TEST DRIVE MEME #10

[sailmods]

a. that's where we both belong

[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.]

b. and there's plenty of that down by the sea

[it’s strange to think about, isn’t it? how all those new passengers, the ones grumbling or shouting their way through the forced muster drill, have absolutely no idea what happened just last month. no idea about the labyrinth. no concept of why anyone around them would be a bit more hesitant around shadows.

they’ll learn.

sometimes a shadow is darker than it’s supposed to be. very rarely does anything come of that; just a vague sense that someone is watching you, and little more. sometimes, though, the shadows move. sometimes they grab at your ankles as you walk. sometimes they give you a shove as you go down the stairs. sometimes they pull your hair, or pinch your arm.

sometimes you feel something sharp cut into your lower leg.

that’s not a shadow, though. that’s a fiddler crab. you see the crab, sometimes. the cut isn’t from its claws, which don’t look very intimating; it’s not a very large crab. the cut is from the large kitchen knife crudely taped onto its back. it’s probably fine. it's not chasing you. there isn't evil in its heart. probably.]

c. think I'll go back to the Keys

[one day, in the atrium, two pedestals suddenly appear. on each is a large button: one green, and one blue. pressing the blue button gives you a little treat, popping out of thin air next to you. pressing the green button sends a small electric shock through your body. weird, but, hey, pretty avoidable, right?

except, it seems to be spreading. to every other button on board.

in the elevator. on the soda machine. the arcade. your phone. the bell on Friday’s desk.]

Comments

[midnightroads]

He pulls out a jar of whole coffee beans.

"So here's how it all starts. These beans grow two in a fruit--called a coffee cherry--except when they don't. Honestly, when there's a freak that only grows one, that's better because it roasts more evenly, but that's fucking rare. Now, the soil you grow a coffee in affects its everything. Like volcanic soil, for example..."

What follows is an infodump. A heavy infodump with pauses to wait for questions. This man is not a scholar, not educated formally, but he has a passion for this one thing.

[midnightroads]

"Bash. Erm, Sebastian if I'm in trouble, but folks know me as Bash." The smile doesn't falter, even as he notices the scars. "And what's a 'regular' nail shape? Like...rounded? Square? Oval? Are the pointy things normal for you?"

[midnightroads]

"Tell me?"

He gives her a look like a kid asking for a bedtime story, so very innocent and warm.

[midnightroads]

Bash yelps, but not in a pained or upset way, when his ass is smacked, and then he's thrown into the pillows, landing in a sprawl beside Max, laughing. Laughing. It's ridiculous and fun and reminds him a little of a snowball fight.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I mean." That smile widens, still a touch crooked. "Wouldn't say I'm not interested, definitely wouldn't say that ..."

Aimnhian, in turn, left Edgar far more open to the prospect of quick hookups with strangers -- something that wasn't available during his life on the train, due to everyone already knowing everyone else. And this particular stranger is, to be honest, kind of fuckin gorgeous.

(And if there's anything not entirely comfortable underlying his appeal, Edgar misses it for the moment.)

[professionalriot]

One thing Ash excels at, being ridiculous and fun. He picks up on emotions, it's easy to know when people need something light to pull them out. When Bash yelps Ash cackles with joy. If you can still laugh not all hope is lost, that's probably Ash's life motto.

He does not splat his big frame into the pillow pit. Instead he crawls on his knees between Max and Bash. Stretching out on his belly one arm loops around Max's waist and he lays his head on his chest. But he's staring at Bash. Yeah. Swooning. His other arm slips around Bash's waist to pull him into the Ash/Max puddle.

"C'mere." He purrs at Bash.

[midnightroads]

Bash leans in, the scent of tobacco and coffee thick in the air. “Double negative, I think they call that. Sounds a little uncertain, still, darling. Tell me what you want right now.”

Or maybe that’s tell me what you want, right now. The difference is slight enough to be non-existent.

[not_the_last]

"Of course," she says, and there's so much warmth in her voice as well.

And she gives him as much as she can call to mind of what's happened since she last saw him: the new arrivals, the further disappearances, the wedding. The Captain's announcement about the need for more deaths -- her tone takes on a careful precision there, relaying the content of his statement with a pointed lack of commentary -- the secondary ship sinking with no survivors, the visit to a realm surprisingly run by a former passenger, the recent flood of flowers with magical effects. The strange ongoing manifestation of the child-version of the Captain, called Sparkles -- this description characterized by uncertainty more than anything else.

"And of course there's been more," she finishes, "but most of that is personal and would be better told by those directly involved."

[hate_gettin_older]

Oh, that's -- oh. Edgar's encountered that energy before, and is far from immune to it; what he wants right now is maybe a little different from what he wanted a moment or two ago.

He takes another sip of coffee, mouth unaccountably dry. (It smells like the stranger's scent, and he finds himself wondering whether his mouth tastes like this, and that's enough to make him need a second swallow.)

"Right now," he says, and a good deal of the insouciance has gone out of his tone but not all of it, "how about a little more conversation, and then maybe see what comes out of that?"

[midnightroads]

"Jesus fuck." He shakes his head, then focuses his attention back on her. "How are you handling with all the all that, then? Like, it's a shitton to figger out all at once, but I'm not sure it was any better for you over time, huh?"

c

[sabigoe]

[ Despite living on the ship for nearly two years at this point, she doesn't know every single person's name. But she can tell when someone's a new arrival, in most cases. Mostly, she minds her own business while in the library, but she can't help notice the stranger revisiting the same sections, only to find nothing. She observes the man as he wanders from area to area, shyly hiding behind nearby bookshelves for several long minutes. She doesn't know if she can assist in tracking down books for adults, but she offers her help regardless. ]

...Excuse me? [ Fio steps out, into full view. ] Do you need any help?

grace my love... her and lena are luring me.

[collegiality]

His fingers stop, curling as he draws his hand back before straightening back out as they fall to his side. The Hermit turns to face the young woman - not the Naiad who had neither a voice nor a will of her own, but was a toy for people to play pretend with for awhile before throwing away, a girl who's heart was been washed away with the waves, but someone new.

People throw bottles out to sea, letters packed into them, in hope that they'll reach the sore. Perhaps feelings are that way, too, taken by the waves in hopes that they'll reach someone. The desire to be love and to be loved; the desire for happiness.

It's been a long time since he's contemplated it... But there is something that stirs, just faintly, there for just a moment before that feeling too is washed away.

"... Naiad... Grace. You've finally found your voice." Stoic as always, but there is a hint of approval to those words, for he knows of his struggle. His weapon isn't one that can be set down, but his free hand reaches up to signal that he means no harm. "Have no fear. I prefer peace and quiet to noise and senseless violence... I only wish that I were chained up in a quiet cell rather than such a noisy place."

[midnightroads]

That's enough to pull him back, too. Bash relaxes a little, leaning on the counter.

"Sure thing. You, uh. Been here long? I mean, not too long, weren't here yet when I left, I suppose, but...you know what I mean."

how the girls are stuck with a tired old grandpa

[collegiality]

[ The sound of Alva's footsteps are distinct and no doubt memorable; quick and feathery, with the distance indicating an unusually long stride due to his size. The other familiar sounds are, too, present - the flutter of his cloak trailing behind him, the subtle whirl of a metal orb spinning in place, and the tap of a staff as the end bumps against the ground just once.

It stops, pauses, and there's only his soft and rhythmic breaths. Alva looks to her, but he thinks that even without seeing she should know that. ]

... You have nothing to fear, Miss Helena. Here and now, we're just two people.

[ They're soft words, level and kind,not at all what one would expect of a hunter. Humans aren't kind at all, and he's seen their true nature, but it would be wrong to say that he resents them - rather... He would prefer to keep away from them. ]

As with the Naiad - with Grace - I alive separate from the manor's game.

Re: a

[collegiality]

Ody...

[ He repeats the name just once, slowly, considering. There's no effort at eye contact on his part in return, but he closes his eyes for a moment as he considers.

He prefers his level of separation, as someone who's been separated from others, and so Murderbot is appreciated in this sense. ]

Is he someone's pet?

[serialskiller]

Pet implies a level of tameness he doesn't have. He is one of the captain's creations, and evidence of why he doesn't usually make animals. They tend to turn out malicious like this. Just like when he makes plants, they're fucked up in one way or another.

Palamedes gave him the name.

[Not that it expects Alva to know who Palamedes is; Pal isn't even on the ship anymore, but. It's also an answer to the question of if he's a pet, in a sense. He was sufficiently loved to be named.]

[ablativeholopleather]

Well, it's better than being compared to runtz, even if banana runtz are objectively the best. "Always," he replies as he settles in. "How long have you been back?"

[collegiality]

[ Human nature remains the same. They hurt, they betray, they do as they will... But however much he might isolate himself from man, Alva is one... Which is to say, even now he has a soft spot for children.

He turns away from the shelves, nodding once. Soft, exceptionally kind, the sort of tone a parent might use when speaking to a child, ]

... Yes, thank you. Is there a non-fiction section here?

[dupli_arms]

"I'm not really the 'glittery' type," he admits with a small smile behind that mask. "It's...mh. It just reminds me of a friend from home is all." The chair coming out gets a glance, then he settles down so that at least he wouldn't be looming. Just out of sight, the ends of his inert limbs form hands of their own, and he lifts one set to look down at the nails. "I would probably run through a full bottle pretty quickly if I did it often enough."

[midnightroads]

"Uuuhhh. Seven hours? At least, since I woke up for the muster. Fucking shit that they make you go through muster again, right? But at least I have a lei again."

A cup full of The Void™ is placed in front of Wayne with a crooked 'trust me' sort of smirk.

[midnightroads]

"Huh, you're fully-armed. I knew a gal with four, back home. She lived in tank tops and ponchos."

Maya had been a demigod, like Bash--Hindu pantheon, though. She was a daughter of Durga, who had twelve arms in her most common depictions.

"Also means you probably don't need me to paint you up, but if you want, I can."

[strumpetlyduties]

She's about to settle into something standoffish when she realises the sound and not-quite scent in the air is coming from the man in front of her.

The sound itself is similar to the illusions they use at the Penumbra, though the fizzing is new to her. But to wear it so boldly in public, especially with those golden eyes — which must surely be another illusion — speaks of a rather powerful, and likely very diverting, magician.

She wears her best smile, a carelessly charming one that pairs neatly with her fashionable — for the 1900s at least — dress to give the impression of a very sociable young lady.

"I am indeed, how well spotted." Her American accent is polite and tinged with a touch of flirtation, "Will you join me, Mr...?"

we saw alva and started yelling

[decrypter]

[it doesn't wholly remove the terror in her body to hear him speak so calmly, but it moderates things. she's lived with Grace for months now, been able to reconcile herself to a Hunter's presence, and it means she doesn't immediately start running to vault over the edge of the library to hit the deck two floors below. she thinks about it, but Helena feels a little more confident in this situation than the last one. her hand brushes over her pocket as she gets her cane - there are two ways she could raise an alarm if everything goes wrong.

she'll still rise from her seat, turning her face to him in an imitation of the sighted, keeping her expression and posture neutral. but there's still the tension, the reflex she never let go of.]

Mr. Lorenz.

[so, Grace has met him before her. they'll need to discuss this. Helena will need to think about how she feels, to have another former enemy in these quarters. it's a lot to hold at one moment, and she makes herself try and be reasonable.]

Do you truly mean that? I know the game doesn't constrain any of us, yet it still leaves its marks.

[in other words, how she can be certain she can trust him. there's a brief meeting, but that's not the same as living with him.]

[businessorlibation]

Johnny's originally from 1918--though a version of it that differs sufficiently from real history that he's aware of the dangers of AI powered by microwave arrays--so she's certainly fashionable from where he's standing. Sitting, now, as he slides into the offered chair.

"Summer. Johnny Summer. I've been on this voyage for a solid year and a half, I make a point of getting to know my fellow passengers when I can." While he doesn't seem put off by her flirtation, he slides his hand along the surface of the table just so as he sits, so she can see his wedding ring.

[strumpetlyduties]

"Violet Debenham," she returns, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr Summer."

She picks up the subtle attention brought to the ring, and inclines her head in a barely there acknowledgement. She'll reign herself in, as much as causing scandal is one of her best pastimes, Violet is hardly going to stoop so low as persuing a married man.

"A year and half, that's quite the journey. Where on earth are you headed?" And by extension, where on earth is she headed?