crushed_pearls | Come Sail Away IC Inbox

"I mean, I guess you've kinda gotta be if you're an autocannibal!"

Gil's voice has stayed remarkably even and flat like, the entire time he's been here and not flipping out; but here and now there's a lilt to his tone that suggests he is Not Okay.

"Just roll out the other side of Hannibal Lecter-hood and be a chill-ass motherfucker about it!"

"Gil, buddy, what is it you're objecting to here?" Erin's tone is soft and concerned. "...Yeah, he's a monster. And probably technically a serial killer. But we're all monsters here at this table, aren't we? And if we're not gonna look out for each other, who's gonna?"

At the spa, Helena's already found her way to where nice smelling things are, but she perks up cheerfully when she hears Erin's distinctive footsteps.

"I'm over here!"

And she's draped in a very large bunny poncho, clearly meant for someone at least a foot taller than her, but that she's put a belt on so it becomes more like a dress.

Erin stops in place.

And lets out an extended, high-pitched squeal of absolute joy at this sight.

"What? What is it? What am I missing?"

Something's making Erin happy, she knows, but that much?

"YOU'RE SO! FUCKING! CUTE!"

Erin rushes over laughing and scoops Helena into a full hug; both arms, both wings, giggling like a maniac. "Where did you get that? Oh my GOD!"

"It's Security's," is the answer she manages around being squished in a hug, embracing her friend back. Completely thoughtless as to the ammunition she's now handing over, but such is the life of being so honest.

"TRULY YOU ARE BECOME BUN - fuck I'm shouting aren't I -" Erin laughs again and tousles Helena's hair. "This is the most adorable shit. You've even committed a traditional act among Americans from my time, wherein lasses steal their beloved's hoodies and never give them back. That's your hoodie now. It is the hoodie tax."

"It's only borrowed! I asked!"

But she's laughing too, because joy is an infectious thing, and the way their laughter echoes off the spa walls is actually a pretty nice sound, all considered. They really went for good acoustics in here, ostensibly for soothing spa music, but right now just for happiness.

"But it is very comfortable, I'll admit."

"It will never wear this hoodie again," Erin whispers in Ominous Tones. She can't keep it up, and busts up laughing again. "Y'all are adorable together, swear to god. It doesn't help that you're like ninety sizes too small for the poncho so you look like a rabbit ghost tried to possess you and couldn't stick the landing."

"Maybe I don't wanna fucking eat people, Erin!" The words come out as a snarl, his ears flicking back in an open distress only she can really appreciate. "Maybe I don't wanna make a fucking game out of the fact I am literally starving myself, constantly, because some guy who is somehow--" and his voice cracks there, into a bark of laughter that mangles the word. "--more fucked up than us, thinks it's okay! I don't wanna be in another fucking Durance where I have to suck up to another fucking Keeper who's apparently nice now because he's getting laid and kills us less like it's a fucking achievement!"

"If a rabbit ghost chooses to meet me, I hope I'm wearing this at the same time so it knows I'm a friend."

She's grinning, but extracts one arm so she can tug the hood up on herself - which promptly falls over her eyes. Oops. Not like she needed that field of view anyway.

"I'd ask when Miss Crabb is going to steal your clothes, but I have a feeling it's already happened."

"I am the clothes," Erin answers with less than no thought. She finally lets Helena go and takes a step back. "So! Growing your hair out huh? Got a plan for it or are you just looking to exult in big hair?"

"I think I just want to see what happens with it. It's easy to cut it, but it takes time to grow - I can always change my mind."

Plus, longer hair to her means she can try different hairstyles. Even if she can't see it, she takes pleasure in trying them, in feeling them, and after so long not experimenting, it feels good to try.

"Though I'm not keen on emulating those women in books with hair to the floor. That just sounds unmanageable."

"They're definitely committed to the bit," Erin agrees. "The amount of washing and drying alone...country girls have it easier, they get to use horse shampoo sold by the fucking gallon. And for reference that's not an insult, it's great shampoo."

Erin takes Helena's hand. "Hair wash station first, little bird."

She'll come along, but she scoffs.

"Horse shampoo? Erin, I grew up in the country, and I've never heard of such a thing. This is another one of your modern wonders."

"Well, modern-ish," Erin explains as she starts getting everything ready to wash Helena's hair in preparation for trying Many Styles. "In the...nineteen forties? Ish? Of my Earth we had the second Great War, and it kinda fucking sucked. World wars tend to. One of the ways that it sucked was no one could get a hold of any fat to make soap with since it was all being used for high explosives, and the search for alternatives ended up with the shampoos and laundry detergents the ship provides to us all. And uh, well, the stuff made for horses also keeps human hair shockingly glossy and healthy."

"Two great wars, though...I'm sorry your world had to endure that."

She hopes that somehow, her world will avoid such a thing, if it ever looms. Who knows. But bunny hoods aren't ideal for washing hair, and neither are glasses, which get tucked away in a pocket.

"So that's why all the soaps feel so different. I remember what it smelled like when people made it - these smell so much nicer, but I still can't imagine why you'd try out horse shampoo, except on a lark."

"Well it started for budget reasons, same as poor folks who use dish detergent to scrub their bodies down," Erin says thoughtfully. "Which, for the record, also works but it's deeply fucking unpleasant. But then it turned out to be really good, so what started as a habit of frugality continued as loyalty to a good product. 's kinda cute honestly."

Speaking of, Erin identifies some shampoo by scent and starts in on that part after getting Helena's hair wet.

"There's lotsa things like that, some long forgotten, others much-changed, and a few juuuust right. Hell, corned beef started out to save money on not dying in a fuckin' famine and now look at where it's gone in the world."

Erin's quiet for awhile after that one. She leans back in her chair and listens to all of it, and says nothing for long minutes.

In a soft voice: "You want the Spring bitch or a friend here, Gil? It's not like I'm without sympathy for your situation, but."

But.

He can feel his heart thumping in his ears, shoved up there by the way his stomach's lodged in his throat and he can't decide whether to laugh or cry or just vomit, and his breaths feel thick and rough in his throat.

He's not hungry anymore. Which is a bald-faced lie because he's always hungry and there's no way to fix it without sending himself into a fucking self-destructive spiral. And yet he's still not hungry.

"The Spring bitch I fully expect to tell me to suck it up, princess, spare a thought for all the fuckers who haven't done a Durance before," he rumbles, folding his arms across his chest as he leans back in his chair. "You've got the home court advantage."

"...No. And if that's the state of Australia's Spring I'm heading there after we all escape to kick some asses concave. See if they can stop me." Erin sighs heavily and puts an elbow on the table, gesturing with that hand. "I'm not gonna argue about the Captain's nature other than to say you should meet the man himself before you write him off - keeping in mind that he hates me personally, so it ain't like I'm speaking from a deep well of affection here. But here's the long and short of it as I see it. You're not in a position to fix being an obligate cannibal right now, not without access to the Deep Hedge where the Wyrd curdles like milk and turns into something feral and unshackled from the nightmare lands. Even if you were, that's not a certainty of a solution. So you can either make yourself miserable on purpose, or have a small amount of comfort."

"...I'm not suggesting you talk to Siffleur because I see two inhuman things who ought to get on. I'm suggesting you talk to him because he's been a true and steady friend to me, and I think he'd be to you too. I'm deeply sorry about the sandpaper dildo that is currently your life but do you really gotta up the roughage?"

It feels indulgent to have someone else wash your hair - sure, she could have done it herself, but this is all part of the ritual. She hums affirmatively, thinking about all of it, as well as the sound of the running water.

"Is there anything like that you miss, that you can't find here? Not just something cheap, but anything you really can't find on this ship."

"... Nighttime in the city," Erin answers after a long moment's thought. "Which is a bit fucked when I think about it. The monsters come crawling out of their holes at night to hunt and play, but there's something about it. The music, the sound, the beat of a place that rests but never sleeps."

"Tell me about it. What you remember - tell me so you can refresh your memory."

So it remains in someone else's memory too.

Come Sail Away IC Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject