Danny ends in the dark and wakes to brilliant, streaming sunlight, still wearing the gloves and overboots a trip to Rosenfeld required. He even has a magnet still clutched in one hand, for God's sake, and for a brief moment he thinks about opening the wide, round window set into one wall and hurling it into the inexplicable sea outside. He doesn't, but he stares at the azure blue expanse for a beat or two too long, trying to put together the throughline that took him from there to this.
It's better than recalling Alex's impassive, feral face in those last moments; how she'd stood, and watched, and made no move to save him. Why should she, when saving him meant condemning herself? He should have known what she was capable of.
Eventually, he finds the note, leaves his gloves and his boots and his winter coat behind, the sleeves on his sweater pushed up in mainly symbolic deference to the bright warmth of his new surroundings. The sense of being compelled towards a destination is one he doesn't like, least of all when it sticks him in place, hindering him from any direction but forward. It's magic Darlington hasn't felt from any of the societies, a new mystery, and as exciting as the novelty is he's always preferred to be the one observing rather than acted upon. Upon reaching the gathering crowd, he's proud he doesn't startle at the appearance of their hostess, but as she bedecks him with a garland and flutters away again, Darlington can't help but exchange a look with the person nearest him.
"If she's the gal with the winning smile..." he starts, but leaves the rest unsaid.
upstate with your own ball of yarn
Darlington treats this like he would any Manuscript party: eat and drink nothing, and trust little that you see with your own eyes. Somehow, he still ends up making his way to Scoops, warily eyeing the ice creams in their cooler. He doesn't point at one, but somehow a cone appears in front of him anyway, the scoop on top a lurid purple that reminds him of nothing so much as the Merity-stained tongue of one of Caihe's acolytes. It's a thought that makes him shudder, a chance he knows better than to take, and as he turns away from the counter he manages to orchestrate a fumble that looks accidental enough.
"Oh no," he says as the cone splats to the ground, and tries to make it sound convincing. He's still quick to grab some napkins and crouch down, cleaning up the shattered cone and the slowly melting ice cream. He was raised with manners, after all.
a boy on an adventure
Wildcard option! Find Darlington...basically anywhere on the ship, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and how all of this works (good luck with that, Danny).
[[I literally just made a plurk two seconds ago and am already terrified of it, but ping me at gripyfish if you have questions/need info/etc?]]
Darlington | Ninth House
Danny ends in the dark and wakes to brilliant, streaming sunlight, still wearing the gloves and overboots a trip to Rosenfeld required. He even has a magnet still clutched in one hand, for God's sake, and for a brief moment he thinks about opening the wide, round window set into one wall and hurling it into the inexplicable sea outside. He doesn't, but he stares at the azure blue expanse for a beat or two too long, trying to put together the throughline that took him from there to this.
It's better than recalling Alex's impassive, feral face in those last moments; how she'd stood, and watched, and made no move to save him. Why should she, when saving him meant condemning herself? He should have known what she was capable of.
Eventually, he finds the note, leaves his gloves and his boots and his winter coat behind, the sleeves on his sweater pushed up in mainly symbolic deference to the bright warmth of his new surroundings. The sense of being compelled towards a destination is one he doesn't like, least of all when it sticks him in place, hindering him from any direction but forward. It's magic Darlington hasn't felt from any of the societies, a new mystery, and as exciting as the novelty is he's always preferred to be the one observing rather than acted upon. Upon reaching the gathering crowd, he's proud he doesn't startle at the appearance of their hostess, but as she bedecks him with a garland and flutters away again, Darlington can't help but exchange a look with the person nearest him.
"If she's the gal with the winning smile..." he starts, but leaves the rest unsaid.
upstate with your own ball of yarn
Darlington treats this like he would any Manuscript party: eat and drink nothing, and trust little that you see with your own eyes. Somehow, he still ends up making his way to Scoops, warily eyeing the ice creams in their cooler. He doesn't point at one, but somehow a cone appears in front of him anyway, the scoop on top a lurid purple that reminds him of nothing so much as the Merity-stained tongue of one of Caihe's acolytes. It's a thought that makes him shudder, a chance he knows better than to take, and as he turns away from the counter he manages to orchestrate a fumble that looks accidental enough.
"Oh no," he says as the cone splats to the ground, and tries to make it sound convincing. He's still quick to grab some napkins and crouch down, cleaning up the shattered cone and the slowly melting ice cream. He was raised with manners, after all.
a boy on an adventure
Wildcard option! Find Darlington...basically anywhere on the ship, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and how all of this works (good luck with that, Danny).
[[I literally just made a plurk two seconds ago and am already terrified of it, but ping me at