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TEST DRIVE MEME #7
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. )
no subject
[ "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. ]
no subject
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. )