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inbox @ comesailaway
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
( shiptalk | direct messages | group messages | action )
( despite her offer to regress to childhood school desks and communicate via notes folded and passed between them —... in the end, it doesn't really feel like it'd matter. the paper and pen were made by the captain just like the wall, right? if they're living on one living, maybe-breathing sensor pad with spy wires in every corner, than privacy and secrecy were just illusions. they were going to have to form a plan regardless, and can't let the looming threat of being overheard prevent this small scale rebellion from moving forward.
perhaps most importantly — )
I don't think we could say anything he hasn't heard before. And I don't think he cares about our conversations, and I don't think he believes he can be killed. So.
( they just have to count on that ego to be his foil. )
...actually, I bet he'd find it hilarious if we tried.
perhaps most importantly — )
I don't think we could say anything he hasn't heard before. And I don't think he cares about our conversations, and I don't think he believes he can be killed. So.
( they just have to count on that ego to be his foil. )
...actually, I bet he'd find it hilarious if we tried.
Fair enough. [ he isn't exactly the type to be super paranoid anyway, so. ] Miss Jenny had tried many times as well, didn't she? It's true, he'll be expecting attacks either way. We simply have to be a lot more serious about it now.
So-- [ taking a notebook and a pen, he simply taps it to paper for now, not quite writing anything down; admittedly, he's a bard, he does spoken-word stories, would be less of a visual learner or teacher. but clarke's notes are undoubtedly useful. ] I may offer a few ideas, but I'd surely like to hear yours too.
We've had our first excursion and met our Captain for the first time. We didn't know he would be at the party so I understand we all tried to talk to or attack him without much of a plan in mind.
Now, afterwards, what are your immediate thoughts? Or ideas, for a second try against him.
So-- [ taking a notebook and a pen, he simply taps it to paper for now, not quite writing anything down; admittedly, he's a bard, he does spoken-word stories, would be less of a visual learner or teacher. but clarke's notes are undoubtedly useful. ] I may offer a few ideas, but I'd surely like to hear yours too.
We've had our first excursion and met our Captain for the first time. We didn't know he would be at the party so I understand we all tried to talk to or attack him without much of a plan in mind.
Now, afterwards, what are your immediate thoughts? Or ideas, for a second try against him.
( clarke's tired, but never too tired to theorize a battle plan honestly. venti's got the notebook and pen in hand, and they fall into the easily determined role of storyteller and scribe as she finally slumps on the cabin's couch like a sack of potatoes. this is all just stream of consciousness coming out of her mouth as she tips her head back and looks at the ceiling, occasionally gesturing with empty palms. )
Alright, immediate thoughts? He validated most of the things we'd already assumed. Wants us to hurt, it makes him stronger, it fuels this fantasy. But mostly he does it because he's bored, and has been long enough that he's... maybe forgotten his own name. Or what he even was before becoming smoke and sadism. I don't... think he's a human anymore, even if maybe he started out that way.
Ebalon ( ew ) threw a spear from a distance. The girl with the sword didn't offer much preamble either. John Watson was angry and spoiling for a fight from what I could see. I sat down at the table and tried to engage him in conversation first. I asked him questions about himself because we know he's proud, and tried to pose challenges because Gal Friday told me he liked challenges. I asked him if he wanted to do something fun — ( let's not talk about her offer to be willingly vivisected, okay? ) — but he didn't seem interested.
( she'd also tried so, so hard not to show how much everything around them and every word out of either of their mouths bothered her. but can't properly put that into a bullet point for this growing list. )
And I... I had a knife in my dress. I always have my gun. But I thought maybe if I didn't reach for them and was talking about something vile, he wouldn't see it coming. So I used those stupid little tongs instead...
( it's ridiculous now she's saying it out loud. but hey, in the moment it had felt perfectly valid. venti himself had pushed the need for surprise, she'd just been listening to the word of god. a brief lapse in conversation before clarke tries to move onto better notes. )
Maybe that was something he'd never been hit with before? And he wanted to see what it would be like. I don't know.
Not that it did any good, he doesn't have a skull or brain like I would have expected from something that looks so human. I — did you see? The wound? Inside was pitch black, so dark it hurt to look at. There was barely any resistance, and he never stopped smiling. I don't think he even flinched. Then he told me if I touched it — the blackness — it'd probably be deadly.
So... I don't know. Even when he's real, he's not real. But when I touched his chest, I felt something in there. So, it's not like he's all empty, it's...
( talk yourself in circles for long enough, and eventually you have to do a full 360. clarke sits up a little bit, like a miniature big bang of revelation just sounded off in the back of her skull. okay, one new thought from her failure, at least. )
Next time, he just needs to be solid, distracted, and we need to go for the heart.
Alright, immediate thoughts? He validated most of the things we'd already assumed. Wants us to hurt, it makes him stronger, it fuels this fantasy. But mostly he does it because he's bored, and has been long enough that he's... maybe forgotten his own name. Or what he even was before becoming smoke and sadism. I don't... think he's a human anymore, even if maybe he started out that way.
Ebalon ( ew ) threw a spear from a distance. The girl with the sword didn't offer much preamble either. John Watson was angry and spoiling for a fight from what I could see. I sat down at the table and tried to engage him in conversation first. I asked him questions about himself because we know he's proud, and tried to pose challenges because Gal Friday told me he liked challenges. I asked him if he wanted to do something fun — ( let's not talk about her offer to be willingly vivisected, okay? ) — but he didn't seem interested.
( she'd also tried so, so hard not to show how much everything around them and every word out of either of their mouths bothered her. but can't properly put that into a bullet point for this growing list. )
And I... I had a knife in my dress. I always have my gun. But I thought maybe if I didn't reach for them and was talking about something vile, he wouldn't see it coming. So I used those stupid little tongs instead...
( it's ridiculous now she's saying it out loud. but hey, in the moment it had felt perfectly valid. venti himself had pushed the need for surprise, she'd just been listening to the word of god. a brief lapse in conversation before clarke tries to move onto better notes. )
Maybe that was something he'd never been hit with before? And he wanted to see what it would be like. I don't know.
Not that it did any good, he doesn't have a skull or brain like I would have expected from something that looks so human. I — did you see? The wound? Inside was pitch black, so dark it hurt to look at. There was barely any resistance, and he never stopped smiling. I don't think he even flinched. Then he told me if I touched it — the blackness — it'd probably be deadly.
So... I don't know. Even when he's real, he's not real. But when I touched his chest, I felt something in there. So, it's not like he's all empty, it's...
( talk yourself in circles for long enough, and eventually you have to do a full 360. clarke sits up a little bit, like a miniature big bang of revelation just sounded off in the back of her skull. okay, one new thought from her failure, at least. )
Next time, he just needs to be solid, distracted, and we need to go for the heart.
Edited 2022-05-21 06:13 (UTC)
[ he listens with the patience and quiet studiousness of, possibly, a storyteller with attention to a warrior recounting a tale of battle. in this case it might just be accurate enough: the enemy is an almost complete unknown with power they could barely comprehend, someone who had already succeeded in slaughtering all his opponents even indirectly like this through a forced killing game--except natsuno, technically. by now death itself could be treated like this, a factor in the battle instead of a full stop--but they needed to put a full stop to the captain.
Selectively intangible goes to the top of the paper: probably the most important issue, if the captain isn't physical, he can't be attacked.
perhaps. ]
We can see that he can either transform into smoke or simply be incorporeal at his discretion. It's likely that he allowed you to land a blow on him; it's arrogant of him, even if he wasn't truly wounded. Even if we don't know what exactly his... constitution is, we can consider attacking the void inside him or something else. [ the captain is a body after all, even if he contains or is made up of... something completely different. ] I would guess that if you attack his heart there might be that same void, but if you felt something different in there, it's worth trying. It might require that knife of yours rather than a blunt object when you struck his head.
Now, for my idea...
Have you considered attacking or containing him while he's incorporeal, as smoke?
[ his smile at her is small, encouraging. even still, he doesn't prefer to lead or be a vanguard. he had always been support, gentle guidance as the wind; a hint of his idea brushes to reach to her in the form of a small breeze from him, carried with a single white feather.
there is another one of them that could turn incorporeal besides the captain. ]
Selectively intangible goes to the top of the paper: probably the most important issue, if the captain isn't physical, he can't be attacked.
perhaps. ]
We can see that he can either transform into smoke or simply be incorporeal at his discretion. It's likely that he allowed you to land a blow on him; it's arrogant of him, even if he wasn't truly wounded. Even if we don't know what exactly his... constitution is, we can consider attacking the void inside him or something else. [ the captain is a body after all, even if he contains or is made up of... something completely different. ] I would guess that if you attack his heart there might be that same void, but if you felt something different in there, it's worth trying. It might require that knife of yours rather than a blunt object when you struck his head.
Now, for my idea...
Have you considered attacking or containing him while he's incorporeal, as smoke?
[ his smile at her is small, encouraging. even still, he doesn't prefer to lead or be a vanguard. he had always been support, gentle guidance as the wind; a hint of his idea brushes to reach to her in the form of a small breeze from him, carried with a single white feather.
there is another one of them that could turn incorporeal besides the captain. ]
( sometimes, all it takes is a light breeze and gentle prodding. the sight of that feather drifting across an unnatural current of air towards her face is at first just something beautiful and mindful to watch. but implications sink down to her bones, and there are times clarke really is more dog with a bone between her teeth or a scent dancing around her nose — interest immediately peaked, and sitting up straighter.
that's a new idea. one she wouldn't have ever thought of herself, honestly.
and what's more, she's not stuck on the question of how do you fight smoke? not grasping at straws with the same human failings that couldn't figure out how to fight a wave of fire or stop death. no, she has a source here to ask for specifics. clarke looks at venti carefully, momentarily if she has to tiptoe around the fact he might be divulging his own weaknesses and promise not to use them against him. but ultimately, she needs to know — )
Would that work on you?
that's a new idea. one she wouldn't have ever thought of herself, honestly.
and what's more, she's not stuck on the question of how do you fight smoke? not grasping at straws with the same human failings that couldn't figure out how to fight a wave of fire or stop death. no, she has a source here to ask for specifics. clarke looks at venti carefully, momentarily if she has to tiptoe around the fact he might be divulging his own weaknesses and promise not to use them against him. but ultimately, she needs to know — )
Would that work on you?
I'm fine.
( physically at least, as he's already noted. clarke's mentality is a whole other bag of cats currently, and she's struggling to parse out her own feelings to herself let alone anyone else. she's tired, she's sad, she feels a little bit hopeless, a little bit scared, she's in a pit of self loathing over her own failures, and — )
But I'm angry too. I wish I'd been able to do at least some sort of damage.
( physically at least, as he's already noted. clarke's mentality is a whole other bag of cats currently, and she's struggling to parse out her own feelings to herself let alone anyone else. she's tired, she's sad, she feels a little bit hopeless, a little bit scared, she's in a pit of self loathing over her own failures, and — )
But I'm angry too. I wish I'd been able to do at least some sort of damage.
I think the stakes are clear enough. Either we beat him, or we all die and he starts all over with another group.
( it's not her first time fighting inevitable, unstoppable forces that went unseen save for the effects they had on humanity. likening the captain's smokey, intangible form to the death wave of radiation that had swept across her earth doesn't seem that inaccurate. but that parallel brings the unpleasant realization that they hadn't beaten death there. just tried their best, put as many safety measures and sheets of concrete between themselves and nuclear decomposition as humanly possible, and even then had only managed to save a fraction of the species. more had died than had been saved.
she'd died, most likely. and been brought back to fight another battle that couldn't be won.
it stung. all the peace she'd managed to make with death in those last few minutes undermined now that dying wasn't even an option anymore. not with any sort of permanence — peaceful or otherwise. )
But I don't know what to do either.
( also hello flynn, welcome to a first row seat for clarke griffin's textual breakdown. )
I have been trying so hard, all the time. I made maps and a passenger manifest, I made a speech on the island, I got bombs so I could try to blow up the bridge. I learned how to play blackjack, I tried teaching people how to shoot. And when it comes down to killing a person — a thing, a monster — I couldn't even do that right. I'm not
I don't
Have you made friends here yet? I didn't mean to, but I did — and now I can't protect them from the captain or even the other passengers he brought here. I still don't understand how magic works, I lost a kidney. And I wouldn't mind dying permanently for this cause, but I need it to mean something this time.
( it's not her first time fighting inevitable, unstoppable forces that went unseen save for the effects they had on humanity. likening the captain's smokey, intangible form to the death wave of radiation that had swept across her earth doesn't seem that inaccurate. but that parallel brings the unpleasant realization that they hadn't beaten death there. just tried their best, put as many safety measures and sheets of concrete between themselves and nuclear decomposition as humanly possible, and even then had only managed to save a fraction of the species. more had died than had been saved.
she'd died, most likely. and been brought back to fight another battle that couldn't be won.
it stung. all the peace she'd managed to make with death in those last few minutes undermined now that dying wasn't even an option anymore. not with any sort of permanence — peaceful or otherwise. )
But I don't know what to do either.
( also hello flynn, welcome to a first row seat for clarke griffin's textual breakdown. )
I have been trying so hard, all the time. I made maps and a passenger manifest, I made a speech on the island, I got bombs so I could try to blow up the bridge. I learned how to play blackjack, I tried teaching people how to shoot. And when it comes down to killing a person — a thing, a monster — I couldn't even do that right. I'm not
I don't
Have you made friends here yet? I didn't mean to, but I did — and now I can't protect them from the captain or even the other passengers he brought here. I still don't understand how magic works, I lost a kidney. And I wouldn't mind dying permanently for this cause, but I need it to mean something this time.
Edited 2022-05-22 03:04 (UTC)
[ a few more notes, after thinking more about what clarke says--under a little 'captain' subheader: likes challenges, potentially deadly void, something within his chest--
clarke's question is perfectly legitimate though, he actually cocks his head a bit in thought. ] Would what work, exactly? [ well, he has a few ideas for trying to combat the captain as smoke but actually... this is a good question, he'd never considered something or someone trying to capture himself. ]
Hm~ you know, I've never quite been attacked as wind. Not many people back home know I was their god, most don't even believe me when I told them. [ because. look at him. does he look like god material at all. imagine being a country's deity and being a slacking drunkard, who would want him as their god? ] But wind and smoke are two different beasts, I'd imagine. Winds can disperse, but also gather.
[ a lift of his hand brings something new, rather than feathers: a swirl of invisible void, a pull of gravity and air towards the draw of space above his palm. an ability he'd actually only shown to one other person on the ship.
and he could make a void considerably stronger than this. ]
clarke's question is perfectly legitimate though, he actually cocks his head a bit in thought. ] Would what work, exactly? [ well, he has a few ideas for trying to combat the captain as smoke but actually... this is a good question, he'd never considered something or someone trying to capture himself. ]
Hm~ you know, I've never quite been attacked as wind. Not many people back home know I was their god, most don't even believe me when I told them. [ because. look at him. does he look like god material at all. imagine being a country's deity and being a slacking drunkard, who would want him as their god? ] But wind and smoke are two different beasts, I'd imagine. Winds can disperse, but also gather.
[ a lift of his hand brings something new, rather than feathers: a swirl of invisible void, a pull of gravity and air towards the draw of space above his palm. an ability he'd actually only shown to one other person on the ship.
and he could make a void considerably stronger than this. ]
Edited 2022-05-22 04:59 (UTC)
There's a dead girl sitting in the rafters.
In the struts above the outside deck, somewhere she can watch people coming and going. There's someone in particular she's been waiting for, and it's only a matter of time before she passes through. When Clarke walks this way, Darcy will flop down, dangling suspended from the struts by her legs like a trapezist.
"You managed to get a hit on the captain."
Technically Darcy did too, except that the stab didn't stick.
In the struts above the outside deck, somewhere she can watch people coming and going. There's someone in particular she's been waiting for, and it's only a matter of time before she passes through. When Clarke walks this way, Darcy will flop down, dangling suspended from the struts by her legs like a trapezist.
"You managed to get a hit on the captain."
Technically Darcy did too, except that the stab didn't stick.
( she can't blame the people of mondstadt; she's right there with them, only convinced of venti's godhood because it serves her purpose — and who would lie about being a failed deity while also offering to serve themselves up as a brand new toy to a god-collecting sadist? it ultimately won't ever matter what venti looks like. nor how much he drinks. nor how much he runs away.
if he's there when she needs him to be, almost all other shortcomings can be forgiven.
it's on the tip of clarke's tongue to ask if they could try bottling his airy form — to ask what it would take, how long it would last, what they'd need to accomplish it, if it'd be enough to trap something so powerful instead of killing it outright... but then there's a suck of air within the room. like a breeze originating from the wall behind her, pulling her undivided attention — and any loose strands of hair into an erratic dance — towards venti and his magics.
it'll never get old. seeing something that so expressly didn't exist in her world. much like flying with his glider attached to her shoulders, this experience is other-worldly enough that it almost doesn't feel real — power pulsating just a few feet from her, and most notably not meant to cause any harm. yet. maybe. a void is a void, and like humans have questioned black holes for centuries, clarke has to wonder what's at the center of it.
but instead of asking what happens to something passing through that windy void, clarke just... finds a stray pen on the coffee table in front of her. and throws it at the warped spot of air hovering above venti's palm. )
if he's there when she needs him to be, almost all other shortcomings can be forgiven.
it's on the tip of clarke's tongue to ask if they could try bottling his airy form — to ask what it would take, how long it would last, what they'd need to accomplish it, if it'd be enough to trap something so powerful instead of killing it outright... but then there's a suck of air within the room. like a breeze originating from the wall behind her, pulling her undivided attention — and any loose strands of hair into an erratic dance — towards venti and his magics.
it'll never get old. seeing something that so expressly didn't exist in her world. much like flying with his glider attached to her shoulders, this experience is other-worldly enough that it almost doesn't feel real — power pulsating just a few feet from her, and most notably not meant to cause any harm. yet. maybe. a void is a void, and like humans have questioned black holes for centuries, clarke has to wonder what's at the center of it.
but instead of asking what happens to something passing through that windy void, clarke just... finds a stray pen on the coffee table in front of her. and throws it at the warped spot of air hovering above venti's palm. )
[ the void does indeed catch the pen, sending it spinning like the axis of a gyroscope; his look at her is mildly amused, but indeed with the understanding that this must be a power or phenomenon new and foreign to her. there are the blessings of gods in his own world that would bestow elemental ability to people: those visions he'd talked about, those too blessed with wind, venti's own element, could also create void like this. wind, air--and the manipulation for even the lack of it in a space like this. but as the once-god of it he could intensify it further.
also speaking of visions, his is noticeably gone now if she might look, but he never needed it anyway. ]
It's my Wind's Grand Ode. I could strengthen it until it could lift people, or even several. [ or even more than that; in eras past he could throw mountains out to sea, terraform a country, the voids he could create could be as devastating. such incredible power was lost as he disappeared from sight in his own country, when of course faith in an absent god may falter.
the void flickers then indeed intensifies as if with a blink of black space like an eye within a storm, the pen cracks in half, papers ruffle and threaten to tear off the wall.
and then he closes his hand and the grand ode whispers into nothingness with a sigh of wind, as the broken pen falls to his lap. ]
I can't say whether I could contain the Captain, but I would certainly try.
also speaking of visions, his is noticeably gone now if she might look, but he never needed it anyway. ]
It's my Wind's Grand Ode. I could strengthen it until it could lift people, or even several. [ or even more than that; in eras past he could throw mountains out to sea, terraform a country, the voids he could create could be as devastating. such incredible power was lost as he disappeared from sight in his own country, when of course faith in an absent god may falter.
the void flickers then indeed intensifies as if with a blink of black space like an eye within a storm, the pen cracks in half, papers ruffle and threaten to tear off the wall.
and then he closes his hand and the grand ode whispers into nothingness with a sigh of wind, as the broken pen falls to his lap. ]
I can't say whether I could contain the Captain, but I would certainly try.
Edited 2022-05-22 08:07 (UTC)
( the gladiator reference
and down here's clarke's head. )
Entertained enough to finally meet with us, I guess. Apparently that usually takes years to happen. But not entertained enough to grant us clemency.
I can't imagine that, if he does this over and over, it can ever be really entertaining. Seems like he's feeding his own boredom by following the same script each time.
and down here's clarke's head. )
Entertained enough to finally meet with us, I guess. Apparently that usually takes years to happen. But not entertained enough to grant us clemency.
I can't imagine that, if he does this over and over, it can ever be really entertaining. Seems like he's feeding his own boredom by following the same script each time.
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