03 . boat log!

[necrolord]

Who: necrolord and existing CR. If your character has met the Emperor and would respond positively to an invite, jump on in. (If you're not sure, ask me at ochrona!)
What: A voyage out to sea! This is a mingle log; feel free to toplevel and tag around.
When: Ambiguously around New Year's.
Where: The Pthumerian Ocean.

Content Warnings: Undead sailors, flesh-eating crabs, tentacles, corpses; Deer-standard levels of inherent fleshy horror. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

[ See John's toplevel for prompts, and feel free to tag in brackets or prose! ]

Comments

the emperor | ota

[necrolord]

(1) in the harbor.

Welcome aboard the Lonely Island. It's... sure something. What John sold to some acquaintances as "a boat" appears to be a vast two-masted brigantine, flying tattered dark sails and looking generally very haunted. It is crewed by a dozen of the glassy-eyed undead, which move around the ship in rote, mechanical fashion, carrying out John's whims without any overt direction from him. They are, or were, Corrupted pirates: none of them looks wholly human anymore, with their scaly skin and tentacled faces et cetera. They don't seem to rot.

The ship is meticulously clean, but still strung with odd baubles here and there: things of polished black glass, trinkets of antler and bone. Monster teeth. Some of these clink in the salty wind, which makes for some very thematic background noise, actually.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses has donned his long black captain's coat, and is personally welcoming his crew aboard.

"Ready to set sail?"

He sees nothing wrong with this picture.

(2) on the water.

"Right!" says John, over the wind and the seaspray, and he claps his hands together like they're all having a delightful little vacation. "Sea shanties, anyone? Who knows something worth singing?"

If the kids who occasionally address him as my lord look pained, he gamely pretends not to see it.

(3) land ho!

After a certain point, John slips away to his captain's quarters. What he's doing in there is anyone's guess, because he shoos even Harrow away. Maybe you've heard him say something vague about research.

The island appears shortly after that. It's a low, ugly little spit of black rock, only barely big enough to be worth checking out. God— because he's rather busy being God, now, picking at the fabric of this reality with something unreadable in his oily dark eyes— waves everyone off to go check it out.

"Be careful," he says, somberly earnest. "My attention will be elsewhere, and I don't want anyone hurt."

The island is riddled with sea caves, and inside are nasty, flesh-eating little Trench Crabs. But the real danger is on the bits sheltered enough to collect snow: tentacle parasites lie in wait.

Before he sends the kids off, God adds, "And if anyone is hurt, do bring them back here, Harrow. I'll have a look."

The girl in skull facepaint seems to have been elected party leader. Enjoy.

(4) rough seas.

Whatever John was doing alone in his cabin, Mariana doesn't seem to like it.

The voyage out was choppy, dark, and marked by more than a little tension about the local giant tentacle monster. The voyage back in is a nightmare. Sleet comes pelting down; the ship is tossed to and fro by worsening swells; John has lost his easy, mild humor. His expression has cooled to something calm and dark.

"Fasten your seat belts, kids," he says. "Won't be much longer now. Here; I'll call in the reinforcements."

He doesn't move. But all around, a horrifying process begins: the little bone trinkets stop chiming. Each patters down onto the deck, bursts upwards into a fully-formed human skeleton, and clatters along on bony feet to help man the struggling ship.

So that's normal.

2

[frogfear]

Just a little sailing expedition, he said. It will be fine, he said.

Yeah. Sure. Fine, except for dead pirates manning the ship, which she already knew to expect of course, and now sea shanties, which come as a bit more of a surprise.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea when she agreed to come along - a little exploration of the area surrounding Trench seemed smart. It might even give them a heads up as to what else they might expect to run into in town as the months drag on.

She does not sing, especially in front of other people. Not willingly, anyway; nightmares of operas, and singing demons aside. So when the suggestion comes up, she just turns towards him and stares.

"Hey. Let's, uh. Let's just skip the sing along, okay?"

[necrolord]

"Oh, we're all going to be cooped up together a while. I don't see the harm in keeping things light." He gestures, broadly, to the choppy dark sea and the ugly spires of Trench in the distance. "We have little enough levity to be getting by with."

[frogfear]

"There's all kinds of things we can do to keep things light, or fun," Willow answers. "We could play cards, or, word games, or math games... We don't need to sing."

If he wants to sing, he is absolutely free to do so. She is not joining in, lest his undead tentacle friends threaten to throw her overboard or something. Or worse, some of their perfectly alive companions do.

2

[hauntedsavior]

[this boat is huge. he'd made it seem like it was a dinghy, but now actually being on it makes her feel far less susceptible to ocean death. which means she can loosen up and actually follow through on her promises. anna's covered up in a longcoat and got a fancy tricorn on, so if she doesn't blend in then she's sure about to.]

Got one hot off the presses from back home for you, cap'n. [she takes a seat on the closest flat surface and starts pounding out a beat, one fist into her open palm, emphasized by tapping her foot.] There once was a ship that put to sea...

[yes, she is singing wellerman. and she's not doing too bad of a job at it, honestly? she's had practice. and she is technically, like, sort of a musician.]

[necrolord]

[ Now this is the spirit. This is a genuine delight. Somewhere in the background, Harrow makes an expression and Gideon makes a noise, and their Kindly Prince, their Resurrector, simply takes up the beat by snapping. ]

Do you know, I think I've heard this one. The name of the ship was—

[ God's singing voice is, objectively, not very good. The whole of him is soft-spoken and plain. But he seems to be having a good time of it, following the lead of the girl in the tricorn.

He is, after all, years behind on embarrassing his daughter. ]

1

[terriblepurpose]

In the days since that chance meeting in the library, Paul has considered that he may have been too preoccupied with the theological implications of this voyage and not enough with the practical ones. The sight of the ship and its crew don't help settle his sense of unease about either concern.

At least the undead aren't new, although he decides he prefers the skeletal variety. Paul boards the ship with a heavily laden bag over his shoulder, wearing a slightly different looking black coat than he had on last time, and gives her captain a smooth salute.

"Aye, sir." He says, solemnly, heels neatly together and posture appropriately composed.

[necrolord]

Now that's the spirit. His captain favors him with a faint smile, then turns and waves Paul along for the tour.

"She's a good ship, though I'll be the first to confess I know very little about boats. But she's taken me out and back in the past, and the crew will heed your orders if you care to give them." He sweeps a hand, almost dismissively, to the corpses. "The less talkative of the crew, at least. The rest of the crew I'll not make promises for."

At the other end of the deck is, of course, a familiar little black shadow with a painted face. John points, and looks openly charmed to find that she doesn't have her shoulders hunched up around her ears in miserable nausea yet, which is promising.

"And there's our first mate. Her order is my order, though I will tell you in confidence she knows even less about boats than I do."

harrowhark nonagesimus | ota

[necrosaint]

on the way out

Most of these people have probably seen Harrow before, or the tall, thin black dog Omen that often stays by her side. This does not mean that most of them have ever spoken to her, for she's kept mum in most places.

She's staying out on the deck as much as she can, as being able to see down seems to be something that people think might help with her regular roaring case of motion sickness, and so at the moment she doesn't appear to be ill. Still, she is drinking from some kind of flask that smells like it is filled with some kind of weak tea. (It is filled with some kind of weak tea.) She wears a black turtleneck and black pants and black boots, with a pearlescent robe over them, as well as a whole external ribcage over her shirt that fits her as if it were her own.

And then there's the skull facepaint, which is everpresent.

But she's so small—a 98 pound weakling who is quite short—that none of it makes her seem at all intimidating.

She is in fact entirely as approachable as she will ever be.

on the way in

This time, Harrow doesn't want to be on the deck. She's hiding in a cabin that she has essentially claimed for herself and her cavalier—and maybe, depending on the size of the ship and cabins available, also the Sixth heirs—as the weather worsens. But when it gets bad enough to need additional help, she brings herself outside against her best interests.

Because it is her duty, and she takes that very seriously.

From the bones around her omen's neck leap skeletal canines, there to provide whatever additional service they can to provide help, mostly pulling bones. She removes her own earrings and tosses them out as they also form skeletons willing and able.

Then she flees into the mess hall, beckoning anyone who is not ready to be thrown around the deck to come after her, without saying a word; she is all gestures and staid, determined expression. Stasya the Azawakh Omen might be trying to herd some of you in to protect you, too.

wildcard

[ I might add another Harrow tag for during the island adventure, but for now a top-level for on boat chilling and saying hi! however, if you've got something islandy you want to do with her and you know what it is, feel free to just plonk that on here. pardon if any of my writing is unclear, I am working on Heavy Academia right now and it's warping my style a bit! ]

on the way out

[terriblepurpose]

Paul has seen Harrow before, in the unfolding of Palamedes' memory. Even if he hadn't, he has Gideon's vivid description to work with, one he compares to the skull-faced young woman on the deck: small? Yes. Grouchy? Arguable. Carrying bones? Yes.

He approaches her from an angle she'll be able to see him coming on, a teenager dressed all in black winter gear with a heavily weighted satchel over his shoulder. He stops a respectful distance away, his feet set on the deck to counteract its subtle rolling.

"Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus?" His tone is as formal and serious as his expression.

[necrosaint]

That is a blast from the past.

The near past, but still not a title Harrow expected to hear again. So she looks both a little surprised and a little bit smugly pleased (though they're both attempting to be largely smothered by polite neutrality) as she turns to face—well. Someone dressed and carrying himself a bit like her.

"Yes," she says as evenly as possible. "Ninth Saint to Serve the King Undying. That is me. Did you need—"

And there, she isn't sure how to end that sentence, so she stops the attempt. It was probably bones? or assistance? but simply looking a little bewildered as to why she is being asked for by name is fine, too.

on the way out

[hauntedsavior]

Anna feels like she's the most foreign of everyone here, watching the whole crew kind of seem to know each other at least on some sort of name basis. (Minus, of course, the benefactor of the trip, but that's his right, she's sure.) Still, she recognizes the face paint and muscles on one of her crewmates, and the face paint on the one she's approaching right now seems like it's an appropriate match to Gideon's.

And it's, if she does think so herself, the only thing on this person she's approaching that's an appropriate match for Gideon.

"Ahoy," she says, her voice as dry as the ocean isn't. The wind tugs gently at her longcoat and ruffles her hair, revealing casual clothes, an eyepatch, and a black seam along her neck as it does. "So, uh. Are those real bones, or did you find the most hardcore Hot Topic in Trench?"

[necrosaint]

What a question! Harrow looks very thoughtful, as if this is an extremely serious question that must be considered utterly; it's not because she isn't sure where she got her own bones, no, it's more like—

"Is there a place in Trench that sells fake bones?" is said airily, curiously, before she yields to, "They are real bones. They are my own."

Did she make them or does she just own them? Are they from her body? All of the above? It's the last one, kinda.

[lipochrome]

Let it be known that Gideon Nav, cavalier primary to the House of the Ninth, does not want to be here! Her idea of a good time is not some dusty old man's boat! Especially not if it's anything like his messed-up space station. But Harrow is here, and there's no way Gideon is going to let her board God's boat alone, not after that whole debacle with Gideon the First.

So Gideon stays close, and when she's sure the Emperor can't hear her, leans close to Harrow, whispering, "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, what is even the point? It's just squids out there."

[necrosaint]

"It is probably just squids out there," Harrow manages to agree and disagree at the same time; an impressive skill born of being three hundred and eleventh of the Tombkeeper line, surely.

"There may be something more to it. He wants to figure out the answers and I am not—averse to it." She hesitates, and then, because she genuinely could not lie to Gideon if she wanted to, "Even if I am averse to water travel as much as I was to space travel, apparently."

Sour face. She is not pleased about that. She is compromised by this whole 'at sea' situation.

palamedes sextus | ota

[megatheorem]

boat antics

[For someone who a) has never been on a boat that's actually moving on the water, and b) can't swim, Palamedes is taking this voyage in stride. He's among the people on this ship who don't think the undead crew or the bones everywhere are strange in the slightest (although there's something to be said for taste, and he casts more than one judgmental look at the "just hang bones all over!!!" décor style), spending the bulk of his time glued to the side of a one Camilla Hect, to whom he frequently leans into and mutters... something. Possibly also judgmental? Possibly jokes? It's hard to tell; they sure aren't.

When he is not gossiping overtly, he can be found on the deck where he looks kind of surly, honestly; it's damp on boats, who knew! He's closely guarding his Sleeper welcome satchel, which is thick and square enough to be very obviously full of journals to write in, because he needs this many. It's so hard to keep his stuff dry and salt-free, he just might gesture someone over to stand in front of him.]

—Stand there for - I don't know, thirty minutes? You're not busy, are you? Thanks.

[cool shit palamedes

Alternatively, still on the deck, he may be found drumming his fingers on the rail, squinting out at the sea like it owes him something. There's so much Squid Nonsense to learn out here, but first one must contend with the fact that one has never been out to sea before and apparently seasickness is a thing.

He has not totally vommed. He might look, hm, a little green, but he's studying his sea tolerance at the moment, so. Big plans. This time when he waves someone over, all he says is:]

Can you keep time for me?

crabs (derogatory)

[So, here goes everyone out onto land, without their Captain actual-literal-God, which Palamedes immediately cannot stop thinking about. Tiny crabs are fun, whatever, he'll gladly wander into a cave or two, but!

Well, isn't that weird! He'd like to talk about how it's weird!

But fine, it's crab time, and give Palamedes this one blessing: he's so skinny that most of him by volume right now is cloak and robe, so it's only after a number of crabs have attached onto the hem of his cloak and clack into each other when he turns that he notices them at all. Oh — look at them all back there, huh—]

I'm — not going to be able to get these off.

[necromancer vs the crabs, please help]

wildcard

[howdy, if you want to do something during the return journey, this is also gucci! pal will be bodily dragged below deck so he doesn't fuckin drown, xoxo thanks cam. or wildcard whatever else!

also prose if you want, whichever]

[lipochrome]

[ Gideon is, frankly, impressed with the fact that Palamedes has managed to stay upright for more or less the entire voyage, something that neither she nor Harrowhark were able to pull off during their first time on God's boat. The fact that this is her second time on God's point is honestly a bit of a bummer; Gideon had vowed never to show up here again. But Harrow is "first mate," apparently, so here she is! ]

Yeah, sure. Believe it or not, I can count past ten.

[ She reads those magazines for the articles, of course. She leans next to him on the railing, peering over her shades to get a feel for how green Palamedes actually is. Hm. That's nothing to sneeze at, so: ] But, like, why though? You look kinda rough, I don't think keeping time is gonna help.

[megatheorem]

[They are all on this boat for various Reasons, for sure; Palamedes is not, himself, here because he thinks God is particularly admirable, but God is a Guy with Resources and the willingness to let the Sixth stomp around on his boat.

Well, Cam might be stomping. She may have stomped off to get Palamedes a bucket, because his own methods of enjoying this voyage are, hm, stupid. He manages to give Gideon a crooked grin with only a little queasy wincing at the edges.]

Nav, I never doubted your skills for a minute.

[She is a woman of many talents, certainly, least of all timekeeping. Palamedes holds up a finger, correcting:]

Keeping time will help me concentrate. I am — immeasurably nauseous, and would have an easier time evaluating my holdout ability were someone else handling the measurable time. Therefore — you!

crabs

[hauntedsavior]

[man, of course the crabs were gonna be out here in force. anna is at least covered most of the way with her gloved hand, longcoat, and by not having a lot of flesh to eat, but this guy is clearly not so lucky. she pulls the katana from its case on her back and slices her hand, then uses the blood to ignite her blade like a torch.]

First time with these things? [she's talking like it's an everyday, normal thing, even though it's only her second time with the crabs herself. guided by the light and heat, she holds her sword close enough to the little crusty bastards that it should, hopefully, scare them off. without lighting this guy on fire.]

Jeez, dude, how'd you let them form a nest back here?

[megatheorem]

[Oh, thank somebody out there that this motley crew is at least half capable women with swords, by Palamedes' estimation. He's holding his cloak up to let the crabs dangle, now trying to both keep an eye on them in case they skitter up towards his hands and to look at her flaming sword, because — cool.]

My — my mind was elsewhere. And in my defense, nobody warned me about them.

[He's never seen a crab before? Truly, the ocean is a dark and distant dream. Carefully, he swings the crab-hem a little closer to the sword, which frightens off a couple of the pinchy guys, at least. Progress.

Anyway, sword!!] When you do that to your sword, is it instinctual? Or is there a purposeful action element?

[necrosaint]

I would be content to remain still for as long as we are moving,

[ did he realize he was talking to Harrow at first? Probably not, but surprise, it's Harrow. She looks as amused as Harrow ever does, one half of her mouth slightly quirked up in what might be read as a smile. Whoa. ]

But the King Undying may eventually require that I do something else.

[ she still looks sick, too, but she has not thrown up. on her shoes, on the floor, on any people. not this time. ]

[megatheorem]

[Hello, Harrow, welcome to Standing Here To Keep Books Dry, a Sixth special. He gives her a look that is mostly a lot of significant eyebrow moving, understanding of the misery of boats and patently trying not to really look at anything, because of how miserable the boats are.

But there are books to protect, and also: hmm. His memory conjures up O God Our God's voice, 'Harrow very kindly humors me,' and he wonders not for the first time about how this particular relationship functions from both ends.

It's super not his business. However,] He can get over it for half an hour.

[cool vibe pal]

He asked me to come and think about squids for him, so technically maintaining the integrity of my notes is helping him. You can quote me directly if he bothers you about this. [And, slightly related,] How are you doing, Ninth?

will byers | ota

[deadboywalking]

i. on the boat

[Who's kid is that and why is he on undead God's boat?

In Will's defense, he doesn't know it's undead God's boat. He actually doesn't know the name of the guy who invited him to come along on this expedition, just that it involved science and adventure and danger. What more does a tweenage boy need?

At least he doesn't seem to be the kind of kid who runs around getting into everything and making a nuisance of himself? In fact, once he gets used to the boat rocking and pitching to and fro, Will hunkers down on a nearby barrel and whips out his ever-present sketchbook, so he can draw pictures of everything. They're quite good for a kid his age. Maybe he's drawing the sky or the sea or some weird birds. Maybe he's drawing the other people on board. Either way, he's pretty easy to sneak up on like this.]

ii. on the island

[When they get to the island, Will has some trepidation about deboarding -- the guys who go onto the island always get eaten first. That's like rule number one. But there are skeleton warrior people going too, so he'll reluctantly tag along.

Fortunately Trench comes equipped with personal magical animal familiars, and Will's soon makes an appearance -- a weirdly damp, pitch-black horse that rises silently from the water and plods along after the boy. It's unblinking, staring right through anyone who approaches, and the only sound it makes is an occasional muffled crunching sound, like it's chewing on something.

Will is a polite kid, so he'll happily introduce his eldritch abomination of an Omen to anyone as:] This is Marshmallow. He doesn't bite. [Yes, he does. He doesn't bite Will, but that's the only exception.]

iii. tentacle monsters ahoy!

[Along with the sketchbook and the nightmare horse, Will's thought to bring along a shotgun/sword contraption that he's been carting around since the Deerington days. Smart kiddo! He'd lost a ton of muscle memory when the dream ended, so it's taken him the better part of the last four or five months to re-learn how to aim and fire the thing.

So when the tentacle monster appears, he aims, fires -- and is promptly thrown back into the nearest person from the recoil. It's not easy to brace yourself on a moving ship, okay.

Will shakes his head a couple times, looking up at the person he's slammed into, dazed.] Did I get it?

ten billion years later

[necrolord]

[ John is pretty sure someone could accuse him of keeping this kid around in the way movie supervillains keep fluffy cats. They might not even be wrong. It's just: look at him, he's so cute.

Also, enthusiasm and spooky horses are very important for morale. Now that they're losing light and the island has proved to hold nothing more exciting than murderous tentacles and murderous crabs, the kids have piled back onboard to complain about their adventures and reluctantly drink God's tea. He approaches Will with a chipped mug (two sugars) and a sleeve of soda crackers he'd bought to take pity on Harrow. ]

Find anything interesting out there?

[ He offers the mug, and turns to regard the spooky horse which has probably manifested, jumpscare-esque, from the shore to straight onboard. ]

And who's this handsome fellow?

[ This is the worst horse anyone has ever seen. ]

hell yeah hell yeah

[deadboywalking]

[Will still isn't the most athletic kid in Trench -- in fact, he might actually be the least -- so he's very sweaty and out of breath. He'll happily take the mug from...the guy who owns the boat (not sure what his name is, still, not a priority) with a grateful smile.]

Tentacles. [This is said before Will scarfs down half the sleeve of crackers in a couple bites. Then he smiles at the truly terrible, drippy horse, who is looking at Jod very intently out of soulless dark eyes.] Marshmallow. He was a horse back in Deerington, but now he's also an Omen.

[Marshmallow is somehow looking directly at Jod, despite normal horses having their eyes on the sides of their heads. Are his on the front? Can anyone say definitively? He's an abomination who's going to delicately nibble on a cracker offered by Will.]