light_mischief | [come sail away] ic inbox (season 1)

Things have been... different. The helmet is ten miles away and below, and yet he feels it as if it were pinned to his shadow. Maybe it's always been there, the permanent weight he's been carrying and will continue for the rest of his life, which now has to extend at least until the end of this reality. What a miserable prospect.

He's gotten to the point of oscillating between mindless cleaning and sitting in a semi-rest state on his chair. The knock comes while he's doing the latter, and he forces himself through the motions of getting up and opening the door.

Of all the people he'd expect outside his door, Darcy, for once, isn't one of them. His voice carries all the surprise his body can't show, opening the door for her.

"Darcy? I... didn't expect to see you." Not so soon. Maybe not ever.

Darcy has to brace herself for a moment. It's still new and raw seeing him as a monster. Or... whatever it is he is. Whatever's causing her throat to close to look at him.

So she hands over the sheets of paper first.

"This is business," she starts with, "I got these pushed under my door. Vance got one too. No fucking idea who else or how many, but Vance says it was a ghost. I figured you should know."

Business, he understands, and he takes the papers from her. "A ghost?" That's... not good. "Given how much of the ship is falling into disrepair..." But she's not going to sit around and listen to him postulate. That's something he can do on his own.

"Is it... Hangman? More than a bit ominous..." He is not a fan of how this particular person draws their hangman. He nods. "Thank you for bringing this to me."

"You see where it says they were looking for their sister? I asked them to draw me a picture of her, and she was the fucking hangman."

She gestures to the paper again, "and then there's the fucking creepy drawing of me, the thing about me going to the dream so he can be with her again or something- that last word is a name. Either someone's pranking us or some shit is going to happen."

Business is easy. She's reminded of how easy it was for things to just be business for that long. His easy, calm respect for her opinion. It turns her stomach even further.

"So. Someone should probably ask around if there's been any others or something."

It's simple. Falling back into mysteries and clues is as easy as breathing might be. It's as easy as existing, for Skulduggery, who only seems to do so when there's something driving him forward. Something like this. Something that doesn't involve confronting the Captain and risking more armor coming out in the wash.

"At least we know nobody can open the door to another person's room. This feels a bit too sinister for the sort of pranksters we have aboard..." He thought, anyway. But he could be wrong. "It looks like you didn't win. Do you have..." Don't get personal. She isn't going to like that. "...I'm sure you can get Dimitri to guard your door, if you feel unsafe. But I can ask around and see if anyone else has had any similar notes, or if they saw anything. How recently did it happen?"

"Didn't get a chance to. I asked for the drawing of their sister before I made my last guesses. The last word is a name- Maci or Mani or something. Probably the sister if I had to guess."

A shrug.

"Over the last couple of nights. Hangman and the drawing came on separate days. I didn't check outside my door when the hangman showed up, but I did for the drawing and nobody was there."

Skulduggery starts to ask a question but backpedals and suggests that Dimitri can guard her door. Erin, who seems to be right about fucking everything, echoes in her ears about not wanting to cause more harm and Darcy- who is too tired from not wanting to sleep- just snaps-

"You can fuck off with that shit. You were going to ask if I had anyone to look out for me while I sleep, right? I do. Just fucking ask it next time."

There is literally no winning with Darcy. But...

"I had a talk with Erin the other day."

"Alright." There's no fight on his end, although he can practically feel China's laughter from the abandoned chair. She's loitering around almost constantly these days, so she's become fairly easy to ignore.

"We've met, although it was only one time." Nonetheless, she makes quite the impression even when she's not trying. That... does mean that he has no idea why Darcy is telling him, though. The only thing he can imagine is that she shared his secret -- but if that were the case, it would be Erin herself coming to see him, wouldn't it?

The lack of fight just fuels her anger even more, and she spits out her next words.

"She's also a mass murderer. Apparently. Two fucking nickels. Spent like most of her life killing and enslaving people for money. Erin told me that herself because she said she didn't want to lie about who she is, and that she wants to do better here and now. And then she told me to tell someone else. As many other people as I wanted."

Darcy has to pace the room, restraining the urge to physically kick some of the furniture out of the way.

"If I think she doesn't deserve this chance to start again here, she's given me permission to go into her room every morning and murder her until she stops coming back. So, you're the person I'm telling about this. Erin's also a fucking monster. And she's owned up to it, and she wants to be doing better. Am I just going to have to pencil in murdering her every morning? Does she get this second chance?"

The first thing he thinks is, of course. He's glad not to have a face, so the flash of relief that comes over him doesn't show. The Captain had said it himself -- Vile is hardly the only one to have come aboard the ship before. Here's the proof. Two nickels, indeed.

But then he can't help but wonder why she would ever take his opinion to heart on the matter. He's obviously and extremely biased. His answer would be the same regardless of whether she knew about Vile, but now that she does, how can she take it as anything other than his own attempt to save face?

He stands by the door and tries to think. China makes it frustrating, humming tunelessly from behind the closed bathroom door, loud enough that he has to step further into the room to not be so distracted.

"Do you think she means it when she says she wants to do better here?"

"I don't know. Probably. Maybe I'd just like to think so. But... She told me that one of the people back home, the people that thought she was a monster... said that the world in which she's helping is better than one where she's dead."

Darcy finally sits herself in one of the chairs, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

"I hadn't thought about it like that, not until she said it. And I think it counts for a lot that she was at least honest about it."

"It does," he agrees quietly. There's a momentary pang of envy at the thought of being able to disclose something like that, to be that upfront about it. It fades quickly, but it leaves a gnarled tangle of regret behind.

But she knows which answer he'd give, and he suspects this isn't supposed to be a conversation. He'd gotten to say his piece the last time they talked, and she has to know what his opinion here would be.

"...If you're not going to say anything, then I'm just going with my answer. Erin Peters lives."

And so does he. Darcy stands. Disappointed, again. Probably still. But Erin's words in their sweet lilt echo in her again.

"Have you always been this chickenshit and I just never noticed? I actually miss when we used to be constantly fighting about things, at least then I had some actual evidence you gave a shit."

He tries to laugh, but it falls short of the definition. "I've been a coward for a century and a half. I thought it was obvious in the way I've continuously failed you to protect myself."

He bows his head. "I think you would have liked me better before I went in the river. I was a lot braver back then."

Darcy rolls her eyes and restrains the reflex she always has to try and soothe his ego.

"I don't know you before the river, I know the you that's here now, who's continuing to refuse to do absolutely fucking anything to actually fix shit or change. You know you have to actually stop doing the thing when you apologise, right?"

Darcy makes her way over to the door, gripping hard on the outside handle.

"Everyone fucking sucks, Skulduggery. I've picked fights with half the fucking ship. I straight up murdered Steven. I killed people back home, too. But some of us aren't sitting around feeling fucking sorry for ourselves because we're shitty people, some of us are actually trying to do good. Like Erin, and like me. I fucking expect better from you, even if you don't."

And she slams the door shut.

He almost goes after her. He wants to go after her. The strange length in the shadows, the way his head swims with sudden vertigo... it is almost enough to overwhelm him.

But it isn't enough to drown out the thought that none of it will ever be enough, or the rage that comes after. Skulduggery throws a hand out and the empty chair crashes against the door. It won't repair itself, nothing is fucking repairing itself, this whole fucking ship is falling apart and he can't fix any of it!

Darcy thinks he isn't doing anything. Maybe she's right. But for now, doing nothing will keep her safe. It's the only thing keeping anyone safe.

[come sail away] ic inbox (season 1)

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