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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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[ He heads over to lean against the counter as they wait for Clarke, and he hopes she shows soon to save him from discussing this Other Steve. He doesn't like to think about it. The worst part, the most sickening part, is how he's pretty sure this means it's all true. They can't ever go home. This fucking boat is home now.
No more Nancy. No more Robin.
At least he has Eddie. He wouldn't wish this shithole on anyone but he can't deny how good it is to have someone familiar around. ]
I guess he's technically me. Or I'm him. Shit, I don't know. [ He sighs, rubbing at his chin as he thinks about Other Steve. ] If it makes you feel any better, I would've told you not to be a hero, too.
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Now that they're here, though, suddenly the ache of his wounds so rudely remind him of the reason why they're in the infirmary in the first place. He knows it's not going to be a pretty experience from here on out. He almost wishes they were still fresh, worries about what Clarke is going to have to do in order to stave off infection.
But then Steve is going on and telling him that, and Eddie finds his breath catching all over again. The thing on the tip of Eddie's tongue that he wanted to tell Steve instead of make him pay. ]
Yeah, I think you would have. [ And, because he's feeling stupidly bold, he goes to grab one of Steve's hands and pokes the back of it with his index finger. ] Yep, you still feel like Steve.
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[ Joking about it still doesn't feel quite right, but it's preferable to spiraling into existential despair. At least for the time being.
It's strange, though, how quickly Steve can feel his motivations shifting. Initially his one, singular goal was to escape and get back to Hawkins. Now he's rethinking — he can't go back, Eddie can't go back. Escaping is still in the cards, but Hawkins? Not so much.
It's a lot to think about, and a lot to discuss, but that can wait until after Eddie's been taken care of here and settles in. ]
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the infirmary doors open with the intensity of someone shoving through expecting to find themselves intrenched in a battlefield triage zone. and, one look at eddie, it's not entirely not that. clarke can see and smell the blood, and after a moments pause while the double doors swing behind her, a weird sort of calm takes over. right, so they're doing this.
drawing closer to the pair of them, she offers steve a perfunctory — ) Hi. ( the sort of greeting between two people who've met, one let the other get knuckles deep in their insides, and later they shrugged awkwardly at each other over a fire and rum. then for eddie, a softer and more careful — )
Hello. ( this a greeting between strangers, where one's obviously wounded and the other wants to find the source of the bleed. a measure of trust by virtue of steve harrington's presence, and a slightly manufactured small smile around her mouth. ) We obviously haven't met but, I'm Clarke. And... you look like you could use a bandaid.
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Wouldn't have stopped assholes like Jason Carver from giving him a hard time, though. ]
Uh, hi. [ Maybe it's the look that Clarke gives him, the reminder of why he's here, or maybe it's that the initial shock of dying and waking back up still with the wounds he bore from the bats and his stupidly heroic gesture wearing off, but his wounds are starting to ache again, giving him that awful reminder of the graveness of this situation. ]
Yeah, that's the understatement of the century. Think you can patch me up, doc?
yall go ahead now until steve needs to say or do anything!!
Hey, Griffin. Thanks for doing this. [ He greets Clarke far more nonchalantly than he's actually feeling. There had been a brief moment there in which he'd almost been able to ignore the gravity of all of this, and it had been nice, but now said gravity is back in full, a crushing weight on his shoulders. He dreads to see what Eddie's wounds look like, and he dreads the conversations that will follow. He's torn between selfish delight in having a friend here and absolute despair that Eddie's going to be trapped on this goddamn ship just like the rest of them, subject to whatever sick shit the Captain can come up with.
All in all, it's really not much better than the last time he'd hung out in the infirmary with Clarke, but at least he's not yelling this time. ]
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steve's liminal gratitude gets an offhand wave; no problem and anytime and you're not my concern right now wrapped into one.
and eddie gets a tight smile along with a nod. ) Sure. Sit down — ( they're short an operating bed (and any surgery tools that date after the 1800's but hopefully won't need that) but there's a perfectly good gurney-style assessment table not too far off. clarke points to that as a guide. ) — and take off your shirt for me?
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There's something about actually seeing the damage that has his chest grow just a little tighter as he sits down and starts to carefully peel the shirt that had slightly congealed to his skin from the dried blood. He can mourn the loss of a perfectly good Hellfire Club shirt later, but right now his greatest concern is just how grisly the bite wounds look. ]
I would make a quip about something, something, not even gonna buy me dinner first? But I'd really rather not add a black eye on top of all the rest of the injuries.
[ They're not nearly as deep as he thought they would be, but there are so many of them across his chest and sides, and he tries to tear his eyes away because the more he looks, the more he's reminded of the bats tearing at his skin, chewing him to shreds. The world looks blurry now, but not because of disorientation, no, his eyes are stinging with tears as he finds himself overwhelmed, flashes of being held down as one of the demonic bat's tails wrapped around his throat, choking the air out of him. He had been so sure that he wouldn't make it in time for Henderson to send him off.
And now he's here. Wherever here is, and he's not really sure he wants to know. What he does know, though, is that if this really is another chance he's being given, he doesn't want to waste it. ]
So, um. How bad does it look?
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All the food here's free.
( but lastly and more pressingly, when she turns her attention to freshly bared wounds, it's just a thick blanket of concern. not disgust, though the deep claw marks are gross but (unfortunately, hi steve) familiar. clarke swallows thickly, watching the largest laceration in order to get an idea for how quickly it's oozing blood. )
Not great. ( honesty first. ) But given you were just standing upright and holding a conversation, they're probably not bad bad. ( unless he's in shock. so first thing first in assessing that is actually going to be reaching for his wrist and feeling for a pulse, or for just how clammy and cold the skin's gone, or any dark tints to the ends of his fingers. while doing so, she'll ask: ) How's your pain?
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Especially friends who know how to stitch him back together. ]
It's, uh, not great, but I also don't feel like I'm on the verge of dying, so, uh. Not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. [ Shock has a tendency to do that, right? But shouldn't the shock have worn off by now? Or maybe because he already kind of died in one world, he's incapable of dying from these wounds again?
He's not exactly looking to find out, though. ]
I'm guessing I'm gonna need stitches? You need to clean them out first? [ That, he surmises, is going to hurt like a bitch. But he'd much rather pass out from the pain from that than have to deal with gangrene, so. He'll bite down on a wooden spoon if he has to. ]