come_sailaway | [OTA] And it's hard to write about being happy, 'cause, the older I get

Who: Johnny Summer and You
When: October 17th onward
Where: The Serena Eterna
Summary: Things falling apart! If you want a really easy in on some of the plot stuff, pick prompt 3!
Warnings: None yet

1. And if tomorrow it's all over [Bridge]
There's a lot going on, but Johnny's finally noticed that Friday's not keeping up her usual firewatch. Which means, obviously, that he can smoke wherever he damned well pleases. And today, that's up outside the bridge, looking out on the ruined sports deck, in the aftermath of whatever explosion happened there. He's sitting up there with a small black cigarillo, pretending he doesn't have a care in the world.

Is it wise for him to be smoking there? Probably not. But things are going sideways and he's in the mood to do something just a little reckless.

2. At least we had it for a moment [Spirit Halloween]
Ridiculous as it may seem, Johnny is clinging to his little hopes for the future. One day things will be normal again. Rich and Crabb will be back to normal. The ship will be quiet. The Captain will officiate a wedding and all will be well. One day.

What this means is that they need to plan and prepare, and that means taking advantage of the available resources. Like the Spirit Halloween and its costumes and decorations. There's flower crowns in lovely autumnal costumes, some of which may have skulls or bats in them, but they can be disassembled for centerpieces. There's lace that can be picked off costumes, and dresses that can be deconstructed for table runners. He's desperate to cling to this future he's imagining, to hope. Or maybe he's delusional, judge for yourself.

Especially when he comes across a horned devil mask and pulls it off the rack, holding it to his chest as tenderly as a lover.

3. Oh darling, things seem so unstable [Library]
The black binder of information that Skulduggery had lovingly put together and the notes added by others rest on a table in front of Johnny. In one hand, he has a Serena Eterna souvenir pen, scribbling thoughts down on a notepad for himself. Drawing arrows back and forth. The possessions, he's beginning to form a theory about them. One that may need to be thrown off better minds than his own.

4. But for a moment we were able to be still [Wildcard]
You know where to find me. Come bother me.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cassandra is not at all sure what to make of this place, or the items it's selling. That's fine; she's become used to a certain degree of bemusement on this ship, in and around the deeply alarming things.

The sight of a man embracing a mask is one that she's not immediately sure how to categorize, in terms of bemusing vs. alarming. She takes a step back, not wanting him to see her right away; not wanting him to be aware he's been seen.

Johnny puts the devil mask back on the display. It's not the mask Mimley had worn, but the devil face and purple accents had brought him to mind too, too easily. Yes, he's moving forward, building a life here, and there's a him in Gallery to love the man in lavender, but damnit, he's allowed his moments of soft fondness, even as they distract from what he's really here for.

He turns to examine another display, and that's when he sees Cassandra, giving her a sheepish look.

"Ah, hello there."

"... Hello." Her smile is a touch sheepish as well, as she steps out of the inadequate concealment of a rack of costumes.

(He's put back the mask. That's ... probably a good sign. She hopes.)

"I don't think I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance yet."

As he steps closer, the immediate impression is that this is a man who knows how to wield his presence. Despite being under five and a half feet tall, he stands with a certain degree of dignity, in a grey suit with a mustard yellow vest, his hair slicked back neatly.

Presence and manners as well. Not that that necessarily signifies anything, any more than the yellow waistcoat and neatly-combed hair.

"I don't believe so," she says, and sketches a minimalistic curtsey with a bow of the head and a small sweeping gesture of her hand along the line of her skirt. "Cassandra de Rolo. And you are?"

"Johnny Summer." He inclines his head in a deep nod or a shallow bow, a gesture that hugs the dividing line between the two. "Are you recently arrived?"

"Fairly recently, yes. I ... seem to have arrived at a bad time."

Her tone is light enough that it can be taken as a joke, if he wants to.

"I'm not sure there's ever a good time, unfortunately. There's always something." He shakes his head slightly. "The welcome party, the battle royale, the rain that forced honesty...there's never a good time to be new here."

"The rain that --" Her eyes widen. "Good gods, you aren't joking, are you."

"I wouldn't joke about things like this, Miss de Rolo. There is no good time to arrive here, unfortunately." He pauses, glancing down at the assortment of decorations. "There are moments of joy and beauty here, too. I'm currently in the process of planning a wedding."

"Oh," clearly startled, "whose? -- Pardon me, I mean, if it's not private?"

He manages a warmer smile this time. "Mine. My wedding to Dr. John Watson and Cesar Salazar. Invitations will be sent sometime after we figure out a date."

He's hoping that neither the fact that both his partners are men, nor the fact that he has two, will throw her too badly. There have certainly been some reactions to that.

"Congratulations," she says, and there's no sign whatsoever that either the number or the genders of the betrothed gives her the faintest pause. The courtesy is automatic, but no less sincere for it.

(If anything gives her pause, it's the broader implications. Marrying here means ... no longer holding any hope at all of leaving.)

"Thank you. We've all been here since the beginning of this voyage, back in March, and sort of...gravitated together."

It's true, especially after Skulduggery's black binder; these three are planning for a life here, together. Perhaps Erin put it best: "this is my garden. There will not be another."

(There's another of those strange twists of translation in her head; March renders itself as a name, and simultaneously as month in early spring.)

"The beginning of this voyage? I ... may have misunderstood, I thought it had been going on for much longer."

"Well, this isn't the first voyage the Captain has run--he's had maybe hundreds. Maybe more. But this one started what, almost eight months ago? Something close to that."

And so much has happened since then that it seems like forever.

"Ah," slowly, "I see."

And no one has stopped him? -- She doesn't ask that out loud.

They would have if they could!

"So, yes. Wedding planning. Holding onto hope for a decent future with all we have."

"Well." She smiles, carefully. "I wish you every happiness together."

(There is the faintest, tiniest pause between the two penultimate words, as she hastily edits the forming sentence; it would feel too judgmental, under the circumstances, to say every possible happiness.)

"You'll be invited to the wedding. The whole ship will be. We're even following one of the old maritime traditions." That is, the officiant at the wedding will be none other than the ship's captain.

"Maritime traditions?" she asks, frowning slightly in thought, trying to remember if she's ever read anything relevant about sea travel and weddings.

"For a wedding on a ship, particularly in international waters, it's traditional for the captain to officiate the wedding."

Yes, that Captain. The same, the very one.

"-- Oh."

And for a moment she can't, even in courtesy, manage a smile.

That's...probably a proper reaction. Probably.

"I wasn't expecting him to agree to officiate, quite honestly. I asked him as a courtesy, a matter of protocol. I was expecting no response."

"And when a response has come after all, one couldn't very well withdraw the request."

More soberly: "I do hope it goes well."

[OTA] And it's hard to write about being happy, 'cause, the older I get

Spirit Halloween

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