TEST DRIVE MEME #7

[sailmods]

1. before she hung up, she said she was a skeleton

[there is no note in your cabin. no forces stall your legs if you decide to walk anywhere but the atrium. in fact, for the first time in hundreds of years, newly arrived passengers on the Serena Eterna are waking up with absolutely no guidance. nothing but your fellow passengers in the halls - or maybe in your bed.

perhaps you end up in the atrium eventually anyway. it is where guest services is, and where Gal Friday… actually hasn’t been in a few days. until today. and she is visibly frazzled, her hair uncoiffed, her suit rumpled, something a bit like a bruise blossoming down from her hairline and over her smooth features. more papers than ever cover her desk, and when she turns to face you, her voice is as cheerful as ever, but audibly strained.]

Welcome aboard the Serene Eterna! [a pause] You know how to work a life vest, right? Everyone knows that! You don’t need me to teach you that!

[a light bulb burns out behind her head.]

… I’ll get right on that!

[freedom includes the freedom to not know what the fuck is happening. maybe you should reflect on that.]

2. grandma went and can't stop screaming

[it’s something about the lighting fixtures, this month. has the Bellona always had a massive chandelier? maybe. who knows. don’t ask questions. either way, in the stillness of the night, or day, or late afternoon, there is a noise like a cord being cut, and the chandelier plunges into the audience below.

it hits nothing, of course. no one is ever in the theater. and that, perhaps, is what the trouble is.

so, the chandelier starts to… travel, one could say. it starts to hang in various rooms: the dining halls, the bars, the clubs… sometimes, if you’re out on the pool deck and suddenly realized you’re under a shadow, you can glance up and see it suspended 20 feet above your head, securely fastened to nothing in particular and yet remaining perfectly in place.

until it isn’t. until it falls, crystal shattering on whatever surface it lands on: floor, table, person… and, wherever the chandelier goes, a lilting childish voice follows it, singing without any obvious source.]

Ring-a-ring of roses, a pocket full of posies… ashes, ashes, we all…

3. jeff bezos murdered the infinite tommy bahama

[the lights of the Infinite Tommy Bahama go out three days into October.

barely an hour after its closure, the lights go on again, and a new banner is unfurled.



physically, it is the same store. you can even see the old signs hidden behind the new ones. however, long gone are the tropical prints and khaki dress shorts. now, one can purchase any number of officially licensed or legally distinct Halloween costumes, decorations, and various other haunted accoutrements, leading back as far as the eye can see, and then farther still. is that a Gal Friday mask? spooky! well, at least you’ll be good and ready for the Halloween party at the end of the month, which is absolutely just a normal party and in no way whatsoever anything even remotely resembling a trick. there are only treats at The Infinite Spirit Halloween!

note: bahamanuel is still here! somewhere! it kinda looks like dan bongino.]

Comments

[catus]

Mrrrreow!

[ The cat is, unfortunately enough, very much just a cat. Extremely smart and quite possibly genetically even better than your run of the mill, non dystopian future cat, but otherwise a cat. The meowing turns slightly judgemental, because it is very fucking high up and entering the water is not an option. However...Clarke is now close enough, and her head is decidedly high enough. Maybe?

The cat stands, legs going tense as it takes a calculating stance. It's the quintessential "I'm about to jump" position, so hopefully the girl doesn't move away. The cat would most likely survive the drop to the deck, but it would also hurt a bit. Still, it's not jumping just yet, just...calibrating.

Yes, keep that blonde head right there, soft looking not-android being. ]

[skaikru]

( the truly funny part is, this full-stop dystopian future teen has never seen a real housecat. yes, there have been two run in's with the radiation-mutated descendants of the big cat exhibit from the virginia zoo (weird that it's happened twice, but yanno) and there'd also been aiden, the definition of chill, go with the flow, and lap pet more content at swatting at sushi than death defying stunts. children's books featuring cats only got you so far, and in the end it takes clarke a few seconds too long to realize what's about to happen.

and when she does, those soft all-too-human-being features slip into a classic expression of alarm, tinged with the anticipatory fear of claws. )

Oh. No. No, no no. Wait —

( but she hasn't moved yet! )

[catus]

[ The cat knows only the expressions plastered in the face-screens of androids, but it might be just smart enough to draw a parallel.

Does it give a fuck? Of course not. And so it leaps down.

Its front paws land squarely at the center of the top of Clarke's head, while its back paws land on her forehead. No claws. It's actually not that much of a painful experience, because the cat is an expert in tumbling around, thank you very much. It is a weight on her head, but the cat is quick to slide to the floor, soundlessly and effortlessly.

And then it uses a paw to brush its whiskers for a moment, as if it had forgotten that there's a person next to it. Only after its face is in an acceptable state (it looks exactly the same) does the cat wraps around Clarke's legs, a far lower, more subdued meow coming out of it. Thanks, squishy, warm android-like being. You've been of great use. ]

[skaikru]

( to her credit, she doesn't scream out.

but clarke's entire body goes stiff the moment before impact, eyes jammed shut like enough housing between her brow and the crest of her scrunched cheek will protect from the claws she fully expects to rake open her face. but in the end, it's just the rough pads of cat feet finding purchase on her face. and it's brief, the animal slithering off her back like water.

shock, awe, and the hangover of panic keeps her rooted to the spot and just staring — indignant — at the creature while it grooms itself. however brief it'd reigned, adrenaline settles in her legs like cement and when the feline twines itself through her ankles, she's stock still despite a mild urge to shove it off with her instep beneath its belly. 75% chance? or particularly affectionate shapeshifter?

no, she will virtually never accept it's just a normal cat. )


...okay. You're down. Learn your lesson about climbing creepy decor?

( she is... still speaking to it like a human. a human that just fluster-mortified-infuriated her by jumping onto her head. why is this life on board the serena eterna... )

[catus]

Mreeeooow...

[ This one is higher pitched, longer, and shows a lot of teeth. The cat, by virtue of being a weird futuristic being, has some semblance of an idea of what Clarke means... or maybe it's just that cats are a lot smarter than they appear to, regardless of the setting. But it knows, in it's own way, just well enough to not be very interested in respecting the girl's wishes. It does one more lap around her legs. Come on, ministrations are in order. Perhaps it needs a display of good faith?

The cat plops on the deck, belly up, eyes closed in what could be only be described as an incredibly cute expression. The belly demands rubbing, it has been far too long. Its front paws wiggle on the air, beckoning Clarke to get closer. You know you want to, they seem to say. Be honored and take a knee for the kitty cat. ]

[skaikru]

( do you know

how hard

the belly is

to resist???

obviously, why else wield it like a perfectly sharp blade in the name of emotional manipulation. it takes a herculean amount of self restraint not to bend the knee to the kitty stomach overlord, but now i'm committed to the bit of clarke assuming it's a human in cat form, which would just make petting it weird. so instead, there's a strangled little huff of annoyance in the back of her throat. and her dominant (could be kitty pettin'!!!) hand slips inside a pocket of her shorts. )

You can change back, now. You're on the ground. Nobody here cares.

[catus]

[ The cat stretches and bends, making something resembling a ginger letter C of sorts, or maybe an L, depending on where you look at it from and whether you're actually trying to find meaning on the shape it's making. Change? It knows that word. Kind of. Context is important. A cat is a cat. The androids wanted change, and it sort of aligned with its own desires, so it worked itself out in the end, but the soft/warm/not android being...it's not making much sense.

It blinks at her. Then it rolls to its side, facing Clarke. It's an intense, piercing stare, straight into her eyes. It wants to understand, because understanding leads to it getting something in return, usually. ]

Meow-ow-ow-reow...

[ An additional stretch to get close enough to poke at Clarke's shoe. Is this being malfunctioning? It's time for petting. Why does it feel...not endeared? Surely it doesn't have to do with anything the cat has done. ]

[skaikru]

( "this being" is pretty constantly malfunctioning kitty, ya got it in one. usually running too hot, with all gear whirling at all times inside her skull cavity. small parts constantly breaking down only to find, like an airplane with it's fail-safes, some semblance of workability remains and she's still upright. it doesn't make sense to a lot of people, the cat will not be alone in that assessment.

part of the malfunction is a blatant disregard for baseline needs and wants. which in this instance manifests in a steadfast refusal to pet regardless of how fluffy and soft that belly looks. resolve flickers, but then the moment passes when the cat rolls onto it's side and stares at her with eyes so intelligent it just reinforces clarke's flawed assumption. the bap at the canvas of her boat shoes startles more than it should, but it's also what it takes for clarke to break eye contact, regroup, and squat down to reestablish the stare on a more even level.

her own eyes are red rimmed and sunken with a lack of sleep. but still bright and blue as the sky, traces of a dormant but perpetual rage deep in the irises. a... long moment of silence stretches...

then — )

Fine. Have it your way. Good luck getting into your room without opposable thumbs.

[catus]

[ The cat's now obviously futile attempts to get some rubs stop the moment the being hunches down but doesn't proceed as expected. Instead it makes noises at it, and the cat can tell there's something going on here. It's not distrust, otherwise the being would've left for now. It couldn't possibly distrust the cat, though. The thought would never even cross this feline's mind.

And so the cat sits up, tilts its head to a side and then raises its front legs, placing one softly on Clarke's cheek while the other gives her nose a few thoughtful paps.

Pap. Pap. Pap.

Is this pity? It could be pity. Do not worry, being that could maybe be a big, malformed cat with only hair atop her hair. This cat is here for you. It even gives Clarke a single, firm headbutt to let her know it's going to be okay.

Some petting would be nice though. ]

[skaikru]

( clarke winces out of the fear of impending hurt long before she can recognize anything resembling pity in the cats gesture. flinches just before the first pap of paw to cheek, obviously expecting this to be the moment the claws come out or the dice are rolled for that 75% chance of being evil to actually come into play. but it's just a gentle bop. pads of the furry feet rougher than the skin of her face, warmer too. that stern look of judgement melts for a second, and has to be purposefully scooped up and replastered with some effort.

it never stops being weird, to be so casually touched. then the headbutt just rocks her whole world.

a new tangent of thought crosses her mind — maybe this isn't a normal shapeshifter, maybe they're stuck like this. some errant retelling of princess and the frog, which clarke's never read. some left behind piece of shed fur attaches itself to her corner of her mouth, and needs to be aggressively blown at to alleviate the tickle of fuzz. )

Do you at least understand what I'm saying?

( the petting strike continues, but is drawing close to an end. there are countless petting scabs on board, who'd jump at the chance to scritch behind those ears and relish in kneading paws. it's really just unfortunate the cat ended up with clarke here instead of one of them. )

[catus]

Mreoooooooow...

[ "Understanding" is a big word for such a small cat. It senses intent, and it has proven to be remarkably good at following instructions and completing difficult tasks, but it's not about to engage in conversation. The cat can tell there's something bothering this being, and it's not completely related to it (it senses no animosity anyway). Is it sad? Does it wish it had a tail? Probably.

The cat leans closer, sniffing Clarke's cheek. This being is not as wimpy and useless as it might have initially thought. It smells like a predator, in some ways. The sniffing continues, moving up Clarke's face and to the side. Yep, something's fucky. No idea what though.

But it is already propped up on Clarke, so the cat gives the girl's face a good lick. There, there, it's going to be okay. Kitty is here now. ]

[skaikru]

( the mreoooooow is no more of a solid, concrete, english answer than anything before it, and for a second clarke has to wonder why she's still trying. and in that split second of self reflection is when a wet piece of sandpaper is dragged across her face. or, upon further inspection and her logical brain catching up with her sensory receptors, a tongue.

it's tongue.

the cat's tongue.

...oh, you better not actually be a human disgust wars with wow, that's commitment to the bit respect. she lifts a sleeve to rub at her cheek, makes a quietly strangled ugh! sound. and eventually straightens at an awkward angle, leaned further back than is comfortable to avoid any further lickings. but —

also very decided in this moment. )

Alright. You're coming with me.

( both hands slide out — sorry, kitty, it's still not real petting — to loop in the armpit crevices of the cat's front legs. picking the orange ball of fur up softly but quickly, like one would a toddler, and shifting to cradle its weight across her right forearm before standing. )