repressings: <user name="goldsteins">, DNT (12)
[personal profile] repressings posting in [community profile] spacebattles
WHO • Credence Barebone ([personal profile] repressings) & everyone, with a closed starter for Graves
WHERE • Deck 2 corridors, mess hall
WHEN • 5/11
WHAT • Credence finally arrives, meets everyone, tries not to kill people, the usual
WARNINGS • Mentions of abuse and matricide, all that fun stuff

i. Deck 2 corridors and arrival; OTA
[ Credence arrives and it’s with less aplomb that he’d expect. The world is dark, grimy, but it’s not the streets of New York City and it certainly isn’t the New Salem Philanthropic Society. He merely blinks and he has been displaced, set aside in the grand scheme of things and dropped among sights and sensations he doesn’t recognize.

It would set a normal person on edge, and for Credence, doubly so. When he looks down he doesn’t find the debris of a church. When he looks to the side he does not find his sister crushed, nor his mother with gray skin and black, tar-like lines on her face. He finds no one, and that is even worse than sobbing in a corner, frantically waiting for Mr. Graves to come and help him. If he is alone, so is Modesty, and Modesty needs someone, even if it’s someone like Credence.

He stumbles, unused to the footing, unused to anything in the alien setting, and he moves on instinct alone: a hand reaches out behind him to steady himself as he slides down the wall, eyes brimming with tears but refusing to cry. He takes a deep breath before grabbing at his necklace, holding it tightly in his hand like a rosary. Even if he won’t come, it will at least give him some sort of hope. It’ll give him enough time to calm down.

Please help me. [ It’s barely above a whisper, and he shuts his eyes as tight as he can as he says it, rocking from his spot on the floor. ] Please.

ii. mess hall; OTA
[ Through luck--and guidance--Credence realizes he’s not alone. He’s a great deal calmer than he’d been before, although he and calm are much like oil and water. He keeps his outward appearance quiet, focused, even if internally he feels sick. This is a far cry from Pike street. This is a far cry from horses and automobiles and radio shows.

But he has to be brave. He has to not be a useless heap on the floor. There are others, and maybe those others include Modesty. Maybe--just maybe--those others include the woman in blue who had shown him kindness.

He finds himself carefully exploring, making his way to a mentioned area. The mess hall, that could give him food. Credence is pale and slim on the best of days when Ma lets him eat, so the prospect of something--for free--is too tantalizing to pass up.

He makes his way across the threshold and into the room, quiet as a mouse, and he frowns.

I thought there was food.

[ He sees nothing of the sort, only strange machines and more glinting metal. He tries to hide the edge of disappointment in his voice, but fails. ]

Iii. crew quarters; closed to graves
[ He’s learned many things in his first day. He’s learned to tuck his necklace underneath his shirt to hide it, even here. He’s learned that he can eat whatever he wants whenever he wants--and the food tastes bland, but it’s not soup bland, made by adding a little bit more water to the soup stock every day. He’s learned that he’s not alone. He’s also learned that maybe, just maybe, he’ll recognize someone.

Mostly, he’s just learned what exhaustion and stress can do on a tired, grieving body: Credence is absolutely exhausted. There are crew quarters, or so he’s told. He’s told a lot of things and he takes them at face value, still in awe that people would help him. He cautiously makes his way towards crew quarters--a fancy name, like they’re aboard a great ship, cruising to Europe--and peeks around. It’s all still foreign to him. Everything is strange and terrifying and maybe, if he brings himself to tell the truth, just a little bit exciting.

He rounds the corner, quiet and hunched, and when he does look up from his shoes he thinks he must be dreaming.

That can’t be him. He can’t be here, but there he is: stoic, jaw clenched, demeanor no nonsense and serious. It is him.

Mr. Graves.

[ It worked. The necklace worked. Credence can’t stop himself--he runs, and while he doesn’t touch, no--he reaches out like he wants to, heart hammering in his chest, mouth suddenly dry. He’s here. He’ll fix everything. ]

Mr. Graves, it really is you, I--I tried to call for your help, I--so much has happened, you’re here, too, it’s-- [ the words are spilling out of his mouth, and he's finding himself unable to stop them, either.]
Anonymous( )Anonymous This community only allows commenting by members. You may comment here if you're a member of spacebattles.
Identity URL: 
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of people who comment anonymously.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.