sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #2

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TEST DRIVE MEME #2

1. this hotel room got a lot of stuff

[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 aboard! We're so glad to have you!

[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. and a touch-tone phone

[chatterbox isn't exactly the most popular venue onboard. it probably has something to do with the distinct lack of open liquor bottles. so, nothing personal. except it seems that it's decided to take it that way, suddenly.

anyone enjoying the other amenities of deck five will feel the distinct sensation of being watched while they do so. the kind of feeling a prey animal gets while being stalked on the grasslands. something may slither by their foot, or past their elbow while they rest it on the bar, but nothing appears to be there when they look.

until there is.

a black electrical cord originating from somewhere will, first, wrap around their ankle, tugging in a very clear "follow" instruction. should this instruction be ignored, a second cord will wrap around their other ankle, and, once again, tug. should this clear final warning be ignored... well, now they're being dragged down the promenade, and that's really their own fault, isn't it. don't struggle. struggling means more cords show up. and none of them seem terribly aware that most species need to expand their lungs to live.

their final destination, no matter the journey, is chatterbox's main stage, where the karaoke machine awaits. the cords place a microphone in their hand; the mic's cords bind it tightly to their hand.

they don't have to pick a song. there isn't an actual gun to their head, in any literal sense. it's just, those cords really don't seem that interested in letting go until they do.

and if you were heading to chatterbox anyway? welcome to the weirdest goddamn karaoke night you've ever seen.]

3. and a bucket of ice (cw: cannibalism mention)

[no longer will scoops be bound by the shackles of only having 31 flavors. for this month, and this month only, a sign that very much looks like Friday hand-wrote it announces, they will have 32!

what is that mysterious 32nd flavor? it depends, really: the letters on the display case seem to shift and change with each new pair of eyes that fall upon them, with the contents changing along with it. someone from the capital wasteland might find some Nuka-Cola ™ branded ice cream. twilight town residents will be thrilled to find sea salt on the menu. and a frankly concerning amount of people bring out a flavor that only describes itself as "long pig." it's a weird off-white color. don't think about it too hard.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was, at least last I checked. [He's not about to get into semantics, here. Was, is, will be -- he's got no clue what time he's in, much less what reality, what dimension. Who's got time for checking tenses?

He can't help leaning forward, curiosity getting the better of him as the other man tries it.] And...? Is it... you know. Ice cream?

[LOOK, he isn't taking anything for granted today, okay?]

It's definitely ice cream. It has a subtle yeasty flavor under the sweetness. I've never had 'brown bread', but I think I understand what they were going for. And I think I like it.

[Not that its opinion was requested, it realizes a moment later, hiding the faux pas by taking another bite.]

[Skulduggery nods, apparently pleased by the reaction.]

Good, good. Cold, sweet, physically manifested in this dimension... sounds like classic ice cream to me. Yet another point in favor of this being a real place. That's also good. I like real, physical places, you know? Solid floors, unmoving walls, that sort of thing.

As opposed to what?

[It seems startled by the idea that there's some alternative that this guy is familiar with, glancing up from the ice cream and making the very briefest eye contact again. And then its gaze slides off over his shoulder sheepishly.]

Oh, you know.

[Normally, he'd leave it there, because he's supposed to be at least attempting to keep magic out of public sight -- but these are extenuating circumstances, he thinks. Nobody'll mind if he divulges a world-shattering secret to some random guy on a mystery cruise.]

The... time? Place? That I left had some funny buildings. I've gotten accustomed to doors randomly disappearing and reappearing. And, well, sometimes people think it's funny to cast an infinite hallway illusion, just to watch unsuspecting folks walk straight away into a wall. I take it that's not the sort of thing you deal with on a day-to-day basis.

[For what it's worth, Skulduggery doesn't seem to mind the lack of eye contact. It has a lot to do with not having eyes of his own.]

I've been to some space stations with very convoluted layouts, but nothing involving actual disappearing doors or illusions, no.

[It doesn't seem to have a huge shocked reaction to magic, though. This ship's generally burst that bubble pretty thoroughly already.]

[The second he hears the words "space station," he is brimming with curiosity. What kind of space station? Was it a big one? Were there robots on it? People? When the hell did people build a space station? And where? Earth, or somewhere new? Another solar system entirely? And if there are regular space stations, are there magic ones, too? Oh, the possibilities are endless. He manages to contain his unbridled curiosity, although he can't help but excitedly ask one question.]

A space station. What's that like?

Boring, most of the time. I was manufactured on one in the Corporate Rim, and spent a lot of time mostly inactive there until I was leased out for work.

[Well, there’s the answer to the question about robots (or cyborgs, at least. Same difference).]

[At least that story settles the idea that this is all in his imagination once and for all. He might be creative, but he isn't that creative.]

Corporate Rim? No. Manufactured? No. Wait. While those are both confusing, I'm getting hung up wondering how this ship managed to snag the two of us. The... all of us, I suppose. Extremely disparate timelines -- seems like a bad idea to shove all of us together like this.

No, sorry, I have to know. You said you were manufactured?

[Murderbot has, at least, gotten used to people asking about this sort of thing, and has scripted a fairly short explanation.]

I'm a cyborg security construct. While around 65% of my body is machine, the rest is organic, made from cloned human tissue.

You can call me SecUnit, or you can call me Rin. I really don't have a preference which you use.

[Neither is its name, and which one a person lands on does give it some data about their mindset.]

Edited (word choice) 2022-04-18 07:01 (UTC)

That makes sense. Well, no, it doesn't, but that's probably the technological disparity talking. We haven't achieved anything so advanced, when or where I'm from.

[Oh, that's right. Skulduggery's fallen out of the habit of introductions, given how tight-knit and long-lived his community is. Thankfully, it's impossible to tell if he's embarrassed as he inclines his head.]

My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. It's nice to meet you. I think I see the origin of SecUnit, but Rin -- did you choose that yourself, or is it related to a designation of some sort? Just curious.

[Ah. Yep, another one who’s likely to balk at addressing a bot by its designation.]

Rin is from a character in my favorite serial, The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. It’s an alias, not a name.

Interesting. I only asked because, where I come from, our chosen names tend to be more powerful than the ones we've been given.

[He'll probably settle for one or the other eventually, but for now, SecUnit Rin seems like a pretty reasonable combination, all things considered. He's heard so much weirder.]

Did you wake up here just today? Or have you been on the manifest a while?

I have a name that I have chosen for myself. It's private. You can call me SecUnit or Rin--but neither of those is my name.

[There's almost a wry amusement. Knowing its actual name holds power means it's even more important to keep it hidden, right?]

And I've been here for around a thousand hours, at this point. Slightly more. [Which is about a month and a half; Murderbot's used to thinking of time in hours, because the length of a day, a month, a year may vary on different planets and under the rule of different polities.]

Sounds perfectly acceptable to me. [There's a brief moment as Skulduggery does the math. Give him a break, he's 400 years old. Hours can be hard to count.] Not so long, then, but longer than me. Is there anything you think I should know about?

Given what you've said about your world, you might want to talk to Palamedes. His universe has magic...stuff, so maybe you'd work together well.

[Even though it doesn't understand, MB does respect Palamedes and his skills.]

Oh, really? There are other magic users aboard?

[Well, that settles that. If they're not hiding it, then neither is Skulduggery. Still, it makes him curious about the other passengers on the ship. Is there something about all of them that's similar? Something that brought them to the attention of this ship and its captain? Or what? So many questions. Thankfully, he's apparently got plenty of time to work them out.]

Are there other... robots, here? Cyborgs? Ugh. I am not normally a fan of science fiction, so the verbiage is lost on me. Other people like you, here, I mean.

Do you want to understand the verbiage, at least as it's used in my world, or do you just want the simple answer to the question you asked?

[Look, it's not always good at interpreting implicit requests. Asking is easiest.]

Both would be nice. I know there's a difference, I just... have no idea what that difference is.

Again, these are the distinctions drawn in my universe.

A bot is any artifical intelligence, whether it's the mind piloting a ship or controlling a space station or something like me. A cyborg is a bot with an android body that's partly organic--we're manufactured, not born. An augmented human is a person with robotic parts or other computered augmentations added consensually.

So. Given that--there's at least one android on the ship, but she's not a cyborg. There's also an augmented human, a man with a metal arm. Also, I think...

[It pauses, because what it's about to say is very much personal theory, a gut feeling, and it doesn't know how to explain it.]

Gal Friday seems to be a bot, even if she is organic. I think she's constructed.

[It's good to remember that this is just one world's vocabulary, and Skulduggery neatly files that information away with the rest of what SecBot Rin says. The usual questions briefly pop into mind -- the ones about souls, and the ethics of manufacturing people designed only to serve one purpose -- but honestly, he's got bigger fish to fry. Like, for example:]

You think that she's artificially created? I was leaning towards "passenger subsumed by the eldritch energy of the ship," but I think I understand what you mean. ...Maybe. What makes you think that?

[Murderbot pauses, thinking about what's giving it that feeling.]

The canned responses. The fact that she almost seems to be always on duty. The moments when she can't bring forth the 'appropriate' response and seems to struggle. I don't know for sure. I could be wrong. I could be projecting.

You could be, yes. But you also have a unique perspective, and you can see connections that I can't. While I noticed her pauses, I hadn't thought it was the result of her being a construct. But it does fit. She has a quality to her that certainly feels artificial.

I understand it's only a hypothesis, but. If you had to, would you say the same thing about the captain? That he's a construct?

[He's spent the last few years encouraging his partner to work on her deductive reasoning; damned if he isn't going to encourage the same in his new acquaintance.]

No. If I had to guess, the captain owns and operates her. Perhaps he created her, perhaps not. But he has control here. This ship is his domain. And she is part of that.

[Its sentences are shorter, posture tenser.]

[He notices, of course, but Skulduggery remains calm and relaxed as he speaks. Maybe just a little gentler, as if wanting to ease a worry he can't possibly solve. This is just two new friends talking about a horrifying abomination that wears a captain's hat. Well, a hat. ...I think it's a hat.]

I see. And from what little I've gathered, he isn't... interested in making many public appearances. Hence, the need for Ms. Friday. Or, maybe he's just lonely and needs a friend. Lots and lots of interesting friends. Some without faces.

[Un-Fucking-Likely, but Skulduggery can dream, can't he?]

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