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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.]
no subject
He sighs, falling into step beside her as he gives her a bit of a glance over, as well. "I'll come along with you until it's over and done with, if you'd like."
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She eyes him for just a moment as if deciding if he's telling the truth or not. Making snap judgements on people in a strange place like this is hardly her idea of a great time, especially as her judgements historically haven't always hit the mark, but that's the situation.
Anyway, he seems genuine enough, especially since he's offering to come with, so she heaves her own sigh and stuffs her hands in the pockets of her trench coat.
"More or less innocent, right. Fine, guess I've walked into things more likely to be traps than that." Like guaranteed to be traps, actually. "Sure, won't turn down that offer."
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He takes in a breath. "I suppose I must seem rather suspicious," he says. "Strange things like this happening to you, here comes a strange man telling you to just go along with it, what's the worst that can happen? I would probably be suspicious of me as well."
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"Does make a girl wonder, yeah. But here's my logic, if something's gonna stop me walking anywhere but where it wants me to go anyway, it hardly needs some guy to come be all nice about it to finish the job. Figure something like that's got enough patience to wait me out."
That this 'something' is a thing at all still makes absolutely no goddamned sense, but somehow it's happening anyway.
"Besides, if there's one thing I'm used to it's dealing with a strange man." She huffs an almost-laugh out her nose and shakes her head. Bleedin' Bastrop. "Honoria Crabb. Detective."
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Watson waves a hand, vaguely. "You know, it's odd, but there's quite a few detectives here. Myself -- well, I doubt you can call me a detective, but I've been partner to one."
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“Miss. Very much Miss. Mrs Crabb’s my mother. Me, I’m just married to the job.”
Is that a bit too much protesting? Maybe. Her recent romantic history’s— well it’s been odd, is all. If odd’s even strong enough a word.
“Yeah? Wonder why that is…” She sounds genuinely thoughtful for a moment, before shaking it aside for now. “Y’know that’s how I got started, really. Partnering up with a proper detective. Teaches you a lot, trying to keep up.”
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Well, let him get that little bit of sad nostalgia out of the way, anyway. It's never very far beneath the surface for him. "But I haven't any theories as to the whys. I've been... well, more concerned with the practical, medical side of things, I think."
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"Don't I know that feeling." There's a note of admiration in her voice, even if she doesn't elaborate. Ferrier's a damned smart woman.
Anyway. Medical doctor, then. She's rather more used to hearing about the science type lately. Most her injuries are acquired in service of things you don't just go wandering into a state hospital about. "Lot of that to be concerned with? Medical stuff?"
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"While there are a few people here who have experience as a medic," he says, "and a few people who use magic to heal, not that I know anything about anything as outlandish as that," he sounds almost offended at the idea, "as far I know I am the only actual physician, on this entire ship. There is some further complication by the fact that while the ship does have a fairly well-stocked infirmary, much of the medical supplies are things that are simply not invented in my time. I've been attempting to learn, and I've been attempting to coerce people into taking up the mantle."
Watson is silent for a moment, because he's not quite sure how frank to be with someone who's only just arrived. She's tough enough to handle the truth, he decides. If Crabb were some delicate, sheltered maiden, well, he might have had some misgivings. She is clearly not that. "There have been some very ominous... warnings, shall I say? About what is to come. And while so far casualties have been limited... I cannot say what will come in future."
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Crabb takes it all in with a keen ear. He's certainly right about her being no sheltered maiden. Though she's got a very expressive face that shows almost every little reaction as she listens, there's mostly concern, frustration, some surprise and alarm, but no actual panic. Her life's been too insane recently for just this to knock her for much of a spin.
Limited casualties still means casualties, which sure isn't great to hear, but it's not exactly unexpected. She scrubs a hand over her face, up over her head back down to her neck where it settles.
"Sorry to say you ain't gained any more medical experience with me, most I know's how to patch myself up after a scrap." Which is arguably overselling it even then, her idea of wound care is cleaning it with a splash of vodka and bandaging it up with her own tie. "Bloody hell. Alright. Expect things to get worse, yeah? Guess that's about what I'd expect from waking up on some freaky ship..."
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Which he admires, truth be told. He appreciates a modern woman. Any woman who is a detective is, quite naturally, a very modern woman by his standards.
"And while at this point I have more questions than answers, I at least do try to steer away from unpleasant truths."
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Crabb shakes her head, no, she certainly doesn't mind him saying so.
"You got me pegged right, I'm not the pleasant lie type." Or, she isn't these days, anyway. The Crabb of a couple of years ago would be a different story, but things have changed. "Lies are no good in a bad situation. Can't get anything done working from 'em. Not that I'm exactly sure how you get anything done stuck someplace everyone's as clueless as the next person, but..."
The point stands.
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More's the pity. It makes detective work very difficult. At any rate, there is a thing that's been bothering him, and it's that he can't place her, not in appropriate mannerisms or fashion or accent -- though the last is at least a little similar to Johnny's. "Might I ask where and when you are from, Miss Crabb?"
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Part of that question visibly throws her for a bit of a loop. “When am I—”
Right, Watson already said something about the medical equipment here being ‘not invented in his time’, which implies wherever they are is… in the future…? God give her strength…
Give her a second. She rubs the bridge of her nose, breathes, then actually answers: “Gallery, and the last I checked it was 1908.”
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Watson stops, aware of his own muttering, and gives her an apologetic smile. "Forgive me. It took me a moment to remember. I am from 1892, London in particular, and... I really must ask. Are you acquainted with a gentleman named Johnny Summer?"
Might as well just come out and ask. Not that they've talked about her a lot, but she has been mentioned by name, at least.
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Crabb stalls for a moment, barely getting chance to boggle over the idea of him being from a good decade and a half before her own time before he mentions Johnny. Then, she's blinking dumbly for a straight second or two before blurting out, perhaps equally as dumbly:
"—are you?" Dammit, scratch that. "I mean, yeah, I'm acquainted, he's my bleedin' landlord, just for one."
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He absolutely cannot blame her for her reaction. He'd be equally dumbfounded in her position, but the time travel thing gets... less astounding after a while.
"This is a rather peculiar place, in more ways than one."
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"Peculiar hardly feels strong enough a word. I saw Summer not a few hours ago, but somehow he's been your roommate for... longer than that, clearly."
This is enough to give a girl a headache, she swears. The time difference between her time, Watson's and whatever the ship's may be is somehow less of a kick in the head than trying to understand how Johnny's here, too.
"Alright. Well. Guess I've got someone to find once I've got control of my own blasted legs again."
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With all the other time travel and other worlds, well, that shouldn't be surprising, and yet it is.
"I'm sure the two of you have a good deal of catching up to do. Fortunately, time is something we have no shortage of here."
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"Few hours, no more. There was some nasty business at the Margrave and..." She gestures vaguely, it's been a weird day on all fronts for her, that's for damned sure. "Six weeks... God's teeth..."
It doesn't make sense, but none of this makes sense, so she's not sure what she was expecting.
"Lot of idle time just waiting for something else crazy to happen?"