you before you start wearing something so eye-catching with the goal of getting her attention on your body. And yes, I know what her end of that talk is, but she wants to have it with you, directly."

[crushed_pearls]

"I was hoping the layers would help prevent an explosion," Erin admits; good God, she sounds almost shy. "... She's fun to tease but."

She flexes her hurt hand again and winces. "I did try to be clear that I can't do much more than tease right now. I'm so far from doing okay at the moment. Impressing a pretty lass...it's just about my limit, right now."

Washed up / Tauva (so TLDR sorry)

[konpeito_aji]

Nobunaga doesn't smoke. His reason for being here is second-hand smoke. Is that weird? Probably. He misses Hideyoshi. He hasn't been this long without Hideyoshi... ever. He never thought that'd be the first thing he misses. The monkey on his back, that he always planned to leave in charge of the country while he went on a rampage across the rest of the world. Isn't this just practice for that? How weak is he to feel like his right arm is removed, just because his metaphorical right hand is? Maybe it's because he can feel the absence more at times like this. Nobunaga isn't big on the whiskey. It's not bad, but he's an intense kind of psycho, and somehow whiskey is mellow. Even more than sake??? He can't explain it. But he's not here for the alcohol, or cigars, just to soak up the atmosphere, and appreciate that this is the quietest of the bars.

The chairs are a problem. Nobunaga can't sit in a chair like a normal person. Maybe he should have chosen that instead of coffee last night, but he forgot chairs even exist. So he's a million kinds of out of place lobster-armor clad toddler trying to figure out how to sit before... sitting on a table. Screw your conventions! The Demon King does what he wants! He was scribbling away notes in his notebook, catching up on all the animals, and trying to remember through his hungover addled brain, the words he'd set out to memorize during his even more alcohol-addled game. Oh right, his win-lose ratio now has one more loss. He's actually kind of excited about it. Infinity wins, but 2 losses. Crichton won the game, no matter what anyone says. His attempts to gradually get a little closer than across the entire bar away to Erin are probably not subtle - given the five year old in full plate mail isn't exactly a subtle stealthy ninja here. But he's still trying to give her space at least.

Until Erin goes to put the cigar out on her arm, and Nobunaga just reaches a gauntleted fist over to catch it on the metal of his palm instead. "What bizarre other world culture is that from?" He couldn't help it. He was all thinking of Hideyoshi, and then she has to go and do something extremely Hideyoshi -- but where Nobunaga's right hand was self-sacrificing, it was usually for a martyr purpose. Not self-immolation out of guilt, or the nobles brainwashing -- actually hold that thought. Some of Hideyoshi's self-sacrificing was precisely over that. Hideyoshi forever felt some impostor syndrome for not being born a noble like the rest of them, for not having trained his life brutally for a life of violence and nothing else, and yet still having found himself in it, and maybe an even stronger fighter than Nobunaga himself, and certainly at least nearly his equal. There was no amount Nobunaga could reward his right hand without compounding the guilt either. He was high maintenance. So Nobunaga's reflexes are already there.

"Why is your sword bound?"

Re: Washed up / Tauva (so TLDR sorry)

[crushed_pearls]

Erin goes stiff when her smoke gets caught by Nobunga's gauntlet. He can see her ears start twitching, but far more obvious is the way the scents of sex and gunpowder in the air around her become overwhelmed by just the gunpowder, which hisses and sizzles like a building growl.

"I remember you from the beach," Erin says in a low tone. "You seemed interesting enough, but if you don't get your hands far away from my body in the next three goddamn seconds I will crack you open like a crab."

[konpeito_aji]

"I've heard that before," hell, he's said it before. And then done it.

He's not sure how long a second is, but Nobunaga backs up, despite his inclination as with Clarke to ignore such things. He wants information more than to be stubborn. "Explain. Why are you trying to turn yourself into leather?"

[crushed_pearls]

Good God, he actually backed off. The faint surprise - Erin is not used to men respecting her boundaries without getting something broken - actually cuts through the fear from her personal space being intruded on. Still, she ignores the question for a moment in favor of taking a sip from her whiskey, tossing the remnants of that cigar in the ash tray, and then lighting up a new one.

She breathes the smoke from her nose and gestures with the cigar while she talks.

"I'm thinking," she not-explains. "...And as for the sword, how in God's name do you walk around in full armor with every evidence that you actually know how to wear and use it, but not know what a peace knot is?"

[konpeito_aji]

He grabs a seat... sort of nearby. Seat might be an exaggeration. But at least he hasn't fallen into his student-respecting-teacher kneeling stance like he does April. He's just kind of draped sideways over the ridiculously high chair arms. It's the antithesis of ergonomic.

"I know what it is." Though not from personal experience. "There's no peace in hell. I haven't been to Europe yet. I only know, because the foreign merchants asked if they were required. Only samurai - royalty are allowed swords at all in hell, so we don't have things like that," Because the royalty could do whatever the fuck they wanted. "And the foreigners really didn't know how to handle it." Politics. "I meant why."

If he hangs upside down is that more comfortable? Could he upend the chair and sit on it upside down?

[crushed_pearls]

"You must not have bars in hell either or you'd see more peace knots," Erin says. Her hand hovers over the whiskey, then selects the water instead. Pace yourself, Peters, we're not getting drunk today. "Consider it a social concession. And a bit of a people-watching experiment. I wanted to see who noticed; more, I wanted to see who cared. I get...I get the feeling that I've been thrust into a developing culture that already has some rules people don't know how to name or explain. So," she gestures at the knot, "a peaceful test."

Erin takes out a fresh cigar and holds it out in obvious offer. "Call me Erin. I didn't actually catch your name at the beach, I was a bit busy considering your questions at the time."

3

[saltwaterlungs]

During her investigating of the ship, eventually- in the day or so after the mission- she'll find Darcy… hiding.

Holed up in one of the laundry rooms. She looks tired, as usual, and appears to have a small backpack and a book in hand, her phone resting on her leg, and the wrappers of a couple of granola bars nearby.

She jolts when Erin walks in, a hand going to the knife at her belt, but neither relaxes nor tenses further when she recognizes who it is.

"If the lady going around yelling threats asks where I am, you didn't see me."

Re: 3

[crushed_pearls]

"Youngblood...I don't see anyone."

Erin makes it all of three seconds into an expression of Serious Reproach before she corpses; she has to hold a hand out in the universal 'give me a minute' gesture while she fights her laughter down with very little success.

"Christ, the stress really is getting me," she manages. "I'd ask if you're keeping well but it sounds like no."

[saltwaterlungs]

"You're as bad as Undine."

Goddamn all these people around her who like puns. Darcy rubs a hand over her face and huffs.

"I'm fine. Just avoiding getting murdered. I thought about your offer and it's a no."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin nods, thoughtfully, and then shrugs. "Okay," she says simply. "I said I wasn't going to push you, and I won't. I do hope it's still alright if I try to get a little class going at your fight club, though. Trying to get folks used to fighting alongside others so no one gets stabbed in the ass."

She makes a face. "...Literally."

[saltwaterlungs]

It's kind of relieving when Erin genuinely doesn't press her, and Darcy nods appreciatively.

"Yeah, I mean- anyone can teach what they know. I can set up a separate area, or put it on the fliers. Just... I mean what I put on the rules, ehn? Respect your students. Don't insult their other teachers or styles or whatever. People don't learn if you make them feel like shit."

[crushed_pearls]

"Yeah." Erin sighs. "Said it before and I'll say it again: shouldn't have done you that hard. My apologies, for what they're worth."

She debates for a moment before she slips in and shuts the door behind her. Erin finds a corner to lean against so Darcy can leave at-will. "Your girl sure is something. Been...never, since I just had a talk like that. Was nice."

tauva, the Drink

[pointofhonoria]

She defaults to the familiarity of Tauva, when it comes to it. It's been a go-to since she bumped into Johnny here on her first day; it's comfortable enough and the whiskeys suit her tastes just fine.

So she's sat up at the bar, bottle and glasses already pulled down—she's not particular discerning about choice, Johnny's the expert, she just knows what she likes. She's also testing out this whole... men's clothes thing, with a simple pair of pants and a shirt picked out when she and Johnny went 'shopping'.

It really does feel more comfortable than making do with the women's cuts.

Saying she wasn't a bit nervous about this would be a lie. It's just a drink, it's not about that. It's not even about the casual flirting itself, now, it's about the talking part. Because Johnny was right, she's going to have to explain herself some, here.

When Erin actually arrives, Crabb sort of takes a breath and then greets her with, "See? Told you I weren't getting out of it."

Re: tauva, the Drink

[crushed_pearls]

Erin is.

Dressed.

It's hard to say if she's dressed up or dressed down but by God is she Dressed(tm), the most disarmed she's been on this ship in some time. Gone is the armor, gone is the sword. The only concession she's made to self-defense is a combat knife riding on her hip in a dark leather sheath; even then, she's let her top hang over it, making it that much harder to grab if the shit goes down.

She took Johnny's advice about the Hedgespun, but Erin still took something besides the blindfold. Her amorphous black hair has been given something like a shape by a ribbon cut from a Summer sky, which she's used to tie her hair back into a loose ponytail. Now it looks for all the world like a bright day with clouds is holding back a raging storm.

Her ears twitch like mad things.

"As promised," Erin teases back. "I know Tauva's the smoking lounge but I'll ask instead of assume: you mind if I smoke, Crabb?"

Keep it light. Keep it light, Peters. Try not to focus on the bit where without your armor you feel like someone fucking flayed you and just enjoy yourself.

[pointofhonoria]

"Nah, go for it. Plenty used to it with Summer." The scents of someone smoking around her are almost their own kind of comforting familiarity, at this point.

She manages not to end up dumbstruck. It's— different, already, seeing Erin out of her armour, even from the short time since they met. Doesn't take Ferrier's eye for people to realise shedding it is probably some kind of difficult, the fact she'd stuck to wearing it combined with what she told Crabb about home is plenty enough for that.

Guess they're both trying something a little different, today.

"Dunno how picky you are about your drink, I've grabbed what I usually go for but it ain't like it's hard to pull something else out."

[crushed_pearls]

"Left unattended I tend towards whiskey," Erin admits. "But I'll have what you're having. Worst comes to worst I can ask you to use your conveniently living eyes to pick out a bottle."

Erin quirks a half-smile and pulls out her chair. A pack of smokes appears from Somewhere, and she lights up before she sits down. The little ritual immediately comforts her.

When she sets her hand on the table it becomes rather obvious that her knuckles are healing from something or other. Whatever it was, it was ugly, but even the edges of the scabs don't look quite right; none of the pink rawness one might associate with the formation of a scar. It's as if someone pasted the scabs onto her hand like makeup.

"I did say back at the gym that I wanted to hear about your home, but I guess it pays to ask: was anything else on your mind when you agreed to sit down with me, lass?"

[pointofhonoria]

"Well, you're in luck; mostly a whiskey woman myself." Except when she's letting Johnny put fancier things in her hand. Bartender friend gets special drink privileges for knowing her taste.

She pours the glasses and passes one to Erin before settling back with her own. She can't help the way her gaze flicks to the not-quite-right damage there at her knuckles and her brow furrows, just slightly. Probably from an ill-advised punch or such, upon thinking back to the way Erin went at the bag and what she'd said as she was bleeding, but thinking back to that is it's own kind of distracting.

So Crabb takes a swig from her drink and thinks about how to answer. "One kinda ties into the other, really. The thing I think we gotta talk about, some— it's wrapped up in a whole load of home shaped baggage."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin swirls the glass idly and doesn't take a drink straight away. If she had a gaze it would be on Crabb, but even still it's clear her attention is focused.

(Her ears twitch-twitch away, betraying a discomfort that her body language refuses to.)

"Living on the SS Hellscape where the weather doesn't work really does fuck conversation starters in half," Erin observes. "I'm listening, Crabb. I'll even behave."

tauva

[killed]

The tauva has the honor of being one of the few places where a person can smoke, and so Hiyori does step in every so often when it strikes his fancy. He's a social smoker as such as he is a drinker, but there is something comforting about the routine and mundane. And though seeing someone put out cigars on themselves isn't quite that, he doesn't immediately bring it up. Instead he walks over to where she's sitting with a half empty glass, the cigarettes still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Do you mind if I join you?" His eyes dip down to the scabs briefly, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. It won't do to treat a stranger like a child attempting to touch a hot stove.