TEST DRIVE MEME #4

[sailmods]

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.]

Comments

Number 6 | The Prisoner

[be_seeing_you]

Over His dead body
Waking up in an unfamiliar place is nothing new to him at this point. Not that it makes him any less boiling with rage over it. And that note only makes the steam rise higher over his head. So, they're doing cruises now? How novel. And using days of the week for names instead of numbers, too. What won't The Village try? He obstinately ignores the suggestion to bring his life vest with him. But the order to go to their mandatory drill is less easy to ignore. When did they gain the ability to paralyze him if he won't go where they say?

He can be found in the halls, not very far from the cabin he woke in, frozen in place with his hands balled into fists at his sides absolutely seething with rage. His entire body trembles with the force of it. He knows what he has to do to get unstuck. He'd experimented with taking a few steps forward and back. But will he go where he is directed? No. Never. He'd rather go red-faced in this hallway waiting for their unseen will to control him to run out than take one more step. Even if it takes hours.

Don't Look Down
After, presumably, someone convinced him to finally just go do the god-forsaken drill, he thought the worst was over. How naive of him. He steps onto the glass elevator and reaches to hit the button. But nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing. No movement. Turning to the person beside him, whom he has failed to acknowledge up until this point, he asks, "Does this happen often?"

There won't be time for a reply before the elevator quite suddenly lurches up one floor, and then drops. His stomach rises into his throat and he desperately puts his hands out to grip the side, fingers squeaking on the slippery glass, as they careen down, down, down!

Then stop.

He's thrown from his feet, landing hard on his side with a grunt. But rather than worry after himself, he's turning to catch sight of his unwitting partner on this ride, asking urgently, "Are you all right?"


Since When Did the Food Fight Back?
"What in blazes?" He exclaims as a knife goes soaring past him, followed quickly by a roll of sushi and the whole plate too.

He turns in shock to see the conveyor belt, seemingly with a mind of its own, winding up for another throw.

"Who is running this place?"

Food Fight!

[serialskiller]

"Get behind me."

Tall, broad and built like the platonic ideal of a dangerous person, Murderbot's already moving to place himself between the presumably-human man and the entrance of Mikabo. No, it's not wearing its armor, but if it gets hurt, it can be repaired with relatively more ease than most vital human organs. Besides, they don't need to beat the whole restaurant up, they just need to get away.

It pushes up one of the sleeves of its hoodie, exposing a metal plate along its forearm that pulls aside to reveal some sort of laser gun.

Re: Food Fight!

[be_seeing_you]

With one meaty brow raised, he eyes this newcomer. But he doesn't move as he's told. No, he stays stock still in place, a slow mistrustful glare coming into his expression.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The look of distrust on his face turns to one of open shock the moment he sees that... what is that? Is it some sort of gun fused right into this man's arm?

"Who are you?" he demands to know. "What is that on your arm?"

[serialskiller]

"You seriously want to stand here, ask questions, and be hit by fish knives?" At least the next object the conveyor belt pelts them with is simply a California roll, but there's more where that came from. Murderbot is going to make an attempt to stop it by shooting the belt, though.

That counts as an answer to 'what is that on your arm?', right? The red beam pew-pews out, striking the belt but not stopping it.

[be_seeing_you]

It answers one question but leads to several more. Because that display looked like something out of a science-fiction feature film.

He remains unmoved. "Yes. I do. And I want answers. Starting with who you are and where this place is. I'm not going to be intimidated by flying dinnerware."

[serialskiller]

"You can want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which fills up first."

Murderbot rolls its eyes, firing another shot at the conveyor belt. This time, it manages to hit a knife the machine was about to fling, kicking it back over the side. "At least let's get away from the haunted sushi bar before I start answering questions."

It starts edging its way down the promenade, trying to get out of range of Mikabo's attacks.

Don't Look Down

[lachtara]

Getting from one place to place is a simple concept made occasionally cumbersome with the ship's signature unpredictability. Today seems like one such occasion.

Emet-Selch stands with his arms folded as the stranger enters, and does not get a chance to voice an answer to their question before the elevator plummets. He presses himself into the glass for lack of anything more solid to brace himself with. When the lift comes to a sudden stop some short seconds later, it takes his balance with it, and he catches himself on his hands.

He heaves a sigh of frustration. "Hale and whole. In spite of this lifts determination for it to be otherwise." Slowly, cautiously, he stands upright again so that he can make for the button to open the elevator doors. Walking would be preferable to this.

"And you." This stranger had landed with some amount of force, after all.

[be_seeing_you]

"Bruised, perhaps, but nothing worse." His hip is throbbing from where he landed, but he's certainly had much worse.

Getting to his feet, he brushes down the front of his khaki pants and straightens the collar of his dark suit jacket so the white piping will be once again even on both sides.

"Does this sort of thing happen often?"

[lachtara]

"I have not been here long enough to make the most qualified judge, but with my cursory stay, this ship seems to have a penchant for the ridiculous." If the introduction to the ship were not enough to illustrate that very point.

Emet-Selch briefly flicks his eyes to the man's injury before looking at the door again. Surely, it would open soon...? But as the seconds pass, that does not seem to be the case.

"It's not opening." He sighs. "Oh, a right bother this is going to be."

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 props himself back against the glass wall, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers to keep from fidgeting.

"Yes. Such a bother," comes his acerbic reply.

Scenarios are running through his head. He can't help but analyze this situation and wonder if it was purposeful. A way to keep him trapped with someone and get him talking.

"What should I call you?"

[lachtara]

Suppose the situation does not call for ignoring polite etiquette. So he puts a hand over his waist and dips his head just so. "You may call me Emet-Selch. One would hope that an introduction could be made under more hospitable circumstances."

Though he does not intend to stand here long past 'introductions'.

The same hand is used to motion to the stranger. "And your name?"

Don't Look Down

[businessorlibation]

The other man in the elevator is short, trim, wearing a nice suit in greys and mustard browns. He had been considering asking his companion if he was new here when everything got spooky. As he starts to pick himself up, there's a bit of a grimace.

"Landed on my wrist. It's not feeling great, but otherwise, I think I'm just shaken, not stirred."

Re: Don't Look Down

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 would have at least acknowledged the man, in no small part because of his well-put-together suit, but then all hell breaks loose on them.

Now, he's getting back to his feet grudgingly, looking more annoyed than frightened by the entire experience.

"Perhaps we should find an infirmary for you once we get free of this mechanical death trap."

That last bit makes an eyebrow go up. Oh, he gets the reference, but be finds the ways of that certain fictional spy to be so wholly offensive in the face of what he used to actually do as a secret agent. If only his assignments had ever been so glamorous.

"Failing that, perhaps this ship has a proper bar where one could soothe the ache with a properly sitrred martini." Yes, he is that petty. "Not that I have much hope for this ship serving alcohol that's any less fake than The Village."

[businessorlibation]

"Oh, I know both where the infirmary is, and where to get a proper drink. I prefer making my own over letting the ghosts do it, though. Bartending's part of my work back home."

He cradles his wrist with his other hand, taking a deep breath. "Johnny Summer, by the way. I'd say nice to meet you, but these circumstances are...less than ideal."

[be_seeing_you]

"Ghosts?" curiouser and curiouser. Number 6 does very much feel as if he's gone down a rabbit hole.

"Johnny? Really? We are using names again?" He very notably doesn't give one in return. At some point, if these things continue, he supposes he will have to. Obviously, he won't use his true name (though he's sure whoever runs this place already knows it) so an alias will have to suffice.

"By the sounds of it, you've been here a while?"

[businessorlibation]

The comment about using names makes him tilt his head to one side curiously.

"Months. It's July now, I arrived at the start of March. It's been a pretty twisted ride; some people think the Captain feeds on our misery somehow. It'd explain a lot of what we've been through."

Over His dead body | HEY YOU

[pineapplesalmon]

César is leaving room 102 (not his own), and blinks when he sees an unknown person in the middle of the hall. Quivering with rage. Oh. A newbie.

"How long have you been standing there?" César asks as he walks up and in front of him, looking a bit worried. "Resisting never works."

:3 it's fun to see that journal name in my inbox again

[be_seeing_you]

"I haven't checked my watch," he says through clenched teeth.

"And I've been told that line before. I've proven it wrong before, too."

Same with yours! Ahhh, it's been so long!

[pineapplesalmon]

César's eyebrows go up at that glower. He isn't offended. This sort of thing is incredibly violating, and people come from all sorts of terrible situations, here.

"Fair enough." César shrugs, looking faintly disappointed, crossing his arms. "Do you want company, do you need anything, or would you rather I shove off?"

What he can do for the other man is incredibly limited, so he gives him the one thing he can think of: a sliver of control in his current situation.

just don't look at the actual number of years

[be_seeing_you]

The glower softens a touch with his surprise. He'd expected more push-back. If this newcomer had tried to push the issue, Number 6 very much would have told him to mind his own business. But now?

"This... compulsion I'm feeling, it's something you've felt too?" Since the man is offering to be accommodating, he may as well try to get some answers.

[pineapplesalmon]

César knows what it's like to have no control over your life. He does what he can to give it back.

"Yes. It happens to everyone the first time they're on the ship, then never again. At least, not for the muster drill. One of the most disturbing things on this ship so far, to be honest."

Food Fight

[sabeltann]

The conveyor belt answers by launching another knife, this time seemingly with much better aim -- and then it suddenly gets deflected with the clang over a sword, hitting it off-course as Captain Sabertooth steps into view.

"I've been asking myself the same thing," he says in a growl, keeping his sword ready and his eyes on the contraption that is hurling things at people.

He's been trying to approach it without being skewered (or his nice clothes splattered with food) for a minute or two now, cautiously ducking behind things. It seems to get more intense the closer he gets. And while he figures this man may be a workable distraction, he also doesn't think it would be right if he got gutted, which is why Sabertooth stepped in.

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6's head whips around when he hears the clang of metal on metal, and he realizes a split second later what he's ben saved from. Gratitude wars with surprise on his face. Is that a sword? Is that a pirate holding a sword?

"It's one of a growing list of questions," he sputters. Top of mind right now is, "Who are you supposed to be?"

[sabeltann]

"Supposed to be?" he huffs, glancing briefly at the man before heading carefully back behind cover before the contraption has the time to launch another attack.

"You have the honour of being in the presence of the king of the seven seas, Captain Sabertooth himself." He'd present himself properly, but he's a little distracted at the moment.

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 follows behind, taking cover next to the captain but without the same level of seriousness about it. It's a sushi restaurant, not the front lines.

"I'm sure it would be an honor if I knew the name." Sorry, never heard of you, sir.

"You aren't the captain of this vessel, are you?"