unknownseas | but even if the stars and moon collide [afterparty]

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round 3

but even if the stars and moon collide [afterparty]

[Well, that sucked!

After about an hour, invitations written in colorful ink appear under everyone's doors.]

Understandable if you're not up to it, but we're having a memorial and "don't wanna be alone" hang-out in the restaurant again.

[The restaurant has very much been decorated with the most rainbow fabric she could find in the department store. Jonathan got roped in, mainly so she could make sure he was doing okay, but also because she assumed that he knew how to put a tablecloth on a table. He seemed like the type, anyway.

After consulting with Undertaker, most of the food that's been set out is more traditional Chinese funeral food than Victorian—you can get a whole roast duck in the restaurant—but she tried for a mix of things. There is fruit, the aforementioned roast duck, and several vegetarian dishes along with potatoes for some reason and... cookies? Okay then.

Joy's trying, because that was way less terrible for her than it was for basically anyone else.

Happy ~~Pride~~ Wrath, New Rapture!]

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I'm not that drunk. It'd be counterproductive - I want to stay up past midnight tonight and see what happens.

[So maybe drinking at all isn't a particularly logical choice, but...you know, also fuck today.]

Can you get drunk? Or something like?

Oh yeah. Can and have. Not on this kind of stuff, though I pinched a bottle from Seo and said I’d report back on how it goes. Haven’t been in the mood for the potential fallout yet, though.

[…]

Until now. You feel like making groundbreaking scientific discoveries today?

[He holds out a hand for the bottle. If you want to put a generous spin on it, he’s saving Brett by taking some of the alcohol load off.]

[Brett hands the bottle off!]

What do you normally drink? We should try and find some. Us adults could probably use it.

[He's anti-drinking to cope generally. If he weren't, well, he'd be in a different place in life right now probably! But, god, this fucking place.]

[Misfire holds the bottle to his lips, though doesn't drink from it quite yet.]

Oil. [He takes a swig and it's...its something that's in his mouth, at least? He can taste the pencil shavings and heartbreak. Weird that anyone would want to willingly drink this, but there's all sorts.] Figure I could siphon it from something, but I haven't found anything that fits the bill yet.

That stuff's practically oil.

[He's not exactly drinking it because he enjoys the taste. Or any other aspect.]

You know, I almost asked if it was oil, and then I thought "no, that seems racist".

Yeah, I would've had to call you out for that one.

[He snorts and takes another swig of Misery, because, well, he's already started.]

Can't say it's nicer than this, but it's prettier, at least. I think your alcohol could stand to be more brightly coloured and glowing. Does so much more for the vibe.

You can get pretty cocktails sometime. Not here. Can't even get anything that tastes halfway decent.

[He's a couple sheets to the wind, even if he's still pretty precise in his speech. Hard to break him of that.]

...I'm probably gonna die in this place, aren't I?

[If Misfire were a different person, he'd probably say something along the lines of how they're all going to stick together now, and nothing bad will happen - or that he'll protect Brett and there'll be nothing to worry about. All very lovely propositions that would be sure to bring some empty comfort, but to Misfire it's no better than flat out lying.

And he cares about him too much to do that.]

...Probably, yeah. [Like, damn. Even Obi, the literal bodyguard, got killed.] But hey, so will most - if not all - of us. So there's...something.

[Is that something.]

...great.

[It's not really sarcastic. Brett wasn't fishing for comfort; if anything, he's just wallowing.]

It's not even a nice place! Not really. I don't even like the ocean this much, I've been there like once.

Obviously, you needed to see it some more before you died.

[He offers the bottle back to Brett. He could use it if they're gonna continue this line of conversation.]

Think of the company, though. I mean, it's a mixed bag and we're dropping like flies, but there's definitely worse.

[Or: absolutely none at all.]

Worse places to die, too. At least you can cram in a bit of living in here before you go.

[He accepts the bottle and takes another drink, wincing.]

God, that's bad. It's a glorified fishbowl. But - yeah, the company's not too bad.

If I wasn’t lumped in here with the rest of you lot, I’d find the whole situation a lot more entertaining.

[Not to say he’s not getting his kicks in but…man, some million years and this is the likely end?]

Got any regrets? Confessions? Unchecked items on the bucket list? Wouldn’t be a bad idea to start getting them out now.

Oh, yeah. But nothing that involves anybody here.

[Or, you know, being stuck at the bottom of the ocean.]

Would've liked to travel together with Luca more. We go separately a lot, for work, it's not really the same.

[They may have been suitemates for all this time but —]

…Who’s Luca?

My husband.

[He mentioned this at that first garden party? But, then again, he's actually not all that surprised that Misfire wasn't really paying attention.]

[That was like, a whole two-three weeks ago!

…and he also wasn’t paying attention.]

Ohhh. Not being able to see your conjunx before you die? That’s gotta suck.

[He makes grabby hands for the bottle again.]

Where’d you have gone?

Not the fucking ocean.

[Wow, Brett said a fuck! He hands the bottle back over and sighs, head dropping back against the counter with a little thunk.]

And not the woods. It would've been fun to go abroad somewhere...didn't really have the money, though.

[He said a fuck and we’re all so proud of him.]

See - there’s the silver lining of your entire society exploding into chaos. You can just hijack a ship and go. The only thing holding you back is how much fuel you can siphon.

[He takes another dispassionate chug of the Malört.]

Earth’s got some pretty decent spots, too, from what I’ve seen. When it’s not being destroyed by alien invaders, of course. [Movie reference or real facts? Don’t worry about it!] On the off-chance you actually survive this - which, you might, with the power and luck of being the most regular guy here - I hope you can see some of it with him.

I have been weirdly lucky.

[People went after an actual trained bodyguard before an admittedly normal skinny guy like him? Wild.]

If this were a story, I'd either be the audience surrogate and survive, or I'd die at the climax for an emotional beat.

[Misfire takes another swig, clearly deep in thought.]

You still keeping that diary? I feel like that puts you firmly in the first category.

I am.

[He thinks about that for a moment.]

Yeah. They'd be dramatic voiceovers, or something.

Exactly. That’s your meta-lifeline. If you don’t keep it up, you’ll lose your narrative relevance, and then you’re condemned to being a tragic sacrifice for our collective angst.

I think it'd fall a little flat, after the last couple weeks.

[Like, Brett figures people here like him fine, but he's not like Obi. Or an actual kid.]

I can ramp up the melodrama for you. Start wailing, throwing furniture…so your sacrifice doesn’t go to waste. Provided I’m still kicking, of course.

[Brett considers this for a moment.]

Could you throw a table through one of the windows? You know, just for fun.

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cw: emeto implied

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