“Welcome to Caritas!”

That’s what you’ll hear when you make your way down the stairs into the Karaoke Club. Dark and atmospheric, with glowing tables and a stage that faces the bar, if the sights don’t make it obvious this is a karaoke bar, the crooner up on the stage will.

He’s dressed to the nines in a cream suit, deep purple shirt shining under it as he belts away, welcoming you in. He apologizes for the intrusion, but it seems the ship wanted more than just his beautiful, sultry voice.

“My name’s Lorne, and I’ll be your host for tonight! So hit the bar and drink in your courage, Sailors. Because you might not be able to leave until you give us a show!” That's all he gives you before slipping into what he thinks is a pretty appropriate tune for the occasion.

If you didn’t come here by choice, hopefully Lorne’s words will give you a hint? The ship is hungry for bad belting. For some, the door will reappear after they chirp a few bars. For others, a few songs are required.

Some people have even gone up, struck with the strong feeling that they must do so, even if they’d been railing against singing at all just a minute ago. The ship just really wants everyone to sing and enjoy themselves, OK?

Quick and painless — that was a lie. There was nothing quick or painless about having your neck broken. Maybe it seemed quick and relatively painless to the inflicter and the observer, but to the one experiencing that 'quick and painless' death, the brief moments that seemed to go on for hours and sharp spikes of pain unlike anything you've ever felt before said otherwise.

It hurt. It hurt a lot, and the darkness that enveloped him while he waited out his return wasn't exactly what you'd call comforting. Unsettling was more like it. There was nothing. Nothing but a dark veil cast over you, like you were underwater and unable to surface.

But eventually that ice cracked and Matt surged past it, taking a great big gulp of air that went rushing into his lungs so powerfully it startled him. He bolted upright, bumping against the cool metal of the railing that gnashed against the line of his spine. Vision still blurry, a rush of sounds assaulted him: birds, footsteps, voices, and the distinct sound of waves slapping against the side of a boat.

He'd only been on a boat once, with Elena's family out at the lake before her parents passed away, but the sound of water rushing against the side of a boat stuck with him as one of the most soothing sounds he's ever heard.

It had him twisting around and grasping the railing to peer down over it, to try and get an idea of where the hell he was. Had Damon gone back on his word and done away with his body? Had Elena? Had their attempt to get her to turn it back on gone awry?

Matt couldn't say. All he knew was that he wasn't where he should be, this wasn't exactly a boat, and there was a strong possibility that the ring hadn't worked like Damon said he would and death was having a good laugh at his expense over daring to trust the word of a Salvatore.