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

[saltwaterlungs]

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)

Comments

[crushed_pearls]

"Mmmmm I'm gonna express a lot of doubt about that. I get that out of a lot of Ogre youngbloods too who come back eight feet tall and more or less equally wide. I can think of a lot of uses for a guy who can stop a speeding car with his bare hands and tons of them involve no dead people whatsoever. Admittedly we're not in an environment conducive to a great deal of them, but still."

Erin thunk-thunks over to the sandbag and crouches near it, inspecting it with gentle touches of her fingers. "...Admittedly you put the taste of going hard off me a bit due to the inconvenient fact that I'd like to live, but this is a fascinating thing to learn. And depressing, if my guess is right. Someone hammered you into a weapon, didn't they?"

That last sentence is said in her gentlest voice. Erin doesn't turn her head to 'look' at Dimitri, but her ears twitch in his direction. She's paying attention.

[prince_of_beasts]

"You know other people like me?" A flicker of hope; a single, tentative tailwag from the figurative big dog. "It is useful, sometimes. I'm always glad of that."

Something cracks as Dimitri draws himself up. His posture's straight, but his heart's not in it -- shoulders slack, hands leaden at his sides. "Yes," he says quietly. "It's the way my country is, you understand. Border conflicts, internal strife, civil war. I was raised with a sword in my hand from the moment I could grip one. You can imagine what strength like mine means to a country like that."

It's not the first time he's said this. It's not the first time someone's said there's something wrong with it. But it's the first time anyone's said it so kindly. Like they understand what it means. So Dimitri can agree with them, instead of prickling defensively.

"It's all I've ever known. All I've ever been. But apparently I'm never going home, and -- " He cuts himself off abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. You didn't ask for this."

[crushed_pearls]

"Sure I did. Maybe not in so many words, and I appreciate you politely recognizing the conversational exit, but I sure did ask for exactly this."

Erin drags the unchained sandbag onto the floor, creating a seat. She finds a spot of wall to stick to and gestures at it; for you.

"My kind of person, we're called the Fairest in this language. When the gods of nightmare stamp our fate to make us unconventionally human the fate they write is one of beauty. We're princesses, evil enchantresses, kindly witches, fair maidens. Ogres...get stamped with violence. They go from normal people to giants, trolls, soldiers, hunters. But I'm gonna say something about Ogres it took me years to get that I think you'll understand immediately. The thing that drives them nuts about the rest of us is that they understand violence, and we don't."

Erin takes out a knife, which she holds up by the very tip of the blade. "An Ogre will only pull a weapon if he's ready to kill. If he threatens you, and you cave, it's over; no hard feelings. Hit one in a bar and the barfight is done when someone cries uncle. They go as far as they think the situation warrants and not an inch further, because they understand that great strength means they have the strength to show restraint. Exceptions exist, they're still people and they've got people problems, but call it generally true. That part is what I keep seeing in you when we talk here at fight club."

[prince_of_beasts]

Princesses, enchantresses, fair maidens ... Some things about Ossie begin to make more sense. "Charming company? Generous hosts?"

Dimitri leans against the wall, and slides down it. Legs folded, spine straight. A house of cards held together by his precise angles. An ogre, a soldier, a monster, a beast -- nothing he hasn't said himself. Nothing he hasn't always known.

"Faerghus ... my country ... all but worships war. Death in the name of duty. Killing in the name of justice. Honorable sacrifice. I was raised as a soldier, by soldiers, who should have known better, but that's what I was taught." His jaw is tight, his face drawn and pale. His hands tremble, balled into fists on his lap. "I had to see it myself to understand -- kings and knights and commoners all die when their blood is spilled, and their bodies all rot the same. There is no glory in death, no honor, no nobility. Just a person who used to laugh, and weep, and love, and be loved, reduced to meat and fat and broken bone. Or metal." He still recalls SecUnit in pieces across the diner road.

He forces his hands to relax, only for them to tangle in his lap, battered fingers twisting together.

Quietly: "I don't. Have the strength for restraint. Here, yes. In skirmishes. But every time I've truly needed it ... " He shakes his head slightly, gaze fixed in the middle distance. "I know exactly what my hands can do to a living body."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin sits with that for a good while, thinking with a slight frown on her face. This isn't like some of the other youngbloods, failed by a modern world that at least knows enough to pretend to be ashamed. Someone put Dimitri in the halls of power, fed him food stolen from serfs (all but slaves), raised him to kill, and then let him. That he feels this torn-up about it is incredible, a wonder of many worlds, but just telling him that...

...Well, you don't need a sword to cut, do you Peters?

Slowly she crouches down, resting on her own heels to be at Dimitri's level, still holding the knife. Erin slides the weapon across the floor in his direction, nice and easy.

"Could you use that to build a boat?" she asks, emphasizing 'that'. "What do you suppose it might demand of its wielder, to be used that way?"

[prince_of_beasts]

Dimitri picks up the knife, tests it on his thumb, turns it over in his hands. The blade flashes as he tilts it from one side to the other.

"With a blade like this? No, I couldn't. A model ship, maybe. Or -- someone more delicate could. Fragile things break when I try to hold them."

He looks over at Erin. "I'm not sure I understand the question."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin gestures at the knife. "Spark a small fire with the blade and a rock. Chip the rock with the hilt, use it to hollow out the tree. Burn the inside to harden it, round the outside a little - you'll float. It'll suck, but you'll float. Power is a tool, Dimitri. Like all tools, it has limits, but most of those limits are on the wielder. Your strength could let you carve sculpture with your bare hands, more intimate than any other artist could dare dream. You could fell trees for shelter, or uproot them from a farm. You can entertain children by throwing huge objects, they love that shit. When you were made into a weapon you were taught to think about your power in a certain way, and that's not on you. It sucks that it's now your job to define your relationship to it, but there's freedom in that too. The people who made you are far away. The people here can help, if you ask."

[prince_of_beasts]

"I'm aware there are many uses for strength. But my position at home didn't give me many opportunities to volunteer myself, and there are no trees or boulders here. There's nothing we need to build, or transport in bulk. There's nothing that we need to do at all. We don't need laborers any more than we need knights and soldiers, and I ... am not good at taking leisure."

Dimitri turns the blade over again. Blood wells up from the marks of his fingerprints, spilling across the polished steel and dripping onto his lap.

"I helped Bastion bring some plants back from the island. I enjoyed that. But they don't seem to grow or wilt here, just like how the food doesn't rot. They don't need any care. I don't get much pleasure from eating; I can't sit still long enough to read; the arcade is overwhelming; I'm trying to learn to draw, but the crayons just crumble. I enjoy the company of animals, but there aren't any here. I like to spend time outdoors, but again. There's so little here that feels like a purpose, instead of distracting myself long enough to get from one sunrise to the next, waiting for the next time the Captain tries to kill us." Dimitri sighs. "I'm almost relieved that the ship's not repairing itself. At least in that way our actions matter now."

[crushed_pearls]

"...Yeah, I suppose they do," Erin admits. "I might not be the best person to talk about purpose. I've got one but it's...very inward. I want a place in my new home, a role to play, friendships, connections. Hell, I'll take a petty rivalry to catfight about, gimmie that burger pumpkin. But I'm very happy with my purpose, such as it is, being all about me. Still..."

She trails off. Maybe Dimitri's not in a place to be helped.

Maybe she's just the wrong person to offer.

"I'm gonna ask for my knife back now. I do own a million of the things but they don't seem to grow on trees here so I'm a mite possessive of the little bastards."

[prince_of_beasts]

"I understand. It's fine having a more inward purpose. It may well be more healthy. I'm just ... not that kind of person." Even before, he'd always been happier with some task, something to focus on outside himself. Now, after, if he's left alone with himself his head starts to burn. " ... burger pumpkin?"

Dimitri flips the knife, returning it to Erin handle-first. "Of course. It's a fine blade. I'm envious. I've been using a steak knife from the dining hall for the day-to-day, but it's really not meant for it."

[crushed_pearls]

Erin takes the knife with a guilty grin and sheaths it. "In my world we've uh...devastated nature to the point where a number of animals I'm ashamed to admit to are in danger of dying out forever. Places that try to conserve those populations, get them back into nature, they have to entertain 'em, keep 'em happy and engaged so they can have real lives and not just rot away. So picture a big cat. However big you're thinking, go bigger and just stop before you think of a bear. They stuff a gourd with raw meat, roll it into the cat's enclosure, and it plays with it for hours until the gourd breaks and it gets a nice meal outta the deal too. Enrichment in its enclosure, they call it."