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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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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."
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"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."
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He holds out a clean hand for Izzy to shake.
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"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."
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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."
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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."
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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."
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"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."
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"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.
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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.
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"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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"I'm from 1892, myself," Watson says with a wry smile. "Which puts me ahead of you, but still woefully behind many of the people here. If it helps, there is a fellow from a few hundred years before you, but most things around here seem to be early 21st century."
His expression turns sympathetic, though. "It's all rather a lot to take in, I admit. I have been here... well, some months. Long enough to get accustomed to electric lights and medicines I could scarcely dream of."
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"I-" he's lost for words momentarily as he looks for a way to agree without showing weakness. The concept of time traveling is fucking absurd and belongs in one of the baby stories Bonnet insists on reading his stupid crew. Inescapable. Grating. Horrible.
Unfortunately, quite entertaining.
"I suppose..every day is a school day," he eventually lands on. Nailed it. But it's time to pivot.
"Months aboard and you must know something about the crew and it's captain."
He looks at Lucius as well. Spill your beans. Both of you.