sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #5

Entry tags:

!tdm

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Mmm," she hums. "I think last year the city had about 300. Which I'm guessing is probably way more than all of Norway."

"About ten times more, yeah," he answers with a small smile, nodding. "What's that about monkeys and typewriters?"

He's honestly completely fine with not having more 'fun' murders. He's got a pretty decent overview of every single murder that's happened in the past decade, not just in Oslo but the entire country. He knows all the unsolved ones in particular - there's twelve of them. (Used to be thirteen.)

"More murders means more weird killings. Statistically." She smiles in bemusement. "My partner would go nuts living in Norway. The work is extremely important to him."

If Joan is being honest with herself, she wouldn't be all too happy about it either, the work having become pretty central to her life and happiness too. But she's not about to say that out loud, particularly not to someone she just met.

"Well, there's a murder more than every two weeks. If he can solve each in less than two weeks, I'm sure the folks back home would be happy to let him go through the cold cases as well," he says, smiling gently. "Or do you only do the weird ones?"

It's not quite a fair count, of course. Plenty of these murders have very little mystery to them, and it's all about documenting the evidence.

He enjoys the challenge too, of course he does. But more than that, he enjoys putting dangerous people behind bars, and making the world a slightly safer place.

She thinks about how best to answer that.

"One time," she says, "we were called to a robbery where a security guard was murdered. It was during a blizzard, probably the worst New York had seen in decades. Sherlock didn't want to take the case. Thought it was too easy and they didn't really need our help." She leans forward a little. "Then the power went out. And suddenly it was enough of a challenge to keep him interested."

Viggo nods and inclines his head a bit. That's the problem with people who are too smart. They get bored. If it really was that easy, couldn't he have solved it in no time? But no, it's all about the challenge.

"Have you been partners long?" he asks, instead of arguing that. He gets the impression he doesn't need to argue it with Joan anyway. She seems a bit more likely to take a case just for the good it would do. If he's reading her right - which he hopes he is.

He definitely is reading her right. Joan will often take cases that would bore Sherlock, just to help someone who's in trouble.

"For about seven years," she answers. "Although I wasn't a detective when we started working together. I was a sober companion."

Sherlock has long released her from her obligation of confidentiality regarding how they first worked together. She usually wouldn't talk about it regardless, but either this is a dream or she's trapped in some weird extradimensional reality. Either way, she feels less obligated to avoid the subject.

His eyes narrow curiously at the mention of being a sober companion. That's definitely an interesting career change.

"Same amount of time as I've been a chief inspector," he says. "That's a, uh.. Lieutenant, I think, for you guys? Not sure exactly how it converts." Though if she's familiar with the British model, then she's more or less familiar with the Norwegian one as well, since he's a DCI.

She notices the way he narrows his eyes, clearly curious about her odd career path. There's story there, of course, but they can talk about it later. Assuming there is a later.

"I think that's similar to the British system, right? Sherlock's from London," she says by way of explanation how she knows, "and we've worked with Scotland Yard."

"There you go. DCI. More or less the same thing," he answers, gesturing. "Although when you get down to practicalities and experiences, it's also pretty different." They're much smaller, after all. A lot fewer people to police.

"I've mostly been working with drug smuggling the past two years. And honestly I wish there were more sober companions and fewer detectives," he says with soft, sad smile. He's seen a fair amount of lives ruined.

"Oh," she says softly, sadly, her sympathy clear in her voice and her expression. Part of her wants to reach across the table and take his hand, to offer some comfort, but she refrains. They've just met, after all, and she doesn't know enough about him to know if that would be welcomed.

"Do they have 12 step programs in Norway?" she asks softly.

He hums and nods. "Plenty of meetings. Never enough rehab centers," he answers. Though he's well aware that it's deeper and more systemic than that. That you gotta address the underlying problems. That's not really his area though - he just tries to stop the drugs from entering the country or being spread around to begin with.

Joan nods in understanding and solidarity. It always seems like there just aren't enough resources for people who desperately need them.

"It's possible for people to come back from it," she offers softly, gently. "It's never easy, but it is possible. I've seen it, many times."

He nods. He doesn't have personal experience with it, but.

"My partner was helping someone. She wanted to get clean so she could see her son again. Three weeks clean, she ODed," he says sadly. It had been real hard on Ståle. Of course, Viggo was dealing with his own shit at the the time. "This was a week ago..."

Oh no. Joan's heart is breaking for him. He seems so kind and caring, and she can tell he's in pain. There's something there, something deeper, that she can't quite put her finger on. Regardless, Joan reaches out to gently touch his hand, offering comfort but ready to pull away if he doesn't want physical contact.

"That's terrible," she says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

He smiles slightly and gives a nod of acknowledgement and appreciation. He's not one to accept comfort easily (or at all), but it's a lot simpler when it's not really his own pain. It's detached in a way that doesn't make him want to reject it. Still, he doesn't lean into either, he just lets it happen.

"So, why'd you give up being a sober companion?" he asks, changing the subject a little bit.

No harm. When he doesn't really react to the touch she draws her hand back, folding it in her lap.

"A couple reasons," she says. "I had been accompanying Sherlock on his cases, and I discovered that I liked what he did. I wound up helping him solve cases pretty much from the start. When my time as his sober companion ended...I stayed."

She takes a breath.

"The other reason was that I had become a sober companion as...a sort of penance."

He frowns gently, curious and surprised. "Penance for what?" he asks, almost automatically. Someone she failed? Something drug related, or.. something else?

This isn't an interrogation, and she's hardly entitled to tell him. But she's the one who brought it up, so he doesn't feel bad about asking.

She doesn't usually do this, telling her life story to a stranger, but these are unique and bizarre circumstances.

"I had a boyfriend who was an addict. I saw how it started, and how it ruined his life. I tried helping him, but I failed. That experience gave me a lot of insight, so when I was making a career change, I chose to help other addicts."

Hey, if it's all a dream or a coma or whatever, why not get some stuff off your chest? Process it and all that. Viggo could probably use the same, what with everything going on this past month.

That doesn't necessarily mean he's going to.

He nods a little, understanding the motivation. "I'm sorry," he says sympathetically. Then, after a moment: "Unfortunately I doubt my partner would be much use as a sober companion," he says softly, giving her a small smile. Just a small joke to lighten the seriousness a little bit.

Isn't that what dreams are for? Working through your issues?

She smiles. "It's not for everybody," she says, her voice light, joking back. "I bet she's a great cop, though."

His dreams seem to mostly be for giving him ominous hints. Not that he even dreams anymore.

"He," he corrects gently. "But yeah, he is. ...All appearances to the contrary," he jokes softly. Ståle's not the kind who gives the best first-impression, and half the time he sounds like he's taking the piss, but underneath it he's solid.

"Is he hard to get along with?" Joan has met a lot of cops who aren't exactly the greatest people to work with. Then again, that's hardly unique to law enforcement.

"Nah. He just likes to crack jokes. Or tell really inappropriate stories," Viggo answers with a smile. Maybe some would find that difficult, but he does not.

"Ah," she says with a smile. "I know guys like that."

She tilts her head. "What made you decide to be a police officer?"

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