sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #4

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TEST DRIVE MEME #4

1. you will survive being bested

[you wake up.

it doesn't matter where you were before. going to bed? dying? opening the door to face a great evil? same result. you wake up in a soft bed with starched sheets in a cool, darkened room, sunlight peeking out from behind thick curtains. maybe you're alone; maybe you aren't. maybe you immediately notice the folded paper on the bedside table near your head. if you don't, you better fix that real quick: you won't be able to even open the door before you read it.

the note itself is written in a neat hand on white card stock; there is a stylized logo of a ship with the words SERENA ETERNA printed underneath. the note reads as follows:

Dear Passenger(s),

As your cruise director, it is my great honor to welcome you aboard the Serena Eterna, your destination for fun and adventure! We know you could have chosen any cruise line for your vacation, and we're very grateful you chose ours! On behalf of the Captain, I would like to assure each and every passenger that will we do whatever it takes to fulfill all your needs and desires during your journey with us.

At your earliest possible convenience, please attend the mandatory lifeboat drill by the end of the day. I'm sure everyone is very eager to get started on all the fun and sun, but safety always comes first! You can find your life jacket in your cabin's closet; carry it to your assigned muster station on deck one, where I will take you through the drill. If you can't find me in the crowd, just look for the gal with the winning smile!

See You Real Soon!

Sincerely,
Gal Friday

you walk to deck one. you have no other choice: every time you try to step in a direction some unseen being considers "not towards deck one," you find your legs no longer move, staying stock still, frozen. whether compelled quickly by curiosity, or delayed by pure stubbornness, the result is the same, and you are left milling around with other similarly curious or stubborn people.

you see someone in uniform near the front of the crowd. she seems to be a gal, but is missing the winning smile, along with most of her other features. she seems to see you, though, rushing to your side and placing a lei around your neck with great formality. a voice, cheery but artificial, sees to come from nowhere and everywhere.]

Welcome! We're... I'm very glad to have you aboard!

[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.

after the drill is completed, you are seemingly free to go. or, well, your legs work, now. and maybe that's as good as it's gonna get.]

2. think about how many times I have fallen

[for the most part, no one has given the elevators much thought. they've all done their job reliably and dutifully this entire time, never so much as being blocked off for maintenance.

until today, when the doors close behind you as you enter, and don't open again.

for the most part, that's all that happens. the doors can't be pried open, or broken with force or magic, and though the glass walls remain stubbornly shatterproof, you can look through them and try to get the attention of anyone outside. (Friday, down in the atrium, sees your desperately pounding fists and gives a wave, but does nothing else.) the elevators don't move... except, when they do. going up two or three stories, and then dropping, sometimes as many as five stories at a time, stopping just as suddenly.]

3. it was the easiest thing to do

["physically assaulting people is an easy way to get attention" was probably a very bad lesson for the neglected locations to have learned, but it they did it anyway.

this time, it's the sushi restaurant on the promenade, Mikabo. it turns out, the conveyor belt can go faster than one would assume. much faster, actually, with the apparently ability to stop on a dime. both of these factors have combined to create what is functionally a pitching machine, but for dragon rolls, wads of wasabi paste, and exceedingly sharp steak knives, all of which are being aimed at anyone foolish enough to walk by the doors of the restaurant without coming in.

its aim, at the very least, doesn't seem to be the best. for now. because it very much seems like it's getting better.]

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Of course Lucius would wear Yeezys.

The comment wasn't really to do with his clothes at all. It was more of a turncoat question, but Lucius answers it in his own way. Sort of.

"Welcome," Izzy answers, not caring at all, but caring a lot about the fist half the a sentence. He stows his sword, finally.

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Spriggs, that Blackbeard, our Blackbeard has command of this vessel?"

"What?" Lucius recoils and stares, pausing at the first landing before the stairs switchback. He looks back up at Izzy, openly confused and says, in a tone that's mostly patronizing:

"No. Satan runs this ship, Izzy. You're dead and in Hell."

Had he not realized? Clearly he had not. Fortunately Lucius Spriggs is here to elaborate.

"If you want I can see if Lucifer is busy, I'm sure he'd loooove to meet you," Lucius adds and, yes, he is being mostly sarcastic here.

"I'm sure you've made yourself right at home with him," he shoots back without thinking. Taking a shot before he really gets to reason out the information.

It hits him after and for a long minute he really does consider it, looking down at his hands. Is he dead? Is he actually? Then how did he die? Is Hell actually real? And he's here with Lucius fucking Spriggs? That can't be right.

Can it?

Nope, nope no no he hates that. It's not an acceptable explanation to what's happening.

Izzy isn't going to walk down the stairs with him, clearly, and he isn't sure why he expected as much. instead, he props himself on the railing and peers up at Izzy. Izzy is being a prick, yes, but there's something kind of...weirdly familiar about this interact that Lucius is glad for. Ew. No.

"I mean, I'd like to think so," Lucius drawls back. "He's a pretty nice guy, all things considered."

Lucius looks down at the several...several flights of stairs ahead of him and almost groans. He really doesn't want to walk down stairs. He would actually rather talk to Izzy than take another--two flights per deck, so ew like six flights down and another however many up? Pass.

"Honestly, I'm not sure anyone is in charge. We only seem to actually move when we've arrived at the next horrible location for gruesome torture or whatever."

Rrrrrright..

He should be going to look for Ed, not following around the first familiar face he sees.

But desperate times.

Izzy sighs, resigning himself to the torture and starts down the stairs after Lucius to go and get his.. whatever. Presumably.

Presumably this isn't a ghost in disguise leading him deeper into Hell. Which he would deserve but doesn't really want to think about very much.

"So are we or are we not dead then? The letter I found said this was a cruise liner." and he has no idea what the fuck that is.

He glowers as Izzy reluctantly starts down the stairs after him. Of fucking course he would deign to follow Lucius the moment Lucius decides not to. This time he does huff a sigh and push himself off the railing. Once Izzy is at the landing Lucius continues down. At least stairs are easier in yeezys than flip-flips.

"I mean, it seems like Hell," Lucius says in about as conversational a tone as anything that has ever exchanged between them. He counts off on his fingers as he speaks and, noticeably, is missing the wooden one. "Full of ghosts, demonic abominations without faces, gruesome murders and torture, apparently we can't die--or rather we do but we just...come back?"

He shrugs and rests his good hand on the railing, just in case he needs to catch himself as they head down. He peers back at Izzy as he walks. He feels inexplicably chatty which is...weird. Especially since he's with Israel hands of all people.

"Got nice amenities, overall, though. Free booze and food, good lodgings, a...third thing? And I guess we're trying to overtake the ship at some point? Not sure how that's going, not my job really."

It's all good information, though. Information that Izzy needs and as much as he hates the idea of needing something from Lucius, it beats being in a position of ignorance.

He gives a look, though he isn't sure if the other man can see as they walk. It should absolutely be his business if they're planning a mutiny against ghosts and demons. Especially against ghosts and demons.

"What third thing?" Of all the points to fixate on.

"And in exchange for what? The crew in charge, what's their intention?"

"You mean like...apart from enjoying torturing us for eternity?" Lucius asks, baffled by the idea that there might be another goal underlying that one. He looks back in time to catch Izzy's disapproving scowl and huffs. At the next landing they find his steak knife, which is nice, but it means that Lucius just has a loose steak knife in hand as they continue on.

Unfortunate because he's the type of idiot who likes to gesture with his hands as he speaks, regardless of what he's holding.

"I guess they could be getting something out of it apart from amusement? Nobody on board has money...or needs it...so it's hard to say? I think someone mentioned that they feed off our misery?" He snorts a sudden laugh. "Good they dragged you here, huh?"

A snort and Izzy drops back in pace by a step, acutely aware of the knife.

It isn't that he thinks Lucius will attack him, they both know how that would end and it isn't in Lucius' favor, but does he think he could be the accidental victim of gesticulation? Absolutely.

This is maybe- no, definitely- the longest conversation they've ever had. It is..awkward.

Is it awkward to find Lucius funny?

Yes, yes it is. He must never know. Take your strumpeting charms elsewhere thank you very much.

"So to recap, we're either all dead and in actual Hell on a metal ship to be tortured, or we've-" he decides to text his theory, "-been captured by an unknown crew of demons and ghosts and are trapped here to do their bidding. Which, as far as you are aware, is simply to be here and be tortured."

"'Bout the gist of it, yeah," Lucius agrees and they finally, finally reach the bottom of the stairs. The ship around them creaks and groans but the sounds are in metal. There's vibration running through the floor and, beyond the doors behind them there is an infirmary, morgue, and a whole lot of spooky fucking hallways that Lucius would really not poke through. He grimaces and picks up his slab of woodwork. Thankfully, the fall down the stairs hasn't snapped it in two.

"I mean, if they want something else, I haven't heard about it," Lucius tells him as he dusts off the barstool slab and checks for cracks. His traverse board is still largely in tact and he could not be more pleased.

"You've used on of these, yea? Good? Middling?" Lucius decides to ask on a whim and flips the board around to show him. It hasn't got pegs in but the vague notations are all cut into the wood. He has clearly taken painstaking effort to make sure the numbers and letters are not only legible but crisp. He also sucks at carving and all forms of carpentry. While the letters are nice, the outside edge is...has the general appearance of a child's drawing.

Izzy extends his hands or the board to give it a good once over. He is intimately familiar given it is the primary tool of dead reckoning at sea where he has spent a majority of his life.

"Holes are shallow," he remarks passively, but the plan is laid out accurately. All in all it isn't actually bad.

"You're made a pig's ear out of this border. Not really necessary."

But he is surprised that the parts that need to be perfect, are. Very much so.

"Did you do this with that?" he glances up, meaning the steak knife which is absolutely the wrong tool for the job.

Lucius pouts at the criticisms but, when Izzy only offers the two, perks up a bit. Apparently this is as close to praise as he's going to get which, fuck it, he'll take it.

"This and a scalpel I stole from the morgue," Lucius says and boy, that was a sentence.

Speaking of, he glances up at the many, many stairs it's going to take to get them back up to the sport deck. Twelve flights? Fourteen flights? He's spooked of the scarier portions of the ship, to be sure, but he's not...that is just way too many stairs.

He sighs and moves to get the door. Once he pries the heavy metal door open, a brackish, inhospitable wash of bland flourescent light pours out into the landing. He shuffles to hold it open with his leg and gestures inside.

"Come on, I'll show you were they hide the pointy shit and medical supplies on the way to the lift," Lucius offers. It's not a gracious offer but it's not really meant to be. Last time he was down here was with Ava and she's scary as hell, enough that he wasn't bothered by the...everything. Now he has Izzy which, ultimately, he feels is a lateral move.

That tracks. You should introduce them sometime.

Sharp and medical are two good things he would very much like to see, and takes the door when it's offered, letting Lucius guide him.

Is this really a ship? he nearly asks, but stops himself before he can sound like a complete idiot. He can't believe something this big even exists. The walls, the lights, the material of the floor. All of it is completely foreign.

He can't help but stop and stare at the strip light for a moment, mind frantically, desperately trying to process the concept of electricity.

No, no sorry. He just can't. He has to stop. Just. Literally stop and stare at the lights. Were these in the stairwell? He didn't notice. They must have been. Is it awe? Maybe. Shut up.

"What the fuck is that."

Lucius isn't keen to walk down the sterile looking hallway toward the lift on his own so, when Izzy stops, he's acutely aware of it. He stops, half expecting something to attack them, but Izzy is just staring at the awful fluorescent lights. Not that Lucius knows what they are called, nor how they work, just that they do. He stops and stares, wondering if there's anything else to it, but it doesn't seem like.

He's dealt with so many people who treated him like he was crazy for not getting it that, even if Izzy's a prick (and he really is), he doesn't have the heart to jump straight to mockery.

"You would not believe the things they have around here," Lucius tells him in a stage whisper. "Like, for a haunted barge of the damned? This place is ridiculously posh."

Lucius may sound like he's considered how to steal everything. This is because he has. He has put quite a lot more thought into how to steal and rig up all of the items he would like to take back than he has put into the actual mutiny plan. He considers nudging Izzy with his elbow but realizes how suicidal that is right before he does it. Instead, he jerks a thumb at the ceiling.

"Yeah, okay, so half of it is possessed and murderous, of course, but the stuff that isn't? There's water on demand in your room. Hot or cold. No buckets. And they have actual little machines that will both wash your clothing for you and then dry it without a line or hanging. And the privies? Oh my god, they are everywhere and sparkling clean always."

Lucius cannot stress how much cleaning he is absolved from doing here. The ghosts do it all.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind every time I hear people bitching about how awful Hell is?"

"It's like a palace," he says softly, in real, utter awe.

A beat and he realizes he's said that aloud. Embarrassed, Izzy forces himself to look away and clears his throat a little, blinking the spots out of his vision. Yeah.. he'll be seeing those for a while.

Water, privies, cleaning machines, it all sounds so entirely insane. If he were standing anywhere else listening to this shit he would refuse to believe it. But here it is, right before them, attached to the ceiling like it's nothing special at all.

"Next you'll be telling me there's magic tea that makes any fever better. That they've cured Consumption."

"That's not a thing," Lucius says and boy, their voices do carry down this empty hallway. He laughs a little at the idea, a magic tea that cures fever or lack of Consumption. Good one.

"But the rest of it is, really," Lucius insists and starts walking again. "I'd be wary of the fancy screens they've got around, though. They're unbreakable and one of the tortures is that they play hideous videos of gruesome murder so. Not great for entertainment."

The pass the door to the infirmary first, double metal, swinging, with large windows in it. Lucius hadn't felt it looked much like an infirmary at all, all white and clean and linen, stainless steel tools and cabinets full of little glass bits and sharp needles. There was not a drop of blood to be found. Clearly nobody had ever been treated there.

"That's where they keep the bandages and such."

Surprise! Watson pokes his head out of the infirmary doors; he thought he'd seen movement out here in the hall. "Oh, Mr. Spriggs, hello. Lovely to see you about." He offers a warm smile, even as he wipes his hands dry on a towel. "Who is your friend, then? A pleasure, sir. I'm Dr. John Watson."

He holds out a clean hand for Izzy to shake.

Right. So just. Bringing all the Brits out of the woodwork today are we. On this, his day of arrival. Christ.

"Izzy Hands." He does sound less than thrilled to be having this happen to him but he's polite. In all his many years one of the most important things he has learned is to endear yourself to the ship's physician. For him that means a polite but standoffish demeanor.

Then again, for those taking notes, he is still fully dressed in black leather with an aura screaming fuck you fuck you fuck all of you, and a cutlass on his hip, so he's either new, a bit of an odd duck anyway, or both.

(Baby girl you are so weird and off-putting)

Loathe as he is to shake, he will reluctantly move in to do so. It may be the politest Lucius has ever seen him. Ever. It's rather like forcing a feral cat to socialize with guests at a dinner party with friends and he is no friend of Lucius Spriggs.

For the observant: 18th Century standard Navy cutlass, broad and straight, hanging at his hip. Left side, so he's right handed. Tattoos, several. A swallow at the neck, a small black X on his left cheek. A spade between the thumb and forefinger on his left hand. The right covered with a black leather glove. Just the one glove. Accent, muted but distinctly smoky. Common with a tinge of Liverpudlian.

"Pleasure to meet you Dr. Watson."

Lucius watches Izzy rein himself in and take Watson's hand and feels a rush of amusement in the process. He's never personally witnessed Israel Hands being forced into polite interaction and it might just be the funniest shit ever.

It's something of a pity that Lucius cannot refrain from mockery. They've actually been getting on remarkably well for the two of then, but nothing lasts forever, aye?

"Oh, don't strain yourself," Lucius cautions bemusedly and snorts. He manages to refrain from full tilt laughter, but he's sure Izzy won't appreciate his attempt at decorum.

"And don't let him lie to you, Dr. Watson, Izzy only takes pleasure in stringing people up by their ankles." He jerks a thumb at Izzy and, fortunately, they are standing far enough apart that gesturing with his steak knife hand doesn't put any eyes out. "He's Blackbeard's first mate. Hence all the...all of that."

Edited (Phone tags are hard yo.) 2022-06-15 12:08 (UTC)

Ah, another pirate. The tattoos, the sword, yes that all makes sense. After the fact, mostly, because as observant as he can be, Watson has never been quite as good at reaching conclusions as Holmes, but grant him the awareness to recognize a swallow as being a particularly nautical tattoo.

Izzy probably looks more like his notion of a pirate than... probably anyone else he's met.

"Is that so?" Watson tries not to smirk. Polite smiles and dry humour only. "Well, do please try to avoid stringing people up by the ankles, Mr. Hands. It only creates more work for me, and the doctor-patient ratio on this ship is rather horrendous."

He tucks the towel into the pocket of his tweed jacket, and settles into a resting posture: at ease, in the military sense, back straight with only the illusion of repose. Watson's momentarily had his cane looped over a forearm, but he passes it into his left hand, taking the weight off his right leg.

"I suppose this is the grand tour you're getting? You seem... new, if you don't mind my saying."

It's true he is the very model of a pirate. Small as he is. Made up for in a thousand other ways.

Just like how Watson over here is the very picture of a London physician to Izzy, down to his carefully maintained mustache. And there's a certain stiffness in him though Izzy can't put a finger on what it is. Reminds him of a copper.

Never did get on with the law.

Which is funny if you know him and all his intricate rules and regulations. The heft of the framework in which he operates.

He swallows. Polite small talk. How do you do and none of your business sir, now piss off.

"Yeah. This morning."

Morning to him. In truth he doesn't have his bearings and thus no idea what time it is by the sun in the sky. He's got that horrible ugly lei looped through the back of his belt, not entirely sure what to do with it and not entire sure he should chuck it overboard. So it's just there behind him like an ugly talisman.

"When you say you're a doctor, are you a real doctor. Amputations, setting bones, that lot."

Lucius, to his credit, doesn't interrupt. Indeed, he seems pleased as punch that Watson is here. Izzy hasn't even snapped at him for that earlier comment and, he expects, will refrain from doing so in Watson's presence. What an interesting turn.

"Oh, he absolutely is, needles and stitching and the lot," Lucius confirms and shifts the traverse board under one arm so he can lift up his four fingered hand and wiggle his fingers. "Quite good at it too."

He smiles at Lucius, because who doesn't appreciate a glowing testimonial.
"I'm a former army surgeon, in fact, though I've been in general practice for a few years now. Useful skills, in a place like this."

Watson gives Izzy a penetrating look for a moment, because this man seems about as friendly as a wet cat, which is just about the opposite of the rest of the crew that he's met. And time is weird, but we're going to assume that this takes place after Ed waved a knife in his face. Still, he shrugs it off and glances away, carefully casual. "And the facilities here are first rate, at least by my standards. Have... have we told him about the different times yet?" He glances at Lucius.

Army. Right. That makes more sense. Something else to tuck away for later should he need the information. Cataloged right beside all the things he's going to rain down on Lucius in a bit for forcing him into this.

Wait the what--

Izzy's brows pin high on his forehead and he also looks at Lucius.

"We didn't. What does that mean, Mr. Spriggs?"

Very much in the tone of bitch?? Why don't you share with the rest of the class.

Edited 2022-06-15 23:20 (UTC)

Lucius grimaces and looks between Watson and then to Izzy. He had not thought to mention that yet, given that they just got past the shock and awe of electric lights and washing machines, but now he's on the spot about it. Lovely. Love that.

"Yeah, so...the people here seem to think that the Year of your Lord and mine or whatever, 1717, is actually something like three hundred years in the past? There's a few people bopping about from the far flung future, and other places, and whatnot. It's all kind of hazy."

It also sounds entirely insane and, had he not been here a while he'd have had a lot of trouble absorbing that. None of what he's just said has helped convince him that this isn't Hell. Whether it will convince Izzy, he can't really say.

"We are, apparently, rather antiquated." He scrunches his nose and shrugs.

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