come_sailaway | Sword-Law [OPEN + Closed to Helena]

Sword-Law [OPEN + Closed to Helena]

Who: Erin Peters and YOU
When: Nov 11th & Onward
Where: Sports deck, Chatterbox, Various, Cabin 134
Summary: Catch-all, coping, and bothering people about magic
Warnings: Self-image issues & coping with them, likely discussions of violence and trauma, etc. Lass is a Changeling they go through some shit

A. There Is No Such Thing As A Sword [Sports Deck]

Erin tells herself she's not avoiding people. Look, she's still doing things around the ship, she's still eating out in public areas (nevermind her newfound preference for sushi, surely that has nothing to do with the way Mikabo seems half-abandoned after the slaughter on Halloween), she still makes her rounds to and from the library. She's not avoiding people. She's just recommitting to training, gotta keep up on it now that she's -

- You know, unwelcome on Tuesdays. Erin made her excuses to tactics class, nothing more accusatory than "I will no longer be able to attend due to unforeseen circumstances", and now she's haunting the sports deck just about every day but Tuesday, returning to it over and over. An hour here, two hours there, an entire day swallowed up just working on sword forms, soaking her clothes in sweat and stewing in her feelings with the only breaks being to get more snacks and water or, sometimes, juice raided from the bar.

If she's offered to spar with you before, you might get waved over if you find her here or show up on purpose after the pattern becomes obvious. Everyone else finds Erin uncharacteristically shy; a faint wave and then right back to drills.

But she's not avoiding people.

B. First Master Sweeping [Various]

Erin is, in fact, SO not avoiding people that she's decided to follow up on her desire to learn more about the magic of other worlds. There's so many folks she's wanted to talk to about this; Palamedes, Ylva, Skullduggery kinda (he hadn't seemed open to it but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?). And that's not even getting into the people she's had the chance to meet since the party or before. Got a missed connection? Erin's interested, and might even have reached out - near a mealtime, during a break in her training, caught you out and about with a bout of the ol' insomnia after the 12th or so, she's not picky.

There's a definite sense that Erin's trying to distract herself from something. She is far too ready to just let someone infodump. Hell, she'll sit and listen to you play videogames or watch a movie.

The Weak Swordsman Casts Aside His Blade [Chatterbox]

Fuck it, we're trying exposure therapy. Catch Erin at Chatterbox a couple of times a day, unable to work the machine but perfectly willing to take up the mic with no instrumentals and get used to the idea that people might, you know, see her perform. Leave her unattended and her strong voice will float out of the karaoke club doing deep cuts of The Birthday Massacre, Evanescence, Within Temptation, Ghost, and a shockingly deep and wide base of sea shanties & pirate metal, with only her boots to slam out the beat against the singing stage.

She'll be a bit nervous if you walk up. Offer a drink and let her sniff your hand, will you?

A Sword Is A Nearly Useless Tool [Decks, Late Night Nov 12th Onward]

The insomnia is back, and no wonder. Erin's nightmares went and hit the gym while she was helping Ruby and teamed up with the Everything in October, and given her unwillingness to either steal sleeping pills or give another inch to alcoholism the compromise has become wanderlust. She's not hard to hear; those boots clomp in her distinctive too-loud stride, her gunpowder sizzles, but she does do people the courtesy of being quiet until she's a decent distance from the cabins. They've got sleeping to do, after all.

If you find her near the railing you might catch her, every now and again, hurling a nickel with supernatural strength, straight into the barrier of this little world.

Flee From The Sword [Cabin 134, Closed to Helena; November 12th]

November 12th Erin stays in after her standing appointment with SecUnit. Well, mostly stays in; she arranges a welcome package for Helena of sweets raided from the buffet and the shops, cleans the room up with significant elbow grease (and even more significant swearing every time she whacks her head on the furniture, that's gonna suck), and tidies the furniture up out of the walkways. This accomplished, along with a shower because hard cleaning, in a fit of irony, does tend to make one dirty, she shoots a text to Helena.

The contract with Miss Ruby has expired and I am quite excited to welcome you to your cabin. My thanks again for your understanding. I have the room set up but I'll be waiting in here to assist with any changes you want or need made. Do not rush on my account I have books to read and things to think about. Looking forward to your arrival.

What Do You Think Of Death? [Tauva, November 20th]

Two days in Crabb's cabin, trying to calm down. Hiding, really, though one could say 'letting people cool off' or even just 'thinking about what to do'. But Erin can't hide forever, and she won't.

Anyone she has texting contact for gets the same message, clipped and to the point. She might not be replying to texts back:

I will be in Tauva all day if you need me.

Everyone else can find her there easily, camped at a table near the center of the room, filling up ash trays with the cigars she's nursing and peeling through the bar's supply of orange juice. Got something to say? Here she is. Ready.

Erin's saber hangs on the back of her chair, peacebonded. It's not like she needs it, strictly, but...

It's a comfort, in this trying time.

I Would Like To Tell You That I Am A Noodle Vendor [Wildcard]

I'm available via Discord for any other ideas!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The only text Erin gets in response is:

ues,,

The response might have been an accident. But she did see the text, at least, and a little later she comes into Tauva, nose wrinkled a little against the smell of cigars, hands on her hips.

"You've been hiding," she says, abandoning any pretense of greeting.

Erin winces. "I needed time to calm down. And...to let everyone else calm down."

It's not a denial. Erin is tired already but the talks - with Ruby, with Valdis, with Phil even - have been so helpful. And yet that newfound confidence, so new and raw, is troubled by the realization that it's going to hurt badly if her friendship with Ylva dies here.

"I'm not hiding any more. It's...it's nice to see you again, Ylva."

Edited 2022-11-25 00:13 (UTC)

"... I want to say it's nice to see you, too. But. Oh, Erin."

Is she angry or disappointed? She's not sure, herself. Her gaze flicks to the sword -- she's left her own behind, unfortunately, but that doesn't exactly mean she's unarmed -- and she sits down, leaving a seat empty between them.

"You're not... you're not really a slaver, are you? Please tell me that's not true."

"I could say it isn't and it would be technically true but that's semantics, and I'm not going to play those games." Erin stubs out her cigar, not wanting to make Ylva any more uncomfortable than she strictly has to. Is Ylva someone who needs the whole story, the way Crabb and Cass did, the way Phil demanded to have it?

...Maybe...

But for now Erin continues the explanation she's started. "I was, for a very long time. If you want to measure from my first attack, I was a slaver, mercenary, contract killer, sex worker, and sorceress between the ages of seventeen and forty-two. Just about thirty years. At first it was just to escape my own chains, to make..." It almost seems like she's going to stop, until Erin makes a frustrated noise at herself. "It wasn't a choice I made solely of my own free will. But it is one I made worse, for a long time. I thought the world was cruel and unloving and I became something fit for such a world."

"Not everything on that list is terrible," Ylva points out. She's frowning, a more thoughtful sort of frown than anything else. "Or even as terrible as slavery."

She leans on her arm, watching Erin closely, her expression intent, wary, the look of a wild animal trying to work out if something unfamiliar is prey or a threat or a friend. "And that's... kind of a long time to do that sort of thing."

"Yeah," Erin whispers, her voice hollow and ashamed. "Yeah, it is. Almost my entire life, Ylva. About a year and a half before I came here a hero defeated me, knowing what I was. Hell, I'd tried to kidnap him too. Anything he might have done to me would have been justice, but instead he...he pleaded with me, to be better. To believe I could be better. To try living in a world that's beautiful, and abundant, with people who are good and kind. I said yes. I got help. Now...I'm here. And I'm never going to be that person again."

She takes in a shaky breath. "...I know it's gonna sound like covering my ass now, but...I'd been planning, originally, to try to tell everyone. Every horrifying detail. I thought...I was convinced that if I didn't, I was lying to everyone. Tricking them, making them accept me on false pretenses. Johnny and Bash talked me around to the idea that trying to make everyone hear the horrors of my past was cruel to them, so I gave that plan up. Committed to just...trying to be the person I want to be."

"...I'm sorry."

"... I mean, I don't think I'm the one you need to apologise to."

She's still frowning, still watching Erin carefully. "I don't expect you to tell me everything. I mean, we're friends, I hope, but we haven't known each other that long. And I've killed people, I've been a, a," Ylva pauses, trying to remember the word she's heard recently that she really liked, "a sellsword. Though I don't think I've killed anyone who didn't try to kill me first. But slavery is something else entirely. Slavery is."

She exhales slowly. "If I'd met you when you were doing that, I probably would've tried to kill you."

"I would have had it coming." Erin runs a hand through her hair, a terrible exhaustion hitting her all at the same time. "I can try to explain but nothing excuses me, Ylva. I don't..."

Her voice gets very small. "Phil wanted the whole story. So I told him, every detail, every horror. And it hurt him. I could feel it hurting him. I don't want to hide anything but I don't want to hurt you too. And I'm not. Sure how to do both."

Please believe me. Please.

"It's that bad?" Her frown deepens, and she shifts in her seat, twisting towards Erin. She's quiet for a moment, trying to think what to ask -- and she probably should ask something, surely. She has a lot of questions, but most of them are things she probably can't actually say aloud.

"I want to know why," she says at last. "You don't need to tell me everything, I guess, at least not today, but... why?"

Erin nods, just once. It's still some time before she speaks. She has to organize her thoughts, has to find a way to be honest without slicing her friend's heart on the knives of her past.

Why, though. Why is easy.

"...You talked before about the ways humans are senselessly cruel to each other," Erin begins, her voice low. "When I was a girl I was raised by a loving family. I really was. We didn't have a lot of money, but I got accepted into a school for the rich, the noble, the powerful, because I was supposed to be smart and hardworking. They promised the chance to get the best learning money could buy, for free, because they were so impressed with me. My parents were so proud. So excited at the idea that I might have a better future than they ever thought they could give me. It turned bad so fast. The other students, themselves children, they didn't think I belonged there, that I'd forgotten my place, that I needed, fucking. Reminding." The last word comes out as a growl, full of old hurt, and old hate. "Every day they hurt me. Mocked me. Beat me. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. When I was thirteen I tried to summon a demon to make them stop, but what showed up instead was a god. The Patriarch of Unhallowed Silence, the god of the unholy quiet when all you have are your awful thoughts and the promise of worse to come. He took me far from my home, to a world he'd created himself, and he turned me into a fucking lantern fueled by my own hatred."

Erin takes a shuddering breath in. A slow breath out. On reflex she starts to reach towards Ylva, to silently ask for the comfort of a hand, and when she remembers herself she puts that hand down on the table, pressing it hard and flat so she won't forget not to move it.

"He kept me alone, in a dark tower, with only my hate to see by. If it flagged, if I started to give in to despair, he would hurt me. Violate me. Beat me, starve me, cut me. He used his power to ensure I couldn't scar when I healed, changed my body to make me something pleasing to look at. When he threw balls and dances for his fellow gods he would trot me out and say behold, I have turned this human into a Thing That Hates. Marvel at it. Applaud the beauty of my slave. And then, when I got back into my cell, he would show me one of my tormentors and shower blessings on them and make me watch their happy lives while I sat in chains with his touch still burnt on my skin."

"...I tried to escape only once. He caught me, and he told me: work for me, and you can go free. Crush the weak for me, and I will take you home. Help me get ahead and I will permit you your liberty. And I thought, if a god, in the heart of his power, if a divinity of this cruel world still needs to step on people to get ahead...how could I be so arrogant as to think I was different? I was no god. I was just vermin. I was just the Thing That Hates. So I said yes. It all started from there, Ylva. From the moment he called me what he made me to be, and I said 'yes, I am', so that I could go home."

She listens, and she doesn't stop frowning. Honestly, this only solidifies her general feeling that gods, and those would would call themselves gods, are bullshit -- not in that they don't exist, because obviously they do, but in that they're not worth paying attention to, for the most part.

Ylva has a particular horror of captivity of any degree, but this is worse than she usually imagines.

"It... doesn't sound like you had much of a choice, at the time," she says. "Either way, you were still his slave."

"That's what they tried to tell me at home too. And maybe I didn't have a choice then, but...at some point I'm culpable. I grew up, I became an adult and I was still doing dirty work. It's hard not to look at all the chances I might have taken to stop and not blame myself. I hurt...a lot of people. People who didn't do me wrong."

Erin takes a shaky breath. "I'm going to be better. In some ways maybe I already am but...I want to be a good person. But I'm not gonna sit here and demand that people believe that."

For a moment, Ylva sits, staring with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what she thinks. She's been sitting a whole chair away, but abruptly she shifts to occupy the empty chair between them, instead.

"I mean. So far it seems like you're doing a good job of being better. And that counts for something. It's not everything, but it's. It's something." Her eyes flash, and she smacks the table with her palm. Which is probably not a great idea, since that will make everything rattle.

Erin jolts. A hand strays towards her knives, but she grabs her own wrist and freezes in place.

Unmoving and scared.

"Oh, uh. Sorry. Sorry."

Ylva leans back, caught between the urge to look away in shame and the instinct to keep a close eye on Erin and her knives. Just in case. "That was. Probably a bad idea, wasn't it?"

Erin lets out a slow and shaky breath and puts her hands on the table. "...You're fine. I promised Crabb and Cass I'd run if anyone offered violence. No one has so far, but...I'm still. Kinda expecting it. And..."

(Just tell her.)

"...And I'm scared that this might be the end of our friendship. I don't want that, but I can't. Really object if it is."

"I don't want that either."

Ylva lays her head down on the table, resting her cheek on the surface so she can look at Erin. "If you're trying, if you're honestly trying, and I think you are because you've been honestly really good, then I think you should get that chance. I'm not going to say you don't get that chance. I'm not going to be that person."

The relief hits Erin right in the chest. She tries not to sob and only succeeds enough to let out a little hiccup. She tries a shaky breath, holding it in to keep her composure. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, it's -

The exhale has the sob she forced down. Erin offers her hand to Ylva, palm up, just about halfway between them.

"I - th-thank you, I - ffuck, gimmie a second -"

She grabs Erin's hand firmly, and squeezes.

Erin better not be lying. That would be just heartbreaking, and then they'd probably have to fight about it, and she does not, actually, want to fight Erin over anything. But for right now, she'll hold her hand and be patient.

It takes.

A while.

For Erin to fight back the ugly crying that very badly wants to happen, to get her composure. She only really finds success by latching on to another train of thought, the promise she'd made earlier.

"B-before I forget," deep breath. Long exhale. "The man you're looking for is Johnny Summer. Short guy, dark hair, cat eyes. He's at the bars a lot. He's...very excited to meet you. Getting married here soon. Ossie might also come find you, he's a friend."

The name is familiar, if only second-hand; she's got her invitation and she's met César at least. She's never been to a wedding, but it sounds intriguing, at the very least.

"Okay. I'll go looking for him. Introduce myself."

For right now, Ylva rubs Erin's back reassuringly with her free hand.

"...It's okay. If you're m-mad at me, I'm mad at me."

Being comforted here was not on Erin's list of expectations, not even after Ruby; she's not sure what to do with it. Some part of her, bitter and worn, feels like she's somehow taking advantage of Ylva's sympathy.

"I don't think I'm mad," she says, slowly. She doesn't stop. "That's not the right word. You did awful things, but you were a tool for someone else. And you stopped. And as long as you keep on having stopped, and you mean it, then I can't be mad at you."

Erin nods. Nods again because she doesn't trust herself to speak. She just, breathes, for a while, marveling that Ylva touching her like this feels safe...

(Oh. Oh no.)

That's a later problem, a later problem okay -

(Yeah no you're right that's definitely a later problem.)

"Never again," Erin promises. "Not ever. Not for blood or money or even to survive. I...I want to be part of this community. To be...to be happy. To help other people be happy, to...to...to live in a world where no one else ends up like me."

"Well, we'll at least give you a chance for that. That seems fair, I mean. All you've been through, you at least get a chance at something else. And I think that sounds like a good goal."

Ylva sighs, because she's not half so sure as she's trying to convince herself, but she can't see doing anything else, either.

Sword-Law [OPEN + Closed to Helena]

What Do You Think of Death?

Re: What Do You Think of Death?

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