And we're all adrift together through the cold mist, 'til we're lifeless together

[dokkalfheimr]

[The preparations hit differently this time.

Last weekend was at least an attempt at being festive, even with the light supplies they have; at being joyous, at giving people at least one nice thing to look back upon before things inevitably took a turn for the worse. And now two people are dead, and instead of trying to figure out structure placement and how best to keep everyone entertained and occupied and well-fed, the preparations now are given to much more practical purposes.

Large amounts of bottled water from the machine. Bagels and bread and muffins, light starchy things to avoid forcing anyone to keep meat or seafood down after seeing a corpse. Fruit for the sake of providing energy. Avoiding including bananas for any reason. Quietly pulling aside one of the first people she sees with any experience in the matter and asking them to help her make tea.

Once she's got one of the tables at the party zone set up and the tea is on its way to being prepared, she'll set around letting people know; the invitations are simple, written in Freyja's broad, elegant handwriting:

I think another gathering tonight would be beneficial. Not to celebrate, but to remember; perhaps more importantly, to ensure that no one is alone if they don't want to be.

Tonight is hard. There is nothing further to do but get through it.]

Comments

[scouserer]

[Constantine exhales quietly, letting his arms drop to his sides. Promised to keep Freyja safe. He's made similar promises to people before, time and time again.]

You know there's going to be a time you won't be able to keep her safe--especially on this ship. You'll run yourself ragged if you pretend otherwise.

[Not that he seeks to admonish, but rather to warn her. It's perhaps a pessimistic outlook, but to Constantine, promises are just another words for eventual lies. Demons don't give a damn about what oaths you've exchanged or your long-term plans. The world keeps moving. It's only natural for circumstances to change.

And with broken promises come guilt and self-blame--both feelings that Constantine is far too familiar with.]

[paucipan]

[Something in Plumeria goes very tense at those words. Who in the fuck does this human think she is? Who does he think he is for saying such a thing, for just--]

Do you think that I care what happens to me?

[That is said incredibly sharply, really, very close to getting into shouting but it doesn't. Her next words are fast, almost too fast, some mix of fear and almost panic running through it--]

I don't care. I'll run myself ragged if I must. I'll run myself down to the very bone if I have to! [Plumeria grabs something else from the pile, electing to just yeet it instead of dropping it.] I won't let something happen to her. I swore to her that I wouldn't, and I'm not going to lose her. I can't. No matter what it takes, I won't let any harm come to her.

Don't you dare say such a thing to me again.

[scouserer]

[Constantine seems stunned for a moment, staring at Plumeria following her outburst. A reasonable person would back off, leave her to dwell on this in silence--or perhaps even apologize. Of course, Constantine is a stupid, stubborn, miserable bastard. ‘Sorry’ isn’t in his vocabulary. Anger and spite rear their ugly heads as he draws himself up a little straighter, glaring at her.]

And how do you expect to protect her if you end up dead, huh? You’ll be of no use to her at the bottom of the sea. But if you’d rather commit to this short-sighted endeavor, then be my guest.

[His words are spoken with the same ferocity as a dragon spitting fire. Like Plumeria--close to shouting, but not quite. How dare she talk to him like some sort of--of clueless mortal. She doesn’t know what he’s seen, what he’s been through.]

Here’s a question--how d’you expect to protect her from the bloody Captain if she ever--

[In a rare moment of clarity, Constantine stops. A deep feeling of dread sinks in as he realizes, a bit too late, that he’s probably said more than enough.]

[paucipan]

[Something in Constantine's words is just...it's very obvious that it's the final straw for Plumeria. She's really not sure what it is. The implication that Plumeria can't protect Lady Freyja if she's dead? The idea that this human would say that dying for her is such a short sighted endeavor? Or is it that last question, the one that Constantine doesn't even finish that sets her off?

Does it matter at this point? To Plumeria it doesn't because how dare this human, how dare he imply such things, like he knows anything, like he knows any of what she's gone through to protect her--]

Don't you dare imply that Lady Freyja would fall for something like this.

[And it wasn't enough, it wasn't, and yet--Plumeria hasn't fallen into just outright screeching yet, but her tone is severe, and she's walking forward and getting right into Constantine's business at this point, words coming out a mile a minute--]

What do you know, anyway? Huh? I've been willing to give everything for Lady Freyja ever since the day I became her retainer. I swore to carry out her every will, every command, no matter what happens. She looked at someone as unlovable and wretched as me, and chose me--and you think that even for a second that I would let faith that go to waste? Do you? Do you?!

[And yet--and yet--]

I already swore my life to her, and I've already given it once to protect her from those humans, and it was no mere short sighted endeavor! How dare you imply such a thing?! Lady Freyja is what holds Dökkálfheimr together, of course I'd give everything for her! I'd never let something happen to her!

[scouserer]

[Unloveable. Wretched. Ideas that are far too familiar to him. Through the fury of Plumeria’s words, Constantine gains a better understanding of her anger and sorrow. Not that it particularly helps in any sense, since he’s still too angry to bother internalizing any of it.

As Plumeria draws closer, he stands his ground, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. He lets out a harsh, grating laugh--though there’s very little humor to be found in it.]

Ah, but something’s already happened, hasn’t it? You’re on this goddamn ship, after all!

[A small voice in the back of his head urges him to stop. He’s already done enough damage for one night. Of course, that only causes his anger to turn inwards. He sneers, turning his head to the side.]

What do I know? I know that there’ll come a day where something will happen. You’ll see your precious Freyja fall, and you’ll blame it on yourself. You’ll tear yourself to bits to protect her, and all you’ll be left with is heartbreak and misery with nothing to show for it.

[Because it’s what he’s faced before. It’s what he’s gone through.]

[paucipan]

[She hates that he's right. She hates that a human, one of the beings she's viewed as so deeply wretched, could be right about something as simple as the fact that she failed in her duty already. Plumeria doesn't need the reminder, especially when she finally has a moment to realize everything she just said, eyes going wide as she realizes she's let slip more than she ever intended in her anger, and--

The shock dissipates when that second bit gets uttered by Constantine, and oh, oh it hits something deep within her. Really, she should walk away right now, she could just never speak to or of this human again and simply forget he exists. He's just another wretched mortal, how hard could it be?

You’ll tear yourself to bits to protect her, and all you’ll be left with is heartbreak and misery with nothing to show for it.]

Shut up! Shut up, I will never let that happen to her! Even if I've failed at keeping her from being dragged into this wretched game, I will keep her safe through it! How dare you imply that such a thing could come to pass you--you--!!

[She should walk away. Plumeria is at a heavy disadvantage; her magic has been taken from her, and she's never had a particularly high defense stat to begin with. She can't even throw a punch to save her life, and surely this would reflect badly on Lady Freyja.

But anger is a hell of a thing. And she could certainly justify it, couldn't she? She could tell Lady Freyja just what this insolent mortal said, and surely her lady would agree. Surely she wouldn't be admonished, surely it would all be okay and she won't disapprove and--and--]

--You rat DASTARD!

[Plumeria throws a punch as hard as she can into Constantine--she's aiming for his jaw, but given that she has not punched anyone before, her aim might. Be off, at least slightly. Kind of happens when you're seeing red.]

[scouserer]

[Constantine sees the punch coming, and he doesn’t do anything about it. His instincts tell him to dodge out of the way, but another part of himself keeps him still. Tells him that he had this coming, because he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut to begin with. Her fist connects a little higher than she intends to--somewhere between his jaw and cheekbone--and he staggers back.

It was only a matter of time before someone on this ship punched him. He’s just surprised it took so long.

For a few moments, Constantine is silent. His hand hovers over the spot where she hit him, thoughts and anger quieted by the dull, throbbing pain. When he finally speaks again, his voice comes out as an uncharacteristically low growl.]

Go on. Do it again, then.

[A dare.]

[paucipan]

[It connects--not quite where she wanted it to connect to, but there's a stinging pain in her fists that lets her know that she's done it. She's managed to land a hit on him, and boy does it feel good. It's letting her vent out that anger, and more than anything, it's sweet, sweet vengeance.

...Vengeance that Constantine seems fit to egg on, it seems, and for a brief moment, Plumeria startles. It's not long before it hits, though, and she winds her fist up again.]

Oh, gladly you wretched human--

[This time, she aims for his nose, and whether or not it connects, Plumeria will speak up after. Not going for a third quite yet, but--]

Why are you egging me on like this?

[scouserer]

[This time, her fist hits her intended target. Given the amount of times he’s broken his nose, Constantine is probably grateful for the fact that Plumeria isn’t much of a fighter--not that it particularly matters, since he’s still allowing himself to get smacked around. Constantine lets out a hiss of pain, his head reeling back from the impact.

Why is he doing this? There are a multitude of reasons--most of which start and end with the fact that this is only further proof of his inherently rotten core, and that this pain feels more than deserved. But that would take too long to explain, reveal far too much about our dear John Constantine. So instead, he sneers, teeth bared like a beast ready to strike.]

Isn’t this what you want? To show the wretched mortal how wrong he is? [His voice lowers to a hiss.] Well, I’m not gonna stop you.

[That’s a bold-faced lie. He’s hoping that his sheer overconfidence will put her off balance, but if she goes in for a third hit, he’ll be ready to grab her arm before it connects.]

[paucipan]

[She should walk away right now. She could walk away from this incident, satisfied with her punches, and with her proof that this human is garbage even without knowing his lewd dreams. It'd be simple for Plumeria to do so.

But then he lets that overconfident statement loose, and much like a stubborn, unruly bull, it ignites her anger anew.]

Gods, why won't you just shut up--

[She goes for another face shot again, but--well, she's getting her arm grabbed before it connects at all, which manages to startle the hell out of Plumeria. Not enough to let go of her anger entirely, but...]

--What?

[get her ass!!]

[scouserer]

[Constantine redirects her arm, maneuvering it to make it difficult to wrench it out of his grip. Despite the circumstances, a smirk seems to tug at the corners of his mouth. Just seeing her startled expression is a victory enough for him.]

You should know better than to trust the word of a magician, love.

[Constantine is not a fighter, and he's not drunk enough (yet) to try and take a few potshots of his own. He has nothing to prove. Plumeria is right in how despicable and wretched he is. So instead, he just glares at her, holding her and twisting her arm. After a few moments, he lets go, casting her arm aside with disdain.

His face stings. No doubt, there'll be bruises tomorrow.]

Are we finished, then?

[paucipan]

[Oh, this was a mistake. Plumeria should've taken her two shots and ran, really--the arm twist is more than enough to prove that, but oh how she doesn't just want to punch his smug face in for this.

But then he lets go, casting her arm aside with disdain as Plumeria glares at him in return. There's nothing but disdain and hatred in her look, at the realization that she likely only managed this because he let her. What a miserable night.]

Yes, I would say so. You're not worth a second more of my time.

[And with a prim little hmph, Plumeria will start to turn on her heels and walk the fuck away, rubbing at her arm in the process. He's gonna end up with bruises that she'll probably be able to enjoy seeing at some point, and maybe, just maybe, that'll be enough for her spiteful little heart.

...As well as trying to get the last word in, because Plumeria is just that much of a bitch.]

dont mind me squeezing one extra coin out of this

[scouserer]

[Constantine watches her go, a sour expression on his face. He turns to lean against the railing and drags a hand down his face, two-week old stubble poking at his calloused fingers. He's out of range of Plumeria's aggression, but that leaves him alone with his thoughts. And that's even worse.

This is what always happens. He's perfectly neutral with someone--perhaps even friendly--until one day he decides that he can't keep his mouth shut. Then, they find out how much of a miserable bastard Constantine really is and react appropriately.

Should've let her kept going. Should've let her toss you over the side of the ship, should've let your body hit the water and sink below to be eviscerated by the kraken--

He exhales sharply out his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. God. He could use a cigarette or two or ten right now. He eyes the half-empty bottle of Malort, which had been placed aside before the scuffle. He leans down to pick it up, swirling the liquid and grimacing in anticipation of the taste on his tongue. His original intention was to save it, horde the bottles until things became utterly unbearable to deal with sober.]

Sod it.

[It was bound to happen, one way or another. And it's for the best. Being out of his orbit means that Plumeria can't get dragged into the supermassive black hole centered around the one and only John Constantine. And, after all, he deserves it for being the way he is.

He drinks.]