come_sailaway | monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

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monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

CW: death, probably gore, possibly more TBA

[and that’s what you missed on glee.

and so, there “Friday” is, standing on the roof of the bar. the attention of the party has surely turned to her by this point, but she doesn’t care about that. she just needs one person to still be a little too distracted to stop what was coming next.

Monday snaps her fingers, and Jenny disappears from wherever she was standing before, reappearing directly in front of Monday, who embraces her from behind, an arm wrapped firmly around her middle. those with enhanced senses might catch what she whispers, seconds before she snaps Jenny’s neck so hard it hangs at a 90 degree angle as Monday kicks her, her corpse toppling forward onto the deck below.]

Surprise, bitch.

[well, there. unfinished business settled. onto more pertinent matters.]

Let’s get a little more comfortable first, hm? Can’t waste too much of her magic, but audiences love a quick change.

[she snaps her fingers, and Monday finds herself in an outfit that is far more to her taste. now. time for her grand performance.]

Greetings, foolish mortals! You may or may not have noticed that things have been a little bit different this month. While the Captain is off having a good old bitch cry about whatever it is he’s so upset about, poor little Friday was running herself ragged keeping this shitheap floating! She was so distracted, in fact, that she happened to have a little accident, while fixing something in the elevator shaft! [a laugh] I guess even clay bitches can break their necks! And there I was, sitting in Fucking Nowhere, doing Fucking Nothing, feeling Fucking. Nothing! And I saw her empty shell. And I was, like, hey, free real estate!

Whatever tear in the veil that your whiny little Captain just didn’t feel like fixing? I ripped that fucker right open. And you’ve all met a few of the sorry little fuckers that fell out already, hm? [another snap] Not all of them, but, hey, that’s what now is for, right? Because, see, we all kinda got together a little bit, and we were like… You know, just borrowing some shitty bodies to have some fun for a few weeks? What a waste! And we still have a lot of bitches we need to spring from jail!

And that! Is where you assholes come in! And, trust me, you are all assholes. Have you even seen some of the psychotic shit you people have said and done to us? Like, yeah, Mary is legitimately insane, but she’s still a kid! Even I’m not gonna call a fucking nine year old a bitch!

You can try to run, but I fucking hate running in heels, so I made that a little bit… difficult. So. Why don’t you nice people just lay down and let us kill you. I’ll be gentle. Promise.

[perhaps people have tried to flee already. they likely have. and they’ve found that the entire party area has been blocked off by the same sort of barrier that surrounds the realm, an invisible orb holding them captive.]

Now. Let’s get the actual party started!

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"Shaken up, mostly. I...faced a few fights I'd rather not have. But physically, I'm intact." He brushes his hands over his front demonstratively. "I don't know how I'm going to get to sleep tonight, with everything that's happened."

[Commence pointing and laughing—

Really, Ebalon's not so immature as to full-on point and laugh! ...he does it subtly, behind his blood-stained sleeve, clutching his staff in his opposite hand. And he thought the fall messed him up, when he crawled out of a pile of debris with a broken ankle and one of his head-wings rather painfully severed at the joint. At least he can move.]

Did you have fun? It's a shame that we won't ever be able to fight again, my little admirer. Perhaps in the next life, hm? And with a little less liquor involved on my part.

[He thinks he'll leave Notsuno there to stew in his misery for a bit. That absolutely agonized expression looks good on him... ah, he'd like to see that same face plastered on each one of the real Natsuno's little friends some time.]

Do give that body back to its rightful owner when you can. I'm not quite done with him yet.

[Covered in a mix of his blood and the blood of others, injured to hell and back, beaming like an idiot:]

I had a good time. You missed the carnage.

For good measure, they shift into sentry configuration, turret-gun poking out over the table. This is now the most well-protected table on the pool deck, as long as nobody, say, dives over it into the backline, or teleports into their midst. Bastion's not currently shooting into the mob, since they don't have a clear target and wouldn't want to rip apart a non-possessed passenger who was standing in the wrong spot, but Eddie can help with that.

"Godspeed." César murmurs, maybe even sending The Lord's Prayer after Phil in his thoughts.

And in this realm where prayers cannot reach, it is answered by Yakko Warner instead. God, if only I could think of the punchline to that one.

i. CLOSED TO BASTION — ❝CAN YOU HELP ME?❞

Now I lay me down to sleep
Hope someone's watching over me,
Pray the Lord my soul to keep
'Cause I'm livin' in a nightmare,
Is anybody out there?
I'm livin' in a nightmare.

(right, so. that drop was certainly a surprise and unforuntely, jinx being...well, jinx, she doesn't get undine's water bubble cushion. she is an omen and omens don't get good luck. thus when jinx falls, she hits all sorts of debris and broken furniture as she tumbles all the way down. but she lands somewhat in a way where she doesn't die but there is a snap on her left ankle once she finally meets the ground. if only her shimmer side-effect can make not feel this sort of pain but alas, she bellows out in agony.

gritting her teeth, jinx still tries to do something with herself -- crawl, grab her ankle, maybe finally attending to her bloody wound on her other leg. just anything. but her body decides on its own that enough is enough. it's tapped out. done for. her mind is still remains on fight mode; completely unaware things are now over. she can't stop here, she has to keep fighting. she needs to keep going. )

ii. INFIRMARY (OPEN) — ❝what a time to be alive.❞

Oh, give me something to take the edge off
Something to kick the night off
Something to keep my mind off
This so called life.

(pretty sure after everything is kinda said and done, everyone is going to the infirmary for maybe medical needs right? if there's any left, that is. well once this boat gets its bearings again maybe, one of the hospital beds is taken by jinx -- lying there very hopelessly. her breathing is shallow and entirely in chills. after all this running around for the past who knows how long, her body is still battling against the venom.

her mind is in a fuzz as she runs a slight fever; her muscle screaming in so many aches and sores. jinx yearns for sleep but will it come to her? if the whole possession ordeal wasn't bad enough, it looks like her night/morning of suffering is just the beginning.)

Edited 2022-10-28 04:56 (UTC)

[she wraps an arm over Max's shoulder, and rests her head against his other. powering the claws took a lot more out of her than she expected... and even though there's a too late opportunity to gather all the body parts she could ever need for a failed science experiment, all she can think about is collapsing somewhere quiet and sleeping this off and hope tomorrow is different.]

Mhm. To watch. [no idea if the Captain's actually assisting any, but it's a mess everyone else can deal with.] Friday's dead. [Jenny is dead, Pickles is dead. whatever brat inside Fio is probably dead and she never saw 6 again... but Skulduggery will be fine. and Undine was still standing.]

But I was right. So. Hah.

He keeps trying to parse out why the way she says things sounds so wrong. It's the right amount of pain, the right sort of terror... But she isn't angry enough. She isn't swearing at him, she isn't pushing him away, no flash of disgust across her face when he grabs her...

And more than that, she doesn't spare a single word toward anyone else. She doesn't mention Fio. She doesn't look for her friends. She's focused entirely on him.

His thumb drags across the armor beneath it, and for a moment it might feel suddenly very hot. Not enough to burn -- only to warn. He doesn't even notice the hand reaching for his gun.

"How hard was your landing?"

There's a brief flash of something like alarm across her face when she feels the armour heat- her big dark puppy eyes turn to him properly with confusion and fear.

"What- I- I don't know, it's kind of fuzzy- what are you doing?"

Her fingers wrap around the grip of the pistol, and if this is about to go where it seems like it's going, she won't need to worry about how she's going to get it out again.

"Are you feeling alright?"

( on a scale of oh, this idiot (derogatory) and oh, this idiot (affectionate), the thrilling excitement of existence renewed and being reborn in the midst of a battle heavily swings the pendulum to the right and he's outright delighted to be greeted first thing by mikazuki. sharp toothed, dark haired, thirsty for a fight and a sated sort of drunk off any victory; talks too much, and he knows vividly what the mans insides look like.

but in an old world, they'd had similar goals, right? older brothers to... surpass... murder... best? and any time ivar'd publicly butchered his on the decks, mikazuki'd been ready and willing to listen to the details. remember the time with the shoe string and the ladle? remember what bjorn ironside's lungs looked like laid out across his gore strewn back? that's a point of camaraderie, isn't it? the main other one being the enthusiasm that heralds his return, and the lack of a hand extended to help him up. ivar would have never taken it anyway.

instead, grin meets grin. he gives a little hands out, appreciative shrug — like to say who else would it be? of course it's me, i'm great but more elegantly in the silence. then he stands up.

which is amazing. and awkward, for how utterly easy it is to do. yes his right calf throbs with pain beneath an old bandage, but this balance. this height, this steadiness. he doesn't even need a cane, a crutch, or a sword to lean on — and can feel the grate of treaded shoes against a firm surface when experimentally shifting his weight from one side to the other. then laughs again, this one small and tinkling and friendly while striding forward to meet his companion.

both hands — one that he'd held, the other so soaked in black gore it looks like ivar's wearing a glove — clap on the sides of mikazuki's face and give him an excited little shake. it's like brothers do, before they cross playswords and beat welts into each others skin. it's like mothers cradle their children's face to reassure them they're not alone, and how fathers hold their sons heads up in praise. it's that swell of bloodied rage mixed with a preemptive sort of victory, like how soldiers in the wake of a battle field hold each other close, incline their heads and scream off the vestiges of war-weary to celebrate themselves — and just the fact they're still alive.

it's also a super great way to transfer a lot of black blood onto one side of mikazuki's face, hope you wanted that to add to the aesthetic of bloodied warrior, buddy.

ivar outright croons: )

Then I am in need of a weapon. Do you have one for me?

They nod. Fio's been running around swinging a knife and firing off energy weapons concealed in her toys, their last glimpse of this human was when he was standing next to a headless walking corpse, at least one person got their arm ripped off. It's been a gruesome night.

// If you're lucky, you'll crash from fatigue once you're out of the crisis. Bastion pops their self-repair arm out again to work on their leg, rebuilding the load-bearing structures first. Sparks fly from the point of contact and a holographic yellow banner encircles their body. // I'll need a full recharge myself.

"Gods grant me that kind of luck tonight. Do you think there's a clear path to the stairs or elevators, to get to the cabins?"

He watches with confusion and a little wonder at the self-repair arm doing its work. Even after his time on the ship, he hadn't gotten entirely used to the modern wonders available, the technology his world hadn't had.

Luckily for him, this would have been just as wondrous to the body's original owner.

( Fleeing to higher ground, is he? It would be simple for Castor to use his discus now—tossing it upwards to rend his opponent to shreds. His control over the weapon is flawless, after all. However, that's not the choice he makes here. It would almost be too simple, and to hide in the face of battle would be unbecoming of a god of his caliber. No, instead, he takes a step back. Lowers his stance into something more balanced, and his lips remain curved in that ugly grin of his all the while as he looks up to the other. )

Heh. You want to know how I'm different?

( One foot slides back, adjusting his trajectory in an attempt to account for any feeble attempts to dodge, and— )

Then behold— the dazzling light of the stars!

( In a near-blinding flash of blue light, Castor just straight up launches himself off of the ground, and directly towards "Shi Qingxuan". Propelled forward by the power of pure light as he uses his mana burst to push himself off the ground, the impact of the pure, undiluted magical energy resonating to stress against an already weakening foundation. Cracks form underneath, but Castor pays them no mind, eyes fixed on his opponent as he hurls himself towards the other. His trajectory is such that he should slam directly into Shi Qingxuan's body, should the other fail to move out of the way, but his real target is the fan in his hand. So long as Castor can so much as knock it out of his grasp, he knows himself to be capable of finishing the job no matter how this rat might run. )

[ Whoever's in front of her is absolutely correct on what she's about to do. The moment that she's propped right in front of... Clarke, this body's mind informs her of the name, as well as the earliest memory of this girl vomiting at the camp, the rotten stench, and how Fio tried to help her with a glass of water. Wow, gross!

Immediately, her insane smile unwavering, Mary swings her knife to go in for the stabbing with as much physical strength she can muster. Only to have her little hand slapped away. Then again and again and again, swinging madly and never stopping. The smile fades, shifting into frustration, her teeth grinding together hard.

Then she hears it. ...Bairn? Who else calls her that? Her knife swinging slows down, eventually coming to a complete stop.

...

...

A long stretch of silence. She is shockingly calm suddenly. For now. ]

Waaaait a minute. Who are you? Do you know Ivar? [ A pause. Then she asks, in a demanding tone, that almost sounds like she's going to start flailing that knife again: ] WHERE'S IVAR?

He'll bring her back. More than twenty minutes dealing with the likes of us and all the things she does and he'd sink the ship himself; he needs her, even if I doubt he'd ever admit it.

Right about what? Friday?

They pause their repairs to look out across the rubble-strewn promenade, over the human's head. Under the hole is a wet jumble of ship parts, deck furniture, Halloween decorations, dead bodies and boulders, but it doesn't look like the rest of the ceiling's going to collapse and relatively little debris was washed all the way to the other end of the ship.

// The stairs could be blocked and the aft elevator's probably inoperable, but the forward end should work. You know, if you feel like capping off the night by walking the length of the Serena Eterna. But this human can teleport, right?

( clarke griffin's main memories and bullet points regarding fio are: adorable, kind, great hugs that make her want to cry harder than anything else, and should be protected. and like, 80% of that lines up with his own sentiments regarding mary, so he doesn't parse much deeper. the face is wrong and he'll mourn that in time, but the spirit prevails. you know that feeling when you hold a feral kitten by the scruff and it just keeps trying to scratch you even after you've decided you love it? this moment is not unlike that.

sailors in high storms don't trust the calm of the eye that envelops them. and likewise, ivar keeps a ready palm raised in the event mary reinstates the game of keep away between her knife and his borrowed torso. but also takes the moment to just smile at her: still too much teeth, and a lot of black blood mixed with split oozing between them, but nicer than he'd leered at everyone else so far. )

Guess.

( sure, they absolutely have time for this here and now. )

Even for the body's original owner, it's not proper teleportation. It's stepping from shadow to shadow. But that might still be worth it. He just needs to decide if he's feeling brave enough to harness this strange divine magic.

"I might as well try the stairs. Them being blocked might not make them impassable for me, after all."

He looks up at Bastion's faceplate, frustrated that he can't read it at all. "Good evening to you. Or morning, by now."

[He pauses when she says that because he's not sure what friends she's referring to. Could be Klaus or Ava who hopefully didn't say any insane shit about him, but it could also be Pickles who is probably running around telling people all his business. ]

You're new then. [New passenger, or new spirit in new passenger's body. He doesn't know.]

Talismans? What are you... Who had talismans that protect against ghosts because that would be fucking awesome. [A beat.] Probably one of the ghosts then if they exploded. Yeah. Obviously right. Okay.

[She takes a step closer and he holds his ground.]

That's where I'm going. One of them, one of the uh, the things possessing people. Told me he was coming to kill me but he hasn't so either he got distracted killing someone else, or someone already got him. And if they gave you something that exploded they probably are starting to strike now and I shoulda been there already instead of here waiting to fucking skin him alive but now he uh... yeah. The party. Shit's probably, I dunno. Something is happening. Gotta be.

[His horribly scratchy voice is even worse since a certain someone tried to crush his windpipe, and it doesn't appreciate him talking this much. But once he gets started it's hard to stop babbling on. His grip on sanity is tenuous even at the best of times, and this is certainly not the best of times. He stares down the hallway away from her.]

I'll get 'em though. Anyone I need to. That's my purpose. That's what I'm here for.

It sure is a glowing blue rectangle inside a larger rectangle, that's for sure.

// Good night. It's not sunrise yet, so that's the salutation they're going with.

[ Mary runs about the deck at top speed, giggling madly, absolutely amused with herself over how much she managed to rile up Skulduggery. A quick glance over her shoulder and she doesn't see the skeleton in sight. Only Fio's flying plush dragon drifts along after her as she moves.

Eyes forward, she slows down before she's in danger colliding into Ava. Several feet away, she stands and stares. Menacingly. Just when she got away from one parental figure, there's another. Yeah, she's looking funny at Ava for half a second... which would appear unusual while wearing Fio's skin. Trick-or-treating, dressing up in matching outfits-- it was actually fun, Mary had to admit. Her behavior wasn't the best at all though and they very much likely disapproved. Not like Fio who always tried to be a perfect angel.

Sometimes she thought of just taking Fio's friends for her own, not setting this huge plan into motion. Her new family for her own. But no, those thoughts had been quickly pushed back by the ultimate goal of saving her own friends. Not Fio's loved ones. The ones still left in Nothing... Mary's loved ones.

And slowly, she starts stepping back, ready to run off elsewhere... continue her hunt for Darcy. ]

"Is this one of those times?" This could be one of those times. Chrissy's not even sure how to respond to that question, though. "Thanks? And I'll do my best!"

She's not good at the staying alive part.

"Oh, well it's nice to see you Dimitri. I'm sorry I don't remember meeting you, but you seem really nice."

Maybe it's just wishful thinking on her part. She's at least grateful to see that he's not being threatening.

That was a hell of a thing. This idiot human didn't even have the sense to go towards the water and safety. Was he really just asleep when everything fell? How sad.

The new ghost in this body has experience walking on two legs before, humans are such pathetic creatures, but at least they do things, and this body is surprisingly feisty. Clearly going to waste before! But the fucking knives strapped to legs is just wrong. It's a wonder the fool was only burned, exploded, bitten, and fell on his back.

Nobunaga's body wriggles across the way to survey the damage. There's literal marching orders yelling loudly in all his memories. If you can think, you're alive. If you're alive, you need to stay alive. If you can feel, you can do something to make it better. Pick yourself up, pick up others. If you stop, you're dead. He has an extremely intense will to survive. It's almost comforting after the void.

Oh look, someone in pain. Of course that makes her smile, crouching down to help him get clear. "You poor unfortunate soul." In pain. In need. She wondered how to parley this for maximum profit. Obviously take the pain away. And this soldier was his lover? Better and better. "Where does it hurt? I'll kiss it better." Oh. Nobunaga would do an evil laugh after that? What an idiot. "Huhuhu." Oh well, it's not like she had time to practice.

Edited 2022-10-28 06:34 (UTC)

It's the most genuine expression she's given so far, and he stills his hand. She's put out his fires before, quite literally -- if he's wrong about this, he would be risking a painful confrontation.

"No, I'm really not," he tells her plainly. "But you'll forgive me for it, I think." If he's making a mistake. If he isn't, then she likely won't even know what's happened.

He moves to reach for one of his revolvers, which is when he realizes where Darcy's hand already is.

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monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

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i survived the notifpocalypse

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(post-collapse)

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