[he told Darcy he would talk to the Captain, but truthfully, he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do. he has no idea what to say and barely any idea of how he feels about it. he reminds himself that it isn't a matter of his feelings; Darcy told him because it's another missing puzzle piece, one she isn't equipped to solve. it isn't about feelings. nobody cares about that. not when literally everything is on the line.
he puts it off until one predawn morning, when he finds himself staring at a luminous crack in reality, far too similar to the one he had been pulled through another lifetime ago. he thinks he might be hallucinating it, but knowing everything that's happened these past few weeks, he won't put money on that.
so, he comes to the bridge with a subjectively safer line of questioning. one he'll start as soon as he's inside, because obviously he can just come in, right?]
Did you know there's a crack forming outside of the Chatterbox?
[he's just doing what he's normally doing, i.e. hanging upside down off the couch watching something on tv, which in this case happens to be marat/sade.]
... That sounds like a Friday problem. [i.e. any problem at all, ever.]
As usual. [a short sigh] I haven't been able to track her down myself. Besides... You've put too much responsibility on her. Between you not caring about anything and the other passengers mucking around with necromancy and sigils, I'm surprised she hasn't imploded.
Somebody has to worry about it, other than the construct designed to do so.
[he almost goes into a blow-by-blow retelling of all the myriad awful information he's learned since the carnival, but he's forced to remember that there are some things the Captain can't know. and that...
...well, it sucks. because the only other thing to talk about is the Captain's deathwish, and his absolute lack of motivation. it's something Skulduggery would rather work around than confront head-on.
he sighs again.]
We either talk about the rifts forming in midair on the promenade, or we talk about what you said to Darcy. It's up to you which problem we deal with first.
Fine, I'll make the decision for you. There are things going on around the ship that you are choosing to leave to Friday, and you shouldn't. She cannot handle all of the work, and even if she could, this ship is full of reckless morons who touch magic symbols without thinking and try to summon ghosts that eat people.
[without the threat of Vile keeping him in check, the stress is free to leak out.]
About this big, like a crack in a windshield. [he makes a rift-sized shape in the air with his hands.] Impossible to see through to whatever is on the other side. If there is another side.
[visibly mulling it over. he's even taken his eyes off the screen.]
Now, that is actually rather odd. It's not a form of magic I've dealt with in quite a long time, for obvious reasons... And Miss Fio, her use isn't generally done with any sort of purposeful intent, like this would require...
[furrows brow]
But, off the top of my head, I can't recall any other current passenger having much of an affinity for dream magic.
[well, damn. there's the brick wall at the end of that brief diversion from the other elephant in the room. the mere mention of the word dreams sets off internal claxons, and even thinking about it around the Captain feels needlessly dangerous. maybe he's just worried about opening his big mouth and making a bigger mess.
still. like an early-generation screensaver, Skulduggery is capable of pivoting before smashing headlong into a building.]
We've seen first-hand how much trouble previous passengers can cause, so let's not be too quick to write them out. Or... maybe it's something leaking from the crew cabins. God knows what mess was made of that. If there's even a mess to make back there... For all I know, it's a swirling lightless void. Can't really make a mess of that.
[he's realizing there are a lot of things he's not sure he can tell the Captain about. Fio's dreams, Friday's reactions, the flesh-eating ghost, the sigils... hell, he hasn't even mentioned the leis again, not since the first time he brought them up a year ago. so, you know. when in doubt, ramble semi-coherently.]
Oh, good. So there's nothing back there? Just empty quarters for the crew that's supposed to be here? Nothing special about it to warrant sigils specifically guarding it or anything like that?
There was Bruce Willis, but I don't think he counts.
I can't tell if this is your normal level of distraction, or if there's magical interference. If it's the former, I'll be blunter. If it's the latter... then we are going to have to figure out what you are allowed to know around here.
[torn between slapping the Captain upside the head and leaving before he says something he'll regret, Skulduggery remains standing by the door, crossing his arms.]
You're being an ass. Is it because you don't want to take responsibility for anything? Or are you simply hoping that if you overwhelm Friday, you can use her failures as an excuse? "The universe doesn't want me to live, otherwise the ship's sole support wouldn't have collapsed under the weight of all my shirked responsibilities?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[the bridge] at the event start
he puts it off until one predawn morning, when he finds himself staring at a luminous crack in reality, far too similar to the one he had been pulled through another lifetime ago. he thinks he might be hallucinating it, but knowing everything that's happened these past few weeks, he won't put money on that.
so, he comes to the bridge with a subjectively safer line of questioning. one he'll start as soon as he's inside, because obviously he can just come in, right?]
Did you know there's a crack forming outside of the Chatterbox?
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... That sounds like a Friday problem. [i.e. any problem at all, ever.]
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... She's certainly around. I wouldn't worry about it. It's not like she requires a physical body to do her job.
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[he almost goes into a blow-by-blow retelling of all the myriad awful information he's learned since the carnival, but he's forced to remember that there are some things the Captain can't know. and that...
...well, it sucks. because the only other thing to talk about is the Captain's deathwish, and his absolute lack of motivation. it's something Skulduggery would rather work around than confront head-on.
he sighs again.]
We either talk about the rifts forming in midair on the promenade, or we talk about what you said to Darcy. It's up to you which problem we deal with first.
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[without the threat of Vile keeping him in check, the stress is free to leak out.]
So. What are these rifts?
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Well, what do they look like, exactly? Terribly vague description...
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[he makes a rift-sized shape in the air with his hands.] Impossible to see through to whatever is on the other side. If there is another side.
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[visibly mulling it over. he's even taken his eyes off the screen.]
Now, that is actually rather odd. It's not a form of magic I've dealt with in quite a long time, for obvious reasons... And Miss Fio, her use isn't generally done with any sort of purposeful intent, like this would require...
[furrows brow]
But, off the top of my head, I can't recall any other current passenger having much of an affinity for dream magic.
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still. like an early-generation screensaver, Skulduggery is capable of pivoting before smashing headlong into a building.]
We've seen first-hand how much trouble previous passengers can cause, so let's not be too quick to write them out. Or... maybe it's something leaking from the crew cabins. God knows what mess was made of that. If there's even a mess to make back there... For all I know, it's a swirling lightless void. Can't really make a mess of that.
[he's realizing there are a lot of things he's not sure he can tell the Captain about. Fio's dreams, Friday's reactions, the flesh-eating ghost, the sigils... hell, he hasn't even mentioned the leis again, not since the first time he brought them up a year ago. so, you know. when in doubt, ramble semi-coherently.]
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I did just put those there because they ought to be there. I don't think they're very important, in the grand scheme of things.
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Oh, good. So there's nothing back there? Just empty quarters for the crew that's supposed to be here? Nothing special about it to warrant sigils specifically guarding it or anything like that?
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...
Was there magic in Die Hard...
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I can't tell if this is your normal level of distraction, or if there's magical interference. If it's the former, I'll be blunter. If it's the latter... then we are going to have to figure out what you are allowed to know around here.
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You're being an ass. Is it because you don't want to take responsibility for anything? Or are you simply hoping that if you overwhelm Friday, you can use her failures as an excuse? "The universe doesn't want me to live, otherwise the ship's sole support wouldn't have collapsed under the weight of all my shirked responsibilities?"
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How did she word it, exactly.
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How did who word what?
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tw: suicide ideation mention
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