TEST DRIVE MEME #5

[sailmods]

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.]

Comments

[inhairently]

[ He's never met a girl named Clark(e) before, and almost says so before he thinks better of it. He's been striking out with one girl after another romantically, and he probably shouldn't test the waters on striking out platonically as well. Can't lose the person willing to help him with his disgusting wounds. ]

Ever heard of Hawkins, Indiana? It's a small town, like, eighty miles outside of Indianapolis. And, uh, this? [ He makes a sweeping gesture towards himself with one hand, indicating the strangulation mark on his neck down to the ratty bandage on his stomach. ] Would you believe me if I said it was an animal attack?

[ Not technically a lie, just also not technically the entire truth. ]

[skaikru]

( a whole lot of societal conventions get thrown out the window after the end of the world, and when the opportunity to name 80% of the cast after science fiction authors or butchered city names and landmarks arises, ya gotta take it. end of the day, most of the people here are a lot more horrified by the history of humanity she's got to tell, or personal achievements in atrocities. someone ragging on her name would be a breath of fresh air. )

So... Middle to eastern United States? ( learnings states and their capitals went out of fashion, but had still been discussed. and an animal attack, huh? )

And like a bear?

( though the earlier politeness of not looking too hard at his wounds is undermined by a new head-to-toe sweep of assessment, lingering on bruising or abrasion on his throat. the skepticism is healthy, but runs high. )

...if a bear had opposable thumbs and a ligature.

[inhairently]

Uh-huh, up between Illinois and Ohio.

[ She must be Canadian.

Now, under normal circumstances Steve wouldn't breathe a word of what really happened to anyone outside of his circle. But the way he sees it now he has three possibilities:

1. he is dead, regardless of what anyone says
2. he is hallucinating
3. this is real and the people stuck in this hellhole of a ship have just as much right to know about alternate dimensions and monsters as he does

So he makes the executive decision to go ahead and be forthcoming. ]

Yeah, exactly. Think swarm of bears, with wings and opposable tails. And, uh, like, their faces are just big mouths that open up like — [ He raises his hands and mimes something like a claw trap opening in front of his face. It's not an exact representation but close enough. ]

And if the bears were bats. Mutant bats, I guess. I might have rabies.

[skaikru]

( how... disconcerting for him will it be when clarke's reaction taps out at "mildly surprised, but no hint of disbelief"? because that's right about where she's at: eyebrows raised, lips pursed, following the details of the bear-bats and painting a rather daunting image of them in her own head. a bit of a shock, but wrapped in terms of everything she's seen on the ship and at home — mutated two headed deer, storm goddesses in their true form, a vantablack expanse inside a skull, a walking and talking skeleton, befriending a jelly fish and vampire, zombies, and the wealth of other passengers each stranger than the last — not a difficult idea to swallow. )

That sounds ... Terrifying. And gross — ( specifically the mouths, no one let steve watch friday eat. ) I'm sorry you had to go through that.

( the elevator dings and the doors slide open. business as usual and she's crowding him over the threshold before punching the button for deck 0. it won't be a long trip. )

I don't think we have anything for rabies, so let's cross our fingers that mutant bats don't carry it. Do you have a lot of violent eldritch monsters in your world?

[inhairently]

Shit, I hope not.

[ The handful of monsters he's either directly encountered is more than enough for anyone's world. He doesn't need more, and certainly not a lot. (Which, by the way, he does note that she did say your world, which is super weird, but he's got bigger things on his mind so that little tidbit gets filed away for later.)

He's starting to think maybe blabbing about the demobats was a mistake. Yeah, he could be dead or hallucinating all of this or they could really be kidnapped on a magical mystery tour but that doesn't mean he should go spilling all of Hawkins' dirty secrets to anyone who'll listen. It's dangerous for a lot more people than just the two of them here in this elevator. After all, he doesn't even know this girl. ]

Hey, maybe don't tell anyone what I said about the bats. There's this whole government coverup thing going on and... I just don't want anyone to get hurt. Cool?

[skaikru]

...okay, sure. Cool.

( this is, very important to note, a flat out false agreement. the second there's hint on the wind that they may have to deal with ungodly demon bats bearing any resemblance to what steve just described, clarke's telling all. will attempt to commandeer the pa system and scream it from the rooftops, or more accurately, will tell her small group of friends so they can track him down and ask more pointed questions. but until that day arrives — )

I didn't hear a thing.

( it's better that way, actually. they don't want to go giving the captain any ideas outside the scope of what he already garners from movies and novels. clarke gives steve a slight, tight lipped ghost of a smile and nods. but a thing or two to correct. )

But there's no government here. You don't have to keep any secrets because you're worried about being persecuted, and you'll probably find people with even stranger stories to tell.

( the elevator heaves to a gentle stop, doors parting with a loud ding that still doesn't completely eclipse her next sentence. )

Besides, we're going to be hurt here no matter what we know or don't.

[inhairently]

I dunno, Griffin. Kinda sounds like something an evil government agent would say.

[ It's a joke. A bad one, but a joke all the same.

He's getting no weird """Department of Energy""" vibes from her, nor does he totally believe what she's saying, though. It's complicated. This whole thing is just... complicated.

It's sobering, though, the next bit she says, and he takes a minute to think that over as they exit the elevator. ]

It's a cruise ship. Who's here to hurt anybody?

[skaikru]

( it's a terrible joke, but she gets it. who hasn't gone on the lam and worked as an undercover spy, lying their way through every obstacle and serious conversation in front of them? that's like, par for the course. a coming of age experience.

but, bad or not, clarke's ability for humor is muted. she doesn't so much as huff, especially now the gateway is open to talk about her favorite (least favorite) topic (obsession). )

It's a cruise ship, ( she starts with the confirmation. looks like, feels like, sometimes behaves like, ultimately just is a cruise ship. but they've no determined heading, there's no engine, the stars aren't right in the night sky, the food, supplies, and any destruction right themselves the second you look away, and also the ghosts of passengers past serving as staff... )

With a Captain made of smoke and shadows, who wants to use our pain and existential suffering as fuel for his magical science experiments. Who dumps us on tropical islands and tells us to kill each other in horrible ways or else we'll be poisoned; who makes us vote to sacrifice one person to his games or else he'll kill us all; who's been doing this a long, long time and won't stop until he becomes a god.

[inhairently]

[ Steve listens quietly, attentive, as she talks about this captain. Dread begins to settle in the pit of his gut like a heavy stone. ]

Shit, [ he breathes. He can hang onto the hope that this is all a hallucination and he'll wake up in a minute right where he's supposed to be while also entertaining the possibility that what she's saying is true. He's been through enough bullshit these past couple years that he knows he can't really dismiss anything as impossible.* ] People have tried to kill this asshole, right?

[ He isn't quite foolish enough to assume that he, brand new guy, is the first to think of it. ]

There has to be something we can do.

[ * until he's feeling too cranky and hopeless just from being here and then he'll dismiss whatever the hell he wants, thank you ]

[skaikru]

( we all get to that point steve, it's part of the process.

something in her mouth snags and draws taught. but they're walking and her hair's down, allowing a swishing curtain with each step. maybe he won't catch the absolute and full body high of frustration that wells up every time clarke remembers sliding into the captain's personal space and opening up a hole in his head. just for him to have smiled back at her... )

People have been for hundreds of years, I'd imagine. We're still trying now.

( which even clarke realizes is a horribly uncomforting statement. she'll look sidelong at him proper now, offering her best semblance of a cool, reaffirming smile. it's a well made mask of emotion and confidence, but there's cracks where it doesn't reach her eyes. we're all fine down here. )

First order of business is always denying him what he wants. So lets get you some pain killers.

( clarke comes to a halt at a set of double doors clearly labeled infirmary finally, slaps her hand lightly on the plastic-metal combo once or twice, then pushes it open so steve can walk through. )

[inhairently]

Hundreds of years, [ he echoes. ] Great.

[ The infirmary is exactly what he expects — white, sterile, stocked full of a lot of stuff he doesn't know the purpose of. He doesn't waste any time shrugging off the borrowed denim vest he's wearing. Eddie will probably want it back, he thinks, so he sets it aside for now.

The air stings his exposed back and he remembers suddenly that, oh yeah, on top of having whatever the hell is going on underneath his bandage, he's also got that fucking road rash. Great. That's fine. He's not worried about it.

It's time for the fun part, anyway. Keeping his (gross) back to Clarke, he peels away his bloodied bandage to get his first real look at the yucky and bloodier-than-these-pictures-would-imply icky wounds on his abdomen. And... shit. They're kinda bad. Like bats-literally-ate-my-flesh bad. He shows little reaction on his face, just calmly replaces the bandage again and turns around. ]

Hey, look, this is kinda gross and if I had to guess it's probably a lot more than you signed up for so if you want to back out I get it. Totally cool. No hard feelings.

image cw: scary old medical tools??? idk man & drug mention

[skaikru]

( the infirmary is a... weird place. stark and sterile, constantly restocking. but right alongside capped scalpels and epipens one was like to find ancient, rusted bone saws and trephination drills. rough-steel forceps next rolls of gauze, victorian-era dental pliers beside a modern blood pressure cuff; brand name tylenol next to an amber bottle ominously labeled "fluidextract coca" (it's liquid cocaine). some find it daunting, clarke finds it to be a special sort of delight, having come from a world where life saving measures were tempered by a lack of resources and plenty of surgeries went unmedicated. she can overlook that the stains on the teeth of the saw are probably ancient, dried blood and still make herself at home here.

it was one of the first places on the ship she'd sought out, and has repeatedly come back to steal supplies and breathe in the special, antiseptic washed scent of an operating bay. well familiar, as steve sits and shrugs off his jacket, she's already reaching into cupboards for saline washes, sterilization swabs, miles of gauze, sticky bandages, antiseptic salve and even needle and thread kit — just to be prepared. her arms are full when turning back to witness him pulling at his own bandages, and her gaze is drawn back to first alight on that patchwork massacre of road rash along his shoulders and spine.

back turned, he'll miss the wince of sympathy; that looks rough and absolutely had to have hurt. but at the warning, resolve steels simultaneously as lips loosen. )

I showed up here with 80% of my body covered in open, weeping radiation burns. And, like, seven weeks ago, I got stabbed in the gut, so. Takes a lot to gross me out, I promise.

( there's a faint, half attempt at a half grin; no confidence or reassurance lacking, just a stiff unfamiliarity with full smiles anymore. as she draws back to standing in front of him, clarke sprinkles in a little more idle chatter. )

Besides, I was learning under my mother to become my people's Chief of Medical. Though if you want me to find you someone who completed their doctoral training, I can do that instead.

cw i guess for not very graphic description of injuries

[inhairently]

[Well that's quite a résumé. His face goes on a journey as she speaks, beginning with baffled concern when she mentions weeping radiation burns and settling on grim acceptance by the end of it. Future Chief of Medical works for him. He nods. ]

Okay. Let's get this over with.

[ He peels the bandage away again and nearly tosses it in a nearby trashcan, but stops himself. There's no way to know how long he might be stuck here so if the only mementos he has from home are Eddie Munson's rank denim vest and a bloody scrap of Nancy's shirt, he'd better hang onto both. The cloth goes on the counter next to the vest, and he turns back to Clarke.

The wounds are strange, clearly animal in nature but no recognizable bite pattern. If the edges were cleaner it would almost look like someone took a knife to his gut and started digging. Some spots are only missing layers of skin, like he'd been flayed, but those spots lead to much deeper holes where it looks as if the bats had been trying to bore right through to his organs. At least he's not bleeding as badly as he had been at first (through the magic of plot armor, no doubt), and both wounds are just sort of oozing blood now.

Steve inhales sharply through his nose, biting back a noise that's something along the lines of "oh shit now that I'm not in full survival mode I'm starting to realize this hurts like hell" and "oh god oh man this looks bad huh." ]

Told ya it's gross. I mean it's no radiation burn, but...

[ because jokes is easier than real human emotion, sometimes. ]

[skaikru]

( it looks bad. it looks very, very bad but at least not in a life threatening capacity if steve's still standing and cracking shitty, survivalist-mentality dark humor jokes. and it looks like it hurts, and looks wildly different from anything she's ever approached, but where clarke lacks in comedy she makes up with stone faced determination. not an eyelash batted, not a sour downturn of her mouth, not even a wince when she leans in to get an up close and personal look at each and every wound.

the more superficial damage — flayed skin, scratches, road rash — are pretty immediately discounted. it's the deeper puncture wounds that drag her interest like a moth to a particularly red flame. she'll reach out to touch them, with a thumb on one side of the gash and forefinger on the other, stretching skin and staring into the pit of fresh bared layers of flesh and fat and skin in attempt to see if viscera was a part of the mix. it probably hurts, and quietly, distractedly, clarke offers a repetitive — ) Sorry, I'm sorry. ( — in concert with any wince or twitch from steve.

blood doesn't bother in the slightest anymore. even as the distinct copper twang hits the back of her sinuses and carries over like a layer of salt across the back of her tongue. disgusting, but familiar. and after a few minutes of inspection and contemplation, she'll withdraw and offer: )

I don't think you're going to die from these. Nothing punctured your organs, and there's no initial sign of infection or foreign body remaining in the wound. We'll need to rinse them, rebandage, and monitor — and you'll probably end up with a few really gnarly scars. But you'll be okay. Are you okay with needles if I try to give you a shot?

[inhairently]

[ Despite having had his ass thoroughly handed to him on more than one occasion, Steve had never fully understood the phrase "seeing stars." He gets it now. As soon as Clarke starts poking around his injuries, his vision clouds with bursts of bright white from the pain and he wonders just how big a bruise to his ego it might be if he fell over in front of weeping-radiation-burn girl.

But he does not fall over. Instead he grits his teeth and, yes, he winces, and flinches, and perhaps even says a few choice words such as "goddammit" and "shit" and "it's okay, no really, you're fine."

He answers her question with a thin-lipped, tight smile. As if needles would be where he draws the line after all this. ]

Mmhmm, [ he hums his consent, sounding a bit strained. ] Yep. Needles are great. Absolutely. Go for it.

and now cw: needles. just. blanket cw for the whole thread tbh

[skaikru]

Cool.

( and honestly, as many props to him for not keeling over and passing out as were given for bursting into the muster drill trying to use a lifejacket as a weapon. respect is earned in small ways, but clarke still gestures towards the paper coated examination table in a silent instruction to get comfy.

a brief aside to her assembled makeshift trauma kit, where she's filling a syringe that looks straight out of world war 2 with no more than a finger of milky white liquid, then procuring a rolling stool from over by a desk and drawing level with steve's bloodied, maimed abdomen. if poking at sensitive, torn flesh with just fingers had been unpleasant, this wasn't about to be much better. though after the first few shallow injections, hopefully some warm sensation of relief and numbness should be working its way through his system — enough that when plunging the needle deeper into layers of muscle, he shouldn't suffer more than uncomfortable pressure and the knowledge that, yeah, someone's def poking inside those wounds now. )

So tell me about yourself. What year are you from? Read any good books lately?

( ...okay, so her small talk needs work. )

[inhairently]

[ The small talk helps. Really. It's enough to keep him occupied as she does whatever she's doing with that horrible needle. If he keeps his eyes on the ceiling and concentrates on her questions he can almost ignore that unnerving sense of pressure where he's been numbed. ]

Pretty sure the last thing I read was the back of a cereal box. And, uh. 1986? [ That's gotta be one of those questions medical people just ask, right? She's not about to drop another bomb about dates or something... right? He sighs, and it's inarguably the most world-weary sigh ever heaved by a 19-year-old in the history of all sighs. ] Why would you ask about the year?

[skaikru]

( timeline airraid sirens are going off, because yes she is about to drop some date bombs while first-knuckles deep in his abdomen. )

A lot of us are from different points in time. 1950's, 1994, 2008... I'm from 2149.

( factual and efficiently communicated, with no fluff or fanfare. and, for a change from her usual pace, clarke tries her best to leave as little room as possible in the conversation for steve to freak out about that. pushes straight into — )

Anyway, I've been reading Cormac McCarthy's apocalypse novel, it's pretty sad. And a series about children living out of a boxcar. What'd the back of the cereal say?

[inhairently]

[ It's an effective tactic, because he's spared approximately 15 seconds of wondering if A. time travel real? or B. bat bites inject hallucinogenic venom and none of this real? before the conversation moves forward. As such, the whole different points in time thing is filed away in a neat little drawer in his brain, to be freaked out about at a later date. ]

Oh, you know. Part of a balanced breakfast. Probably something about a free toy. The usual. [ He pauses. ] Do people do a lot of reading here or is that just you?

[skaikru]

( genuinely hope you picked a HUGE drawer for your compartmentalization files, steve, you're gonna need it. )

A lot of us read, especially after we figured out the Captain was sending us places based on fiction. Sort of like doing extra credit homework, in case it turns up on the test later. Take a deep breath —

( because she's needle poking deeper into that gross bat bite, don't squirm, don't squirm. )

Movies too, when we can get them. Do you have a favorite?

[inhairently]

[ Places based on fiction... okay that's a big one. Before he can ask for more details, though, she's telling him to take a deep breath (which he does) and he's focusing on his new favorite spot on the ceiling as the pressure from the needle gets not-exactly-uncomfortable-not-exactly-not-uncomfortable.

And then she's asking him about movies, and fictional places are going right into the drawer next to time travel. ]

I dunno, [ he admits, because for someone who works at a movie rental store he's remarkably bad at watching movies. ] Rocky's pretty good. Have you seen it?

[skaikru]

( steve coming in with the potential superpower that could save them all next time an event like battle royale pops up, yet can't access it because he slacked at the staple consumption of his job. oh well, at least there's a future connoisseur of ice cream next time scoops decides to get a little weird. )

Never even heard of it. ( poke prod poke. then a pause as clarke looks up from her work and gives him a (forced) light, encouraging smile. tight around the lips, doesn't quite reach the depths of her eyes, and he isn't even looking at her but. bedside manner attempt. ) Tell me about it some time?

[inhairently]

[ Yeah sorry he completely misses that commendable effort in her bedside manner. He's still staring at the ceiling. ]

Oh yeah, definitely.

[ Steve once called Star Wars: Return of the Jedi "the one with the teddy bears" so yeah, Clarke. He will tell you about Rocky and it will be the most accurate recollection of a movie anyone has ever shared. For sure. ]

What about you? What's your favorite?

[ He can play "let's talk about the most mundane things imaginable in the face of (vague hand gesture) this whole thing" too. In fact, he almost prefers it at the moment. He likes his traumatic wound treatment and existential crises served separately, thank you. ]

[skaikru]

I can tell you my least favorite was Killer Klowns from Outer Space. ( stuck on a literal death boat and the only new fear acquired was one of clowns. any other circumstances she'd give a comical shudder, but clarke's honed in and focused on medicating one wound after another.

she sits back now though, fairly certain she's numbed steve as much as she can, and tries to keep the ghastly needle below table level so he doesn't have to look at if should he choose to glance down. a quick dip back into business to say — )

We can clean and leave some of the smaller ones open, but I'd feel better if we tried stitches with the bigger ones.

( at least in this department, the infirmary is stocked with more modern-day material. which clarke summarily turns to pick up. )

It'll heal faster, you'll just want to have me or someone else check them in about ten days. And my favorite thing I ever watched was a rerun of a soccer match with my dad.

[inhairently]

[ Sadly (or perhaps fortunately?) Steve predates Killer Klowns by a couple of years so he can only but imagine what kind of movie it must be. Probably not the kind he'd enjoy, either.

He does finally drag his gaze away from his Favorite Ceiling Spot (perhaps never to find it again, alas), and spares Clarke a glance. Maybe it's a bad idea to leave his fate in the hands of a girl that can't be any older than he is but. He doesn't see much other choice, and she seems to know what she's doing. They've already come this far.

He shrugs. ]

Do whatever you need to. I can handle it, it's cool, [ he says, and sweeps his eyes back up to the ceiling. The old Favorite Spot is definitely lost, but he finds a new one just as quick. ]

Are you a big soccer fan?