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[teorievesmiru-blog]

yumigahara:

She just awoke. 

Technically, her body had been awake. All day, in fact. But as for Kaguya herself, it seems she only comes to with the moon’s coming–come night, it’s her time to play. Daisy… goes to sleep, in a sense. If she’s to judge from her own experience.

When Kaguya came to, she was in Daisy’s room, as if she never left the place. The first thing she did was check Daisy’s diary to see if her other self had left a message–there were notes of what she had discovered in the new floor. They were rather uncharacteristically curt and quick, but as far as Kaguya was concerned Daisy had done more than she could have asked for.

Kaguya steps out of her room, intending to explore what she missed in the ship’s new floor. But before that, there’s… something wrong with her. A strange feeling. Coming from within her stomach, she believes.

Her sharp ears pick up a distraction, someone’s muttering in the lounge. Kaguya heads towards the source, and finds the motherly passenger, looking to be in what she assumed to be a bad mood.

“Nightingale,” she recites the name she memorized from Daisy’s diary. The strange feeling within her stomach comes up again, and it seems to growl. It makes an unusual noise, and Kaguya is unsure whether it could be heard by others.   “Is something wrong?” she eyes Nightingale, her voice calm.

Footsteps, a distraction, a voice, and she’s so-- nothing is turning out right, and when Nightingale raises her head, the immediate temptation is to snap. But when she lifts her head from her hands and sees who joined her--

“Dai-”

--No. Not with that hair, not with that voice, calm and composed and methodical, exactly how Nightingale was failing to be. More irritation-fuelled bitterness, that she swallowed. It wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t introduce more hurt than she had to. Not when the boat was already crawling with it.

“...Kaguya.” she corrected, instead, rearranging her expression into a smile, weary and worn, but there. “Yes, but.... is only me being a silly old woman, yes? Nothing for you to worry about.” What was a little frustration compared to-- whatever must be going on in the poor girl’s head, right now? Lost, confused, thrown into a killing game against her will. Thrown into being a murderess, in body if not in mind, against her will. Daisy, too. After everything, she was still the grown up. Better to keep at least trying.

“You are hungry?”  she asked, instead, pushing the balled-up paper aside and getting to her feet; she’d heard that growl, low and insistent. “Would you like to eat something? Perhaps it will help me think too, yes? Then you will be helping me, also.”

“...And, if you are having more questions... I can also do my best to help with this.” 

[chapter 5] flat universe || open

[teorievesmiru-blog]

[chapter 5] flat universe || open

In all logical ways, this should be considered a good outcome.

An unfortunate series of events leading up to the death of a dangerous person; a group led away from potentially condemning an innocent (?) girl by a quick-thinking woman willing to risk everything. The kind of thing that would have been a breath of fresh air, in a game: the kind of twist that would have everybody on the edge of their seats, wondering if they were going to convict Daisy -- and sighing in relief, when they let het go.

It should have been good. 

But then, no outcome could have been ‘good’, really: no outcome but all of them -- all fifteen of them -- leaving the boat just as whole and alive as when they stepped onto it. Everything else was just... damage control, after Vamp set the ball in motion. 

Seven of them left. Less than half. 

The best thing she could do -- that everybody, alive and dead, would appreciate -- was find them a way out. If she focused on that, if she kept her mind on it, then-- Nightingale thought she wouldn’t think about all the things she hadn’t been able to fix. The corpses, the executions, Nobody’s arm. Tuesday.

Fix this, and it would make up for it.

...Or that had been the plan. But she didn’t have the capacity to take direct action, like fighting Dot, and checking her room, she-- she would prefer that to be something they did as a group, if they decided to. For what she could do on her own...

Paper, and pencils from the gallery; the battery on her laptop that Nightingale’d brought with her had died some time ago, and so back to the old fashioned way it was. Taking as many notes as she could on as many readings as she could, discerning what machine was for what. Trying (key: trying) to estimate the amount of fuel a boat like this would take, and how long the supplies in the fuel room would last them, at maximum. Trying to figure out-- where they were, where they could go, collating diagrams of maps and the spaces they’d seen in the Do or Dies, figuring out where they could be, how they could be.

She’d filled three sheets, six sides, perched on a chair in the lounge, her failed calculations and crossed-out ideas littering it, numbers and numbers and numbers, but-- real life couldn’t be modelled, not in ways she knew, not with incomplete information, and-- and--

“Sakra. Damnit.” muttered, bitter, as she noticed an error that threw off everything she’d been working on for the last fifteen minutes, and in the moment-- she pulled the papers towards herself, and crumpled them up into a hard, tight little ball in her hands before putting her hands on her face, instead, elbows on the table, brow creased in exhaustion -- she hadn’t slept, much, since the Theatre. Too much on her mind. 

Too much to do. Too little getting done.

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

Were they getting through to her?  Tuesday thought… maybe so.  Why she believed them, after all the lies they’d told just to get here, they really weren’t sure - but to have an audience, someone who was actually listening to them when the walls came down and the liar finally decided to tell the truth… they didn’t know how to describe the feeling.  Vulnerable was close.  It was too soon to say whether that was a good thing or not.

They ran their tongue over their dry lips, squeezing the water bottle.

Keep reading

They could have stopped at any time.

Cut the story short, yell down at the android operating the wheel to hurry it along, get the thing moving; leave the story half-finished at the part that still made them seem sympathetic, the difficult childhood, the troubled youth. The part that came before the choice to be... this. 

And yet, they didn’t. Sensibly enough, she supposed; they’d shown no shame over their job since the secret came to light -- certainly not since they’d told her. They kept going -- how they got into the business of killing for hire. Of fleeing to America, to the warm sunshine of the West coast instead of the winds of the East, as she had. Of trying to leave -- and of failing. The same person who had a house on the beach, dogs, neighbours, who’d spent their first day on a cruise where they came to kill a man drinking cocktails in the pool, going out with a rifle and ending lives for pay.  

They could have stopped at any time.

“...Maybe.” she conceded, quieter than she meant. “But, I am thinking... you stopped before. You could have stopped once again, yes? So... what is keeping you?” 

“...Is a genuine question, you must understand. Was it because of the money? Or... was life too-- boring, without doing this?” If she had been forced to do something else instead of following her passion -- she would have hated it, too. Would have done anything to find an opportunity to go back. And the relish Tuesday had taken in breaking Nobody’s arm--

“You do not have to answer,” she clarified, turning to look out the window at the carnival beyond, feeling their eyes on her even as hers left, “Only... you are cruel.”

Blunt and quiet, ringing in the brief pause that followed.

“But,” after that, glancing back, almost wary,, “--you can be kind. You have been, to me, before. And to your dogs. People are like this, but is not usually so... easily seen.”

The carriage creaked beneath them; her fingers twisted and untwisted the wedding ring on her finger, back and forth. 

“...Perhaps I am just not meant to understand you.” she concluded, in a tone that sounded a little too close to defeat for her own comfort. 

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

haestatomartedi:

You are never dull.

They couldn’t help it: Tuesday cracked a smile at that one.  If they had a penny for every time someone’d told them that, they would now have one entire penny.  It was rough, in its own way, having to constantly project a facade of normalcy - a persona that was more palatable for ordinary people - but then, what were they supposed to tell their neighbours?  Their co-workers?  Even a hitman needed people to talk to.

So Tuesday acceded.  Curiosity was an acceptable reason to tell a tale they’d never told before - one they might never get the chance to tell again.  They took a deep breath… and began.

Keep reading

They told it third-person.

It could have been a stylistic choice; it could have been an attempt to put distance between them. To start the story off blank and fresh, divorced from the assassin that was sitting across from her. Because at the start, after all, there had been no assassin; there had only been a child.

A child that Nightingale couldn’t help parallelling to her own experience. Given up by a mother forced to choose between work and child, not having the opportunity, the luxury for both, as she had. Forty four. When they had been sent away by their grandparents, she had been ten, sat in her father’s office, having the magic of numbers gently explained to her by his warm, loving voice. 

When they were sixteen, seventeen, they were still being shunted onward and onward while she was being offered passage to America, the opportunity of a lifetime. When they were nineteen, they were taking lives in the home they’d found for themself, and she was getting married to secure her own.

The longer they went on, the more uneasy she felt. The sharpened corners of Tuesday rounded out, took on more coherent shape in the scars they showed her when they pulled their shirt aside; the sharp intake of breath didn’t feel like her own.

“...I will-- save them for the end,” she said, after a moment of pause, still wrapping her head around the past they were weaving for her, “--but I am with you, yes. Please, continue.”

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

Hm.  She didn’t seem happy.  Tuesday’s brow furrowed, as if confused.  This was why honesty was overrated, frankly: people never really wanted the truth.  As much as they might claim they did, they much preferred comfortable, easy lies.  Lies that meant they wouldn’t have to think about anything too difficult.  They just managed to avoid rolling their eyes, but couldn’t hide their expression - they’d really thought Nightingale was better than that.

As a result of all this, they could do nothing but scoff at her suggestion, pressing their mouth into their hand as they looked out the window.  Tuesday was not entirely accustomed to feeling this… disappointed.  They didn’t often put their faith in people, then the one time they dared to, she was letting them down?  They wondered if jumping out the window would be preferable to continuing this conversation; glanced down; decided against it.

“That was a joke, right?  You don’t seriously think I’m going to tell you just because of some… bizarre notion of fairness?”  Their eyes flicked back to meet hers, their face unreadable.  “… I really thought we understood each other, Nightingale.  I don’t know what to - ”

The wheel ground to a halt slowly, stranding the two of them at the very apex of the rotation.  Tuesday couldn’t not sigh.  The robot running this ride really had a hell of a sense of humour.

“Well… looks like we might be stuck up here for a while.”  They drummed their fingers on the windowframe, ran their tongue over their teeth.  “I - ”  Was this smart?  Would they regret this?  It really did depend on whether they lived, or died here.

Tuesday made their decision.

“If you want… I could tell you a story.  To pass the time.”

Ah, she’d known they wouldn’t like that.

Nightingale had expected to see it in their face, at least, their expression, and true enough, there it was. But the flavour of their discontent was... different to what she’d expected. Confusion, and... was that disappointment? 

It was. I really thought we understood each other, they said, like that was anything that could remotely make sense; she came the closest to hitting them, then, to launching herself across the car and gripping them by their  collar and hissing, spitting that she was nothing like them. 

 Still, she wasn’t actually expecting them to follow through; the disappointment, she thought, was where it would end, with them shutting that door in her face, too. But then the carriage slowed -- stopped, and they stopped, too. Hesitated. Whatever was coming loose in them, shaken loose by everything -- Nightingale watched it unfasten in front of her, and fall away.

Well--  never look a gift horse in the mouth.

“...If you would like to.” 

“No-one is knowing how long we will be stuck up here. And for all the faults you are having-- well, you are never dull.”

“--If not because it is fair -- then because I am curious, yes? I have been wondering why since you told me first, after all.”

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

Nightingale… she was a smart woman, and Tuesday thanked god for that.  They nodded along as she spoke, staring out the window: they’d expected she’d pick up on the threat underneath the assurance easily enough, and sure enough she didn’t relax, but at least it didn’t make her angry.  What would be the point of dragging other people into this?  As long as she didn’t tell, everything would be fine.  If she did, and what exactly they were going to do about Nobody…

Well, it was a bridge they’d have to cross when they came to it.

It took several seconds for them to realise she’d finished talking.  They glanced up with a hm?, mentally rewinding the last couple of sentences, and almost cringed when they realised she’d used that name to address them.  Bandit’s big mouth was going to get him killed one day.  It was amazing he’d survived that long.

“Eugh… look, I’m sorry - this isn’t gonna help my case, I know - but…”  They ran their tongue over their split lip, worrying the scab, unable to keep their eyes off the world below them.  So small now, and just the two of them up here, alone.  It was alright to tell Nightingale, wasn’t it?

“I didn’t… expect that he’d tell everyone, alright?  I gave Bandit a fake name.”  They met eyes with her, grimacing as if to say that’s just how it is.  “You know.  To trick him into trustin’ me.  Think it worked a little… too well, if I’m honest.”

“So… no, it’s not fair, and we’re not even.  I just… needed somethin’ to hold over you.  I have to keep myself safe.”  Tuesday paused, looking her hard in the eye.  “I think you understand that, right?”

The name didn’t get the reaction she’d been expecting; in fact, at first, it seemed like they’d blanked her completely. Which... wasn’t right, didn’t fit; not until they tuned back in, realized she’d been addressing them, and started speaking.

And, matter-of-factly as always, I gave Bandit a fake name, with an exaggerated well what can you do frown, and--

...She shouldn’t have been surprised. Shouldn’t, wasn’t, really, but-- she’d been operating on the assumption, since yesterday, that their little show of force had been born of her knowing that name. Of wanting a guarantee it wouldn’t pass her lips, once (if) they got out. But-- no. Nothing so sensible. 

Somehow, that made it worse, and the anger leaked through into her expression for a moment, her grip on her own hands in her lap going white-knuckle, but-- well, fine. Fine, okay. They were paranoid. They needed control. I have to keep myself safe. Fine. 

“...Perfectly.” she said, voice tighter than she meant it, lower, irrational anger constrained; even hung over, even in the confines of a ferris wheel car, she didn’t fancy her odds against them if she lost her temper. “I do not know how you expected me to... endanger you with nothing but a fake name, but your work is, ah... high risk. I truly hope it makes you feel better.”

“...But seeing as it is not fair, and now will never be fair, then perhaps you will clear things up, for me? Knowing who holds my life in their hands is small comfort; you can at least afford this, yes?” Childish, maybe, ‘now you’ -- a spite-curiosity, the desire to claw even a little something back. The wheel came to a slow stop, with their car at the very top, yawning silence below and between them as she waited for their response.

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

It seemed like Tuesday wasn’t the only one that had gone all introspective, in the wake of Pumpkin’s demise.

With everything they’d told them swirling in her head, faster and harder than the ferris wheel had ever spun, Nightingale had left the lights and buzz of the carnival behind, trying to... there wasn’t a word. Reconcile it, she supposed. Figure out a place in her mind for the information, a space to carve for it amongst everything else she knew, everything she thought she knew. 

But all she ended up doing was talking, thinking herself in circles, her feet taking her to the spa without thinking about it. Bandit was there, holding a bottle of nail polish in a distinctive, pumpkin orange, deep melancholy in every word, every motion. 

“...If that is what you want, then of course.” she said, moving over to perch on one of the chairs next to him -- not quite relaxing into it, not even sure she could relax at the moment, and let him talk. About Pumpkin, yes -- and then about himself.

“...This is not your fault.” she said, when he was done, “you know this, yes? We are all missing them, too, but... I do not think any of them are blaming us for not... fixing this, sooner. You saw what Dot did to the boat, when Fantasma tried to escape. We are... up against very terrible odds.”

“...Surviving this... is something to be proud of. You are very young, still. Fixing everything... is not something one person can do.” 

Tribute | Chapter 4

Medicine? Giving up? There was so many questions Bandit had and so much he wanted to say, Before he knew it, Dot removed Pumpkin from the game. All Bandit did was stand there frozen in place. He had just promised to get everyone this ship. He just failed Pumpkin, can he save anyone?

Bandit trailed behind the group as Dot lead the few still alive on this boat down to the petting zoo– or a carnival now. Bandit looked in long enough to realise he was interested in the slightest. Carnivals were supposed to be fun, supposed to be a happy place. For any of the passengers that wants to let loose and relax, he chose to stay away from the carnival. 

Bandit let himself wander around aimlessly and he wound up in the spa on the third floor. This was a bit cruel, but fitting all the same. He walks over and swipes orange nail polish from it’s spot at the unmanned front desk. He sits down in one of the massage chairs and examines the polish. It was then that he looked up and saw who joined him.

“Hey Nightingale. Haven’t talked to you in a while.” He gestured to the massage chair next to him. “Come sit if you want. It’s not like I’m not saving any seats for someone.”

He sighed, and looked back to the nail polish. It definitely triggered some memories. Not of just Pumpkin, but of everyone who boarded the Endless Expanse with him at the beginning.

“This is where I first met Pumpkin. It feels so long ago that we all met for the first time. Maybe it’s because it feels like I’ve gone through a lifetime in here. Is that common when someone makes a drastic change in their life?” He shook his head, that’s a question he didn’t want Nightingale to feel pressured to answer. He didn’t want her to feel pressured to do anything for him. “I miss them. Not just Pumpkin, I miss all of them. I miss Vi and Vamp. I miss Blythe and Sheperhed. Even Fairy and Fantasma I wish were still around. I can’t say any of the deceased would miss me, but I miss them. I wish I could have gotten them off this boat. It’s not like we’d be friends, but I just wanted to do something that people can look back and be proud of me for.”

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

What did they think Nightingale would do, realistically?  What had they expected?  To have the door slammed shut in their face?  That she’d turn the wheel on just long enough for their car to reach the apex and then switch it off again, and leave them up there to rot?  This hadn’t even crossed their mind - they could only watch in surprise as she seated herself opposite and the car door swung shut.  The attendant seemed to take the arrival of a second passenger as some kind of unwritten cue and, gradually, the wheel began to move, turning in a slow clockwise circle.

And so they found themselves trapped in a very small space with a woman who, just last night, they’d blackmailed and threatened into revealing what must be the most holy of secrets, here on the Endless Expanse.

“Right.”  They swallowed again, taking the handkerchief she offered with a grateful nod.  As they dabbed at their mouth they winced: their lip, still a little swollen, ached.  It was almost funny, comparatively speaking.  Satisfied they’d got the worst of it, Tuesday gave the handkerchief a quick wash with some of the water from their bottle, wringing it out before hanging it over the open window of the car, to dry.  “Thanks… thank you.”

Heavy silence hung over them then.  How did you answer a question like that?  They stared out the window at the painted sky, and down at the stalls growing ever further away.

“I don’t…”  Their hands folded over the bottle in their lap, over and over again, crossing and uncrossing.  Tuesday sighed and, with great effort, tried to meet her eye.  

“I won’t hurt your daughter.  You understand that, right?  She’s innocent in all this, she doesn’t know anythin’.  You don’t need to worry about that.”

It would be lying to herself to pretend it wasn’t a relief to hear that, truth or lie. Tuesday’d known exactly what effect giving up that knowledge would have on Nightingale, clearly, and that twisted like a bad taste in her throat. But even if it was a cold comfort -- it was a kind of comfort, all the same.

“This is good to know.” she said, folding her hands in her lap, crossing one leg over the other. “You would not have problems hurting me, of course, but-- I knew this when I told you.” 

The wheel spun, taking them higher until the noises of the android stall attendants and the other passengers milling around faded to a mumble. 

“...I suppose... that I should have been expecting this sooner. Of course you would be wanting to... ah, how do you say... even the odds?”

“...Am I wrong about this, Charlie?” A name foreign and strange on her lips; it felt too childish for them, somehow, for the human slumped in the chair opposite her that had who knew how much red in their ledger. “It is fair now, yes?”

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

nobodyheardyou:

Her name thundered over his ears. Under any other circumstances he might have thought it an honour to hear it, but here it was a death sentence. Something hot rose from his gut. He shook his head.

Freedom came without warning. Nobody staggered—one step, then another, then two more—until he found his footing. He snatched up his searing arm with an unrestrained grimace. Beneath him, his legs threatened to give way.

He wanted nothing more than to whirl on Tuesday, to kick them in the knee so hard it bent backwards, but that—he knew with certainty—would earn him a busted knee of his own. That was when he realized with nauseating clarity that the hitman’s show of force had worked.

“Steep price, Tuesday,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize I was worth so much.”

Although he owed Nightingale a great debt, he could not summon the words to express it. He looked at his friend, who had perhaps just sacrificed more than just her own life, and offered a paling smile.

“Seems like this one’s taken a shine to our room,” he said, and nodded in Tuesday’s direction. He was faintly aware that he might be swaying on his feet. “You wanna get outta here?”

The words had barely left her lips when they snapped their fingers, the sound penetrating the weighty silence.  Tuesday looked downright delighted, like the cat who got the cream.  “That’s it!  My God.  Isn’t the human mind astonishin’?  Like a bear trap.  Twenty damn years and the second you said it, it was as if I read it yesterday!”  They laughed sheepishly as they released Nobody’s arm from their vice-like grip, taking a step back to put some easy distance between them as he scrambled towards Nightingale.

“There, now.  All sorted.  That was pretty easy, right?  I dunno about you guys, but I feel great!“  Spreading their arms, they dipped in an exaggerated curtsy.  “Thank you, Nightingale, for trustin’ me… and thank you, Nobody, for makin’ it all possible.”  When they righted themselves, their grin had turned into a deep, concerned frown.  “Please, though, don’t feel rushed!  If anything, I should go.  Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

All that said, they still lingered, eyes moving back and forward between the two of them.  The resentment in Nightingale’s gaze; the anger in Nobody’s.  She stood firm, while he was shaking, but there was fear in both of them… yet, there was relief too.  This was familiar.  It was power, really - it gave you control, when you could manipulate people’s moods with just your presence, and it was control that they had dearly missed.

Their heart was pounding.  Their hands trembled.  They felt amazing.

Tuesday gave them both one last, shaky smile, and for that one moment seemed unguarded - genuine.  Then they turned on their heel and staggered out the door into the night, leaving it to close slowly behind them.  In like a lion, out like a lamb.

There was a moment-- a moment when she worried they wouldn’t follow through, for all their tiger-smiles and giddy joy, They let Nobody go, yes (and she rushed to steady him, hands resting carefully on his arms, helping him keep his feet) but-- his suggestion of ‘getting out of here’ was a good one, if they weren’t going to. Wherever Tuesday wanted to go -- they’d go elsewhere.

But fortune, for once, favoured the two of them; Tuesday went through the process of taking themselves out, in as three-sheets-to-the-wind a way as they’d done this whole, awful interaction, smiling like a child. And then left the way they’d came, and then it was just the click of the door shutting. 

And just like that, time restarted.

“...”

Words were more difficult than she’d thought.

She guided him to sit, instead, followed where gravity wanted to take him until they were back on the cushions. 

“I...I am sorry I couldn’t-- I did not think they would-- I-I will go and find-- something, medicine for your pain, there must-- ”, babbling, mind racing: his wrist hung so wrong, it made her feel sick to look at it, and now they knew her name, they knew her name, and if, when they got out--

”I am--, I, I--”

[chapter 4] supercluster [nobody/tuesday]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

It was disquieting to realize that the only surprise about Pumpkin’s death was that it wasn’t accompanied by a bell.

Somewhere in her -- after everything -- Nightingale had been expecting her to die. She didn’t realize that, not really, not until she went hurtling down the shaft with that beatific smile, not until the elevator went speeding down after her, and realized  that there was no surprise. Just a quiet, resigned sadness. At least it was quick, thought haphazardly, throwaway, before she caught herself. At least it wasn’t painful. Familiar, echoing thoughts.

There had been-- quite enough pain to last a lifetime, over the past few weeks. Nobody’s arm was the latest in a series of it; she’d done her best to help him with it, but-- she was a doctor of physics, not of medicine, and he was more help to himself in the end than Nightingale was; more help than she’d been to him the whole time. 

So, the last thing she felt like doing was carnival games. The only consolation was that Tuesday seemed like they liked it even less than she did. 

The scar on their lip had begun to scab over, and the shake and stumble in their ordinarily-composed walk now was accentuated by a pallor unusual for them, bloodshot eyes, an aura of misery.Maybe that was why she followed them to the ferris wheel, initially; to feel a little better, by comparison. Maybe she just wanted to talk to them in the cold light of day. Either way, she reached them -- puking their guts up out of the side of the car while she watched, waited until they noticed her.

With a brief glance over her shoulder, she ascended the rest of the steps and got into the car opposite them, sitting down and shutting the door behind her.

“...Yes, well... we both are full of surprises lately.” she said, with a hollow smile, fishing around in her pocket for a handkerchief, offering it to Tuesday, waiting for them to take it as the wheel started to spin.. “Do you feel better, now? After...” -- a pause, pointed -- getting everything out of the system?”  Maybe it was just her questioning, scientist’s mind. The inability to put them together, the need for something rational, some kind of reason in the wake of the most senseless death yet. For all Tuesday could do, they couldn’t surprise her any longer. 

[chapter 4] the wino has something to say [nightingale]

Tuesday never had hangovers.  Never.  

This was quite deliberate on their part, because they made a point of never drinking quite enough to end up drunk - when you lived a life like their’s, letting your guard down to that extent was tantamount to suicide.  So, when they’d awoken in a karaoke booth, with a blinding headache and a mouth that tasted like some creature had crawled into it and died, it didn’t take much to figure out that something had gone wrong.  Between long pulls from the bottle of water the attendant had so kindly provided, they peered at their bloodshot eyes in the mirrored surface of the TV.  What the hell happened?

Dot’s announcement startled them out of their fugue.  On a normal day her tone might have left them suspicious.  As it was they were too out of it to notice.  They stood slowly, creaking bones protesting, and found they had to force their feet to move - one in front of the other, one step at a time, they finally turned the corner to the foyer.

Nobody was there.  Well.  Everybody was there, but only one person’s arm was in a sling.  They almost approached, to ask - but then it clicked, and the night before came rushing back like the proverbial floodgates had broken, and entirely without meaning to Tuesday slumped against the wall, clutching the bottle so tightly that it crumpled.  

Idiot.  Fucking idiot.

They barely noticed the execution going on before their eyes.  Another one dead - so what?  The moment their hostess was done they broke from the group, speeding to the back of the room, desperate to escape scrutiny: the moment anyone else thought to enquire about his injury, they were done for.  Reaching the big wheel, Tuesday half-stepped half-fell into the nearest car - and promptly leaned over the far side, vomiting up the entire contents of their stomach.  They hung there, breathing heavily, for a few moments.  Pushed the heels of their hands into their eyes so hard they saw stars.

When they looked up to ask why the wheel wasn’t moving yet, they were cut short by a familiar figure on the steps.  Her name sprang, unbidden, to their lips; they bit it back.

“… Nightingale.  You’re the last - ”  They stopped, swallowing thickly to force down the nausea seizing them.  The water bottle crinkled and popped as they worried at it.  

“… second last person I expected to come lookin’.”

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

nobodyheardyou:

However was the word that sunk his heart. Braced though he was for counterattack, ten years of rust left him sluggish. He watched Tuesday’s hand edge closer, caught their shift in stance, yet could not move himself. The pillows made little difference when he hit the ground. The air rushed from his lungs.

As the hitman planted a foot on his chest, it struck him that they might not be so different from a child—frustrated and alone and unable to cope without acting out—but the pity did not stick. The snap reverberated up his arm. His eyes rattled in their sockets. Nobody bit down hard on his tongue and hissed through his teeth. Iron filled his mouth.

The room was spinning, and somewhere close to him Tuesday was testing out the new joint in his wrist, but all Nobody could see was Nightingale. He watched with growing horror as she stepped nearer.

“No,” he croaked, and spat to clear his mouth. With as much force as he could manage, he added a firm, “Keep your mouth shut and get outta here.”

Any normal person would’ve fled.  If they were honest, it was half what they’d expected Nightingale to do - it wouldn’t have been hard to get past them while they were busy, and they hadn’t considered what they’d do if she decided to run for help.  As it was, though, she remained half-paralysed with horror for more than long enough, and when she finally moved it was towards them, rather than away.  When Nobody thought to warn her away, they just smiled obligingly, giving his arm a last wrenching twist.

“Ah, you’ve misread me, tesoro.” Tuesday’s voice was back to its normal, cheerful cadence almost immediately, as if nothing had even happened.  Careful not to apply any force to the break, they released Nobody’s arm; then, gripping his other hand, they dragged him to his feet, spinning his entire body as they lifted in a gross facsimile of dancing.  When they were done both of them faced Nightingale, Tuesday standing as if they were supporting Nobody with their arm round his waist - when in fact they held his good arm pinned behind his back.

“The nature of your crime is, eh…” They made a seesawing motion with their hand, shrugging. “Small potatoes.  It’s really enough for me to know there is a crime at all.  Which, you know - thanks for that!  But if you want to make a deal, I’m amenable.”  For a moment Tuesday seemed to think it over, searching her expression for something unplaceable.

“… alright.  In exchange for one broken man - ”  Pulling Nobody closer, they sandwiched his wrist between them quite deliberately.  “ - somethin’ that’s been botherin’ me for a while now.”

“Your name, per favore.  It just won’t seem to come back to me… and it’s drivin’ me nuts.”

Leaving was never going to be an option. Nobody’s wrist was already broken (the twist-crunch echoing in her head, a bile-rising sound), and it was going to have been for nothing anyway; she couldn’t overpower Tuesday, didn’t have a hope of overpowering Tuesday. So, it was leave, or give them what they wanted: and of the two, the only one that had a good chance of making them stop was the second.

She couldn’t un-break Nobody’s wrist. But maybe she could stop them from breaking his arm. And even then-- it was only a maybe. Still better than leaving Nobody to face it alone; than living with herself if she did that. 

But.

But, what they wanted wasn’t the details.

She watched as they lifted Nobody, all killer grace, the ease with which they made him a vulnerable hostage frightening, belying the strength required for the movement; as they talked like they were contemplating, thinking -- frighteningly realistic, frighteningly performative.

And then, their offer.

Her name.

“A-ah...”

For a moment, her resolve wavered. If they knew her name, they would know where to find her. If they knew her name, they would know where to find Otillie. And knowing that would be the proverbial knife against her throat; if they got out alive, even if they never saw each other again -- the threat would be there. A lurking, lingering pendulum.

That snap, that crunch, the whittling painful noise Nobody made, the wrench in her chest.

“.....If this is what you want.”

It felt foreign, when she formed it on her lips; she hadn’t used it in... what, three weeks? Nightingale, Nightingale, Nightingale. Slipping the name that she’d worn for most of her life back on felt like putting on an ill-fitting dress, one that no longer sat as it used to, that she’d changed too much for. But that was Tuesday’s price, and what she had to give. So, with little other choice, she gave it.

“--Do you remember now?” 

[chapter 4] supercluster [nobody/tuesday]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

luminescentlumi:

“Riiiight~? Way too many to pick from!” She complained enthusiastically, but still seemed to be having too much fun searching through the copious amounts of filters and frames. “I’ve used something similar one other time! The pictures you can capture are always very cute~ Perhaps the intimacy of the booth helps. C’mon, squeeze in, darling.”

Lumi tugged at Nightingale’s sleeve and patted the seat next to her. Lumi kept her eyes trained on the screen and her tone light as she continued to speak to Nightingale. However, the air around them began to feel a bit tense as she spoke more and more.

“You know Nobody, yes? A lovely man. Truly one of the best.” Swipe, swipe. “I’ve found myself becoming quite fond of him. I suppose you could say we are partners? Friends? Something along those lines. You see, I’ve noticed you’re becoming close with him as well! And who can blame you~?”

Tap. Swipe. Click.

“Now I’m not attempting to hoard him all to myself. That would be childish. However, I am concerned for his safety given the nature of this game we still find ourselves in and the company you seem to be keeping…” She seemed satisfied on the selections she had made, and she began making the final preparations for their grand photoshoot. But she wasn’t done speaking yet.

“I trust you’re a smart woman, Nightingale. You always seem so level headed and cool… Well, until recently that is.” She giggled to herself as she leaned backwards and wrapped her arm around Nightingale’s shoulder, pulling her in close. The count down began on the screen. 5… 4…

“My point is this: If you’re going to continue pursuing your friendship with Nobody then I advise you keep him out of your affairs with a certain Unpredictable Hitman.” 3… 2… “If anything were to happen to him, well… I wouldn’t forgive you.” 1…! Lumi flashed a peace sign and a wide smile towards the camera as it began to shutter.

“Ah! Say cheese!”

Perhaps it would be alright, after all. Lumi’s tone remained airy, bright, playful -- just the same as usual. Her grip on Nightingale’s sleeve was... surprisingly firm, her tone and demands direct, but... that wasn’t terribly unusual. She sat as bade, and let her talk further -- and it was to be about Nobody, it seemed. The two were friends, she knew; an unusual combination, to be sure, but... then, weren’t they all? 

But she went on, and the friendliness in Lumi’s tone began to be laced with something else, something all cold and all business; concerned, she said, fingers working away on the screen. Her hand on her shoulder was like a vice, as she pulled Nightingale in. 

Keep him out of your affairs with--

She forgot to pose, and the camera flashed, Lumi smiling wide and bright next to her while Nightingale stared at her, wide-eyed. The shutter sound summoned her back, a little, and-- shake it off. This was fine. This was still better than what she’d anticipated Lumi would have to say to her. Just, well...

“Lumi...”

“You... are using the word ‘affairs’. I am thinking perhaps you have too strong an idea. Before I am finding out about their... career... then I would call them a friend, perhaps. But anything now is-- business is not right word. Survival, perhaps.”

...And, well, it was mostly true. Fear and contempt had papered over what she might have felt pretty well, Tuesday’s attempts to stop her communicating the truth to Nobody only serving to further squash out most of the bubbles of affection that remained. If she found herself wondering, on occasion, how someone could justify murder for pay and still provide comfort and sympathy over another’s death, stewing in it, then... Lumi didn’t need to know.

“...He and Tuesday... were also close in a way, is my thought.” There had always been a tension between them that Nightingale could only assume came from a conversation she’d not been privy to, and had never wanted to ask; opening wounds wider would only  complicate matters. “This is why I wanted to tell him the truth, when I first found it. We are the same; I do not want him to get hurt.”

“...I am also becoming quite fond of him, you see.”

Chapter 4 | Accelerant [ OPEN ]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

The Chapter 4 Cast of Endless Expanse

Alive: Lumi, Judge, Nightingale, Daisy, Pumpkin, Tuesday, Bandit, Toto, & Nobody.

[ Art Credit: Tofu Productionz ]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

nobodyheardyou:

They had killed for money, yes, but Nobody had been willing to look the other way. In his circles hitmen were a dime a dozen, and as those types went Tuesday had been among the most clever, most neighbourly. They had snagged his interest and their company had been favourable, and so he had given them the benefit of the doubt—but now they were talking brownie points. They were weighing their own impression and exposing the entitlement that hid behind sharing secrets, as if life was a game and Tuesday had been keeping score all along.

Sour with drink, this child of the Mediterranean was testing his patience, but Nobody was content to hold his tongue. Words, he reminded himself. These were words, and though they were many they were nothing more. Perhaps if he could bore them Tuesday would leave in favour of more amusing prey. But then he watched—with growing distaste—as the hitman whirled on Nightingale. The ghost of a shadow crossed her face, and that was it. The match was struck.

“Hey… hey.” Nobody joined the others on his feet. He dusted off his knees. “Come on. We’re not doing this. There’s nothing to confess.” He laughed a note and looked at Nightingale. “Right?” His smile was warm, and it vanished the instant his eyes flicked back to Tuesday. He closed the distance between them.

It was the same old instinct that had driven him to kill a man—show them you mean business, and they’ll leave you be—but the closer he got, the smaller he felt.

“We got a problem, Tuesday,” he said, and seized the assassin’s collar. His knuckles were white. “You gotta learn when to roll up your window.”

Time slowed. He balled his free hand into a fist and wound up. Some things, he reflected, were more important than pacifism. His fist cracked into Tuesday’s jaw.

Reason number two they wished they hadn’t come here drunk.

On any other day, Tuesday would’ve seen that punch coming a mile off.  That they didn’t was testament to just how off guard Nobody caught them, knuckles slamming into the side of their face.  They reeled backwards, catching themselves on one foot, and there was a long moment where they just stared at him, caught somewhere halfway between surprised and impressed.

Then they were righting themselves, rolling their shoulders and cracking their neck to right the way their head sat.  They ran their tongue round the inside of their mouth, spat - and even in the half-light the stain it left on the carpet was unmistakably dark.

“Okay, okay!  Interestin’ proposal.  I deserved that, and I admire a man who has the balls to back up his words with actions.  However,”  They took a step forward, hesitantly, holding out one hand as if to beg parley.  Tuesday smiled.

“I have another idea.”

[content warning for somewhat graphic violence under the cut]

Keep reading

Could she have done something to stop it?

Could she have stepped in, somewhere? Seen it coming? She should have seen it coming, both times; that the threat from Nobody would turn to action; the sound of his fist connecting with Tuesday’s face was like glass breaking.

“N-Nobody--!”

Blood oozed from Tuesday’s mouth as they reeled back, drip-dropping on the carpet; their teeth must have connected with their lip, some inner part of their face, and Nightingale was surprised they didn’t fall over. As it was, they stayed up -- and that, that and the false generosity in their tone, their smile -- maybe it meant she didn’t see it coming.

Gasped, sure, when they wrestled Nobody to the floor. But Nightingale’s image of them -- dangerous, sure. A killer, sure. For money. 

This time, the sound wasn’t glass breaking. More like crushed underfoot.

“I-- stop, stop it-!”

Before she could quiet herself, stepping closer, nearer, bile rising in her throat at the sight of Nobody’s wrist hanging limply, this way and that. Calm down, calm down, calm down, or it would be his elbow, next, calm down. 

“Y-you are right.” Maybe they wouldn’t find out. They still didn’t know her name, like she didn’t know theirs. “I-- you are right,” But they had seen her from somewhere, knew what she did. Could they find her? “So-- so let him go and I will tell you.” Did that even matter, when it was someone else on the line?

Selfish in thought, as usual. 

[chapter 4] supercluster [nobody/tuesday]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

estatomartedi:

nobodyheardyou:

A chill rolled through him. He should have guessed what question would follow—but he had not. Years in prison had left him trained to keep that information far away from the ears of others, but Nightingale was not an inmate, and those same rules could not—should not—apply.

“Alright, I uh… I’m gonna… give you a little context, and it’s gonna sound real stupid. ‘Specially after what you heard from Tuesday,” he started, and leaned back on his hands. His smile was forced, brief, and then he looked away again.

“I was in when I did it. Had already done a few stints as a fall guy—that’s, uh… That’s doing someone else’s time for money. Paid a good dime, but if I could help it this was gonna be the last one. This was…” Nobody scratched his head. “Jesus. Gotta be nearly ten years ago now.” He laughed a sour note. His crime was at the front of his mind, and the mere thought of it tied his stomach into knots.

“Only had a few weeks left when the riot broke out.” He stared through the television, shook his head. “It was a fuckin’ mess, Nightingale. Like a bad, bad dream. I’ll, uh… I’ll spare you the politics, but a bunch of guys cornered me in the kitchen. Brought all the COs with ‘em—the hostages—and told me to prove whose side I was on.” Nobody pulled in a long breath and pressed on. “And I did. I picked an officer and I killed him.”

In the silence that followed his eyes found the plate of sushi, untouched now for too many minutes, but his appetite was long gone. When his gaze wandered elsewhere, something unwelcome caught his eye. He looked at the door. As he fought to keep from wondering how much Tuesday had heard, his face went dark.

They’d been too long in the sushi bar, sinking glass after glass of sake - not even out of any particular fondness for the drink, but because after the third or fourth measure the pain had started to fade, and that was just heavenly.  At about eight drinks they could no longer feel their ribs at all… or their fingers, or toes.  By the time they decided to pay a visit to their best friends, they’d lost count.  This wasn’t wise.  When they’d come aboard this ship, they’d tried to stick to mixed drinks - enough to have fun, but not so much they’d ever find themself with their guard down.  

All that was out the window now: drinking to dull the senses was a beast of a different colour, and one you could not keep on a leash.  Tuesday traced the wall to what they thought was the right door and, without so much as a polite knock, pushed it open on silent hinges.

It was only the very tail end of his story, and it took them a lot longer than they ideally would’ve liked to process what they heard, but as Nobody turned and his expression darkened, Tuesday’s lit up.  With over-acted nonchalance, they made themself nice and comfortable in the doorway, leaning on the frame with their hands in their pockets.

“Hi, guys!  Hope I’m not interruptin’ anythin’?”  With a huge, ecstatic grin plastered across their face, they nodded to Nightingale - then, taking in the sushi, the video game running silently in the background, their smile turned a little sly.  “Funny topic of conversation for a date, I have to say!  Can’t believe you’d hang out an’ tell each other all your secrets without me, and after I spilled my guts to you guys, too.”

A beat of silence before they stepped fully into the room, kicking the door shut behind them, and sighed.  “Y’know, I actually really wish I was sober for this.  I can’t be makin’ a very good impression right now,”  They paced closer, their body language not exactly speaking of regret.  “And I’m guessin’ brownie points are somethin’ I could sorely use with you two, right now.  But, see, I was in a lot of pain, and I’m not terribly bright, so… here we are.”

Pausing just an arm’s length away from the pair, they shrugged helplessly.

“Great timin’ on my part, though, right?  Can’t say I’m totally surprised, but two out of three’s some wild odds.  Nothin’ to confess, uccellino?”  Tuesday had largely been fixed on Nobody as they approached, but suddenly they turned their full attention on Nightingale and laughed, quite genuinely. “You know what they say, after all: c волка́ми жить, по-во́лчьи выть!”

As Nobody spoke, Nightingale tried to form a picture in her head -- a page-by-page account of Nobody’s life. She remembered, before, their conversation -- that Nobody had two children of his own. Happy and thriving without me, she remembered, and putting that image in context, Nobody serving other people’s time in prison, him inside, them outside. 

What did their mother tell them, she wondered? How long ago had it been since he exited their life? By choice? By force? It was ten long years ago, and God knows how long behind bars in and out before that. Too many questions. Not enough answers. A jigsaw with too many broken, missing pieces. 

And-- and probably bad, that she was relieved, when he told her why. That it was only murder. Only murder, she thought, deliriously, that’s what this place had done to her, only murder of an innocent man to save his own skin, at that. Not murder because he thought it would be fun, like Vamp. Not murder for money, like Tuesday.

Who was-- in the doorway. Listening. She noticed suddenly, all at once, a beat before Nobody. 

They were three sheets to the wind and then some; she could practically smell it on them from here, see it in their wild, slightly manic smile, in the slipshod slur in their voice. But the threat was there, even still -- even now, walking into the room, closing the door to further interruption, walling them in, talking away, demanding their attention and taking it by force anyway. 

It should have just been an annoying interruption, but-- 

Nothin’ to confess, uccellino? 

It only showed on her face for a moment. Just a moment. But she already knew it was a moment too much. 

“...If is brownie points you are looking for,” she managed, getting to her feet to be on even ground with them, at least feel like it, rearranging her face into something reasonably stoic, “then you are doing very poor job of finding them. What is it that you want?”

[chapter 4] supercluster [nobody/tuesday]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

nobodyheardyou:

By the end of the match Nobody’s eyes were crinkling over a smile. Under ordinary circumstances he might have felt a little sheepish, to be so danced around in a game that was meant for children, but he had not forgotten what he had promised upon his loss. His relief was as premature as it was fleeting.

The weight had already settled onto his shoulders when Nightingale silenced the room. The lights overhead, the television—all of a sudden they were far too bright, and every little shift hit his ears like thunder. He could all but hear himself blink.

“Well I, uh…” Nobody cleared his throat and set down his controller. “…Yeah. It’s not like—well, I don’t know.” He raked his scalp with bitten-down nails and pushed out a breath, and fought every urge to dodge, to stall, to tightly shut his mouth. Nightingale was a gentle woman, and considerate, but everyone had limits. As he pressed on, his chest grew tight.

“I’m not gonna let myself lead with excuses, but you gotta know I haven’t lied. I am a janitor. It’s just—” The words caught in his throat. He swallowed. “It’s my work detail. In prison. And I’m here ‘cause I, uh…” His eyes darted to Nightingale, then away again. “I’ve got a lotta years ahead of me. Couldn’t turn down a chance to get outta there.”

She had to bite down the urge to comfort him.

He avoided her eyes, pushed his hands back through his hair, and her instinct was to reach out, move closer, rest her hand on his shoulder and tell him it was okay. That whatever he had to say, whatever he had to tell her, it would be alright.

The problem was that she had no way of knowing that, and Nobody knew she had no way of knowing that. And if what he had to say drove her away (she hoped not, clutched to a little, sore something in her chest that said I don’t want that) then it would make a liar of her. No more of that, either.

Slow and steady, he went. In prison, with a fearful look at her and then away as she took that in, digested it. I’ve got a lotta years ahead of me. Something serious. Assault, arson, murder, something worse that she couldn’t reconcile with the man who’d bandaged her hand for her, been a quiet, reliable presence, seen her two bottles in and a mess and still enjoyed her company, mind racing with it.

“...I would not turn down chance, either.” she heard herself say, far away from herself, unable to tear her eyes from him, voice steady even through a pounding heart. “...This is not surprise, if I am being truthful. I had thought perhaps in the past, but...” Now. Now, not before. And now or never, to ask.

“...What was your crime?”

[chapter 4] supercluster [nobody/tuesday]

[teorievesmiru-blog]

“Ah, me? You are sure?” 

A more thorough tour of the new floor had been in order for some time, now; the truth of it wouldn’t hide if Nightingale shut herself away. New areas. New places. New hazards to watch out for, new items that could be used as creative weapons if she wasn’t careful. 

Morbid thoughts, but... it was better to have at least a passing familiarity. A knowledge of the normal, the better to see the abnormal. Idealism didn’t save people; action did. 

(--Even that was debatable, but better, surely, to try.)

Seeing if she was still on good terms with most of the boat was -- another matter. They’d all seen her hand a gun to a hired killer. It was -- best, at the time, the right thing (no matter how it twisted her gut, dug in like a needle), but voices echoed in her head. Judge’s, mostly, but Lumi’s, too; don’t give it to them. 

But the girl’s voice was nothing but smiles, when she called to her from the booth, and after a moment, Nightingale joined her, pushing past the curtain to lean in.

“Ah-- there are so many options.” she noted, experimentally touching one on the side; the frame option changed, a cute design with makeup, clothes, Paris boutiques. “You have used these before, Lumi?”

Chapter 4 | Accelerant [ OPEN ]

Six lives had been lost aboard the Endless Expanse, and there were still nine participants of Dot’s game left. The conflicting feelings swirling around in Lumi’s heart had plagued her since Blythe had passed, but now…

She was feeling better than ever. Refreshed, even.

Perhaps it was grief, sadness, or disappointment? Lumi still couldn’t place those feelings that had been holding her back, but she could firmly say that any hold they had on her was gone now. Something else had replaced them. Perhaps she had reached some sort of new resolve? If she were Bandit, sure she might word it like that, but… Eh, didn’t that feel a little cliche~?

Regardless, Lumi found a new motivation inside her. This wasn’t just about solving mysteries for her own amusement anymore. Each and every person on this ship deserved the freedom to choose how they wish to chase their own happiness. It just didn’t sit right with her that they were trapped here, feeling sorry for themselves, and being forced to kill each other to be granted happiness by their robotic host. Didn’t sit right at all. 

So, it was time to shake things up. She had to fight for everyone’s freedom now. But first–

“Aha~! For real? Dot brought something like this aboard?”

Mid-investigation, Lumi found herself completely distracted by the pink photo booth innocently sitting next door to the Karaoke Bar. She hopped inside and began recklessly messing with the settings. She was sure she could figure it out… maybe.

“Hmmm, which frame to choose~ I’ll look lovely regardless, but this really must be memorable… Ah!”

She had forgotten the most important part! She needed a partner to take these photos with. This couldn’t possibly be done alone. Besides, if someone else met a grisly fate, well… It wouldn’t hurt to have something to remember them by. Lumi leaned out of the booth and searched around for the first person to walk by– Aha. Target acquired.

“Hey, hey~ Darling! Come this way. Take a picture with me, won’t you?”