Open Log: Big Blue Wet Thing

[goingtobeunwell]

Terrors waking that morning will find a few things amiss with the ship: 1. it's hot and humid inside their cabins, and 2. the ship itself is rocking.  Swaying, in fact, as though the ice beneath them has melted and the ship is moving. Which it is, actually, and quite quickly too. 

The holes in the side of Terror have been repaired, the rigging put up on the masts, the dual wheels of the helm moving as the ship races through the waves on its own. Up above the sun is shining brightly. 
H.M.S. Terror is sailing once more, destination unknown.

Comments

[brushoff]

"Some of us are lucky to come from old money," Dorian says, with a grin. "I wouldn't say I'm rich. Just comfortable enough to do what I want."

[choosethepath]

"I too come from old money, Mr. Gray. I've attended the finest boarding school in Ancelstierre, but I still find a way to contribute meaningfully to other people," she tells him coolly. Sabriel isn't one to throw around her own privileged life, but something about Dorian was setting her off. He seems too arrogant, too confident, and reminds her of the boys who came to the school for dances who were too empty headed and sure of themselves.

[brushoff]

Note to self, look up Ancelstierre later. It's a term that Dorian doesn't recognize which for him means that at some point, he's going to have to press Sabriel about it.

"Are you implying that I don't contribute meaningfully?" Dorian asks, in a tone of mock offense.

[choosethepath]

"Do you?" she challenges. "You travel and you had a failed venture with a bank." She stops walking and turns, facing him. "What do you do?" she asks again.

[brushoff]

Dorian bites back the urge to say that the main thing he's done recently is the lieutenant. Instead, he gives Sabriel a smile and a little shrug.

"On the ship? Not much. I help out with the chores occasionally but I'm no navy man—and I suspect I'll be especially out of my depth in the ocean. But as for back in England, I'd call myself a dilettante. I've tried multiple things with multiple different levels of success."

[choosethepath]

"You use a lot of words for a man who doesn't actually say anything," she counters. "Why is that?"

[brushoff]

Dorian can't help but raise an eyebrow. Well well. She's calling him out. He's not angered by that assessment. Instead, he can't help but smile a little before giving Sabriel a shrug.

"Force of habit, I assume. There are certain facets about myself that were best kept secret back in my world. I find myself repeating those patterns here even though I don't exactly need to."

Which is yet another example of a whole bunch of words that tell Sabriel jackshit.

[choosethepath]

A sigh and Sabriel desperately wants to roll her eyes. "If you're going to tell me those secrets, I'll stay and listen. If you are waiting for me to ask you to tell me, then you will be waiting for a very long time." She takes a step to the side, preparing to leave.

[brushoff]

"I'm over a hundred and fifty years old and cannot die," Dorian bluntly responds, carefully watching Sabriel all the while.

Yeah, he suspects she's not going to leave now that he's tossed out that little admission.

[choosethepath]

"You're the immortal," she says easily, moving her stance so she can step closer to him. She looks at him deeply, as if trying to see something. "You don't have a spirit?"

[brushoff]

"If you're talking about a soul, then no, I don't. It's a fact that's been proven time and time again as various other things out there have tried to claim it."

So many of Dorian's supernatural encounters boil down to things being disappointed as they can't eat/devour/claim his soul for their own.

[choosethepath]

She recoils from him. He's unnatural and she doesn't quite know what to do about it. How he is even walking and talking is beyond her. "I see," she mutters, wrinkling her nose. It's not her place to do anything about it, but he unnerves her in so many ways. Her fingers gently touch the handle of her bell, but it's only instinct. "I'm not in the business of claiming spirits, Mr. Gray. I'm merely trying to put them where they properly go."

[brushoff]

Dorian completely overlooks Sabriel's bells. He's mostly focused on her words. Claiming spirits? What the hell did that mean? Was she thinking of exorcising him? A part of him kind of wants to see her try.

"You'll find that I am a very difficult man to get rid of, Sabriel. I'd suggest you focus your attention elsewhere."

[choosethepath]

"You misunderstand. I don't mean to do anything to you, Mr. Gray. There isn't anything to do. No spirit means that you don't belong anywhere." She raises her chin. "I've met immortals before, but nothing like you."

[brushoff]

"I'm one of a kind," Dorian says, with a grin. It's something that he's obviously a little proud of and smug about.

"Though I am curious. What other immortals have you met?"

[choosethepath]

"Spirits that have dragged their way out of Death," she explains. She thinks of Mogget and is surprisingly sad, but there's a burning in her eye that reminds of of who he is and she gives Dorian an outright glare. "Monsters."

[brushoff]

Dorian matches Sabriel's glare with a collected frown of his own. Monsters? Tell him something he doesn't know.

"Interesting. You aren't the only one who's met other immortals. Though mine are more along the lines of men that, for some reason or another, simply refuse to die."

[choosethepath]

Sabriel clenches her jaw. "All things die, Mr. Gray, even monsters and immortals. That is the way of the world. One way or another. If you'll excuse me." She needs out of his presence before she does try to walk him through the gates.

[brushoff]

Dorian steps out of the way, gesturing for Sabriel to exit to the below-decks. "I'm sure we'll have some more lovely conversations in the future," Dorian chimes in, with a barely hidden air of smugness in his voice.

[choosethepath]

Maybe she won't use magic. Maybe she would just hit him. Either way, she tries to contemplate exactly what that means as she leaves and goes downstairs to scream into her pillow.

Men.