sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #7

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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.]

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Not a ghost. Sure. But he moves like a fucking phantom. All Ed needs to hear are the words Captain Hands before he has Pratt in his grip again, shoving the barrel of a gun against his lips. Say another word and he'll be deep throating George-Fucking-Washington's flintlock pistol.

"Did I say useless?" he growls, "Seems I've made a mistake. You'll serve as the perfect fucking message for what happens when you undermine Captain Blackbeard."

Meeting your boss' boss is always a little awkward. There's the power imbalance, the knowledge of being a whole lot of rungs lower on the hierarchy, and well, usually not the threat of having his spine blown out the back of his head, but it's not entirely a new sensation.

A few things happen, first, Pratt freezes and goes crosseyed a bit to look at the gun. Secondly his brain immediately supplies how fucking hot this is, and he gets in a mental fight with himself that this is the wrong time to be horny. And lastly he finally realizes who the fuck this is and that wow.. yeah that was. A mistake. Probably shouldn't have said that. To Blackbeard.

Actual Blackbeard.

Captain Blackbeard.

Well if he dies here at least he has a good excuse to show up at Izzy's door looking like an abused puppy that needs shelter. And then maybe... NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS LINE OF THOUGHT.

Alright, think with his head and not his dick. Easy. Fine. He's got this.

"He's not undermining you. He's uh... holding onto the loyalty of the crew for when you showed up. You kinda.. weren't... around? Er uh.. Captain? Sir?"

Ed listens to Pratts rambling for a moment before growing tired of it, the pistol nudging at his mouth again, pushing his chin to the side. He's already been told people don't just die, here. Shooting this lad in the face won't be enough. Whatever Ed is dreaming up right now is infinitely worse- mutilation no doubt.

"Stop talking." he mutters quietly, an eerie calm that is incredibly out of place, given their positioning. "I need to determine if you're still useful to me without a tongue."

Pratt shuts up, eyeing Blackbeard. Not scared at all, more calculating. He's been threatened so many times but only one man had ever followed through on it, only one had ever actually started to flay him alive or seen how long he could starve before he died or dislocated his limbs by wedging a knife into his joints and calmly popping them out of their sockets. And he can't tell if Ed is someone who will actually do what he says, or it's all bluff.

Though from what little Izzy has said about him, Pratt's pretty sure he's actually in danger of losing his tongue right now.

He doesn't put his hands up, he doesn't back away, he just stands there calmly, waiting. But if Ed shoves his fingers in Pratt's mouth he's gonna bite them right off.

It's absolutely not a bluff. Izzy himself could attest to being forcefed his own flesh for defying Blackbeard-- or would, if they'd been taken from the same point in time.

At least this one listens. He has that in his favor. The gun remains trained on him as Edward reaches for his knife, instead. A lack of a tongue would send a message, but Pratt wouldn't be able to articulate it himself. Better not.

Instead, the tip of Ed's knife presses to Pratt's throat as his gun is reholstered, freeing a hand to grip him again, aiming to ensure Pratt's own knife doesn't return to the party by grabbing the wrist closest positioned to unsheath it. Plenty of digits to remove, there. He shouldn't miss one.

"Now..." he continues in that gentle voice again, jerking Pratt's arm up between them. "Who is Captain again?"

For all of Pratt's tenuous grip on sanity, and garbage memory that makes him seem sort of dumb, he's not actually stupid and the moment that Blackbeard goes for his hand he knows exactly what's about to happen here.

There's a wince, not of pain, more just resignation, it's been a good run having all ten fingers, they lasted longer than he thought they would considering all the wolves he fed, and the times he's been tortured and literal explosions he's been in. Silently he hopes it's not his thumb, he needs that one the most. He texts with that one.

At the question he looks away for the first time. Well fuck. But then he looks back at Blackbeard, a truly derranged smile on his face, "If I say Izzy will you take two of 'em?" He wriggles his fingers encouragingly.

Oh okay. This guy thinks he's cute.

The knife leaves his throat and is slicing at Pratt's pinky finger before Ed even entertains a reply, his expression bored.

"Who said I'll stop at two?" he asks plainly, eyes drilling into Pratt's through thick eyelashes. He has all day. Maybe he will take the tongue. Whatever is necessary so that he doesn't have to hear this bullshit, anymore.

The sound he makes is something like a whimper, whatever it should have been stamped down and caught in his damaged and ruined throat. His eyes break from Blackbeard's to watch the blood starting to flow down his hand, almost hungrily. His fingers twitch reflexively but he doesn't pull his hand back, he doesn't try to get away - he stands there and takes it.

There's a strange thing that happens when someone is tortured for months on end, where pain is all they know. Something that twisted the receptors in his brain as a last hope for survival in a world where he was getting injured daily. It's not that this doesn't hurt, it does, but until the knife actually gets to bone, he won't react in any way. He's been trained well. He knows his purpose.

Pratt watches the knife, chest heaving as his breath comes short, and then suddenly he moves closer, eyes wild and focused directly on Ed's, his voice a low and raspy growl, "Make him tell me himself, and then maybe I'll call you Captain."

Ed exhales short through his nose, an equally amused and irritated sound. The knife slices cleanly through the meat of Pratt's finger and only struggles at the bone, but Edward is practiced at this, wedging it between them where the knuckle connects. A moment later and Pratt is left with a bloody nub, Ed smiling with modest pride.

"Mmhm. Now open wide." he blinks, palming the finger and turning the knife to his throat again. "I hope you're hungry. There's plenty left for seconds... thirds... mmm-tenths."

Pratt finally screams when the knife wedges between the knuckle and slices through, blood spurting down his hand in warm rivulets. But just once, getting himself under control and glaring at Blackbeard.

He's panting, pain and adrenaline coursing through him. And then he realizes what the other man aims to do and he... bursts into absolutely insane laughter, nearly falling to his knees from it.

No this is hilarious. Of all the times Jacob Seed made him eat people he never tried to make him eat himself.

"Oh fuck you." He's almost crying he's laughing so hard. Or maybe he's laughing because he's crying, hard to tell.

Ed can try and shove it down his throat if he wants, but Pratt is grabbing onto the wrist with the knife and trying to pull it away from his neck. He thinks he's tithed enough of himself to his bosses boss on their first meeting.

Ed feels the blood spatter onto his face and yet he doesn't flinch. It's like an old friend. It's meant to be there. It floods his system with adrenaline and Ed feels a rush. At one point, it can't be determined whose laughing is louder, his or Pratt's.

"I said open your fucking mouth." he grunts through his teeth, pressing the weight of his entire body back, and ready to shove that finger in his mouth one way or another.

Pratt, who's now a vegetarian from all the cannibalism he was forced into, isn't exactly eager to break his meatless living with his own goddamn body parts. He clenches his teeth, resisting hard. Unfortunately, that means Ed doesn't get to hear the very witty and horny thing he would have said about what he'd rather put in his mouth.

Blood is spurting from his hand, there's a knife at this throat, and Ed is practically shoving Pratt down onto the ground with the other hand mashed against his face with that severed finger between them. But that leaves a hand free for Pratt who scrabbles at his utility belt before he collapses to the ground.

He snarls as his back hits the floor, shoving his bright red Smith & Wesson SW1911 into Ed's side. Too bad at some point he's going to have to breathe and then probably choke on his own blood and finger. It's only because of Izzy that Pratt hasn't already put a bullet in Ed's gut at this point. He's ninety percent sure he'll get kicked off the crew for that.

Oh, but his idol and daddy/Captain Izzy Hands took it and ate it without complaint like a good boy. Such a shame Pratt can't live up to those standards. It may be because of Izzy that Ed hasn't been shot yet, but Pratt better be a hundred-percent sure he's been kicked off of the crew already. No one- let's say that again no one undermines or threatens Blackbeard and lives to see another day. And since death isn't permanent on this plane of existence, Edward will just ensure that every day his new Number One Enemy wakes, he will pray for death instead.

Edward feels the metal pressed into his side and nearly spits in the other man’s face. "You'd better shoot." he mutters, "Otherwise you just made a fucking colossal mistake."

If the ship hadn't just been infested by ghosts possessing people Pratt would have shot him without a moments hesitation. Any other time that wasn't immediately after the shitfest that was October, he'd pull that trigger in a heartbeat even though he's using his off-hand and a gun in it feels weird and awkward. But... What if he kills him and Ed comes back as someone else? The Captain seemed to have fixed the respawn system, but were they really sure of it? There's a moment where he almost kills him anyway, hoping maybe he'd get the guy who had possessed Sharky back so he could kick his fucking ass and punch out the few remaining teeth he'd missed last time.

But that's a huge chance. There has to be thousands of ghosts and trying to get one specifically was statistically impossible.

There's a growl of utter frustration because damn it, he can't knowingly force someone into the torture of being nothingness inside the ship. Even a guy who'd cut off his finger and was trying to feed it to him. He's pretty sure Captain Hands would have managed to make this whole encounter a good deal hotter too. If he was the one cutting off digits, Pratt would take it like a good boy, but for Blackbeard? Who he met five minutes ago? Nah.

He pulls the gun back, flicking the safety on again and holding it at his side since he can't reach the holster from this position. He's definitely still glaring though. Because fuck everything about this.

FINE. Fuck it.

Past caring at this point, he'll be a ~~good~~ decent underling and go ahead and do what he's told. Not like he's never eaten human flesh raw before. He's not stoked about all those little bones though.

It's frankly too little, too late. Once Blackbeard decides you're more of a liability than of any decent use to him, it's over. But he's still going to force feed him his own digits because he's fucking pissed and he'll laugh about it for a while.

"Don't forget to chew." he grunts, making a mental note to refeed it to him every time he passes it as many times as he possibly can.

Pratt just glares at him, swallowing hard before trying to jerk his injured hand back and muttering something that's probably Lemme up but comes out as "Fmmfffuh nnp."

Blackbeard might have made a new enemy but Pratt thinks it went pretty well and they're cool now. He has no idea Ed is going to hunt him down at every opportunity.

He squirms, wanting to sit up and stop the bleeding on his hand before he gets too lightheaded. "Crrrm oun. Git uhfff."

Ed squints at the sounds from Pratt's mouth, but he's otherwise unphased. He's not moving until he's ready to, that's for certain.

"Swallow." he grunts, just before his chin pulls back and his eyes widen. "Did you just give your Captain an order??" he asks, clearly taking any excuse to be more insulted.

He swallows again, not that he has much of a choice with Ed's hand mushed into his face making it hard to breathe.

There is some very obvious mental math going on about if Pratt is willing to quite literally die on the Izzy is my Captain hill. How many fingers he's willing to lose (and eat) and if he wants to keep his tongue to do so.

Ultimately, he likes his tongue right where it is and nine fingers seems like a decent number to have still. So he says nothing. Just waits for Blackbeard to let him up at his leisure.

"S'what I fuckin' thought." he huffs, shoving off of him finally. Ed doesn't turn his back on him as he starts to walk away, his eyes watching him the whole time.

"I'll be seeing you again." he warns, waving his gloved hand with the last two fingers tucked down as if it's a warning. "Toodles."

Pratt sits up, holding onto his bleeding hand and glaring at Blackbeard the whole time. He'd give a sarcastic salute of his own if he didn't think he would probably get blood in his eyes. But at least he doesn't say anything, instead focusing on staunching the bleeding, which is surprisingly hard with only one hand to do that with. Huh, they didn't cover that in his medical training for Search and Rescue.

It's fine. He'll make do.

Until next time Captain of his Captain.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #7

Re: shots fired

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feel free to maim him btw - s'all good

👍👍👍👍👍

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here comes the airplane 🥄

he's not eating if there's no airplane noises. 🙊

he'd have to know what that is to make them

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