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

[chipsahoy]

"Are those questions really all that meaningless even if they don't apply the same way? They just have different meanings in different places and the words aren't always the same. Doesn't make it matter less either way. Else you wouldn't get so bent out of shape about it, hm? But, how about we agree that I'm extraordinarily abrasive and you have almost no sense of humor? Or patience," he amends, tilting his head to regard Security with a sidelong expression.

"Semantics sometimes mean the difference between life and death. They certainly do when casting spells," the Brit grunts, sucking his teeth a moment and turning to point accusingly at the cyborg.

"You still haven't told me where you got that jumper."

[serialskiller]

"You're abrasive. I'm an asshole." There's the slightest twitch of its lips that doesn't quite blossom into a smile, but it hints at that. Oh, Sec has plenty of a sense of humor. But it's not on display this early in the morning, at the muster drill.

"The hoodie is a 'Sundries gift'. Sometimes, you'll get told there's a package for you at Sundries, and you'll get things. I've gotten a lot of really nice sweatshirts. And a couple of dickish sweatshirts, but those don't get worn in public."

[chipsahoy]

"That feels like a trick question. A homunculus isn't haunted at all. It is a soulless construct created through various means for various purposes, with only as much intellect as is deemed necessary with each command. It's materials cobbled together and grown like a plant at the creator's whim, made of things otherwise inert when set as independent ingredients. But again, could be different where you and I are from," he remarks, cocking his head slightly.

"There's a skeleton?"

[chipsahoy]

"Really? You don't wear dickish sweatshirts? Are you quite certain they don't become dickish purely by dint of proximity to you? Worn by a dick, thereby dickish?" he asks, clucking his tongue lightly and raising both hands as he takes a small, dancing step backward, just out of reach of a wallop.

"I'm done, I promise. Well, for the moment anyways. Never know when a good opportunity will present itself. And to be fair, I've been told I dress like a bit of a wanker. I dress, therefore I am."

[theotherright]

There's a moment's hesitation, and he's sure it won't go over Parker's head, but he starts talking as if it didn't happen anyway. "Oh, I, yes, of- of course. It's pretty abandoned," because Arthur fled and Crichton was too traumatised to stay, "but I still have the key." And the door is probably fixed by now, so that actually means something.

It's only a cabin. There's no good reason not to go there, and Parker won't know everything that's happened there just by stepping inside, excellent detective or not.

"Don't mind if I, ah," he says, like someone announcing that they're about to pull out a cigarette or help themselves to a chair, and he sets the ball of his cane on the ground and pushes it out in front of him. It rattles along, knocking gently on the gaps between floorboards and vibrating informatively in his hand as it does.

Parker hasn't asked. But that doesn't mean he hasn't noticed. He might be giving Arthur time to tell him if he chooses, just like old times. Just like with the history that Arthur never gave up, until he did, not to solid and discreet Parker but to fucking Crichton.

"I had a bit of an accident," he hedges. Then, when that makes him feel like a heel: "The entity from the book took my eyesight with it. I won't have any trouble leading the way, though." Hey man no-one said you would.

[serialskiller]

No such wallop seems to be coming.

"I'm hardly the biggest dick on the ship." It pauses, re-examines that sentence and considers rewording, but doesn't. "Anyway. Welcome to the Serena Eterna, you're fucked now."

[bedrockfriend]

Thinking about the book makes his throat twinge, and he lifts his hand from Arthur's back as he sets his cane back up to rub his neck uncomfortably. Knowing Arthur can't see it... he's not sure he wants to tell him about the bruises. God knows he won't take it well, when just hearing his voice nearly caused the guy to crack like a cornered perp.

"Hey, you never seemed to have trouble getting home when you got this way from the drink," he comments wryly instead. "But... shit, Lester. The fucker that strung me up left you blind - you've been out here for months like that?"

Not doubting his capacity, but concerned for the fact he'd had to develop it at all.

[chipsahoy]

"Am I really? Much like you, I come from less than pleasant circumstances. Frankly, there have been days where I could very well wake up without my skin, or my head full of worms, or crab monsters feasting on my entrails. This is about as close to a vacation as I'm likely to get, even with the bizarre parts. And I do so love a mystery."

[ss_buttcrack]

Using his own habits against him? How dare. He'll just have to think of a nickname in return.

"It ain't Hell in the biblical sense, but you're welcome to think of it that way. Lots of us do." Crichton very much included these days. "It looks nice, but this isn't a pleasure cruise."

Oh, right. The phones. "Sure, Time Traveler, I'll give you the run-down. That right there is called a 'cell phone' short for cellular phone. I know you still got rotary phones back in your day. This one isn't quite the same. You can't talk to people on it through voice, but you can type out digital mail or 'text messages.' You need someone's name and their cabin number to dial them. That and taking pictures is about all they do, oh, except they also act as your room key. Hold it to the lock and it lets you in."

[crushed_pearls]

"There's a skeleton," Erin echoes. "Skulduggery Pleasant, chill guy. Your answer there is my answer; the ship runs on vast systems that superficially resemble a haunting but...aren't, not completely. Effects here don't always seem to match up to obvious causes, but you can't like, walk into the bars and exorcise the bartenders. That's just not gonna work. They're 'ghosts' the way whales are fish."

[bedrockfriend]

"So it's a camera, a telephone and a telegraph," he points out - they do have messages by text, thank you very much. "All rolled into one neat little package. Suppose I should keep an eye on it so people don't go breaking down my door trying to bother me."

The grin widens with a flick of one eyebrow. "Can't say I'm much of a time traveller, mind you. Only went forwards that whole time I was alive, and I don't reckon this place is followin' our good old Roman calendar. You might need to try harder than that, pal."

[ss_buttcrack]

"That's right. The whole kit 'n kaboodle. You'll definitely want to hang onto that unless you want to break down your own door."

Crichton downs the rest of his drink and sets it on the bar with a decisive clack. "We aren't following any calendar now. Couldn't even tell you what month it is. You know, I'd try to make a tie-in joke to Sherlock Holmes but we have the actual Doctor Watson here so out of respect for him I'm not touching that one." Yes, you heard him. That Watson.

"Spaceman ain't all that creative either, you know? It's a compliment. I've been to space. I lived in space. And, spoiler alert, aliens are real."

[ablativeholopleather]

A blink, and then another bite of his lunch, and Wayne is staring deadpan at him for a full three seconds when he quiets down.

"Wow you really don't parse sarcasm, do you?"

And he moves off, only pausing to wait for Chip to follow. He touches the buttons and barely reacts to the shocks except to shake out his hand a little at a particularly nasty one.

"Dude. I'm eating chicken shawarma. The only thing I'm gonna actively warn you about's the meat on the red plates, that's for the local man-eater population. Probably isn't good for you, and I haven't tried it."

[bedrockfriend]

He'll tuck his 'cell phone' back again - he'll give it a better fiddle later when he's not putting himself out there to be judged, but having a clue is nice - as Crichton finishes that drink. And based on how strong his own was, those concerns from before are now a lot more pronounced.

"Yeah, well, Time Traveller? That just ain't accurate." He lifts his drink in a joking cheers as he winks at Crichton. "You wanna call me something that makes us friends, I usually go with Parker."

[chipsahoy]

"Oh you mean an actual talking skeleton? That's not as surprising as you might think," he points out with a small shake of his head, trailing off as he takes in Erin's explanation of the ship.

"Maybe they're this reality's real people and we're the ghosts to them. Could be manifestations of thought. Might not be paranormal or supernatural either. Could be...nanotechnology. That's not my field of expertise. I can only go on what I know, but at least it gives me something to try studying. Something to learn when I'm not harassing other passengers," the Londoner muses with a quirk of one brow.

[crushed_pearls]

"We've got some super science boys and girls if you wanna consult with 'em, ask after Cesar Salazar and Lieutenant Tayrey. Wizard crew is Skulduggery again, Jade Curtiss, me sorta, an' Rita if you can survive a conversation with her. This high -" Erin's hand is hovering at the height of like a teenager or maybe a whole-ass child, "pyromaniacal, magical technician. But do us a favor and if you do find something that makes this place tick, don't. Touch it. We touched it last time. It didn't end well."

IT REALLY DID NOT END WELL. This would be where Erin would have a thousand-mile stare if she had eyes.

[chipsahoy]

"Do they kill passengers for the food or is there some sort of food replication system? Lab-grown proteins, something like that?" he asks, following behind Wayne perhaps slightly too close for comfort, leaning in an effort to really scrutinize his skin.

"I usually catch sarcasm much better, but I'm trying very hard to not make assumptions about the expressions and mannerisms of anyone. I cannot possibly know who is human and who isn't, or what tone and temper are like in their worlds versus mine. Assuming you were being sarcastic might be as risky as assuming the lion running at me is a sweet kitten that wants a cuddle, you see."

[serialskiller]

"...Gal Friday is going to hate you, in time, isn't she?" Security lets out a bit of a sigh. "Okay, I'm not going to promise that fucking bad weird shit like that isn't going to happen to you here. It's not going to be constant, but there's going to be the more than occasional torment here."

[ablativeholopleather]

Perhaps Erik should take a moment to examine why that might be. A gentle act of rebellion perhaps, depriving his undeserving master?

"It's basically a universal trope right?" Amusing that people can still fall into those categories even out in the world.

At the question of the kitchen he just nods, and thumbs toward the elevator. "Off Windjammer, yeah. He's not always down there, sometimes it's Darcy and they're like...angry by default? A bunch of people roll through there pretty regularly. Not the safest place to hang around for a long time if you're waiting for one person. They get touchy if you hang out too long." Given he's been shooed away by folks besides Max for trying to use the microwave, under the assumption that he would be as destructive as Vance.

[chipsahoy]

"Don't touch? I'm not very good with those sorts of things. If you want me not to touch you'll need to arrange supervision because I am a serial toucher of things. I've had Gods in my head, love. I am quite literally compelled to touch. Almost specifically when I ought not to, actually."

[chipsahoy]

"Honestly? Probably yes. Most people hate me. My professors, my mentors, my enemies, and even my friends. My students love me, but that's probably because I encourage the freedom of expression and enjoy a good verbal fencing," he admits with a shrug, clucking his tongue softly.

"So is anyone certain this isn't some hellscape created by an Edler God with a sense of humor?"

[serialskiller]

"The Captain isn't an elder god. At one point, achieving godhood was his goal. Now...it's hard to say what he is looking to achieve."

It shakes its head. "What the Captain is, is very old and poorly socialized and not used to actually interacting with people. He's used to parsing the world through the lens of fiction--books, TV shows, movies. Games. He doesn't pay attention to details, and he likes violence best. It's why if you take apart any machine on this ship, there won't be inner workings. He knows slot machines ding and the dials turn and money either comes out or is lost. He doesn't care about the mechanics, that's not important. Same thing happens with plants and shit on excursions. He cares more about a forest feeling like a forest than the actual workings of trees."

[chipsahoy]

"Wait wait wait, so you're telling me this is all the manifestation of a single individual's will, regardless of the necessary inner functions, like some empty Kinder Egg? And they're not an Elder God? And you know this to be true and certain?" he asks, taking a step closer, eyes wide and excited.

"How do you make something so sinister sound so intriguing?"

[serialskiller]

"Oh, it gets worse. The Captain's changed trajectory because he started getting to know passengers on our voyage. He's even made the mistake of falling in love with one. But yeah, no, this is a pocket reality, not an actual ship."

This is the polite education Chip demanded while being assaulted by Security earlier.

"It used to be powered by the ghosts of passengers from previous voyages, but we sort of freed a shitton of those after...long story. Anyway, the bottom line is he's lighter on fuel than he used to be, and will probably be finding ways to evoke negative emotions in us to keep the lights on. Which is going to be not-fun for anyone involved."

I'm so sorry for this

[crushed_pearls]

"...Right, wizards. I got used to reasonable wizards here and forgot that the number one signifier of a good wizard is that they fucking hate other wizards without condition. Let me try this again." Erin takes a deep, centering breath, and then continues calmly: "If you lick a fucking sigil and imperil this unstable reality after I just asked you not to, I will invent cruelties that future generations need to name, and they're all gonna be named after you."