come_sailaway | He brought me out into the hall, I could have sworn it was haunted (OTA)

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He brought me out into the hall, I could have sworn it was haunted (OTA)

CHARACTERS: Darcy, Erin, and you?
DATE: Mid-october
LOCATION: Sports deck, Drunken Sailor, Life boats
SITUATION: Darcy’s no good very bad hell cruise
WARNINGS: Shit’s probably going to get dark here folks. CWs for underaged drinking and suicidal ideation at the least.

To hear that there was nothing that I could do to save you (Erin)

The fight club following Darcy’s talk with Skulduggery is… distinctly less enthusiastic than the previous iterations. Erin will find Darcy sat over by the training sabres, rumpled like she’s slept in her clothes. She’s keeping an eye on the rest of the club over folded arms resting on her knees, and she barely looks up when Erin approaches.

The choir's gonna sing and then this thing is gonna kill you

Friday apparently isn’t checking up on anyone sneaking drinks when they’re not meant to. Of course, initially Darcy wasn’t going to try and drink her problems away like she was in a fucking country song. It had just made her sad the one time she’d tried it with Izzy. But after a couple of days of a mess of feelings that she feels entirely unequipped to deal with, Darcy kind of wants to just deal with sad. It’s not like she can talk to anyone about one of her most important relationships aboard the ship utterly imploding. Once again, she is alone in her burdens.

Find her curled up in one of the comfy chairs of the Drunken Sailor with a bottle of rum, headphones in, avoiding everyone.

Something in my throat made my next words shake

Even being on the ship gets too claustrophobic eventually. Like all the secrets she’s been forced to keep will come spilling out of her at the slightest provocation. She can’t bring herself to try and help the aimless newbies, she can’t hunt the Bahamanal in the newly-halloween-ified Tommy Bahama, she can’t drag herself to training. Eventually she packs the backpack she got from camp with some changes of clothes and whatever she can find in the buffet that seems like it’ll keep for a couple of days. And then, she sets herself to stealing one of the life boats.

Stop her or help her, if you want.

And something in the wires made the light bulbs break (wildcard)

(go nuts, show nuts, whatever)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Erin shakes her head. "I'm - I'm sorry, I spoke imprecisely. The Satraps caught me, and turned me in to my Freehold - to the other freed slaves who had banded together, and given me a home, and their trust, and their love. The ones I'd been betraying. But the Satrapy of Pearls...they don't do refunds. I'd bought membership. They saw no reason to exile me just for privateering. People are for sale too, to them. Everything is for sale. Every. Mad. Whim. Available for purchase or barter. If one wanted your girlfriend they would not stop until they found the price of her love, and then once they had paid that price they'd kill anyone who tried to take what they'd rightfully bought. They're vermin. Filth. I hate them so much. I didn't realize how much until Colors was throwing up in my trash can and I realized for the first time that I could just...say yes or no, instead of 'name your price'. For the first time in twenty fucking years...I wasn't for sale."

"Fucking hell."

Darcy's... quiet for a good long while after that.

"Why did you ask me to be the one to decide if you get to live here? Why would you ask me to be the one who has to murder you?"

"You don't. I'm not asking you to keep this a secret, Darcy. It's...it's too big for that. Even if I'm just the second fucking nickel, it's too big for that. There's no time limit. You can walk out of this room right now. Consult anyone you like, tell the ship and every passenger. I won't stop you. I won't raise a hand to defend myself."

Erin buries her face against her knees. Keep it together. You're almost through this. You're a big girl now.

"...There will never be justice, for Liz Malloy. Not for a single one of my victims. Arthur said that a lot. Too many dead, or trapped in the nightmare lands forever to be tortured by gods that have never been loving or human or kind. Too many who know not to answer calls for help in the Hedge, because calls for help are Liz Malloy, waiting to get you. Even if I could dredge my fractured mind and give you exact numbers of everyone hurt by my own two hands I couldn't count every life I touched as a poisonous shadow spread on the world of beauty. It's too big. It's so fucking big. Colors...Colors didn't like me. Not when she asked for my help. Not when I fought alongside her. Not even when we dueled. But she made. Such an effort to reach out to me. I had to know why. I demanded to know why. And she said the question at hand isn't if there will be justice. It's if the tomorrow where I'm helping is better than the tomorrow where I'm dead."

The sobs start coming now. She's reached her limit. "I don't know how other people just...just know what's good or what's bad. I don't. But I want to. I want to be Erin, whoever Erin is. I want to be reborn no matter how many parts of me have to fucking die. But if this is my world, my only world, the only garden I will ever have as the second god damn nickel..."

She can't cry. She wipes her hollow eyes anyway.

"...Then you're the only one I've met so far who both cares that it be a just one, and isn't afraid of me."

Edited (I'M A FUCKING FOOL) 2022-10-11 08:11 (UTC)

Erin may have compared Colors to Darcy before- and Darcy will probably never know how apt a comparison it is- but Colors has one thing Darcy doesn't. A not-Catholic perspective. 'If the tomorrow where I'm helping is better than the tomorrow where I'm dead' chokes a sob out of her- she didn't cry with Skulduggery or throughout their talk but here is where the floodgates open. That Erin admits that she can never be sorry enough for what she's done, but... it's beautiful. It's beautiful. It's the one shining moment of clarity she had before reality hit when she died the first time, her hand in her Geist's hand. Darcy did not deserve a second chance when so many others die ingloriously as she did. There was nothing special about her. All her Geist had seen was her willingness to help when called upon, and decided that the world was better with her in it than without.

She can't give Erin any answer, she's too busy trying desperately not to wail.

Something in Erin wants to snap that she warned Darcy, that she gave her an out twice.

But the person she wants to be staggers to her feet. Shuffles over, blind and uncertain.

Offers her hand, in comfort.

And says: "I'm sorry. But it doesn't have to be you. Pass this cup to another. I'm. I'm sorry."

This time, Darcy takes the hand. Nearly crushes it in her strong grip as she tries to get her breathing back under control. Not intentionally, and she eases up a little when she pulls the neck of her hoodie up with her other hand to try and wipe at her face. Full snotmonster happening.

"No, it's-" Darcy swallows, exhaling deeply.

"I want to believe you. I really- I want to. My Krewe- we used to tell people. None of us are especially good or strong or kind or anything. We're just... people who made the decision to be here. To do something. It's-"

Another swallow, and Darcy tries to look at the ceiling as if that will banish the flood of tears.

"The last time I really wanted to live was when I died. The first time. He... the ghost that brought me back... he said that the world was better with me in it because I was ready to do something. That as long as I answered when help was asked for me, and I asked for help when I needed it, we were in it together. And I believed it then. I want your help Erin. I can't do this on my own."

"What I have to offer is yours, Darcy. This...this is our world now. And it can be reborn too. I haven't come this far just to roll over and give up now. I'm...I'm not...I'm not going back to Liz. Never. Never again. I'd tear the hands from my arms and the tongue from my mouth first. I...you reminded me so much of me...I was hard on you because I didn't..."

Erin chokes back a sob. "...I can't watch another youngblood become me. I can't. The Erin at the summoning thought she couldn't ask for help and I know what happened to her. And I can't. I can't let someone else tell themselves that. I won't. But. I. Overstepped and I'm sorry."

I shall not cease from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand-

Erin's clarity of sight hits her and she... buckles.

"You had people who could help you, I- there's not- nobody gives a shit about me-" her voice wobbles, and she hates in the moment how much she's probably reflecting the young Liz right then, "I'm just... useful. The second I stop being useful, they stop caring. That's- people fucking suck. I'm sorry. They do, they do and nobody gives a fuck- nobody except us."

Erin shakes her head. "You think Undine is just using you? To do what, dispense cuddles and happiness? Was Johnny just using me when he, when he...showed me kindness, while I was locked in my cabin before the muster? Is Tendi just using people, out there in the infirmary day in and day out, hoping people will accept her help? We're not...we're not sovereign, Darcy. That's a lie we tell ourselves to turn one kind of hurt into another that feels smaller. But it isn't smaller. It's just. Spaced out. Nobody gets to be perfect. Nobody gets to just...separate, from context, to atomize and be untouched."

She squeezes, softly. Slips her blindfold back down with a shaky breath. "...There's no escape from the abundant world, but all it has to do is be abundant. The rest is on the people in it. To be loved, to...to be part of the world we've got to let it hurt. I know it's scary. I'm scared every time I open my mouth. I've been so fucking cavalier here because I keep thinking that the person I want to be is honest, and that's the only way I can be honest instead of shrieking in terror and locking myself in my cabin. If I wanna live here...I gotta live here. And so do you."

"No I- if I stop being a good girlfriend-"

God it's all too much. Darcy folds back in on herself, restraining the urge to wail again and risk someone else's attention.

"You can't- you got it, you said you used to get it, it- it can't be- this can't be fucking worth it. I've been trying and it's- I never- I never-"

She knows she's going to sound childish and it still needs to be said, because it feels true.

"I never get anything for it. All I ever get is more work and more expectations and I'm sick of it, I'm fucking sick of this, I can't do this- I can't fucking do this."

"Darcy, breathe. What are you really afraid of? What is it you're not letting yourself want? It's not like I get to judge. My high horse is waiting for me in Hell."

Erin clasps Darcy's hand in both of her own; you can hold on, you can be steadied.

I'm here.

I won't leave you.

"You can't live under siege forever. Breathe. Let it hit you. Don't fight yourself and the world at the same time."

She nearly snaps at the call to breathe. Everything is awful and frightening and there's no way through any of it, the walls are closing in on her and Darcy is so fucking tired of fighting, but to stop struggling is to drown and Darcy has always been drowning forever even before she died. There is nothing other than struggle.

Until there isn't. A breath manages to get through. Then another. She regains an awareness of Erin's smooth hands on her own slowly by parts. On the occasion that she died of gunshot wounds Terre Mere had told her to breathe through them, that any pain could be suffered if you just let it be and didn't hold on too tight. It's hard like everything. But eventually she breathes through the worst of the panic. Funny how some parts of her physiology still behave themselves. It's still all terrible and too hard and she hates all of it. But now she's breathing.

"I can't carry all of this," she admits, "I just... want it to stop. I want it to stop. I can't keep doing this."

"Okay. Stop." It's said so gently, so frankly. "The Hellscape isn't going to fall apart if you take a break. Ask someone else to watch over fight club for a bit. Spend time with your girl. Learn you're bad at a hobby. Go see Tendi and just let her be Tendi. It doesn't have to be forever, but even God took a fucking nap, Darcy."

"No- any of it. I can't do any of it. Undine... all of them. There are no breaks. I have to be what they need me to be and I can't anymore."

Darcy closes her eyes and sighs.

"It has to be me. I can't afford to stop."

"You can't afford to keep going. I need you to stop, Darcy. I know this is terrifying but breathe, focus." She still sounds so gentle. One could almost ignore her shaking. "Would you train on a broken leg? Lift weights with a shattered elbow? You're hurting. You need to give yourself time to heal. Throw out every word I ever said about the sword if you want, listen to me on this."

She's pleading: "Part of realizing you're not sovereign is getting the chance to accept help. To lick your wounds. To stop, and start again renewed. I don't know what hit you before I just did but... please."

"No, but I'd fight through getting my leg broken- I'd have to. You're the one who said we're under siege right? It's- if I don't-"

Finally, her voice breaks.

"Who gives a shit if I'm hurting. The world doesn't stop for me."

"Wounded soldiers get rotated to the back lines for treatment, Darcy. Broken swords are given to smiths for repair. Empty guns get reloaded. You thought I was pranking you with the Muppets. Maybe you even still think it was an insane move. I can't prove otherwise in the course of one conversation...but I can show you, over time. I'm crazy but I like to think I'm not stupid."

Erin lets out a long breath. "...If the people here decide I don't belong, seek out Johnny and Tendi. They know what I'm talking about too. The passengers want to be good. To be happy. To live in a beautiful world. We all want a life of peace. I still think we could have one, but I can't make you. It'll be bloody, humiliating work. It's going to hurt. But it's going to be worth it."

"...it can't be."

Darcy sniffs, finally withdrawing her hand.

"It can't be as easy as just... giving up. And if it was really worth it..."

She rubs angrily at both her eyes, leaving her palms there.

"I'm not you. I don't want to be taken care of or coddled. I want to be fucking useful. I've been handling my own shit since I was like, 14. If it were that easy and people gave that much of a shit..."

She wouldn't have had to.

"Darcy, I keep hearing you equate taking a break to giving up and every time you say it I'm hearing my voice out of your lips." Erin sighs. She seems...frustrated, but she makes no move to leave or step back. "...Are you saying I'm not being useful? That I'm being coddled? I don't think that's what you're meaning to say, lass. I think you're trying to avoid realizing something. I know that trick. As established I was very good at it. It's a trap."

Erin 'looks' away, debating something. "...Not to state the obvious but the past is not now. There is not here. The people that failed you are not these people who are around you today. The world changes. People change. Circumstances change. I know it's hard. I still...flinch...at some things. My demons aren't dead. You're not weak if you ask for help in the fight with yourself, Darcy. No one can fight themselves for long. That's an enemy that won't tire, won't quit, and won't relent. No one just makes it on their own. I know it sucks to see that some folks always had the help you need and then think they did it all on their own, but they didn't and you shouldn't have to."

Erin's heart is straining. Please girl. Just give it a try.

It'll all fall into place if you just give it a try. If you breathe the free air you'll see the cage.

Edited 2022-10-12 05:14 (UTC)

"No, I'm-" she tries to correct Erin but she already knows, because of course she does. Because Darcy doesn't even get to be special in her suffering.

The fact is that Darcy has been fighting herself nearly her whole life. There has not been a thing she's allowed herself to have without caveats. No relationship without expecting herself to be useful, no sport without demanding excellence of herself, no interest without a use or purpose. Always viewing herself through the eyes of a third party who hates her, starving herself, pushing herself, cutting off softness where she finds it. Avery had made her stand prouder but it was all wrapped up in a pursuit of respect, of the exact kind of power that Erin had walked away from.

"There's people who've failed me here too. Even if I did want any of that shit it's not like I'm going to get it. I'm just not worth the fight."

"Tell that to the people who are fighting for you right now and see if they agree." The words are so soft. Gentle, the way the river that cuts the land is gentle. "...There are none so wretched that they can't bloom again, Darcy. Your garden has been torn and poisoned but it is not dead. When I say that all you have to do is tend it, I know it sounds simple. But this is simple too."

Erin steps back and draws her blade; she holds it out, flat, resting on the palms of her hands. "Three simple machines; two wedges and a rod. An ape could make it, and they did. But who mined the ore that became this blade? Who made the tools for the miners? Who grew their food, and who made the tools for the farmers?"

Her voice picks up, settling into a cadence that is almost like a prayer. "When the food was grown, and the miners clothed, and the tools made, who taught the smith, who does not make his own food? Who cut the wood for his charcoal, and who burnt it? Who planted the trees that gave him that wood? Who purchased the blade, and how many bought and sold it before it reached my hand? Who first learned to use it, and how did they pass their knowledge on? Who taught my teacher, and who fed the lineage of swordsmen? Tended their wounds? Taught them their prayers? Ten thousand ten thousands of human lives touched these three simple machines before I ever purchased it. It's a simple weapon. It is the world entire."

Edited 2022-10-12 05:46 (UTC)

The cadence to Erin's words do a lot to settle her, and for a moment she wants to find a quiet corner and pray a rosary for a while, or something- to lean on those words that kept her ancestors afloat through crop blight and noises in the dark. They're pretty words. Darcy still feels adrift and alone but they're pretty and she holds them on her tongue, mouthing a couple after Erin has finished speaking.

"The... thing that happened. I still can't tell you any details. But the person who I trusted the most... he did something wrong in the past and he hurt me to cover it up. And when I asked what he was going to do, he had plenty of ideas on how to fix what he'd done in the past and... nothing for me. I don't know if he just assumed I'd be mad forever or fine or anything, he didn't tell me shit, but... I think I'm just always going to want things I can't get. I can't make people care about me, but I still want them to."

Erin nods, thoughtfully. After a moment she sheathes the saber, and lets her hand rest on the hilt, for the comfort of the touch on her palm.

"People are good at assuming things. We're usually even better at lying to ourselves. After all, we're our own most attentive listeners...well, usually." She sighs, and chews her lip. "...One of the fun ones people just keep doing is telling ourselves, when we've wronged someone else, that nothing we do could ever make up for it. We see the future in which we are not forgiven and conclude that to even try is to intrude, to wrong further. When we get caught in that lie it can often fall on the person we wronged to take the first step, which fucking sucks when you're the person that was wronged. But. It sounds like whatever he did, you still want him in your life. Does it hurt more that he hurt you, or that it seems like he's trying to walk away?"

"I don't," she lies, "I'm just fucking mad that he didn't even think of making it up to me. Even if someone doesn't forgive you, you still say you're sorry. And like- he did say it, but you can't just 'sorry' that. You have to actually fucking do something. You have to do sorry. And you're right- it does fucking suck. It sucks that I'm the one who has to live with this and he just gets to stop fucking trying. I still have to keep my promises to him. He's a piece of shit and I hate him."

Darcy huffs, "the point I was making is that it's just- it doesn't matter how much I care about people or how hard I work for them, they don't think I'm worth trying for. This isn't- you don't know everyone on this ship and you don't know everyone who knows me, you can't say that."

"You're right. I don't. I probably can't. I can't work on those relationships for you either. I've barely got a handle on whatever this is between us right now. But...I would have torn out a lot more than my eyes if it would have convinced my crew to talk to me instead of to the chopping block."

Erin can't keep her mentor air after that last line; she shies away, back towards the wall, and gently hugs her arms around her armored body.

"...Who will you consult? About me being here, and...Liz."

Edited 2022-10-12 06:57 (UTC)

He brought me out into the hall, I could have sworn it was haunted (OTA)

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