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TEST DRIVE MEME #8
1. but times have changed for sailors these days
[you wake up.
it doesn't matter where you were before. going to bed? dying? opening the door to face a great evil? same result. you wake up in a soft bed with starched sheets in a cool, darkened room, sunlight peeking out from behind thick curtains. maybe you're alone; maybe you aren't. maybe you immediately notice the folded paper on the bedside table near your head. if you don't, you better fix that real quick: you won't be able to even open the door before you read it.
the note itself is written in a neat hand on white card stock; there is a stylized logo of a ship with the words SERENA ETERNA printed underneath. the note reads as follows:
Dear Passenger(s),
As your cruise director, it is my great honor to welcome you aboard the Serena Eterna, your destination for fun and adventure! We know you could have chosen any cruise line for your vacation, and we're very grateful you chose ours! On behalf of the Captain, I would like to assure each and every passenger that will we do whatever it takes to fulfill all your needs and desires during your journey with us.
At your earliest possible convenience, please attend the mandatory lifeboat drill by the end of the day. I'm sure everyone is very eager to get started on all the fun and sun, but safety always comes first! You can find your life jacket in your cabin's closet; carry it to your assigned muster station on deck one, where I will take you through the drill. If you can't find me in the crowd, just look for the gal with the winning smile!
See You Real Soon!
Sincerely,
Gal Friday
you walk to deck one. you have no other choice: every time you try to step in a direction some unseen being considers "not towards deck one," you find your legs no longer move, staying stock still, frozen. whether compelled quickly by curiosity, or delayed by pure stubbornness, the result is the same, and you are left milling around with other similarly curious or stubborn people.
you see someone in uniform near the front of the crowd. she seems to be a gal, but is missing the winning smile, along with most of her other features. she seems to see you, though, rushing to your side and placing a lei around your neck with great formality. a voice, cheery but artificial, sees to come from nowhere and everywhere.]
Welcome aboard! I'm so happy you could join us!
[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.
after the drill is completed, you are seemingly free to go. or, well, your legs work, now. and maybe that's as good as it's gonna get.]
2. tried to amend my carnivorous habit
[the space inside John's where the piano normally sits is mysteriously vacant today. as a matter of fact, the entire piano bar is silent, without so much as a muzak-inspired interpretation of Uptown Girl to hum along to.
the piano itself seems to have disappeared... for the most part. unlucky, unsuspecting passengers who enter the cabin hallway, step out onto the lower decks, or find themselves in one of the other narrow corridors of the ship, may find themselves suddenly facing down a silent, unmoving grand piano. it takes up too much space to squeeze by comfortably...
and then, the cover lifts, exposing what looks to be... teeth?
yeah. yeah, those are its teeth. and it's coming right for you.]
3. that American creation on which I feed
[it had been a difficult October for bahamanuel, the bahamanal. its territory had changed utterly, becoming alien and strange. new predators were encroaching on its hunting grounds. its position in the natural order is under threat. and so, nature finds a way.
the old timers know to be wary of large piles of clothes, but even they won’t think to look twice at the tiny lumps of garish kids’ swimsuits and sundresses - until they feel something latch onto their leg, and then several more things, and anywhere from ten to twenty balled up clothes piles try to take down their prey.
the young must learn how to hunt, after all.]
1. She whispers when the sails ascend
Lev/Lyubov is leaning on a railing, smoking and staring into the distance; the day is overcast, gloomy. Behind the thick glasses frames, her eyes glow faintly in the low light.
On hearing Goldenglow's footsteps, she turns and smiles, sizing up the girl — she looks like she might be a very odd nefil; or perhaps she's to cats what gamayun are to birds. Either way, in a sea of people disoncertingly free of eyespots, feathers, extra limbs or indeed any common visible starborn traits, someone what looks a little less off-the-rack is a welcome sight.
"A good morning to thee," she chirps. "New here too, nu?"
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She smiles way, way up at the friendly face. "New as new can be," she replies. "Just got the welcome talk fifteen minutes ago. I've never been anywhere like this, have you?"
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"I'm not like, really one for ships, nu?" says Lyubov, flapping a hand dismissively. "Well, like. Not on the Bones. And like, thou need'st not bother with the formality, love. I'm not that old, and whatever language we're speaking, 'tis still weird to be you'd."
She cocks her head to one side, a mannerism he's picked from his husband.
"I'm ..." she pauses, considers Goldenglow intently, and says, "I'm Lyubov, to thee." She's suddenly very conscious of her voice, and height, and well, her everything. The Talons commune is one thing, and this place might be something else altogether. But Goldenglow doesn't look like she might object; Lyubov just hopes that read is accurate.
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She looks up at Lyubov's expression, her sudden air of self-consciousness, and feels a moment of understanding stretch between the two. "Bones? Thou aren't well either, then? It's more in the nervous system for me." She snaps her fingers and a sudden burst of static crackles between them. "There are worse symptoms and I've got a mild case, I'm grateful every day to not be one of the poor souls with half their lungs crystallized, but it does make things complicated."
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"Oh, my bones are awful," Lyubov says, and rather inexplicably, grins. "Nefil privilege, nu? But nah, like, I meant ... uh, sorry, thou look'st like thou might be local to me, but like. I meant the Bones, as in ... the part of the world what isn't a dream." She looks away, suddenly self-conscious. "I've been to the Silver like, a lot? And in the Silver, have we got much strangeness! Including like ... cruise ships. Ghost cruise ships."
She pauses, and then adds, hastily, "I'm sorry about thy nerves. And the lung thing. That uh, that sounds. Bad."
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"What dost thou mean about dreamworlds, though? That doesn't sound much like the world back home, though talking to thee does feel familiar. Any chance th'art Jewish? A few of thy turns of phrase remind me of my friend Mudrock."
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Lyubov raises an eyebrow.
"Uh, what's health ..." she pauses, "inn-sewer-ants? Why would'st thou need it for sapphire lung? Or for like, neurasthenia? Nyura's never said nought about such things–"
She cocks her head to one side, "dream worlds like ... nu, the other side? The stuff what's not material as in, not made of matter, but material as in, has real consequences? Like ghosts! Or histography." She beams, and then goes scarlet, suddenly self-conscious. "But uh, yeah, like. I'm a Jew. I mean like, I've never used that term for it in my life, I'm no Yekke, but whatever the fuck we're stuck speaking here, it makes me call myself that and not any other word."
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"But that's too depressing to think about for now," she adds, and a storm cloud leaves her face. "This other side sounds very interesting! Are there a lot of ghosts where you're from?"
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Lyubov frowns at the description of insurance.
"We used to have that, I think?" she says, "well, like, we didn't, they wouldn't like, sell something like that to the Jews what lived in the Talons. But like," she suddenly beams; her front teeth are a little crooked, but whole and white — one incisor is a little whiter than the others, that's the one what has a veneer, "we took care of all of that! Eventually. I was like, never formally part of the Nostalgines, but I was at the barricades in the month of Febrile, and I was at the barricades half a decade later." She omits the other thing she did for the Revolution, since nu, well — it's not just her accomplishment. His husband and her khavrusa were there too. "Uhm, anyway. I'm glad thou need'st not pay, but I'm sorry it exists."
As for the ghosts ... Lyubov shrugs.
"We have not so many, nu?" she says. "Not like ... excessive amounts. Nyura, uh, my husband, he's a medical necromancer? He only has to make the ghost kinda medical visit maybe once a week. 'Tis hardly the man-eaters—" she cuts off and frowns. "I did not mean to say that. I meant to say something else. Uh. Well, like. Ghosts are not ... tuberculosis. They happen not daily, but they occur."
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She stops to lean against a nearby railing, suddenly remembering where she is and how very, very unstable the ground feels. "Might we head inside the ship somewhere, Lyubov? I can't speak for thee, but my sea legs certainly haven't come in yet."
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"Oh! Of course, of course," Lyubov says. "Need'st thou help walking? I ... well, I've got the one free arm, and I'm quite steady these days ... but whither shall we go? Hast thou any like, preferences? Allergies?"
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"Bookshop, bookshop," Lyubov says, tapping her walking stick on the floor, thinking. "I think we ought to walk around and see, nu? I've seen no libraries, at least— okay like, nu. No public libraries. There may be private collections, but I've been introduced to none of their curators." She smiles at Goldenglow. "Thou'rt right, nu? Horror is a great diversion. To read and to write both."
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She readjusts her grip on her staff and gets ready to move: the waves feel like they've calmed a bit, or maybe she's just adjusted to them. "Thou writest, as well? Th'art quite a busy one!"