![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
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
Then he glances to the side and freezes, breath caught in his throat.
If the state of his body under the robes wasn't clue enough that he hadn't - that he hadn't finished what started in the auditorium, then the man beside him is proof of it. Living proof.
There is more that could be said, about the confirmation that they are truly separate entities now, that they are in the same place and - and the things that need to be said, talked about, after everything, after the auditorium, the table, the mirror.
He says nothing. He only watches Arthur, alive and well and - what the fuck is he wearing?!
John stares, watching Arthur walk towards the store guided by a stick and not a voice - another thing they have to discuss.
Instead, he follows after Arthur, silently, once again a passive observer.
no subject
He actually seems relaxed, at least by the standards of any situation they've been in together. Bizarrely, being on the Serena Eterna has in some ways been good for him: there are people here he likes and can trust, whole more-than-ones of them, and he hasn't died in over two weeks. He still looks gaunt, but it isn't for lack of food.
At the entrance to the Infinite Spirit Halloween, he pauses, listening.
"Where are you... no? All right, good."
There isn't a peep from Bahamanuel, not this close to the outskirts of its territory. So in he goes, and he starts messing with one of the endcaps, prodding and pulling at its contents.
"Hello... all right, what have you got for us...? Masks, by the feel of it?"
Rubber masks, some with hair, some with fabric hanging off them.
Arthur snorts. "Very seasonal." God, is this shit what the captain closed the restaurants to focus on?
no subject
John doubts that. Not solely because Arthur made that decision, but...
He still doesn't say anything, despite the pressure in his chest demanding to be turned into words describing what Arthur cannot see. But he just... Watches, once again, as Arthur navigates the world without him.
To his credit, he isn't stumbling and tripping as much as he had been the last time he rejected John's help. Of course, the environment is much more forgiving than the island, flat floor and only merchandise to examine.
He feels the flesh around his eyes pinch as Arthur feels the cheap, lifeless rubber masks. Please.
He considers describing what Arthur is looking at instead of simply introducing himself. There are things he needs to say... And questions he wants to ask. Answers for both of them.
He just... Lingers. Trying to figure out how to say what needs to be said.
no subject
"Layout seems to be the same so far, thank god..."
So far. "Wonder if anyone's managed to map you yet," he says, thinking aloud, as he explores further into the store-- only to get jumpscared by a motion-sensitive spooky clown on display, because of course he does. It screeches and cackles as he walks past, and Arthur jumps out of his skin with a hissed "jesusfuckingchrist". For a moment he looks like a cat trying to decide if it should attack or flee.
no subject
He's also started by the fucking clown.
A much louder "Jesus fucking christ!" overlaps Arthur's own as John nearly jumps out of his fucking mask.
no subject
Arthur doesn't realise at first that he's hearing John's voice from somewhere in physical space behind him. He's a little too busy reacting to the fact that he's hearing John's voice at all.
"What? What? What the fuck? No, no, how could that-- that, that can't be--"
He starts moving away from that noisy fucking clown as if it's the one talking in John's voice -- which, for all he knows, it might be? The captain knows a lot and made everything and likes to fuck with people, so, not impossible? Arthur sounds surprised and alarmed, more than anything else, and not necessarily in that order.
no subject
Arthur's body collides with his, a concept strange to think about so soon after their previous experiences together. Automatically his hands move to Arthur's upper arms to steady him, or just to keep him from fumbling into him more than he already has.
To head off even more panicking, he just says "Arthur, it's me."
But he pauses, knowing he needs to continue from there but not knowing how to start. Especially with that fucking clown still laughing in the background.
no subject
This is nightmarish!
"What the fuck," he says again, pulling away sharply, holding his cane like a weapon. He barely misses backing straight into a shelf full of plastic animal skeletons. "No, you don't-- John doesn't have a body. How- how- how would you be standing there."
no subject
What he feels, is... Annoyance. Anger. He sets his shoulders and tips his head.
"The same way I woke up on a fucking ocean liner." he says - and an equation computes, a blank space of assumption filled, a 'therefore' resolved: "The same way you woke up here without me in your head."
He knows this isn't Arthur's world either, so it stands to reason he appeared here the same way. How long must he have wandered blindly without his help.
no subject
It's not impossible. It's not even implausible. The most unlikely part would be, out of all the billions of people in their universes, them both being picked at random -- and that's even assuming the captain picks at random. And after that? They're copies. Second printings. Some people not even quite the same as they were before. If the captain can make a ship and everything in it, then making John a body would be child's play.
Oddly enough, this doesn't make him feel better; it more sort of moves him emotionally sideways, into:
He's imagined what he'd do if John were here. Of course he has. How could he not? All the things he has to say to John, that have had nothing to do but circle and grow in his head for the last month. The talks he's had with Crichton; the drunken conversation about Parker.
He laughs. He can't help it. It's a stunned sort of sound. "Jesus. I didn't think I'd-- jesus christ. Well-- come here, let me get a, get a look at you."
The backs of Arthur's calves are touching the shelf behind him. He leans his cane against it, the better to hold up both hands and beckon with them as he steps forward again.
"You have a body!"
He feels giddy. He can hardly believe his luck, nor think past the next few seconds of his life. After that, whatever happens can happen; he just has one very important thing he needs to do.
no subject
He's not sure. When he woke up, he thought... He thought the conversation about the auditorium, the mirror, that would be urgent. Then he moved his own mouth and heard his own voice in the air.
His shoulders ease back down, slowly, and he finds himself almost chuckling too, sort of, at how... unbelievable this all is. John has his own body, and Arthur has his. That crisis, that mystery, has apparently been solved by whatever put them both here.
He doesn't even correct Arthur on who's seeing whom. He just steps forward.
"Arthur, I..."
no subject
His hands have found John's arms, and travel up to his shoulders, as he marvels at-- well. John achieving exactly what he wanted: his own body, the final step of their separation. It's amazing, really, how that's worked out after everything. Suddenly, unexpectedly, and perfectly -- for one of them.
"God, you really-- you really are standing here."
Arthur moves closer, his left hand light on John's shoulder, his right rubbing his own face in amazement.
"Oh, and--" He laughs again, very quietly, and pats John's shoulder. "Oh, you're... you're about my height."
That makes this a lot easier, then. Arthur brings up his knee very quickly into John's groin, and his right fist just as quickly up into his stomach.
no subject
John wasn't able to directly feel the pain Arthur felt through most of their journey together. Through the parts of him he had... taken, that pain was felt as clearly as if it was his own, because - well, it was. And through the mirror... Pain mattered as much or as little as anything else, and something that always happened to somebody else.
He isn't ready at all for the explosion of pain that comes from a knee to the groin, is what we're saying.
John folds like a cheap chair as quick as Arthur's blows to him, unable to get out more than an inarticulate noise before the air is knocked out of him and his new (and nearly new) legs give out.
Arthur, what the fuck.
no subject
"I hope it's everything you wished for, you fucking parasite. Did you get that made for you when you arrived, or did you finally finish taking it from me back home?"
lmao spoilers for season 1 that didn't take me long
Yes, he wanted to become whole again, but he refused when the cost became clear. Did that mean nothing? How little Arthur understood - and to blame John when he was the idiot who listened at the auditorium, who bound himself to that table? Who followed what the damn folio said and who didn't use the light when John told him to? He rejected John's advice and still blamed him for their misfortune?
He wants to hurt him back, to tell him that he did indeed take it all from Arthur, and he would never get it back, not even his fucking eyes, that he would do it all again with no thought, over and over again and that Arthur means nothing, just to shut him up for this outburst, so he can feel the same pain John is and more. But his mouth doesn't seem to want to work in sync with what air he can draw in, not as fast as the tension in his body and anger in his chest demands.
Instead, he lunges forward into Arthur's legs.
no subject
The clown keeps screeching and laughing at them, its sensors set off over and over by the violent motion going on in front of them.
"Agh," Arthur opines as his shoulder cracks painfully into the display shelf behind him. Several of the animal decorations there fall, and for a moment he's bathed in a shower of plastic skeletons with empty eyes and anatomically-confusing ears.
"Shit," he elaborates, as he lands on his back on the floor, just barely catching himself with one arm before his head cracks into the ground, his other arm momentarily paralysed and clanging with pain.
"Fuck you," he adds in summary of his argument, kicking with his legs as hard as he's able, hoping that a knee or foot will hit something vulnerable.
no subject
"Fuck-" John offers as a counterpoint, as Arthur's knee catches his chest and his foot tangles in his robes, preventing John from getting any meaningful use from that arm other than to keep Arthur's leg busy.
"Fuck you!" he concludes, not originally, as he tries to wrap his arm around that caught leg and haul himself up to land his left fist blindly on some part of Arthur's body.
When he's done with Arthur that fucking clown is next.
no subject
"I'll make you wish I could kill you--"
With the sleeve in his grip, Arthur climbs it hand-over-hand back up to John's head, and aims a wild punch at where he thinks John's face must be.
It doesn't perfectly connect. He manages a glancing blow against something hard and angular that jars his knuckles even as he feels it move under them. Arthur growls out an "Ow," and pulls his bruised fist automatically back towards his body, and only then realises: the mask? The fucking mask as well?
He's now holding onto the throat of John's robe with only one hand, his leg tangled in John's arm.
no subject
He squints through the offset eyes of the mask at Arthur's face, and with his own face twisting up he digs his fingers into Arthur's forearm.
"Fuck you! I should have taken everything from you!" he growls.
Their positioning is... awkward, but John doesn't think beyond striking Arthur back, so he manages what he can with his left on the outside of this engagement - he swipes his palm at Arthur's head.
no subject
He's winding up for another punch, hanging onto John's robe despite the pain of those fingers digging mercilessly into his arm, when the slap takes him full in the face. It stings like an absolute bitch, and he tastes blood in his mouth -- the angle and the force made him bite the inside of his cheek.
John's words wake up something twisting and insane in him.
Arthur spits blood at John. His fingers on John's robe are loosening against his will as John's fingers dig between his radius and ulna, so he grabs with his left hand as well and drags him sideways in a crocodile roll, landing with Arthur on top.
"You should've?" He's shouting now, his voice whetted to a vicious edge. "Fuck you! What if I take them back!"
His right arm tries to twist free. His left hand darts up from John's collar. John's face has to be around here somewhere. He'll go through the sockets of the mask if he has to.
no subject
"Fuck!" he spits as they roll over.
The rage ebbs to a level where he just growls.
The downside of having his own body, he realizes, is that it truly removes much of the leverage he had on Arthur. Before, he could have laughed in Arthur's face and taunted him that he would be giving up all chance of getting his eyes back, but now...
It's an issue he is aware, distantly, that they will have to address. One that's concerning and raises many questions, but for now, he reaches awkwardly over Arthur's arm to try to catch the hand pawing at his face.
"Arthur-!" He grits out. He shuts his eyes against the blood that's dripped on his mask and Arthur's sesrching fingers as the it goes further askew, threatening to reveal what's beneath.
John growls and bucks, trying to throw Arthur off-balance, if not off him entirely.
(And for thise still wondering: the clown is still laughing.)
no subject
"Shit!" he says loudly, as his arm seizes up painfully for the second time in quick succession; and now he rolls off of John.
walks into the flaming store holding a pizza box
As he approaches the shop, he can hear the unmistakable sound of a scuffle and shouting. Frell! Crichton grabs his gun from his holster and sprints into the store... just in time to see the two fully grown men grappling with each other on the ground. And one of them is wearing robes in a shade of yellow he's seen before.
"Arthur?! What the hell is going on?"
my god it's crichton with the chair
He should really stand, but - it would take too long to untangle from the mess of yellow robes, yes. He bunches his cloth-wrapped fists in Arthur's shirt.
"Listen to me, Arthur!" he says-
But he stops when the other voice cuts in.
Crichton finds a man draped in yellow robes over top tighter-fit black robes, wrapped tight up to his head. The pale mask, with its rough cut jaw and brow, sits askew on his face. While there are eyes visible through the eyeholes of the mask, behind the askew sides of it there is only an absent void where a face should be.
"Who the fuck is that?" John says.
[distant sound of john cena intro music]
"I'm going to fucking kill him," he says hysterically. It's not really a sensible answer to either of their questions, but from his choice of words, it can be determined that he's taken in Crichton's arrival and sort of responded to what he said.
He gets hold of John's robe again and attempts a reprise of the crocodile roll, but this time John's knees are planted too firmly on either side of him, and he only succeeds in pulling some fabric skewiff.
and the crowd goes wild!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)