It started with them finding Sisyphus poking about in the galley.
Unlike Minos, the king had little ties to Greed, and he was happy to travel wherever they took him. He slept everywhere but the guest rooms, vanished for days at a time, and spent hours gazing at the layers they went through. They would never admit it out loud, but having a passenger aboard settled them. Even if said passenger had a penchant for skulking and a bleak sense of humor.
“Morning. Have you a knife that isn't rusted to shit in here?” Sisyphus asked, half way inside a floor cabinet, several such knives laid out on the counter above him.
“Unlikely, I'm afraid.” This place had gone unused for decades, and they could not justify the effort of maintaining something with so much specialized equipment. “I have some carving knives in the studio?”
“That'll work.” For doing what, they wanted to ask. But it seemed…rude, somehow. The entire time he had been here, Sisyphus had not questioned or criticized anything, from the smashed bottles to the images of Gabriel to the obsessively clean and critically underused passenger spaces. They hope it's grace; it's probably just apathy. Regardless, they wanted to return the favor.
The Ferryman collected the rusty knives (they looked salvageable) and bid Sisyphus to follow them to the studio. There they procured one of their mid-sized knives, which Sisyphus accepted with a perfunctory-sounding thank you, and found himself a seat on the tarp covered side of the floor.
He then flipped the knife into a slicing grip, index on the spine of the blade. And brought it towards his upturned wrist.
“Um.” They were not sure what else to say. Surely he’s not…?
“Relax, captain. Exsanguination is a miserable death. Ask me how I know.” He said it with the tone of a joke. They were still deciding on how to respond when he continued. “This is for my calluses. They have to be filed down as they build up or the entire thing will rip or crack.”
As if to demonstrate, he held his hand out to them and shaved careful slices of skin off of the heel of his palm. Right, how did they forget this? Gnawing bits of skin off the pads of their fingers, picking at the edges of calluses until it hurt to touch. Cold, windy mornings with that persistent ache in their soles from the fissures…
“That’s very inconvenient.”
“It is. Alas, the flesh does what it wants.” This he said with a mock Minos affectation. They mimed kicking him, amused. He really was nice to be around.
A thought came. Well, this was possibly the only audience who might be receptive to it…
“You know,” the Ferryman made a show of presenting their skeletal hand. “If you go a little deeper, you won't have to deal with calluses ever again.”
It had the intended effect—Sisyphus grinned up at them, something startled and pleased in his eyes. What wasn't intended was the cold jolt of guilt washing over them at his warm expression. They shouldn't want that. It shouldn't be making them so happy, they were supposed to be good—
“Ah, I...” They abruptly turned away, desperately searching for something to change the topic. There. They dug through their toolbox and emerged with a pumice stone. Tapped out the marble dust before handing it to Sisyphus.
“Keep the knife. A-and this too.” They couldn't quite look him in the face, unsure if they're afraid or ashamed.
As such, they did not catch the calculating look Sisyphus gave them and their sudden awkwardness. As such, they did not withdraw in time before he planted a kiss on their knuckles.
They barely heard his sincere-sounding thank you through the door they just ran out of.
Cw extensive discussion of suicide! Yippee! This isn't connected to the above thing but it's the same universe
They look out at the vast ocean beneath them. Today's weather conditions have brought a dense but low fog over the Styx, giving the impression that the Deliverance is sailing over clouds. It looks almost heavenly, if they ignore the starless sky and the sound of thousands of ghostly hands scratching at the hull.
"I think I should jump," they say.
Besides them, Sisyphus' acknowledgement only comes as a minute change in ambient light—a slight turn of his head. They charge on.
"I tried to be holy. That didn't work." A mirthless laugh. "Now I'm told I must do whatever I want, but the only desire I have left is to be holy. Why shouldn't I just end it now, if the future promises nothing but more of this?" In truth they're not sure what they mean by that. The sea, the ferry, them? Sisyphus and Minos, circling each other like air currents in a hurricane? Radiant Gabriel, whose generously-given affection they can never believe they deserve?
They are asking not to endure this.
"Gabriel will grieve you. They both will." Sisyphus states simply. It's alright, they already thought of that.
"I'm sorry—"
"God, it would be an ordeal and a half," he carries on. It occurs to them that he's just complaining. "I'm shit at consolation and you'd put me through that? Really?"
"...Are you trying to guilt trip me out of killing myself?" They didn't prepare for this. Should have expected it, they guess—Sisyphus is unpredictable like that. The rarely-felt annoyance unbalances them.
He looks unimpressed. "If I did, you would not be able to tell. I'm not your judge or your god or your father, do whatever you want."
Annoyance escalates to frustration in a flash—they were sentenced to Wrath for a reason. "Have you not been listening? I cannot 'do what I want' because it is impossible! I will never be holy and good, no matter how much I try!"
The fog swallows their shouting and leave behind dead air. They've always known that to be true, but it is a thousand times more devastating to say it aloud. They wish they didn't bring this up to Sisyphus in the first place. He's just looking at them, blank-faced.
"It being impossible is not a reason to quit," he says, as if that makes any sense at all. They don't even deign to respond verbally, instead projecting the most fed-up expression they can at him. They understand the deliberate blink they get in return as a restrained eye roll.
"What I'm saying is, if you want to be holy, you are free to keep digging that grave until either things change or it kills you. Isn't like there's much to get better for."
Ferryman eyes him dubiously. "Right. Because that went so well for you."
"I didn't regret digging my grave. What makes you think you will?"
"It is a pointless thing to do! Fucking— There's not even anything left to be holy for!" Why is this man being so goddamn dense? Does he realize how absurd his suggestion sound?
Sisyphus laughs suddenly, vicious and unkind. "My good captain, this—” he says it the same way they did— "All this, is pointless. Either accept it and live, or not. There is no meaning in your life either way, and because there is no meaning in it, it does not matter how and why you choose to live. The only thing that matters is time, and may I remind you, we quite literally have an eternity left."
It's the most he's spoken in the last hour, and it takes them a moment to process the speech. Their voice come out small and despairing. "If I were to– to stay, then... I'd be broken forever. Is that a life worth living?"
"Still not your judge."
"I want to know what you think."
Sisyphus looks down at the Styx, his mouth set into a thin line. "There hasn't been a single soul on this godforsaken earth that isn't broken. So yes."
The observation doesn't sound philosophical, coming from him. It seems more like...world-weary experience. The Ferryman is suddenly reminded that Sisyphus is a very, very old man.
"That's not comforting, but...thank you."
A moment passes in grim, companionable silence. They roll the future around in their head again. Them and their unreachable ascension. Sisyphus and his. Minos and Gabriel, whatever their thoughts on these circumstances might be. Their entangled lives hover above them like a supercell. They're overwhelmed all over again.
"Sisyphus? I'm not– not now, but..." It is shameful to confess this, after their talk. "I still want to jump."
They saw it coming, so it doesn't startle them when he laid his arm across their shoulders.
Wrote 70% of this in one go no rereading no getting into the mood just Getting It Done 👍
Sisyphus looks to the burning sky beyond the porthole, in the universal way people do when there's changes in the weather.
"Sandstorm coming. We better leave," he calls out, a little louder than necessary. Their fine-tuned sense of distress prickles—that slip-up is noteworthy somehow? Alright.
"I brought us here for that sandstorm, actually,” they reply. At his visible alarm, they elaborate.
Weeks of anchoring their ferry in the hot, acidic, and wet climate of Gluttony have done a number on the Deliverance, swathes of rust forming on her hull. They will have to derust her and patch the coating, if not redo it altogether. The storm makes for a convenient sandblaster, and the desiccating climate of Greed would keep the fresh steel surface from rusting again while they reapply the coating. Additionally, getting more or less oven-baked would hopefully mitigate the ferry’s mold problem.
“I see. And you are certain your little toyboat can withstand it?”
They bristle in their ferry’s stead. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. She can take it.”
The moment the words leave their teeth, they immediately remember just who they're talking to, and as if on cue, the King of Horrible Dirty Jokes raises his eyebrows at their phrasing. They turn around and stomp away with a huff.
They do not see him eye the porthole like it's going to bite him.
(Months later, he will casually speak of a storm bunker that collapsed with fifteen of his men in it. He would not mention that he was also in there.)
As far as weather preparations go, Greed’s sandstorm is easy to deal with. Don't land too close to a dune so as not to get buried, and shut all windows and hatches. With five hundred and twenty three staterooms spread over three layers of deck, it takes about two hours. The interior would still sparkle with gold dust afterwards, but it's nothing compared to the mess of a Leviathan encounter (they hold the smallest bit of gratitude towards Gabriel’s machine for getting rid of that thing).
Outside, the wind has started to pick up. The Deliverance is heavy and stout enough that they don't have to worry about her tipping over, but the sound of sand against the hull, amplified by the fact that they're in a giant steel tube, would only get worse. They should notify Sisyphus of this.
They have not seen Sisyphus at all during their preparations.
Despite his tendency to joke about death, it's unlikely he would have left the ferry and brave the storm, given that they're quite a way out from any notable structure. Which means he’s somewhere aboard, still. They park their cleaning cart, note where they left it, and start a sweep search.
Are they worried? Not really. He vanishes and reappears so often that they have lost the fear over his wellbeing. But maybe it's their sense for passenger problems telling them he’s up to something, or maybe this is the first time they've had someone on board during one of these sandblasting sessions and they want to share it, or, fucking hell, maybe he’s their longest-staying passenger so far and they might have grown a little obsessed.
Or, as they take the ladder down to the bottom platform holding the water tanks, noting the ball of light crammed between the pipes, there might be a genuine problem.
Sisyphus, despite his defensive position, does not flinch when they approach, but he only gives them a grimace in greeting instead of his usual nonchalance. So, not scared out of his mind, but not happy about the situation either. They know how to work with that.
With the cacophony going on, there's no chance he can hear them, so they sign a hopefully intelligible “You okay?”
He signs back a long sentence that they only maybe catch a word out of five. Was that Arabic? There is what seems to be a No in there, at least.
“Don't know that. Alphabet?”
He mouths ‘Fuck you mean’ before cutting himself off and shaking his head in disbelief. They kick at his shin and he scoots deeper to make room for them. They sit down, smug beneath their veil. If his heart rate is to go by, their antics have calmed him down a little. They settle in to learn what they later find out to be Greed Sign Language.
The video is over. Go away. Go on. Get outta here.
What do you think there's more video? Oh what, because you can see it in the little seek bar? You just assume there's more content to extrapolate here?
Well, there isn't. Tell you what. Go ahead if you really want more content so bad, you pig. Go ahead and subscribe then. That's the way to see more of it.
Now goodbye! I'm off to suck Minos' c-
*end transcription*
Don't tell anyone but this is actually 2 clips I stuck together.
What Sisyphus will never tell them is that, the night he found them on the deck, amidst the shattering of thunder and lightning, he saw their body wreathed in luminous plasma, the corpus sancti, moaning, holy approaching godly, and he finally understood that he could never possibly lay claim to them.
sisyphus being stuck in multiple sisyphean tasks is my favorite thing. like its engraved into his fate to be pushing up a boulder be it in an emotional, mental, social, etc sense. he cant escape
You're right but see, he can escape at any moment. He's not stuck. No one's making him do these tasks, and that's what makes them sisyphean
Sisyphus, completely unprompted: Oooh a task that has no benefit and will never go anywhere? Don't mind if I do!
A day in the life of Rasmodius, the one person in the Valley responsible for keeping peace between its various spirits and creatures
6.00 AM - Wake up. Get somewhat angry that you woke up at all.
6.30 AM - Check up on your violence cases. Show a raccoon how to wrap a wound and when to see you instead of handling things by itself.
8.45 AM - Intimidate some tourists into handing over the Lunaloo they caught.
9.00 AM - Get stung releasing said Lunaloo.
9.05 AM - Try to find a runaway unicorn.
11.00 AM - Breakfast/lunch with the Dwarf. Try to teach them about electrical boxes and how they're not treasure boxes.
11.30 AM - Solve a land conflict between some walking mushrooms and a garden witch. She has short, green hair, and something about it bothers you.
12.00 PM - Check up on your cursed and infirm cases. Wonder when your request for a stationed healer will go through.
1.00 PM - Office hours. Do whatever paperwork you can squeeze in.
4.00 PM - English lessons with Krobus.
5.30 PM - Magic lessons with Abigail. Try not to have a breakdown.
7.30 PM - Make and eat dinner.
8.10 PM - Check up on your rehoming and familial cases. You will have to find somewhere to relocate a frog village tomorrow.
9.20 PM - Find the unicorn too late. Contact various people and perform her last rites.
9.45 PM - Despair, probably at Linus.
10.10 PM - Return home. Shower.
10.20 PM - File paperwork for the day. Try not to fall asleep at your desk again.
11.00 PM - Late night snack with the farmer, whose sleep schedule is somehow even worse than yours. They hover. Your friends tend to hover a lot.
11.20 PM - Send in your monthly complaint to the Council about Qi's lack of ethics, disregard for privacy, misuse of iridium snake milk, poor treatment of minions, and black market trading.
11.30 PM - Send Welwick a random pebble you picked up to reassure her that you're still alive.
11.40 PM - Wonder how long that's going to be true.
11.45 PM - Read until you stop thinking about it, then go to bed.
12.20 AM - Try not to brood about your ex wife again god it's been nineteen years—
Minos would arrange for himself to be the star of a sex party, get his back blown out, ect ect and feel pretty satisfied with the amount of use he gave and took
Only to get so turned on he's lightheaded by being tenderly wiped down and bathed afterwards
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
amandla
