RP [TRIBUTARY] The Fox and the Hound [CLOSED]

[Reyn]

Belladonna was a piss-awful name for a cruise ship. Stuck at sea in a metal box, whole thing swaying so hard the centrifugal force would push the lunch right out of your stomach- and plastered over every wall, in gilded cursive, is vomit-and-suffocate plant. Nice, nice. Exactly what you want to be thinking about, someone poisoning your complimentary buffet food.

First thing they tried, actually.

But it had been Fox who suggested they put the quiet approach on the back burner- try something more direct, more certain, a little closer to port. Made it less likely to catch any collateral, and more likely that the prick would actually die, given that he was often so seasick he couldn't eat enough to vomit. Well, it was easier to dodge a meal than a bullet. She knew that for fucking certain.

Formal night, apparently. At the fancy restaurant near the front of the ship, with the marble counters and the sterling silver cutlery, and the add-on charge that was probably more than half the bloody rooms. She was dressed in a moss green jacket with a white shirt and tie- a little ill-fitting, given her stature, but nice enough to not earn her any strange looks from the restaurant's more discerning guests as she made her way through to the back.

Table 9 was booked for half past seven- but, due to a previously unforeseen quirk in the booking process, it had been booked by two different groups: the dogs, and their target.

 

[annasiel]

Belladonna was an excellent name for a cruise ship. At least, for this particularly cruise ship. It fit the general cadence and theming - floral, vaguely posh, and pleasant to the ears, containing a slant-rhyme in itself and translating literally to beautiful woman. Women of the past took a tincture of the flower to make their eyes larger and more appealing.

It was, of course, also highly toxic. Atropa Bella-donna, or Deadly Nightshade as it was known to more modern types, contains alkaloids that, when ingested, caused delirium, hallucinations, and death. They were going to kill someone here, so in a meta-contextual sense, the name Belladonna was very excellent indeed.

"Many people think the first cruise ship was the Prinzessin Victoria Luise, but it was actually the Francesco I. Just because something wasn't originally built to be a cruise ship doesn't mean it doesn't become one when people start to use it for cruises."

Hound tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. Unlike Fox, her outfit was fitted perfectly. She was very proud of this fact. She knew each of her measurements to the millimeter and refused to leave her tailor until it was within a negligible margin of error. Her outfit on this particular night was simple - an eggshell white blouse, a black bowtie, and a black skirt. She was very fond of bowties.

They had all the function of ties, but none of the extra faff beneath the part that mattered. They tied up neatly and cleanly.

"Of course, they didn't get to be this large until the late fifties. Typically, vessels of this size were luxury ocean liners for intercontinental travel, not for pleasure trips."

She pulled out Fox's chair for her, then pulled out her own, folding in it in a way that was not unlike a stork squatting down to catch a fish. Neat as she was, graceful was not a word anyone would use to describe her, and she always seemed to hold herself like she'd just discovered she had limbs and hadn't the foggiest what to do with them.

"Do you see him yet? Maybe we have time to eat beforehand. Last bout we didn't get to."

 

[Reyn]

"S'pose it's a bit slower than flying. Doubt most people can be bothered nowadays, all that waiting- but, hey, at least you get some fresh air."

She had a job on a plane once. One of the earlier ones in her career- all the initial tension of stopping a hijacking kinda melted away after the 5th repetition, and all she was left with was ear pain and suffocation. For a while after, she refused to fly to any destination at all. No planes. No fucking planes- I'll walk if I have to. See what that does to the timeline. Put me on a plane and I'll crash it my fucking self. Took about a week in real-time for her to get over that one. Took a couple years subjective. She still didn't like to fly.

To be honest, she was getting pretty sick of boats as well. All the swaying and the creaking and the swarms of people all trapped on the same floating block of flats- drove her absolutely mental, it did, but at least she had a room to retreat into. Not like a plane. Or the tube- god, don't get me started on that one.

"Food's been better as well- I think. 's getting hard to remember, now. God, I am starving."

Fox moved with the practiced artifice of a stage performer. Overshot her moves a bit. Leaned in a little further than normal. Exaggerated ever so slightly, like she was playing to the cheap seats, so her intention could always come across properly. In some contexts, this made her graceful. In others, intimidating. Both worked. She sat down.

There was a standard-size bottle of champagne waiting for them in the centre of the table- mid-price sort of thing. Not cheap enough to raise eyebrows amongst their company, but not too expensive to waste, either. The company would cover the cost, if they ended up making it out. If not, it was free.

Fox checked over her shoulder, looking out across the room.

"Not yet. Might be able to get an order in, at least- maybe some starters, if we're lucky. God, I could just about murder a-"

"Good evening, ladies. A waiter approached, wearing a smile about as thin as his tie, "Can I pour you some champagne?"

"Oh, thank you- but, no." Fox shook her head, "That's for after our meal, if you don't mind. Now, ah- can we order?"

 

[annasiel]

Hound opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, resolving to just look a little huffy instead. She did want the champagne, but it was also a possible variable they would have to account for if it didn't work this time. She already had to remember what each of them were ordering. Would it matter if they ordered something different, since they were somewhere else now?

"The lambchops are always late," Hound said, "And the steak comes with a large knife."

She looked at the waiter with an intense stare.

"I'll have the steak."

She glanced over to Fox.

"The fettuccini again? We're at a different table, so it's already all wrong."