ferry-of-the-damned

[ferry-of-the-damned]

New fc for Menna. Anyone interested in a smol but powerful CEO?

[ferry-of-the-damned]

God he's pathetic, scrambling for the butt of a cigarette. She can see the gears turning in his head, wondering how he can get out of this situation without revealing himself to the other staff. Linda loves putting him in these sorts of impossible situations.

"Oh, that young lady with the cane," she says nonchalantly. "I believe she's the assistant DA. Her name sounded so familiar when she signed in, but I had to be sure."

Linda bends down, getting in his face, "You and Miss Albright have history. I know what you did Jonathan." She won't let him be a creep to her, not if she can help it. "I told her that you were in no state for visitors today. God knows why she would want to visit you."

@ferry-of-the-damned / continued from

As soon as the chance presents itself, he snatches the cigarette back. Places it back in his lips. Being in Arkham has him more moody, what with the withdrawal of various kinds. No cigarettes, no alcohol, no fear toxin highs. Like Hell does he want her to take his one joy in this miserable place.

He wonders how much of her spit is on the cigarette, in his mouth now.

If she weren't on his level in ability, he might try to fight her. The desire is there. It's fairly pointless. Even if he overpowers her (although potentially worth it), Arkham security would be on him. He might get put into isolation. They would know about his abilities, which he has hidden from them in order to not get treated like the other inmates with enhanced skills. He downplays himself, allows them to underestimate him. Useful when breaking out. Not worth it to reveal.

The cigarette bounces on his lips as he speaks: "What friend?" Whatever she is about to say is certainly nothing good.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

If she were honest with herself, she would rather have nothing to do with Jonathan Crane. But due to their past, she has a...vested interest in him. She's not one to let her experiments just walk off into the sunset. She needs to monitor him, perhaps even take a blood sample or two while he sleeps. Arkham is perfect for that. Hiding her identity was easy, makeup covering her pale skin and wigs to hide her hair.

"Gloat? No," she folds her arms behind her back. "Just....a reminder." Long fingers pluck the cigarette from his fingers, bringing it to her lips. Red eyes hold his blue stare as she fights the urge to blow the smoke in his face. Too much, even for her.

The fact of the matter is that he haunts her just as much as she haunts him.

"I saw your little friend today."

❛  i will haunt you for the rest of your days.  ❜ (for jon from linda :) )

@ferry-of-the-damned / unprompted, we love it

Linda has sought him out this time. She's only trying to get under his skin. There's no other motivation for any of this; he knows this. Maybe payback for the way he has thrown fits about her working at Arkham. He has since given up - no one listens to the ravings of a man declared insane. For this reason, he tries his best to restrain himself now.

"You do." Simple. An acknowledgment, but not feeding into her any further. No additional satisfaction.

He carries on. He isn't supposed to have it, obviously, but he managed to get his hands on a cigarette and lighter. She could potentially confiscate it if she likes, but he was in the middle of hiding in a corner with it already out by the time she arrived. So whatever. He lights it, hungrily taking a drag.

He exhales smoke, icy blue eyes cold in their gaze. "Come to gloat?"

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Behold! My Linda! She is biracial with her mom being black and her dad is Japanese. Her mom moved from New Jersey to Japan for school and decided to stay, even though she was ostracized. Her dad was perfectly willing to move but her mom refused to be pushed out of her new home.

When Linda was born it was even harder. Not only being biracial but also albino. She was made fun of constantly and people avoided her like the plague. It became clear to her early on that she was an outcast, and that this world would not be kind to her.

So why should she be kind back?

She spent years trying to find a way she could experience the sun. Maybe then she would have a chance at being able to have a normal life. But she knew if she wanted that it would not be in Japan. Thus, at 27, she packed up her things and moved to her mother's home state of New Jersey.

I'll post more about her career later.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

[ferry-of-the-damned]

𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝟎.𝟑 // 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐉𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐋

aldecaldos means family.

special thanks to @ferry-of-the-damned for allowing me to use their character, aiden mcconnell, for my narrative. due to a compression error, the first page of this chapter cannot be enlarged past 750px wide. no critical narrative information is obscured.

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[ferry-of-the-damned]

"No, I don't. Rather some very irritating brothers." He doesn't mean that, not entirely at least. They are annoying at times yes, but he would give anything for them. Aiden sits himself in a beat up armchair, pulling a cigar out of his coat pocket. "And I'm not 'city folk'," he says around his cigar as he lights it.

He glances back at Tick, he couldn't just leave them like that. Leave them broken and bleeding in the street. Hell he didn't even know them until he peeled them off the ground.

"I fucking hate this place," he takes a draw of the cigar, letting the smoke billow out the cracked window.

𝙰𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝙼𝚌𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚕 [ @ferry-of-the-damned ] 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍,

❝ i'm not going to stand here and argue with you about how much you need to get some rest. if i find you passed out on the floor, i'm leaving you there. ❞

Running back-alley soft on top-of-the-line Arasaka tech runs the gamut from surprisingly effective to utterly disastrous, and the lack of research into the matter means that Tick has no option but trial and error. Is it their preference to stay holed up in a dingy motel room on the Northside, waiting for new software to install and recent combat injuries heal? No. But there's a rather large, albeit organic, man barring the only exit.

With one arm detached, laid out on the stained dining table, they pointed at him with one of the disembodied fingers.

"You have kids? You act like you have kids." With their visor off, one can make out the fine hairline seams in the apertures of their eyes.

A pause.

"Not that I'm not grateful. All anyone where I come from says about city folk is that they'll sell you out for one cornchip. You didn't have to give me a place to stay like this, you know. Even if it is... endearingly infested..."

[ferry-of-the-damned]

It's official, I'm bringing my old man back to the blog.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Stephen would never have described himself as the 'paternal' type, but he has always been protective. Illyana is his ward, his apprentice, the future sorcerer supreme; of course he must protect her.

But then again, he does find himself doing things like this for her. Gently, he takes her hand off of his arm, "My apologies, I shouldn't have startled you." He steps out of the portal fully, setting the tea down next to her.

"I didn't, not until your brother slipped them to me last he came by. Said to give them to you when you were..." he's trying not to use the word 'brooding', "not feeling your best."

Dr. Strange @ferry-of-the-damned has suddenly appeared...

There is a slight 'wooshing' sound behind Illyana. A hand, covered in rings and scars, pokes out with a cup of tea in hand. There is of course a small cookie on the saucer to go with it.

Since her arrival at the Sanctum Santorum, Illyana's time has largely been consumed by study. This, of course, means she finds herself often beset with tedium, annoyance, and frustration. Despite her latent ability and natural talent for the arcane, regardless of how her new mentor assures her that she will, one day, live to usurp him as well, she continues to feel inadequate.

Sitting in her room, headphones on, she occupies herself with her usual brooding -- that is, until it is interrupted.

"Черт -- !"

She's barely able to catch herself before snatching the sudden guest by the forearm for an abrupt snap. When she registers the presence of the portal, of the little saucer, of the teacup and the cookie -- she can't help but crack a little smile, immediately overwriting her reflexive hostility.

"Oh... My favorite. I didn't know you knew."

Doing her best, her very best to maintain a tough exterior. Because it seems he knows about her love of oreshki.

Did he ask Piotr?

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Menna, unaware of any suspicion she might have aroused, closes her eyes and leans back; her hand resting on his head. In this state he really is like a cat.

In the back of her mind she does wish she could tell him what she is, that she is like him in a way.

That she too was not made for this world.

But those thoughts are pushed away as soon as she hears him purr. A small giggle bubbles up before she can stop it, it's adorable. Before long sleep finds her again, and she goes back to standby mode. As she slips into sleep she hopes that he will still be there when she wakes.

Curious. On a night with dense clouds shedding a snowy veil, the position of the moons couldn't be discerned with the eye alone. Hesitating by the hearth, lit obliquely, shaded like a human skull in the dark, he scrutinized her. How could she know the time? Hadn't the sound of the tree falling awakened her?

The invitation into her blanket breaks the rhythm of his brooding, however. Though her mammalian disposition makes her more susceptible to the cold, the infrared impression he gleans of her through the pits in his gums seems to indicate she's not quite freezing yet. Then the invitation is either purely proactive or -- and he will admit (to himself, at least) that this is his hope -- for pleasure.

Instantly, whatever stony skepticism had overtaken his manner melts away. The warm embrace of his personal savior is more than enough to placate his remaining paranoia. For now.

His passage between the hearth and under her outstretched arm is fluid and swift, like a feline. Instinctively, his tail curls around her from behind, forming a comfortable coil that rests the bladed tip against her leg. His dorsal tubes prop up the blanket in awkward angles -- like a bizarre tent erected by an idiot. But he doesn't seem to care about his lack of grace or dignity.

Not so long as he can hunker down and enjoy the fact that, in this dire silence of dead electrical outlets and powerless generators, he can clearly make out the sound of her heart beating. The faint magnetism all through her body tickling his senses-- the little bursts of electricity that tell her lungs to breathe, her eyes to blink. The subtle gravity of her presence in the room. All the usual indicators of prey that only a freak of his peculiar genesis could appreciate.

Beginning quietly, and entirely unnoticed by the creature from which the sound originates, Psi begins to purr as comfort overtakes.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Ninth subject refusing to cooperate with today's experiments. Signs of apparent bouts of zoochosis present in enclosure. Subject has wounded itself with compulsive pacing. Dispatch the Bishop unit to conduct a cursory exam, collect samples. First aid low priority. Subject must be suitable for testing in 24 hours.

Bishop tries not to walk too fast, he must not show any signs of actually caring for the beast. But how could he not? The moment is burst forth from viscera and tissue he held it close to his chest. If he could not feel love then tell him what he felt in that moment?

It truly was perfect.

He enters the room, already smelling the acid of it's blood. Not enough enrichment, it's been so alone.

"Little one, it's me. I've come to check on you."

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Some Random Menna Headcanons Just Because!

Her favorite creature is the pill bug! She has a few stuffed animals, a onesie, a jeweled pin, and a sleep mask that all look like pill bugs.

Her favorite treat is chestnut hand pies!

She doesn't have a lot of physical books but she does listen to a lot of audio books.

She collects crystals and rocks! She loves learning about geology.

In her room she has a perfect view of Earth. She has photos of the earth going from a brown blob to somewhat of a blue and green planet again.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

There is the thought of her calling her people to get the power fixed, but just as that thought enters her mind her takes her hand in his and all other thoughts leave.

.........maybe they can stay like this for a little while.

"Oh!" she yelps as she's lifted from the ground. Poor Menna is grateful that she can't blush. Is her heart beating faster? Perhaps she should have that looked at later...

She watches him work with awe, the sped at which she took control of the situation amazes her. Of course Menna knows exactly what it is, down to the nanosecond, but she's not quite ready to tell him all of what goes into that.

"I think it's around 2am?" 2:13.34 but who's counting.

The fire lights and she feels the warmth hit her. "Here," she opens the blanket he wrapped around her, "we should stay close, for warmth." That's right Menna, it's for warmth; nothing else.

Her insistence on knowing he's all right is somewhat flattering -- that is, before he recalls the limitations of her senses. His own ease in the dark isn't something they share, and when he feels her hand on his leg, he's already stepping forward, reaching out to stabilize her by the waist.

"There's a fireplace in the living room. I'll have to chop wood in a while, but there's a small stack beside the hearth."

He takes her hand off his leg and squeezes it gently in his own.

"I'll take you there."

Practically lifting her off the ground, their transit to the hearth is a quick one. Like before, he drapes a blanket from the nearby sofa over her shoulders while busying his hands with the task of making fire.

And, no, dear reader. The humor of his present situation is not lost on him. Him, making fire. For a human. As a favor. His ancestors would have been baffled.

"I have no idea what time it is. We could be stuck like this for one hour, or ten."

[ferry-of-the-damned]

It's already dark in the home but now power makes it even more so. The only source of light now the scant bit of refraction off the snow outside.

She's so concerned about him she doesn't even notice the 'dear' he calls her. Her arms reach out, trying to find him in the dark.

"I'm fine, I just heard a crash. But are you alright?" Feeling around, she comes into contact with what she believes is his leg. Menna shivers, her nightgown providing little heat. "Fuck, what are we going to do?"

In the late hours of the night, he had arranged every amenity he could spare for her before retiring to the couch. There, he hardly slept -- instead, curling up into his usual little ball and watching the snow through foggy windows in the dark. Periodically, the branches on surrounding trees would reach a certain point of heaviness where they'd buckle, dropping their payloads all at once before bouncing back into place.

Was he designed for a world that would have snowy winters? Was he designed for a world at all? He finally falls asleep, on the cusp of a new thought, just barely unable to grasp it.

The abrupt sound of some nearby catastrophe awakens him as well, the sudden thrust into consciousness putting him into a position on the floor on all fours, prickling, tail raised and spike angled offensively.

Missing only that single beat, he promptly straightens, grateful that the darkness and emptiness of the room would keep his little lapse in composure a secret for him.

That is, until he senses Menna's nearing presence.

Certainly she hadn't seen that. Right?

"I'm fine, dear. It's only a power outage. I will have to take a look at the solar panels in the morning. The energy storage unit must have suffered a falling tree."

He moves silent in the dark, fluid and sleek. It's where he belongs.

"Are you well?"

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Aw, the way he stretches and yaws reminds her of a cat. A very large, green cat. Menna takes the blanket and wraps it tightly around herself. "I'm happy you enjoy it here. Every year more of the planet gets terraformed, one day it will all be like this."

She slides off the couch and joins him at the window, placing a hand on his arm, "I would very much like that Psi."

---

🆂🆈🆂🆃🅴🅼 🅿🅾🆆🅴🆁🅸🅽🅶 🅳🅾🆆🅽-🅴🅽🆃🅴🆁🅸🅽🅶 🅿🅾🆆🅴🆁 🆂🅰🆅🅴 🅼🅾🅳🅴…

Menna does not sleep, per say. Her body goes into a state of rest where only the functions needed for her to keep running are on. This state is interrupted by the sound of a large crash.

🆃🅷🆁🅴🅰🆃 🅳🅴🆃🅴🅲🆃🅴🅳-🅴🅼🅴🆁🅶🅴🅽🅲🆈 🅱🅾🅾🆃🆄🅿 🅴🅽🅶🅰🅶🅴🅳...

Her eyes open and look around. Her form is small on Psi's bed, almost drowning in the blankets he insisted she take. Her feet gently pad across the floor, looking for what could have activated her emergency systems. She can only hope that Psi is alright.

"Psi," she whispers, it's very cold and dark in the home. Looks like the power went out. "Psi are you alright? Where are you?"

With the tip of the blade at the end of his tail, the alien catches the edge of a blanket hanging over the opposite side of the long sectional and drapes it over Menna's shoulders. One more yawn, one more wide, feline stretch, and he rises up from the sofa, drawing near to the window.

"Setting foot on the surface of Mars was the second time I had ever left a spaceborn vessel." On his side of the glass, fog had long since formed. In the condensation, he traces a line with the pad of his right index finger. "No weather in space. Quite regrettable. I've so enjoyed the rain."

For a moment, he lingers there. Then, turning to face her, clasps both hands behind his back.

"If you'd like, we can take a walk about the lakeshore in the morning. You can teach me all there is to know about how to make merriment in inclement weather."

[ferry-of-the-damned]

All he can do is be amazed. Such resilience, it's remarkable. He laughs as it inspects his hand with it's appendage.

"Yes, I'm quite sturdy as well," he chuckles. Bishop remembers the first time he saw it. Small, pink, fresh from emerging. Held it in his arms to feed it. He can't feel things like paternity, but he's sure this is the closest he can get.

"Ah, a gift! Thank you little one, I will treasure it," he pats it's head fondly.

Unbeknownst to Ix, its rather timely healing abilities are not characteristic of its species. Or any species, for that matter. Instead of appreciating its lack of necessitated recovery time, it tilts its head, sniffs the air, and promptly climbs atop the bag and begins a grotesque display of violence. Most assuredly, there will be nothing left of the bag itself, as its poor integrity is immediately compromised by slashing claws and gnashing teeth.

Only once all that remains is blood and little bits of bone, the animal releases a heavy chuff, its belly fat from the feast.

Curious now, it sits and straightens its back to mimic the Bishop's posture. He continues to periodically mystify the little morph. So very much like an organism, but in no way organic. The hand it had bitten off is back -- and he seems no worse for wear. Before long, sitting becomes a slow forward crawl that ends when it can reach the android's hand.

What follows can only be described as a bizarre combination of licking and sniffing. The alien's oral proboscis, evidently at least somewhat tongue-like in function, explored the entirety of the android's refreshed hand, periodically grasping at his fingers with the little star-shaped appendage at the end.

Definitely attached again. How? What are you?

It will have to wait and see.

For now, though, he seems like an ally in this dreadful place. Chuffing again briefly, it quickly retrieves a bone and offers it back to him.

Very clearly, regardless of language, Take this.

[ferry-of-the-damned]

Oh, oh dear. It was the first time she'd heard him say her name. There was a rumble to it that she liked. Looking down shyly for a moment, she looks him in the eye to hand the box over. "Oh!" she says softly, her heart rate increasing slightly as she feels his teeth on her skin.

Such a gentleman.

"You're very sweet," she says softly, taking a seat at the large table. "I would love to if that's what you wish.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she says "I recommend the chestnut pie first. It's one of my favorites."

A little wink is thrown his way.

Already politely ushering her in towards the dining table for tea, Psi's bewilderment becomes apparent when he hesitates for a moment before turning back around to regard her gift. Already, she had given him so much. Humans would kill to live like he did now -- probably have and do, now that he thinks about it.

Only missing a beat, however, he assumes a gracious posture with his hands, aware that his facial features cannot communicate emotion. Steepled as if in prayer, he signals his gratitude before accepting.

"You are too kind, Ms. Yuta-- excuse me. Menna."

Receiving her gift with one hand, he takes hers in the opposite and hunches down to briefly touch her knuckles to his teeth. A little kiss, or as best as a gentleman without lips can do in that department.

With careful, dexterous claws, the little ribbons start unknotting.

"Will you share them with me? I've heard sweets are better with company."

Truthfully, he doesn't even know where to start.