[open] dreams of you all through my head

[pinballer]

Who: Vance Hopper & (mostly) ota
What: Fixing Judith and generally being around
When: Early November
Where: all around
Warnings: eventual discussion of child torture/murder


1 / it's all right now (the drunken sailor)

[ Before the party, Vance was gifted with the mangled remains of Fio's teddy bear, Judith. One of the ghosts did it, and he feels kind of silly doing something so sentimental for a teddy bear, but he knows it's because the ghost was avenging him for Judith's previous attack. So, in a way, he feels responsible.

He chose The Drunken Sailor because it's where Knife Club is held, and also because he thinks Fio is unlikely to wander in and see Judith before it's all fixed up. There's some threads in all different colors set out and everyone is encouraged to take a different one and fix the bear a little bit at a time. That way, Fio will know how many different people all came together for her.

Vance is sitting at the table with a bit of read thread, starting to sew the arm back on. He isn't very good at it, but this is a group effort anyway. ]

[ ooc note: If they know Vance, assume your character got a text and was invited. If they don't know Vance and you want to participate, feel free to handwave that someone invited them. ]

2 / but don't give yourself away

[ Sometime after fixing Judith, Vance can be found all around the ship. He's not as devastated as he was in the aftermath of the party, but he's not entirely back to normal, either. He's...somewhere in between.

If someone saw him take down not-Friday, he's willing to talk about it. He also wants to catch up with anyone he knows who was possessed and isn't anymore.

Once in a while, too, he lifts up the corner of his white tank top and (for the first time since he's been here) takes an actual look at the knife-wound scars that were left behind. He's hated those scars since the first time he saw them and has done whatever it takes to keep them covered. After seeing Judith - all full of stitches but still wanted and still okay - he thinks, finally, that they might not be so hideous after all. ]

3 / it's only teenage wasteland (closed to clarke)

[ As much as he tries to play the tough guy, the last month weighed on him something fierce and he feels like he's about to burst if he doesn't get some of his feelings out into the world. Clarke's been trying to nudge him into sharing a little ever since they went to beach, so he just lets it slip. ]

I lied. I am scared. Of a lot of things. [ About ending up like the ghosts here and being sent to the Nothing, yes, but also of the monsters from his past even if they aren't here anymore. ]

wildcard

[ surprise me. I'm at callico or chimera#5926 if you want to plot. ]

Comments

teenage wasteland

[skaikru]

( she isn't hard to find, easier still to flag down. clarke had been walking along the bright pathway between shops on deck five, a ghost in her own right and barely acknowledging her surroundings until coming up short when vance slides in front of her.

i lied, i am scared, he says. and she says: )

Good.

( of a lot of things, he says. to which she responds with a nod, and: )

That means you'll probably make it through this.

( this, this — all of this. tough guy acts precede the human species, pretty much every living thing will put on a display of ferocity and impassivity, but isn't that just another defensive mechanism against danger? "don't get close to me", "don't touch me", "you can't hurt me because i'm bigger than you" are effective to a point, but in the end it's important to know when to let the fear response take over and learn to run from threats. and like a lot of things, that first step is admitting it.

they're in the middle of the promenade, and that's less than ideal. clarke's also in the middle of some brief-possession hangover that's morphed into a bit of a fugue state, which also sucks. but if there's anything to snap her out of it, it's a moment of intensity like the one vance has just deposited at her feet in a fit of unflinchingly honest word vomit. she looks around, spots the entrance to the sushi restaurant that's usually pretty sparsely populated, then puts a hand on his arm to guide him towards the doors of mikabo.

[pinballer]

How's being scared a good thing?

[ He follows her over, but this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Everyone back home would've told him to toughen up and act like a man, not like a scared little boy. ]

Being scared's for babies. [ He says it like it's something he believes from being told it over and over and over again until it stuck, not like something that sincerely comes from his heart. But, whether his heart's in it or not, he's angry at himself for feeling that way. ]

[skaikru]

"Being scared" is an instinct, and it's probably the only reason the human species survived as long as it has. It's hardwired into our brains right alongside eating when we're hungry and taking a breath when our lungs demand it.

( inside the shop, but it's got an open entrance and no doors to swing closed behind them, so the herding continues until they're maybe midway into the sea of tables and chairs. seeing the conveyer belt full of plates still strikes as odd after a month of virtually nothing working as it should, but that's not clarke's main focus right now. she talks as they walk, it borders on medical textbook word vomit with a gigantic side helping of self-aware lived experience. )

Something comes flying at your face, you flinch so it doesn't take out your eyes. You don't like being tickled because it feels like something crawling on you, and you don't know if it's venomous or not. The hair raises on the back of your neck and you look around, because you don't like the idea of something seeing you that you can't also see. Someone comes at you like they want to fight, and you hit first.

All of that to say — ( and finally at a table, she rounds on him more completely. clarke's too fraught to be quite as gentle and charismatic as she'd managed during knife club, but the shreds of that same person are there. she's trying, she's purposefully making eye contact and pitching her voice into something smoother, calmer, and kinder. coaxing and welcoming at the same time, very obviously ready to listen and give him her full, undivided attention. )

— I meant it. It's a good thing. What are you scared of Vance, and how can I help?

[pinballer]

I'm scared of going to Nothing. Being a ghost back home was bad enough, being aware of everything but no one could see or hear you. This sounds even worse.

[ He sits down at the table, hands folded in front of him. This isn't the sort of talking he's used to doing. Part of him still wishes he could shove it down and keep going like he's not afraid.

If he were powerful enough, he would have nothing to be afraid of, he thinks. Fear might be useful as is, but it's only because he's weak. ]

It's...not just that, though. [ He sighs, resting his chin on his folded arms. ] Sometimes I see a shadow move and I feel like he's here.

[ Did he ever tell Clarke anything about what happened to him? He doesn't think so. Darcy knows, but not many people know anything beyond the fact that he's dead. ]

The Grabber. The guy who killed me. I watched him die so I know that's stupid, but...

[ But he still feels it. ]

[skaikru]

( if he were powerful enough... careful vance, thinking like that is the basis for why they're all here, isn't it?

clarke will follow suit when he sits, and for as big and grand as her offer of help was, the first thing he volleys at her is something that she can't touch. the nothing. she'd only been steeped in it for at most, an hour and a half while a viking ruled her body but even just the mention is enough to set her spine on edge. she doesn't have a big enough understanding of magic or what makes up a soul to know how to begin counteracting that specific sort of torturous existence; doesn't know how to make it better, doesn't know how to fix that. and so she resolutely keeps her teeth set and lips buttoned.

vance moves on though, onto something a lot more real and easier to grasp. both of clarke's forearms come up to rest on the edge of the tabletop, and one nail digs into the bed of her thumbnail. the details are sparse but the idea still vivid to behold. )

...It's not stupid. ( after a pause, that's the pretty immediate followup response, accompanied by a dogged little shake of her head. clarke offers unflinching eye contact, but won't be discouraged if it's not met. ) That's the exact opposite of stupid, and I'm sorry.

( that happened to you, it still haunts you, you died at the hands of another, that you still can't rest... for all of it really. she's working on something more profound to say about the matter, gears churning, but also lets a patient silence stretch in case vance wants to fill in more. )

[pinballer]

It is stupid. [ He doesn't want to argue with her, he just thinks if she had more context she might think so, too. She looks him in the eye but he can't return it for more than a second or two at a time. ] You know, I went to get breakfast once and there were scrambled eggs there. Scrambled eggs were all that he fed us when we were down there waiting to die. I almost threw up. I just...don't go for breakfast anymore.

[ A guy like him, being overcome with fear at the sight and smell of some stupid eggs? Pathetic, he thinks. He doesn't know a lot about trauma, or the ways it manifests, he just wishes he didn't have to deal with it. ]

I used to be the toughest guy around. [ Well, at his school, anyway. ] No one fucked with me. I want that back.

[ And if he had all that power, he thinks, he'd be different than the captain. He'd use it to go be alone and untouched somewhere, smiting anyone who dared to try and hurt him but other than that he'd just...be safe and far beyond the reach of monsters. ]

[skaikru]

( that's a tragic admission. it's a lot more telling to the depth of fear that vance feels than any simple, straightforward admission, it's more than i'm not swimming because i'm concerned about sharks. that's a bone deep sort of trauma, that resonates in the marrow and changes the entire makeup of a person. if he never wants to expound upon what else that time in the basement entailed, clarke at least thinks she has a handle on the depth of it.

she winces briefly, there's sympathy in the darker flecks of blue in her irises. there's comparisons to her own life she could offer — you never get the scent of burning flesh out of your nostrils — but this moment is absolutely not about her.

used to be, want that back. god, don't they all wish for that at some point? but the sad fact is — )

...if you're talking about going back to being the person you were before all that? I'm sorry, Vance. It's never going to happen. ( that's never an easy truth to drop, but at the end of the day it's the truth. and so she lets that hang in the air between them for several long seconds. )

[pinballer]

I know.

[ He sits up straighter so he can put his face in his hands. As much as he's trying not to cry, it's hard. Hard enough when he's trying to ignore what happened to him, nearly impossible when he's actually talking about it. ]

It's not fair. [ Life isn't fair, and he knows that. It's the excuse he used to beat up all the other kids. He just didn't expect it to be this unfair. ] I hate feeling so goddamn helpless.

[ He doesn't want to just sit here and wait to be sent to Nothing, but he's not very optimistic about their chances, either. ]

If we can beat the captain, then maybe... [ Maybe he can put himself back together the way he was. Maybe defeating one monster would negate the pain caused by another.

Or maybe he'd still be just as broken, with more blood on his hands. ]

[skaikru]

( it is starkly emblazoned in her mind that she doesn't actually know vance very well. she knows: he's a ghost and now has an idea how he became one, he's scared, he's probably never met a real vampire knowingly, he's angry and of a like mind to her, he can't read very well, he prizes being cool and unafraid but is lying to himself, he's just a kid. she doesn't know if he wants comfort in this moment, or if he'd react badly to being touched. but — has caution ever really stopped her from pursuing?

there's a soft scrape of chair legs as clarke scoots her seat around the side of the table. stops only when their knees bump, leans her left elbow on the tabletop and reaches her right hand out to rest on his shoulder. it's light, he could shrug it off if a physical tether to reality is too much.

life's not fair. that's always been more clipped realism than bully rhetoric for her. it's simple, it's the truth, and it's the first thing on the tip of her tongue. but it's also not useful here; not something he needs to be reminded of. he's not stupid, and he's allowed to feel. so instead, clarke just confirms low and quiet, ) I know.

( i know, i know, i know. a beat, then. )

You know you're not, right? Helpless. Even if you feel like you are, you're not alone here. And the only good part about never being able to go back to who you were before, is you get to decide who you become.

[pinballer]

[ Part of him wants to flinch away from the touch but he can't right now. Like it or not, he needs some affection so he lets himself take it.

Does it matter, he wonders, who he'll become if it all just ends in Nothing anyway? That's what he wants to say, but try as he might, he can't get it out. He's thinking it, all the damn time, but actually saying it feels like giving up. If he admits he thinks they're doomed, then maybe they will be. ]

What if I don't like it? [ He sniffles. A couple tears escape him. ] I mean - what if I'm too fucking broken to become anything I'd actually want to be?

[ The last thing he wants to be is a sniveling wimp who jumps at the sight of shadows in the corner. ]

[skaikru]

( this is so disgustingly late, feel free to ignore or hmu to handwave the rest of this, i'm so sorry )

( she's not immediately shaken off which is encouraging, but then those tears fall and —

it's always a tossup. feels like when you see someone crying, you ought to divert your gaze to give them the privacy to compose themselves. but also that you should stay fixed on this leak of emotion, honor it, allow the other to weep — no, purge — and reinforce that their pain and vulnerability doesn't scare you away. that the parts they've tapped down so far they're practically obscured in proverbial mud deserve to see the light of day again. the hand on his shoulder squeezes, then slides down to anchor around his wrist. )

You're not. And I can say that with the more certainty than I've said anything else in my life. Because, if you were? You wouldn't be asking that question. You'd have already stopped fighting and trying.

It may take you a few metamorphoses, Vance, but I fully believe you capable of finding that peace you deserve.