( catch all | october ☠ ) windows cracking, heart attacking, cryptic laughing

[skaikru]

Who: clarke griffin & you
What: natsuno nurder nystery, & tba
Where: throughout the ship
When: october
Warnings: blood & gore, dead body, more will be added as necessary

i'll make this prettier later, also hmu with wildcard options
( x )

Comments

✝ to pal

[skaikru]

( it's after the information meeting, after the distant sound of the explosion rocking the ceiling above everyone's head, and after a handful of hours agonizing over her best friend not texting her back. that puts us somewhere around 11pm, on october 1st. )

Hey,
Have you seen Natsuno since the meeting? He's not in the lifeboats, and he's not texting me back.

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes hadn’t stayed long at the information meeting—he had said his piece, answered some questions, taken a few names of people who had expressed interest in his death study…and then he had read Skulduggery’s binder.

He’d left not long after.

Returning home is impossible. Doing so will result in oblivion.

Palamedes believes that Skulduggery believes this. He might even be convinced that the Captain believes it. But he is taking this information in the same stride with which he has taken every impossibility presented to him in his short life.

You can’t become Master Warden by thirteen.

You can’t cure Heptanary cancer.

You can’t create a bubble in the River.

You can’t overcome death by anchoring your own revenant to your body.

You can’t rewrite lyctorhood.

You can’t reject the supremacy of God.

Challenge accepted.

He’s wide awake and deep in his notes when Clarke’s text comes through. Nearly an hour passes before he notices it, which he immediately feels bad about, and will undoubtably feel even worse about later.]

I haven’t. But I confess, I’ve been in my cabin since I left the meeting.

[Something in his stomach twists. It’s awfully unlike Natsuno to ignore texts messages.]

Where are you? I can help you look.

[skaikru]

( the meeting had already left emotions running high and tensions fraught. there's nothing quite like being told the fight you've embodied for the last, what, eight months? — was useless and had no basis. nothing like being asked to implicitly trust the retellings of a guy who'd just backed over a lot of initial trust with a steam engine with his roll in organizing a secret mission. and it's a special sort of hell to have to recall and share the details of a conversation she wished had never happened.

add into that: what's either the eerie radio silence (clarke won't say disappearance yet, it's too early) of her best friend, or him just straight up ignoring her? and it's a less than great time right now.

she almost panic-texts pal five times in rapid succession over the next hour too. but talks herself out of it; rare as it seemed to be, sometimes he actually needed to sleep. clarke had tried for a moment, hoping to clear her head and not feel nearly as dreadfully doomed in the morning, but gave up in record time and is now prowling the main deck when her phone buzzes. )

I don't mean to distract you from whatever you're doing. He's got to be around here somewhere.

( ... )

Right?

( help, the urge to spiral into worse case scenarios is wildly powerful. )

[hellonspectacles]

[Yup, already feeling bad about missing the text earlier.]

Not a distraction. I need to stretch my legs anyway.

[There's a pause between texts.]

Yuuki is the most resilient person I know. Even on this ship, I can't think of many things that could do him harm.

[What a very, very careful way of technically not lying.]

But just to be sure he hasn't done anything silly, I'll search the front half of the ship. You search the rear. Meet in the buffet? [Because they are definitely going to need some caffeine to get through the night]

[skaikru]

( if resilient = regenerative, that sure does track. there's really only a handful of ways to kill him, and they've not encountered a hurt yet that he wouldn't be fully healed from by now. unless, thinking briefly back to pirate jenny's first showing of her face here and the signage impalement, he was stuck somewhere? not the most comforting train of thought.

but a plan — no matter how loose and vague, with no exact endgame or definition of what they're looking for — is a godsend when clarke otherwise feels incapable of making one. not like pal can see it, but she's stopped in her tracks and is nodding slightly at the screen of her phone. )

Sure. I'm not that far from Windjammer. Search a couple levels to start, meet there in 30 minutes?

[hellonspectacles]

[Oh, yeah, resilient was definitely a euphemism for doesn't die like a normal person, thank you for understanding, Clarke. For now, though, let's not think about all the ways that Natsuno still could die. No need to panic yet.

Right?]

See you there.

[By the time Clarke meets him at the buffet, Pal is waiting at one of the tables with a cup of coffee for her, and a very strong cup of tea for himself. The coffee has been made exactly how Clarke likes it because Pal pays attention to these sorts of things.]

[skaikru]

( almost every square foot of the hydroponic farms was dedicated to soybeans, it took a ridiculous amount of carefully maintained, high producing plants to sustain a space borne population of roughly 2,400. there were smaller sections for a few other plants; potatoes, and a scattered collection that provided trace enough amounts of important nutrients that a janky multivitamin could be produced on board. never coffee beans, though. once getting over her distrust of the food on board the ship, it'd been quite a rollercoaster of emotion to actually sit, eat, and drink mass prepared burgers, chicken wings, fruit salad, mac n cheese, scrambled eggs, brownies, tea, orange juice, soda, and — coffee.

growing up with virtually zero regard for her taste buds meant clarke could drink the blackest of coffees. even if they were gritty with grounds not properly filtered out, she probably wouldn't complain. but it also hadn't stopped her from pouring in creamer and sugar packet after creamer and sugar packet until finding the tastiest murky brown color possible; more sugar than caffeine in the end. it's a nice late night treat sometimes, a little added jolt on long nights when sleep just wasn't invited, but sticking it's foot in the door anyway. she's come to quite enjoy the taste...

and barely registers it now, when drawing level to pal's table, not even bothering to sit down; taking the reinforced paper cup, and downing half the drink with a wince. the way it scalds down her throat is the only thing that she notices. )

Did you see — anything? On your way here?

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes doesn’t say careful when Clarke swallows the coffee. He doesn’t even wince. But he does watch her with gentle eyes and an expression that seems to articulate the same thing.]

Not yet. But there’s a lot more ship to investigate. [He takes a pencil out from behind his ear and begins to absently sketch a diagram of the Serena Eterna from memory.] If he doesn’t want to be found, then he’s unlikely to be in any of his unusual hideouts. So we’ll just have to be thorough.

[skaikru]

( a map is good, workable, and an excellent place to start. she crowds in as he begins to draw, high strung and ready to correct any parts he leaves out; spending her first month here religiously mapping had been a bummer when it came to no viable exits, but did wonders for never getting lost in this place. )

Do you think I'm overreacting?

( then there's a question spoken like someone who's often told she is, but never feels it's the case. yes, clarke approaches a lot of situations with kneejerk intensity and bulldogged stubbornness, and sometimes on this ship the problems made up in her own head never came to pass. she'd spent the near entirety of camp aion on high alert and set on safeguarding her cabin, with not so much as a lake monster emerging from the depths to bother them.

there's not a lot of space between basic survival instincts and gut instincts, both of which clarke leans on like her life depends on it. because... well, that's what they're there for. but if pal suggests cooling her heels and unsticking her teeth from one another, she'd consider it. listen, if not listen to. )

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes’ answer is prompt.] I don’t.

[On his crude drawing, he starts adding little cross-hatches to the parts of the ship that he has already searched] Considering the worst-case scenario is…reasonable. [He looks at her gently.] But I urge you not to assume that it’s the only explanation for Yuuki’s disappearance, at least not until we’ve searched further. We need to be systematic, Clarke. Work under the hypothesis that he is somewhere on this ship. Only when we’ve exhausted that possibility should we return to others.

[Sure, it’s not the most reassuring speech he could give. But he means every word of it, and perhaps that counts for something]

[skaikru]

Right. Of course.

( it's a nice speech, spoken kindly and without an ounce of wavering between words. it cuts to the chase, where clarke would have never been reassured by simple platitudes, and would have found blatant indulgence of her frantic worry to be cheap and insulting. but the urging to slow down, to work through the rest of the options before jumping to the worst case scenario... there's no traction for that idea to grab hold.

he knows about bellamy. he must know where her mind has wandered off to and gotten stuck.

but she can go through the motions, and snag onto a flimsy tendril of hope that somehow exists in her soul despite repeat attempts to kill it off. at least when she inevitably starts breaking down cabin doors, clarke can claim she exhausted all other options.

so to help his hatching along, she lists between sips of still-too-hot coffee: ) Tauva. Lifeboats. Rischi. Windjammer. All and Sundries. Infirmary...

[hellonspectacles]

[Pal doesn’t say anything more about what they should or should not hope for, turning his focus fully to the task of filling in the areas of the ship as Clarke lists them. He adds in his own progress as well.] The port side of the Atrium, Bric a Brac, port cabins, the library, the theater…

Right. Here are the main areas we have yet to search. [He draws three large circles.] You search this one, and I’ll search these. If you find him, text me. [Pal looks at Clarke with the faintest smile] And then kick his arse.

[skaikru]

( it wasn't that long ago that jade had disappeared on his midnight adventure on paradise island, left tear an in case i die text, and she and the other girl had torn through cabin 109 for hints on his intentions like wildfire through dry brush. clarke may have been a little (a lot) tipsy, but she's completely sober here when repeating the exact same threat of — )

If he died, I'm going to kill him.

( but this time around, the animosity is absent. worry takes its place, and it's worry that speeds her feet towards the designated bubble of a search area once they down their coffees and set out in different directions.

clarke searches within her circle — decidedly including island gems, the laundry room, stellar (where are all the floating plates? doesn't matter), the casino, scoops, topy, and as far into the infinite tommy bahama as she dares with the fresh memories of almost being eaten by a clothing beast. nothing.

then, taking it upon herself to double check a few areas, she ventures down to the brig, briefly through the arcade, and in every nook, cranny, and faux service hallway of the promenade only to be once again disappointed and come up empty handed. not a sign of a purple topped head, not hide nor hair of that ridiculous pink edged trench coat thing he has, no flash of a familiar impassive face. caffine added alongside general anxiety is doing her head in, and set her stomach into knots far surpassing what they'd been when initially texting pal. this felt more like her intestines had done themselves up in a noose.

probably about twice as long as it should have taken her to search later, he's getting the much more unpleasant text of: )

Nothing. Nowhere.

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes searches his areas of the ship systematically—but his hard work isn’t enough to keep the dread from building up in his bones. Each empty hallway and vacant room leads him to the same dreadful conclusion. Something dreadful has happened to Natsuno. At best, he has experienced some terrible accident and will be back in his bed in the morning.

At worst, he’s gone.

The text from Clarke only confirms what Pal knows in his heart. He sighs and runs a hand over his face.]

Likewise.

[There’s a pause]

Regroup in my cabin?

[Suddenly, he can’t bear the thought of being alone.]

[skaikru]

Sure.

( it feels best to keep the correspondence clipped and efficient. less room for the fact her face has run hot with unshed tears to slip through the cracks; less space for the crack in her resolve to wiggle through and showcase itself plain as day. palamedes had urged a systematic approach, no preemptive grief, and at that clarke is actively failing.

loneliness reared its head before she'd reached out to him in the first place, with every search venue on her initial round coming up empty. and now it hits with the force of a semi-truck and she feels cold all over. beyond the chill of a frantically worked up sweat trying salty on her skin now that she's traipsing back towards his cabin door; this feels like dread embodied and intertwined in her very bloodstream. if he's gone, at least it didn't hurt, she reminds herself, thinking of the beginning of the conversation with friday when she'd confronted their cruise director on the whereabouts of bellamy blake. if he's gone, at least it didn't hurt.

...didn't hurt him.

clarke beats pal to the doorway of 110 by at least a minute, and with no way to open it simply presses her back to the wall by the lock. allows her head to thunk back against the wall, and stares at the fluorescent overhead lamps like the light might evaporate the wet rims threatening to entangle with her lashes. )

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes doesn’t really hug people. His warmth, even his tactility, can create distance as much as they can closeness. He can pat your shoulder while getting no closer and speak gentle words without giving up an ounce of his own self in return. He and Clarke have been more physically intimate than he has been with anyone before, and yet, as he sees her waiting at his cabin door, he still suppresses the strange desire to run at her and pull her tightly to him. Almost regretful about it, he approaches and, yes, brushes a hand down her arm instead.

Come on in.

[He unlocks the door and steps aside so she can enter.]

105, not 110 whoops

[skaikru]

( it's just as well that he didn't. just the gentle drag of a hand down the length of her arm earn him a look of abject misery; eyes wet and shiny in the late night lighting, mouth downturned in what could be called a pout but that doesn't sound sad enough, and a brief sniff. a warm embrace, a cold hug — anything tight and full body physical could very easily shake loose the cap on this bottled storm of emotions circulating in her chest right now. the last thing they need is a big, loud, tearful crying fit in the middle of a public hallway somewhere around 2am.

so it's best they get inside. pal unlocks his cabin, clarke pushes the door and walks a good five paces into the small room that's cut in the exact mold of everyone else's. she scans the contents, notes (for convenience sake) that his roommate is absent, and then just sort of.

freezes.

doesn't know where to sit, what to do now and try next, how she should hold her body, or what it'd take to unlock her knees. the last two are sorted quickly enough, both arms folding tightly over her middle in a vague semblance of (a hug) self soothing, and turning to watch pal as he crosses over the threshold in her wake. )

I'm going to look again in the morning, ( she ends up telling him. as if that'd ever been a question that needed answering. )

I can never remember Pal's cabin number *facepalm*

[hellonspectacles]

[The room hasn't changed dramatically since Clarke was last here. Maybe Hope's area is looking a little more lived-in, maybe there are new post-its added to Pal's wall of clues. The books on the desk have changed: he has necromancy textbooks now, and buried under them, a couple of romance novels.

He shuts the door, hesitating behind Clarke for a few awkward moments. Until recently, having her in his room had never felt fraught. But something between them has changed now, even if they haven't spoken it aloud, and even if neither of them are currently in an amorous mood. Where are they supposed to sit?

Oddly enough, Clarke's declaration breaks the tension.] Of course. [If she asks him whether doing so is pointless, she probably won't like the answer, but for now, Pal sees no reason to rub it in her face. He strides into the room and toes off his shoes before getting onto his bed and pulling his knees up to his chin.] Come here?

[Tactility might not always come easily to Pal, but he knows about the power of physical closeness to soothe. Some of the worst moments of his life, he had been at least an arm's reach from another person. He can't imagine living otherwise.]

[skaikru]

( there's a reason — upon a reason upon a reason on top of a mountain of reasons — she doesn't ask him if it's worth it. the earlier validation had fueled her to some extent, but now the something terrible has happened and i can't fix it balloon's filled to bursting, and clarke's not about to tempt the needle. she just seeks to make herself clear and plain:

this isn't over.

it can't be over.

i'm not done.

but "done" and "stuck" are different beasts. time is needed to regroup and determine the next course of action — it hasn't even registered that she needs to search his room yet — and in the interim she's here. with pal making himself small and compact on the bed of his cabin, and beckoning her forward with words. part of clarke wants to remain fixed and unmoving in her stance, because who knows what happens next? and she doesn't want to rest, or sleep, and is undecided on comfort given the floodgates of preemptive grief it may open — and the scar tissue over old hurts it may wrest open.

she still goes, though. because it's him, and a request rather than demand. tentative and tight lipped, levering herself onto the edge of the mattress with the hard exhale of the weary. hands skirting over bed dressings before her left twists the blanket between her fingers for want of a physical anchor. shoulders tight, but head bowed, and staring at a distant point of the floor like it's the most interesting thing she's ever seen. )

This sucks, ( she tells the carpet. but it's much the same tone used when they'd lamented over loosing friends and missing companions in the rover all those weeks ago. )

[hellonspectacles]

It really fucking sucks.

[Pal smiles in a dark, hollow sort of way. This sucks is such an understatement, and yet he can think of no better way to describe the situation they are in. If Natsuno met mortal danger somewhere on the ship, he may just awaken back in his cabin, like so many people have before him. But Pal has never wanted to fully rely on the Captain’s powers of resurrection to keep them all safe. And he isn’t good at waiting, either.]

When you…died, do you know how many hours passed before you woke up?

[skaikru]

Both times — ( what an increasingly odd way to phrase it; dying had belatedly come to mean a lot more here since learning she'd survived the deathwave back home, but it's never something clarke's stopped to truly think about; just swallowed around the lump in her throat and niggling thoughts in the back of her head, and continued on. )

— it was... daybreak? Early morning, maybe 6. I never really stopped to do the math or look at the clock.

[hellonspectacles]

Fair enough. [He drums his fingers on his knee.] Perhaps it’s daybreak that’s key, and not the passage of time.

[Pal takes a small breath] I do not like to imagine harm coming to him, but if he met with some fatal accident, there is a good chance he will be alive and well again in just a few hours.

[skaikru]

You know how big of an accident it would have to be to kill him, though? And Natsuno's fast — he's got good reflexes. He could run away from trouble, or at least called for help.

( though admittedly, her conviction that he would do that last thing? it falters, dependent on a lot of variables. in her mind, clarke can picture him in front of a slew of bahamanal's, unwilling to drag friends into danger even if it meant getting swallowed by a pile of horribly patterned shirts.

her next mental image is a checklist of what sort of weaponry might be necessary to cut open a bahamanal. does anyone on board have a chainsaw? — then she's sighing. casting around for any sort of clock to find the time. )

So that's... four hours from now? It got late. I couldn't sleep if I tried, but if you want to, I can go back to my room and find you in the morning.

[hellonspectacles]

I know, I know. It isn’t— [But Pal can’t quite bring himself to say it isn’t likely that he died, because if Natsuno isn’t dead, then he has been absorbed into the ship and become one of its invisible specters, and that is too terrible to imagine] It’s a theory we have not yet been able to definitively rule out. And we’ll know for certain soon enough.

[Pal is startled by the way his whole chest clenches when Clarke offers to leave.] No— [He clears his throat] That is to say, I doubt I will be able to sleep, either. And I’d appreciate the company.

[skaikru]

( it really is a theory that curdles the coffee creamer in their stomachs. clarke's friend group on board is small, sometimes rife with tension and interpersonal conflict, but so far she's managed to keep every single person — save the one. maybe not keep them alive and out of danger, but still keep. theories, theories... but theories proven or disproven still feel a poor substitute for the visceral, instinctual drag of a gut feeling. and while she's doing her best to play this situation pal's way, the doom-speak playing is still playing on loop in the back of her mind, and growing increasingly louder.

and honestly, if she were to leave him here, it'd probably overwhelm and blow out her ear drums. so clarke's quietly relieved when her offer is shot down so aggressively. drags her gaze from a clockface back to his face, lets her head tilt under the weight of weary, and offers what's ultimately a poor — poor, as intangible as the shades that usually walk this ship — ghost of a smile. )

...I'm going to be terrible, absolutely horrible company.