come_sailaway | Are you on the square? Are you on the level?

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Are you on the square? Are you on the level?

Who: Deputy Pratt & You
What: A reckoning is upon you (He's storming the halls looking for Sharky)
Where: Everywhere!
When: Mid-October
Warnings: Violence. Cult stuff. Cannibalism. Skinning. Gore. The standard Pratt warning buffet.
Notes: Bracket or prose, live your truth.

1. The World Is Weak - Laundry Room
It's already been well established that the best place to have a breakdown on the ship is in the Laundry Room, so that's where Pratt is. Though he's not crying, he's not yelling or throwing things or freaking out over a jacket like last time. No, he's pacing. Back and forth and back and forth, again and again while staring at the ground. He has his arms folded, clutching across his chest, which is an awkward position while walking but he doesn't move them.

He doesn't know what to do. Well, he knows what he wants to do, but he also knows that he is the master of terrible decisions so maybe he should think about it?

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Enjoying yourself?

"Shut the fuck up."

2. Eviction Notice - Decks

When Deputy Pratt leaves his room in the morning, he's wearing his full uniform, his belt jangling with every step, along with the dog tags around his neck. Idly he trails his fingers along the wall as he goes, dragging through some of those bloody notes left on doors without even seeming to react to it.

"Sharky! Shaaaaarkkkkyyyy..."

For all that people have seen him sobbing into mashed potatoes, enjoying himself in the arcade, or just generally being a morose but kind of endearing dork, there's another side to him that even Clarke hasn't seen. The last time he was walking like this he was losing himself to the conditioning and barely knew what he was doing. This is different. Pratt is in absolute control of himself and that is so much worse.

"It's been a day and we had a deal. A pact even." Pratt normally sounds like a raven with laryngitis, but right now his voice is so low and controlled when he talks that it could probably be used to grind glass. If it's not obvious Pratt is pissed. He's fucking furious. And that cold fury is being bottled up, saving it for later, for when he needs to act.

"It's okay, you can come out. We just need to talk. We're going to have a little chat. That's all."

He gets to the end of the hall of cabins, blood trailing from his fingers across all the doors from the loving notes left to Ebalon. He reaches up to his forehead, using the blood to draw a cross down his nose and across his forehead.

"Did you think you were finally free?"

This is probably fine.

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Pickles is howling something about choosing to be blind forever over death, fuck Pratt, etc. etc., and then suddenly there is a searing, awful pain that shoots from the back of his head to the front. So it kind of goes like:

"FUCK YOU, YOU SHITTY RENT-A-COAAAAHHGGHHH!"

He gives Pratt's throat one more hard squeeze, as if hoping to crush his windpipe, then lets go with an awful groaning sound. He doesn't move other than that, though, agonizingly aware of just how bad it would be if Ava decided to turn corporeal with one arm stuck through his head.

Rent a cop?? RENT A COP??? The white-hot intensity of Pratt's glare should cause Sharky to ignite into flames in a way his flamethrower never could. He's going to go demand the Captain send him back home for ten seconds to get his police academy certificate so he can BLUDGEON PICKLES TO DEATH WITH IT AFTER HE KILLS HIM THIS TIME.

Of course none of those words form because he'd probably need air for that and that's a thing he currently doesn't have.

He startles the minute those fingers protrude through Sharky's eyes because what the fuck. There's no room to recoil because he's flat on the ground but he tries anyway; he's seen some horrific things but if Ava actually became tangible right now would be up there in the worst things he's ever seen. He'll pass.

There's a yelp, and a wheeze, as her foot grinds into his stomach in a way that shouldn't be possible. But he grudgingly pulls his own bloodsoaked hands back from where they've been smearing gore all over Sharky's face in a desperate bid to get free.

He hacks and chokes and gasps for air now that he actually can, that final squeeze doing his already damaged throat no favors. It's a few minutes of panting gurgles before, "He started it."

The chaos seems to halt, and Ava can feel the warm blood from the gash in Sharky's neck already soaking through the sleeve of her sweater. Her arm tightens its squeeze like a snake around its prey. To keep him under control, in worry of him bleeding out.

This isn't Sharky. Maybe Pratt is right. Maybe she should just-

Ava slowly slips her hand out of his head with a blur that'll spark through his optical nerves, and pats the top of it with a soothingly whispered "good boy." He'd called her an angel, and so she'll be merciful. And far more patient than she feels.

She fixes Pratt with a stern frown at his childish excuse. "I know. You think it's better Sharky isn't in here right now." She strokes the side of Sharky's stolen face with her fingernails. "But what if he is? What if Sharky is in there. Right now. Watching you do this. Can you really live with that?"

Pickles hands are up and away, held out like Pratt has a gun to the back of his head. Although he reels momentarily as she takes her hand out of him, he doesn't otherwise move; no way, no how is he doing anything to get himself killed.

He's just gonna keep his goddamn mouth shut and let Ava talk Pratt down. Hopefully, that happens in the next fifteen minutes, so he has time to get to the infirmary before he starts to feel woozy.

Pratt doesn't move, isn't going to risk it for either of them. He just pants, trying to catch his breath while his throat feels like it's still trying to close up.

Though he's speaking to Ava, he's looking right at Sharky. "I don't care if Sharky hates me for the rest of his life, so long as he's okay. He can.. can never talk to me ever again, that's fine. I just.. can't let him end like this. He deserves better. I let him down before, let everyone down. And I'm not doing that again."

Yeah okay, Pratt is tearing up a little because he would be devastated if Sharky never spoke to him again. And the thought that Sharky might just be gone forever, replaced with Pickles permanently...

He swallows down a sob because he doesn't want to think about that, "You can let him up, I'm not gonna kill him. I'm just..."

A failure. Again. Like always.

"Yeah it's fine. We're good."

"The alternative," Ava continues, her eyes narrowed sharply because she's not done with you yet Pratt. "Is that Sharky isn't in here," taptaptap to the side of his temple. "And if you kill this bastard, maybe nothing comes back." Because if she had any confidence at all, she'd do it just to have this be over. Pratt and Sharky have always been so good to her, and she wants better for Pickles, but if that's what it comes down to. That's how it'll have to be.

"I think I've been. very. fucking. nice. up until this point," Ava gives Pratt another little heel twist, to make sure he's paying attention. "But I can't help either of you dipshits if you DON'T. TELL. ME. THE. TRUTH."

Sharky's body is significantly heftier than her own, but she drags Pickles back a few feet away from Pratt with little effort, and shoves him upon the floor. That blood loss isn't look great. "So be useful, Deputy. And go get some costume gauze or strips of whatever," she orders Pratt. "And when you come back. You're telling me about that ghost cat and Izzy and convincing me that that wasn't your doing."

Pickles gets dragged and, for once, lets himself. Two-against-one is destined to end badly for him, and his only desire right now is to get a couple of staples in his neck before he gets back to the one thing he missed more than fucking: drinking.

He hates how much these people care for Sharky. He doesn't even get it; he's sitting here with all the memories right at his mental fingertips... and all he sees is some dumbass who likes to drink and fuck and party. What the fuck is the difference? What makes Sharky better than him? Hasn't he been just as nice? Doesn't it say something about him, that he didn't haul off and kill them like the other ghosts have done? What the fuck does Pickles have to do to get Ava to like him the way she cares about Sharky?

"I haven't lied once," he whines, which is all he can really come up with through the haze of pain. "I just want to get drunk and fuck! What's so wrong wit' that...?!"

Pratt is... not listening to Ava at all. The only thing he's thinking about is what if this is permanent. What if Sharky is just gone. Forever. What would he even do at that point? What's even.... it should have been him. No one would have missed him or noticed and maybe then he'd at least have a worthwhile purpose other than just mindless killing.

His little depression spiral is interrupted by Ava grinding her foot right through his torso and he yelps louder than he intended. It takes a few seconds of blinking before he comes back to actually being present in the moment and listening to what she's saying.

"I... didn't lie?" He sounds more confused than anything, but he struggles to his feet, not looking at Sharky, never once glancing at his friend as he staggers off to go find something to deal with that neck wound. He's not even sure what he would lie about, the fact he was going to kill Pickles? She literally saw him doing just that ten seconds ago.

He limps towards a rack of costumes, hoping to find some sort of mummy outfit that he can use the gauze off of. It'll be a second because as soon as he's out of sight of the two of them he bursts into tears and has to curl over the shelving and wrap his arms around his head to tamp it all down. Silently.

When he comes back he wordlessly kneels down next to Pickles. Sharky. All that Search and Rescue training paying off as he quietly tends to that wound in his neck. He's already a fucking disaster, so what if his eyes are all red now. He doesn't care. Don't look at him.

They're both claiming they hadn't lied, and Ava's paranoia itches at her like a rash.

There's more going on. There's. There's something very fucking wrong and she's grasping at every bit of information she knows.

She kneels next to Pickles, having removed her already-ruined sweater to hold against the wound until Pratt returns. She politely doesn't comment on the evidence of Pratt's tear-swollen eyes when he does. Or reprimand him for taking a bit longer than it should have.

"You and Izzy. Went looking for Jenny... Guabancex's brothers. Their trapped souls. And you found a cat. A ghost cat in Tauva, that attacked him," Ava retraces the conversation they'd had over text. "Is there more to it than that? Did you accidentally awaken something? Open some ghost portal?" It's not as accusatory as her first statement, she hadn't actually meant to blame Pratt for this. "It's just. The timing. You know? He starts asking me to go searching too... Ugh," she smacks Pickles lightly on the arm. "If you were Sharky you could at least appreciate when I asked you who Rischie was. Turned out to be a dude after all."

Pickles doesn't say shit the entire time Pratt's gone, eyes fixed on the bloody flooring in front of him. Man, he'd almost had Pratt out for the count, and he doesn't even feel good about it! If this were his crew, he'd be getting a pat on the fuckin' back for almost offing some psycho hillbilly; instead, he's stuck feeling fucking guilty for defending himself.

This shit sucks.

Even when Pratt returns, Pickles is mostly silent, up to the point where Ava nudges him to mention Ren -- mmm, Rischie. Fucking of course. How the fuck did he not notice that?

"No shit it's a person." He side-eyes her for a second, then drops his glare back to the floor. "Dumb bitch got what she deserved."

The Spirit Halloween doesn't have a convenient staple gun or even thread and needle to do stitches, so this is going to get patched up with mummy gauze and cheerful bat and candy corn washi tape. The good news is that Pratt actually knows what he's doing so Pickles won't bleed out. He could make that happen though, he could shove his fingers into the wound and rip his whole jugular out - but he doesn't. All the fight has gone out of him and the adrenaline crash is hitting hard.

"The cat yeah. We were looking for Guatauva, and we ripped the whole fucking bar apart thinking he might be trapped in an object. You know like a shiny jewel or a coin or something. And then I suggested maybe we just ask the bartender? So Izzy did and this cat showed up. It was just sitting there on the bartop all glowing, more like uh.. the silhouette of a cat but light rather than shadow." He finishes taping Pickles up, sitting back on his heels and looking at the ground, brow furrowing as he tries to remember this in the sequence it happened. "Izzy tried to pet it, and that didn't work, his hand went right through it. But then when he said the name Guatauva it attacked him, started clawing the ever loving shit out of his arms but instead of bleeding it's claws were like..."

Pratt pauses, a coughing fit overtaking him, thanks for fucking up his voice even more, asshole. "Every swipe was sucking out Izzy's.. life force I guess. His whole arm went white and dead when I pulled them apart. And then the cat disappeared. We think it needs a sacrifice, needs someone's life so it can manifest. But uh.. I don't think that's why the place is falling apart. Or why Sh--Pickles showed up. Unless the cat let them all out, or I guess Guatauva, if that's him."

But he doesn't really know that, maybe he and Izzy cursed the whole place in their fervor over finding some sort of leverage over the Captain.

"You talking about Jenny?"

Ava rests a gentle hand upon Pratt's shoulder as he patches up Pickles, as he shares more details of the search and the encounter. She knows he probably doesn't want to be here, doing this. But she hopes it helps some, giving him something to focus on during the rough comedown of violence and rage. She doesn't want him running off like this. Doesn't want him alone when he crashes.

"He didn't tell me any of that," Ava frowns, slightly annoyed to be sent on a task with important information withheld. "You'd think those would be relevant details. He wanted Darcy to go with me. Suggested a whole team. What if she'd gotten attacked-" He'd asked her to go into a situation blind, knowing the risks himself. She knew he didn't care much about her. But Darcy?

She rubs at Pratt's back as he coughs.

"Jenny? I heard how she won her illusion of freedom, fucking everyone else over. What do you mean deserved? Getting trapped here again?"

Huh. Vengeful ghost cat of Guatauva eating someone's life force through cat scratches? That sounds about right for this stupid goddamn ship and all its convoluted magical bullshit.

But -- she won an illusion of freedom? She's trapped here again?

"She's here? NOW? You're fuckin' kiddin' me! That stupid goddamn idiot bitch fuckin' --" He very nearly pushes himself to his feet so that he can scream at the gods more appropriately, but moving so abruptly causes a serious bout of vertigo.

"Wwooooaaah, okee, sittin' down now." Fuck. Headrush... "Fuckin'... Yeah, she fucked people over! And it didn't even do nothin'?! She's just... back here again?" He can't decide if he should laugh or cry.

He flinches at the touch but doesn't shake off her hand, doesn't have the energy for that right now. Instead he sits down on the ground and tenderly presses his fingers against his own nose, wincing as the cartilage shifts around.

"Did he know? This was uh.. last month sometime. I haven't really seen him since then." Which sucks because he is thirsty as fuck for that pirate and can't seem to pin him down. He goes to run his hands through his hair, grunting in pain because he forgot that should they need to identify Sharky's body he's got a nice set of dental records in his forearm. He'll need to wash that out later, his only hope is all the alcohol Pickle's had been drinking sorta sanitized it because the human mouth is disgusting.

"Yeah she was pissed about it too, spent days screaming in the hallways that she was gonna rip the balls off the people responsible. Which I think means Izzy actually. Haven't talked to her cuz I like my balls where they are and I don't want her getting ideas cuz I know him." He nearly fucks up his bandaging of his own arm, which is going terribly anyway, reaching out to try and shove Pickles back down. "She's from your group huh? What'd she do to you?"

Ava sighs apologetically and slips her hand away, realizing Pratt isn't interested in such feeble attempts at comfort. She wishes she knew how to do right by him here, be a better friend, but instead she joins them on the floor in a tired heap.

She likes Jenny, from the time she'd given her dolls and a lesson on how to ask for specifically what you want. She felt she was valid when she tried to storm the ship in search of her lost brothers. She had felt sad for her tragic fate, stuck alone on her ship and losing herself slowly. Because there was only so much one soul could give... she'd been happy to see her again on the island, thought it was a decent opportunity for her to make an exchange for what the Captain had lost and what she had too. And it all ended so badly, with Jenny bleeding out and... "It's Friday that wanted to save her. It was the only way. To keep her alive, she had to be bound back to the ship..." Ava lowers her head. "I was one of those assholes. Involved."

And when Jenny had collapsed onto the floor in defeat, Ava had been there beside her. She closes her eyes. Because she knows that... doesn't change how Pickles must feel towards Jenny and what she had done. And she doesn't even know the half of it, does she?

"Haven't seen either of them this month. Jenny nor Izzy," she frowns. It doesn't help her feel any less suspicious. Nor worried.

"Would you have done any differently, than her? If you had the opportunity," Ava asks Pickles curiously, unchallenging.

"Fuck Jenny, if I see that bitch again I'm gonna stab her! Rip her goddamn... head off, ughhhh." Okay, okay, taking a breath. Fuuuck, he needs some juice. And for his death to have meant something. Damn. The only thing keeping him afloat now is how novel the feeling of despair is after years of nothing. Any emotion is a good emotion, right? Right. Fuuuuuuck.

"Of course I would have done differently, I wouldn't have fucked up." Getting trapped again is a rookie fucking move. She probably did it because her stupid fucking brothers didn't get out. "She slit all of our throats for nothing. Hah! Trustin' the Captain, you see where that gets ya???"

Okay, he's done.

"God, she's so fucking stupid. She probably doesn't even realize I'm wanderin' around, fuckin' lame." She is, in his opinion, gay to the point of obliviousness for Friday. It's a thing.

"... Why didn't you all come back after she slit your throats though? That's kinda how this whole shit works." He'd always been suspicious that there'd be a limit to that, eventually they'd die too much and just fade away. But if the way Darcy had explained this was right, then so long as they didn't give up and still had enough emotions to power the ship, they wouldn't turn into shades.

Of course, he's pretty sure she got that info direct from the Captain so who knows if that's a lie or not. Hn.

"I don't think anyone trusts the Captain it's more like.... we need him. It's his magic that keeps this whole place going, so if we kill him it probably collapses like a blackhole with all of us inside. But if we can work around him we can maybe get shit accomplished." Pratt frowns because he is not a strategist, he's not even very smart and his brain is condensed soup, but he's pretty sure someone out there must have a plan for how to convince the Captain to help them. "We're fucking trying man. Me and Steven were trying to barter with him, and he at least listened. Probably to laugh in our faces but like, I dunno man. I'm not gonna kill everyone on board if I have a say in it."

Which, he sometimes doesn't.

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Are you on the square? Are you on the level?

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