sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #5

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TEST DRIVE MEME #5

1. not subtle revealings

[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! 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. a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling

[the reflections are missing. all of them. in mirrors. in television screens. on the backs of spoons. nothing looks back at you.

then, figures do show up. not your own, like you'd expect. thin, wispy apparitions, people with pleading eyes and hands, reaching out to place their palms against the surface, from their own end. faces familiar and not, beckoning, mouthing words you just can't quite make out. help me, it might be. get me out, perhaps. just until you're close enough, until your skin warms the surface of whatever it is you're peering into. and then, those same hands wrap, all too real, burning-cold against your flesh, and pull, trying to drag you through the surface, making up for their lack of strength with desperation. any flesh unlucky enough to enter the reflection comes back bone-white and cold, all sensation dead, though it will fade within a few hours.

in retrospect, it looks a bit more like they were saying something different. something more like, better you than me. or maybe it's not even words at all. they look a bit more like they're laughing.]

3. complex mementos

[but, hey. sometimes changes are good! like, today, in Playback, there's a brand-new game available for all the children to play! it's an old-fashioned sort of claw machine, the type that's so large, a particularly dedicated kindergartner could wriggle their way inside. the prizes vary, and sit loose: bags of candy, stuffed toys, firearms, painfully early-00s electronics, actually that one just looks like a dead iguana, tiny ship-branded knickknacks... like all the other games in the arcade, the game starts up automatically upon being touched; lack of quarters shouldn't keep you from having fun! pro tip: they are loaded, and they will go off if you suck at claw games and let it fall.]

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"The drinks are pretty good too," he comments. That had been one of the first things he'd done here. It wasn't his idea, but at some point it just seemed like the best thing to be doing.

"I'll have to give them a try," she says. She doesn't have much alcohol nowadays since the Brownstone is a No Alcohol Zone due to Sherlock's addiction, but she does enjoy a beer now and again.

"What kind of alcohol do they have?"

"Every kind, it looked like. Including plenty I've never seen before," he answers, finishing off his coffee. "I saw a bottle of absinthe from 1899, as an example."

"Really?" She sits back a little, thinking of that. "Huh. Wouldn't mind giving that a try."

"Tastes kinda like licorice and spices. Well, the one I've tried, anyway. No idea about here on the ship," he says. "It was never actually banned in Norway," he adds, since he's heard it was a big deal in the US.

A. cookie-sized option

[on top of their other many positive attributes, Cookies are naturally very good jumpers. this becomes a very important skill to have when one finds themselves suddenly living in a world made for giants and gods, and very, very much not made for Cookies.

well, at least there’s a bar. multiple, in fact! it is hurikane that she hits up first, liking the sound of that name. a few daring leaps off chairs and tables lands her on the bar countertop with only a mild amount of scrambling. so, first insurmountable odd thoroughly surmounted. now she just needed to figure out how to actually get herself a drink…

well, when in a time of need, one must reach out and rely on your friends. she doesn’t have those, here. yet. so, she gives the giant walking into the bar her best smile and a hearty laugh, waving in greeting.]

Hello, friend! You wouldn’t mind helping out an old Cookie with a powerful thirst, would you? I’ve never seen such large bottles of juice in all my years; even I might not be able to finish one!

[which absolutely will not stop her from trying.]

B. person-sized option cw: slight cookie body horror

[the mournful faces she sees in the window as she passes are Cookies, but none are familiar to her. almost like they knew they didn’t have to be; she would be no less willing to help a complete stranger than she would her dearest friend. even if their faces, so pale and sad, brought to mind fields of white lilies…]

Right! Let’s get you all out of there! Stand back!

[they don’t have to drag her inside. she gladly punches the glass, gasping at the ice-cold shock of swarming hands, falling back so suddenly that she topples over, her shield clattering to the floor.

she pulls her glove off, expression twisting into horror. her dough has gone white as milk, and she knows even before she does it that when she touches it, the edges of her hand will crumble. pale crumbs fall to the carpet, leaving a jagged, desiccated edge.]

What magic is this… You! [glares at the glass] Asking for help, only to harm those who come to your aid? Someone ought to teach you some manners!

[so now she’s just squaring up with a window. it doesn’t not look like an old woman has gone insane.]

"I don't think that's how you're meant to play those," Ava comments, her expression one of amusement and yet just a tinge judgmental at his predicament. He's not anyone she recognizes, but there's so many new faces around these days. It's hard to keep track.

She glances around, hoping to find somebody else more willing to handle this. Which there isn't. And she'd feel a bit too guilty to walk away. He looks far too pathetic there.

Ava approaches, peering into the machine. "What's possibly in here that made you so desperate?"

Dimitri's explained it before. But ... that had been in Fódlan, where everyone had a passing familiarity with the Tragedy of Duscur; Dimitri had only needed to fill in the gaps. Darcy has none of that context. Here on the Serena Eterna, Dimitri had hoped ... hoped, however vainly, that it might not have to define him.

Foolish of him. Faithless. In the end, he can't escape being himself.

He settles himself on the couch, squares his shoulders and straightens his spine; fixes his gaze somewhere dead ahead, in the middle distance, and draws a deep breath.

"My father was murdered," he says dully. "We were travelling. Our convoy was attacked. My father, and my best friend at the time ... others ... t-they died protecting me. It's only because of them that I survived." His hands bunch in the fabric of his pants, crooked knuckles white and trembling. He does not look at Darcy. "Only I survived."

Now it gets tricky, but to be honest, he's already thought about how to explain this without giving away more than he needs to. If he hesitates, let Darcy think it's because the memories are difficult -- which they are. "The attack was blamed on the people living nearby. There was ... retaliation. I was a witness -- I knew the truth -- but no one would listen. I could do nothing. I -- "

He shakes his head, shoulders bunched, fists balled on his knees. "In Faerghus," he goes on more steadily, a little hoarse, "those who are killed unjustly, whose deaths go unavenged ... their souls are trapped in a frozen, lightless realm beneath the earth, unable to move on, unable to find peace. I'm the only one left. The only one who can save them. So when they called out to me from the mirror -- " Finally, he turns to Darcy, pleading for ... something. Understanding. Mercy. Judgement. " -- I had to try."

What is there to say?

What can she say.

Her mother lost most of one of her legs and Darcy's world stopped for a span of months. Drove her half nuts. It's what her father had said before he left- 'I can nurse a cripple wife or a batshit daughter but not both'. She'd witnessed how the world stops when someone who people care about gets hurt. Not herself, of course, but she's chewed on that bitterness long enough.

Darcy cannot fathom what it must be like losing so many. And then to be rendered helpless in stopping the deaths of others, forced to let the actual killers go free...

It's bitter in her throat. Darcy finds herself outraged on his behalf, her usual protective instincts forming phantom images of shaking sense into someone into her head. But it's not... helpful. It's the kind of impotent anger that achieves nothing.

"I'm sorry," she croaks at last, her expression grim.

"I... don't know how the afterlife works where you're from. I barely know how it works back home. But I know you need to be alive to be able to avenge them."

She huffs, makes her way over to where he's sat to rest her chin on his head.

"I'd be a hypocrite if I asked you to be careful, or not... try. It's important, and I know you had to. Just... don't. Don't be stupid. For their sake and mine."

"It's a commercial cruise liner, Klaus. Bunch of people stuck at sea, stir crazy and seasick... Best way to keep everyone from losing their absolute minds would be to have a bar on every floor."

In for one rude awakening then, since the likes of John's, The Drunken Sailor, and Topy have done remarkably little to prevent cabin fever and all out slaughter on board the Serena Eterna. And a second in the form of: Five doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. No idea what's going on here, nor how remarkably wrong his immediate assumptions are. But it's only been the better part of an hour. Barring any sudden and instantaneous paradox side effects that would somehow melt this reality down to atoms as well, he'll eventually figure it out.

As for his suit — it is kinda sad, isn't it? They're drawing level with the glass elevator on the atrium, and Five's pulling his hand from his pocket to shake the frayed sleeve experimentally before pressing the call button.

"When would I have found time to fight someone? No, this is all Guardian." Diego's good, Lila's steadily inclining from average to alright, but if Klaus thinks there are enough brain cells between the two of them to pull off roughing him up this severely? ...well, it wouldn't be wrong, just terribly insulting to say out loud.

"Ugly bastard cut off half my arm. Still not entirely sure how I got it back..."

But! Whiskey first, existential crisis later.

Whose gonna complain? I think you're more likely to cry than I would ever be. You ready?

(she stands up right; rolling her shoulder and then gets in position.)

It's a straight shot so can't be too hard for ya.

Ready as I'll ever be. On your mark! ♥

[ Straight shot. Should be easy. The only way this girlie's outspeeding her is if she's not what she seems, and there's already a good chance of that!

Win win for her, but she also hates losing, so once the "starting gun" goes off-- she'll zoom right the fuck off. ]

"That's fucked up." Maybe this whole place is fucked up, but so was Hawkins.

Eddie blinks at the question. "I don't know. I've never been on a ship before."

This is probably the longest conversation he's had with someone under the age of fifteen in quite some time. Eddie's still not sure how to feel about it, but he also doesn't want to be a dick and just wander off to leave this kid by herself, especially when it doesn't look like there's anyone around to claim her.

He's never been much of a cake guy, outside of the ones his mother used to make for his birthday- but that ship sailed a long time ago. He can't even remember the last time he had cake. Eddie nods thoughtfully, considering her answer for a moment. "Strawberries and cream is a good choice. My mom had this chocolate fudge thing she'd make sometimes. That was nice."

"Yes," Ylva says, "please."

She grins toothily, and without further ado or explanation slips into her favourite trick, that of shapeshifting. Specifically, she takes the shape of a pine marten -- long and flexible in the way of weasels, small enough to have no problem wriggling in and out of a crane machine, but large enough to manhandle an object the size of a gun. From the ground she pulls herself up into the trap door, and into the collection of prizes.

For a moment, she's distracted by the sheer number of things to investigate, and the gun is a little heavier than she expected, but she takes it in her mouth and carefully drags it back the way she came. At the last second she grabs a couple bags of candy -- she can smell it and she wants it, and she's gotta have something for herself if she's doing this, right -- and then throws them down into the prize well before following, with the gun.

She scratches at the door politely, to show she's ready to be let out.

"That's... different than just making a map the regular way?"

She tilts her head, trying to work this out. "I mean, give me some paper and I could probably draw a map myself. So does that count as a mapping function?"

He takes a deep breath, because that's one hell of a question.

"There are long periods of rather lazy peace interspersed with... troubling events. Death is impermanent, and I know this because I have died once already." Watson gives her a slightly apologetic look, because he knows that sounds crazy. "We were put on an island and asked to fight to the death. Really, it wasn't a fair fight. I like to think I can hold my own, but there are people here with implausible powers, magic, because they come from worlds where those things are real. I suppose another version of myself is in line with that."

"Oh, it's not banned in the United States anymore," she says. "But I've read that the recipe changed over time. It would be interesting to try absinthe made in its heyday."

Viggo nods a bit. "I don't often drink much, but honestly this place seems to warrant it," he says with a slight smile.

He drinks the occasional beer, but honestly he's gotten so used to the potential for getting called away for work suddenly, that not being able to legally drive became sort of an annoyance. But here everything is so crazy, and there's no one who would suddenly call him in. ~~Plus it can help with the headaches.~~

"Me neither," she says. "We can't keep alcohol around the house. But I get drinks with friends every once on a while."

Sometimes it's a long while, considering her work, but still.

"You've..." She frowns, trying to wrap her brain around what he said about death. Because she must have misheard him. There's no other logical explanation.

"You've died?"

Makes sense, if she was his sober companion, of course they wouldn't have any alcohol around the house.

"Well, I'd be happy to help you test that absinthe sometime. Or other things, I suppose," he says. He's enjoying her company. He might not have offered so freely back home - he can be pretty difficult to drag out for social activities sometimes. But it's not like he has a job to distract him or a kid to babysit, and she's the one he's gotten along with easiest so far.

She smiles at his offer, feeling warmed. She's enjoying his company too. She's met a number of people so far, but she's connected with him the most. He almost makes her hope this isn't a dream.

"I'd like that."

"Yes," he confirms. Watson sighs a little. "I know, it sounds impossible. I was killed by one of our fellow passengers, and I woke up in my cabin the following morning. I would doubt my own experience, but I have witnesses to the fact that I was very much a corpse, devoid of breath or body heat."

He hates it. He hates the entire idea of it.

"I don't have an explanation," he says. "I only know that I'm certainly not the only one to have experienced this."

It's not what Dimitri expected. Not the contact, nor the quiet, accepting sympathy. People usually argue with him, when he bares this much -- try to tell him it's not his fault, or that the dead are gone, or that they wouldn't want this, or some such. It's ... nice. It's nice to feel like someone understands.

His forehead drops onto Darcy's collarbone. All the tension uncoils from his shoulders, and he only holds back the wet sting around his lashes with his reluctance to reset Darcy's honesty timer. "I'll try," he says. It's all he can promise. "If I can avoid mirrors, I ... should be alright."

He swallows. "I know. Both the living and the dead ... I need to live on to do them any good. But it's hard to ... it's hard."

There's more he could say -- more that churns, and festers, and burrows into the cracks and crevices of his mind -- but it won't do either of them any good to dwell on. Darcy's already gone above and beyond for him. Dimitri should -- he wants to, really he wants to -- sit up, and tear himself away, and reassure Darcy that he's fine; it was a momentary lapse, but he'll be alright -- but it would be a lie, and he'sso starved for comfort, and he should know better but it can't hurt, how much can it hurt? To sit here with his eyes closed, and breathe, and let Darcy be the one to step away.

" ... I'm sorry," he says quietly. This time, it's not an apology. "If you understand where I'm coming from ... I'm sorry. No one comes to understand these things for any happy reason."

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TEST DRIVE MEME #5

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hollyberry cookie | cookie run: kingdom

3.a.

cw mention of family death, mass murder

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