[SE] that's fucked up

JACK

The snow eases in King's End, and in its place comes a downpour the likes of which Jack and the crew of The Ark haven't experienced since the monsoons had been a genuine problem back in Torchline. And y'know what? The Captain is done, at least for a short while, opting to get the fuck out of dodge before he abandons the region forever out of spite. Unfortunately for him, the journey up to the Grounds for some assorted business (and to shamelessly see what Vesper is up to) is the only reprieve they'll get from the rain.

As the ship descends to make port in Jack Tar Landing, the dark clouds are already starting to brood overhead again, threatening a storm, and he has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek not to snarl in frustration about it. Instead, they put down anchor and let down their sails, and Jack leaves the rest in Murphy's very capable hands so he can get somewhere he doesn't have to look at the rain when it inevitably arrives.

Unfortunately, it seems that the port area isn't just regularly washed out this Flowerbirth - it's also home to some weird shit. What Jack thinks, at first, is a shambling and dirty stray dog, turns out to be some kind of mud creature, and before he realises he's even done it, he's got earth magic reaching out to try and warp it forcefully in the opposite direction.

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Rain moves like static across the surface of Vesper’s hood, beads trembling before spilling down in silver lines. The air here is thick with the scent of brine and silt, the docks creaking beneath the weight of their sodden cargo and the ghosts of all the ships that have come through before. He keeps his head bowed, gaze trained on the warped reflection of lanternlight in the puddles, and lets his mind unfurl instead, fine as a spider’s web, stretched out across the Landing.

It’s not sight, not really. More a constellation of borrowed impressions. The ripple of frustration from a fishmonger counting ruined wares. The vague, beer-fogged admiration of a sailor watching The Ark descend from the clouds. And there—sharp and bright as a struck match—the familiar drag of attention that means Jack Barclay’s in town. Vesper’s mouth curves, slow and humourless. Adjusting the weight of the paper bag tucked under his arm, he turns his steps toward the mental flare, the sound of rain thickening against the wooden planks. When he lifts his head at last, he spots the captain through the sheets of rain, earth magic coiling like a command around some misshapen, mud-slick thing.

Vesper's smirk turns sharper and with a flick of his fingers, shadows slide out from under the pier like dark water, sweeping forward to meet Jack’s magic. They strike the creature with enough force to send ripples through its form, sending mud scattering only for it to reform, refusing to obey. The demigod watches the thing knit itself back together again, shoulders rising and falling beneath his soaked jacket. "Seems to like you," he drawls, voice carrying just enough to cut through the hiss of rain as his shadows recoil, slick and useless. "This shit is everywhere," he adds with a dry huff.

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

Jack has no hood to keep the rain off as it starts to patter down in a steady drone, but it seems to avoid him all the same; his collar is turned up against the chill and his hands sit deep in the pockets of his coat, but with a combination of water and air magic, he's perfectly dry as he considers the strange mud-puppy in his midst. Unaware of Vesper's proximity until the shadows lance out at the thing, the Captain glances sharply towards their origin, relaxing only when he confirms the boy's identity.

"The feelin' ain't mutual," he assures him, frowning to see the creature literally reform before their eyes. "Fuck is it?" he asks, stepping closer to Vesper even as he reaches out with a further pulse of earth magic, trying to corral the slop of malformed dirt towards the edge of the docks. "Just mud?" He assumes there isn't anything actually buried under there that's alive, anyway.

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

A soft, amused snort escapes him, half lost to the hiss of rain against wood. "Memory Mud," Vesper answers, the words dry as the Captain's coat was. His shadows stir idly at his feet, smudging the creature’s edges as if curious to see what shape it’ll take next while Jack wrangles it toward the edge. "Apparently it comes from memory snow," he adds, like that’s supposed to make sense. 

The dark tendrils trail after Jack’s magic, nudging the thing like a lazy cat batting at a mouse. The mud slops over the dock’s lip, only to shudder and pull itself together again, reforming in a halfhearted imitation of something with legs. Vesper exhales through his nose, watching it with faint incredulity before glancing back up beneath the shadow of his hood. He tips his head, eyes catching the dull light as they slide back to Jack. "So," he drawls, voice low and edged with wry curiosity, "you up here for long?"

Ahead of them, the creature claws back onto the planks again with a wet slap, reshaping itself in stubborn defiance, one glob at a time.

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

Memory Snow does at least stir a little recognition in Jack, and he recalls the strange snowmen that seemed to rebuild themselves along the pathways of the Castaway Exchange. Silently glad that he'd left before they'd had to deal with something similar in King's End - though evidently he hasn't gotten out of it entirely - he cocks his head to the side as the half-dog-half-sludge creature starts to apparently take itself over the side of the dock.

And then it comes back again, first as a pair of legs, then as something nightmarish, and Jack pulls a face before changing tactics to start to freeze the water inside it, hoping to encase it in the current shape and stop it from slorping around so much. "Hate it," he decides, his tone remarkably casual for the vitriol.

"Sailed up to get out of King's End 'cause it won't stop rainin'." He barks out a laugh now at the irony. "Thought I'd come see how shit was goin' up here." Whether he felt better for the distance, perhaps, though he doesn't say it. "Can get a drink if you want, so long as this thing ain't gonna try to tag along."

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Vesper grunts, the sound low and unamused, watching the creature stiffen beneath the spreading frost. "Yeah," he mutters, shifting his grip on the grocery bag under his arm. "It gets in everything and the worst is cleanin’ it up just for it to wander back like it’s payin’ rent." His tone is drier than the captain’s coat, the faintest twist of humour hiding in the irritation.

He flicks his fingers, shadows curling up the edge of the dock like smoke tasting the air, as if to make sure the frozen mass stays put. The hiss of rain grows heavier, drumming against the planks and the hood drawn over his head.

At Jack’s reasoning, Vesper snorts softly at the irony. He tips his head toward the row of crooked lamps down the dock, where the shapes of awnings and crates mark the start of the market fringe. "There’s a bar just past there that's got decent rum."

The mud twitches again at the edge of his vision, reshaping with a wet, reluctant sound. Vesper sucks in a slow breath over his teeth, side-eyeing the thing. "I reckon we can probably outpace it. Hopefully, it'll find someone else to bother in the meantime."

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

"Sounds like you've been makin' the most of your time our here already," Jack says, scoffing under his breath and watching carefully as if to wait for the memory mud creature to crack through its icy tomb as if it's nothing. When it doesn't, despite the taunting of Vesper's shadows and the way the rain hammers harder around them, the Captain finally turns away from it. "Ark is leavin' in a day or two if you wanna get the fuck outta dodge." He grins.

For now though, that drink does sound good - especially as he also senses the muddy thing in their periphery getting some of its movement back. "More power to 'em," he agrees of the person due to be bothered by the memory mud, because he's already setting off in the direction Vesper has indicated. His magic reaches out silently to extend the shield of protection against the bad weather. "Just say when we're there."

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Vesper’s head tips in a small shake, rain slipping from the edge of his hood like liquid glass. The shadows around his boots still, their restlessness quieting even as his jaw tightens, barely perceptible, but there. "Can’t go back t’King’s End just yet," he says after a pause, tone flat enough to pass for casual though it isn’t. "Certain someone’d take it as a sign." The flicker of wryness in his voice can’t disguise the tension that threads through it.

With a faint curl of his lip, he nudges his shadows forward one last time; they surge in a single, elegant sweep, shoving the frozen mud-thing clean off the dock. It hits the water with a muted splash and a slow, sullen drift away that would hopefully buy time for the next asshole it targeted. Vesper lets the movement of it go, turning to follow Jack down the dock. The rain bends harmlessly around them now, and he grunts his appreciation, a soft sound that might almost be thanks.

By the time they reach the squat little tavern tucked against the pier’s edge, the smell of rum and woodsmoke bleeds faintly into the air. Vesper’s shadows glide ahead to pull the warped door open, and he ducks beneath the threshold, shaking rain from his hood before shoving it back. The pale tangle of his hair catches the lamplight as he rakes a hand through it. "There’s some kinda festival comin’ up," he says, glancing sideways at a nearby poster as he leans one elbow on the bar. "Blood Moon or something, supposed to be big with the Ancients." One brow lifts, the barest ghost of amusement threading through the words as he holds up two fingers for the bartender.

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

"Oh? Shit that serious still?" Jack drawls, following Vesper down towards the tavern with barely a glance back over his shoulder at the sound of a half-frozen mud creature slapping against the surface of the dock water. When they'd spoken back at Longnight he'd known it wasn't exactly a casual bit of parenting he'd accidentally found himself doing, but that Vesper had gone ahead with his plan to come up here and that he's still keeping his distance...

Whistling low under his breath and ducking in through the door as well, Jack pulls his hands from his pockets at last to unbutton and shrug out of his coat. "I'll save constructin' the bar on The Ark until you decide either one of you has had enough," he decides, turning to select a table as Vesper orders from them. Tucked in the corner enough that they'll have their backs to the wall, it nevertheless gives a nice little view of the tavern comings and goings; in short, Jack's favourite seat in any bar.

"Huh, that thing again?" He glances briefly towards the poster. "Last time they had it, it was up on Peekaboo Rise, I think they call it? Won't be surprised if it's a fuckin' washout if they have it here a second time."

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Vesper shrugs, setting the glasses down with a soft clink as the rum catches the light. "Left at the start of the season," he says, lowering himself into the chair across from Jack. "Told her I’d be gone awhile. She wanted me t’stay, but..." A sigh slips past his teeth, one shoulder lifting, then falling. "If I go back now it'd look like I did it for her and I'd probably in a worse spot with it all than when I left." The words taste like salt and smoke, irritation masking something quieter underneath.

He leans back, the chair creaking faintly beneath him as he adjusts, head angling to one side. The small exhale that follows could be mistaken for fatigue, but it’s really concentration; pulling his mind in tight, closing out the noise that hums along the edges of the room. When he looks back to Jack, the focus is sharper, steadier.

Jack’s mention of the festival draws a flicker of surprise through Vesper’s pale eyes. "Didn’t figure you for the festival goin type." He pushes one of the glasses across the table and wraps his own fingers around the other, the shadow of a smirk ghosting over his mouth. "What's it like?"

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

Wrinkling his nose as Vesper explains and accepting the glass of rum he slides across the table towards him, Jack almost suggests faking his death again, but he feels like he might want to actually go back to King's End at some point, so he lets it lie. "An' you reckon things'll just be easy when you're done here?" he says instead, taking a quick sip of the liquor and relishing the burn in his throat and chest.

Humming his approval and absently watching the door, he doesn't need to rein in the net of his telepathy, especially now that it isn't liable to get snagged on painful spikes of emotion. Besides, he can feel it, slowly but surely, as his mind starts to quiet; it's a sense of calm the Captain hasn't experienced since before Stormbreak and Flora's letter, and he takes every opportunity he can get to put it to work.

"To this day I couldn't tell you how I ended up there," he admits with a roll of his shoulder. "It was... a lot of shit happened." Jack speaks slowly as if he's trying to remember. "Real chaotic. There was a bonfire. Melita threw a shoe at someone?"

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Vesper’s brows lift, a quiet, knowing expression ghosting across his face before he shakes his head. "Easy?" he echoes, almost laughing under his breath. "No, just..." He tips his glass, studying the way the rum licks gold against the rim before taking a slow sip. The warmth hits, chasing off the damp that’s worked into his sleeves. "In a few weeks maybe she'll've moved on, or forgotten about me. " The dry sound of his voice softens the admission, but there’s something genuine buried in the cadence, something weary around the edges.

He sets the glass down, the tip of one finger circling lazily around its base. "Fire and chaos," he repeats, nodding faintly as if that sums up everything anyone needs to know about the Blood Moon Festival—or the Grounds themselves. "From what I’ve heard, that’s the whole pitch. Big bonfires, people losin’ their minds, probably a few things burnin’ that shouldn’t." He glances sidelong at Jack, the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "It'll almost be like LongNight back in Torchline."

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

JACK

Tilting his head towards the boy and propping his chin in his hand, Jack absently reaches out to pinch the wick of one of the candles on the table, leaving it lit when he draws his fingers back. "From what you've said you're pretty unforgettable in her mind," he reminds him. "An' you know what they say about absence and the heart." Besides which, he's not convinced Vesper would want to be forgotten, but he opts to leave that part out.

Sitting back up to cradle his rum in one hand, he takes a thoughtful sip as the conversation turns back to the Blood Moon Festival, the Captain smirking around the glass entirely without meaning to. The Ark's crew had certainly missed Longnight in the islands, for as much of a brave face as they'd put on, and he'll never say it but he had too. "Maybe we'll sail back around for it," he says slowly. "Might be I see you there?"

Got a head full of spiders & a heart that isn't here

Vesper’s head tilts, a sharp line of amusement flickering through his expression before it cools into something flatter. The look he levels across the table is all pale light and quiet reproach, and when he speaks his tone carries a little more salt than he intends. "That your experience with absence and hearts, then?" The question lands softly enough, but it carries a bite beneath the smoothness, something brittle around the edges that he hides behind another sip of rum. Far as he could tell, absence hadn't made Jack's heart anything but harder, unless he'd missed some grand gesture his old man had pulled for Torchline's queen since moving East.

He lets the silence breathe between them for a moment, the flicker of candlelight painting gold across the rim of his glass. Then he exhales through his nose, the tension easing into a low hum of resignation. "Might be that you do," he murmurs, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug as his gaze drifts toward the tavern’s warped windows. "Other’n a little corner of town that caters more to my interests, there’s fuck all to do around here it seems."

VESPER

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)