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

[not_the_last]

"A Warlock," she says in a tone of recognition, eyebrows rising. "You have a pact with some manner of patron, then?"

Clearly her world is not one where most people don't believe such things exist. There might, however, be some slight mistranslation of terms happening.

[chipsahoy]

"Oh your world has those kinds of Warlocks! Well, simple answer is yes, detailed answer is no," he remarks, clasping his hands together behind his back and tossing his head in effort ( and failure ) to get messy waves and curls of copper away from his forehead.

"Becoming a Warlock where I'm from is a complex and quite nearly accidental process. You can study your entire life and call yourself a warlock or wizard or what have you, but unless you stumble upon some of the true secrets of the universe, what you do and what you can do are entirely different. There have been many people claiming to be powerful practitioners but are really just...dabblers? You don't need to swear yourself to anyone or anything to discover an aptitude for the arts, but it's something of an addiction, for the best analogy. You get a taste, you need more, you start searching for increasingly costly fixes, and one day you fall into the trap of bartering with higher powers for things otherwise inaccessible to you. I was quite an accomplished Warlock, but after a while, I ran out of things to procure. So I bartered for more. I got it," he pauses, sucking his teeth noisily and offering a small shrug.

"At any rate, I'm indebted to an abyssal power I'm not sure how to negotiate back with. I wouldn't call it a pact, per se; there's no continuing benefit I receive. But we are linked indefinitely until I figure out something to ante up with. The price only gets higher from there."

[bedrockfriend]

And that gets a laugh out of Parker, genuine even if it's oddly husky and brief because he has to rub his throat again.

"You wanna talk to me about stubborn idiots being cursed on account of their hubris? Really, Art?"

His pace falls out of step with Arthur's on the stairs, only because he doesn't need to limp along the railing as he walks, but it stays firmly beside him, stair by stair.

"We both know you're a fucking heel, alright, you can stop trying to sell me on that. But you're-- man, you fuckin' killed me and I still wanna call you my best friend, so what kinda fancy Greek idiot does that really make me?" Then a grin that's practically audible as he adds, "Who's got the biggest brass on 'em?"

[ss_buttcrack]

Parker? Parker?!

The color drains from Crichton's face faster than the drink from his glass. There's a significant amount of white showing around his bloodshot blue eyes--noticeable now that his gaze is suddenly darting from Parker to the exit and back.

The date he could have dismissed as a coincidence. The line of work, too. But not the name. Not the bruises. The talk of a friend killing him in a bad moment... God have mercy, this is Arthur's Parker isn't it? Frell. Fuck. FUCK. Arthur is going to kill again.

"...S-sorry," he stammers, still in a state of shock trying to process how the hell his luck could possibly get worse?? "I think I'm gonna hurl." That might not even be a lie. Feels like every word he's ever spoken to Arthur is trying to crawl up the back of his throat right this very minute.

He darts from behind the bar, too panicked to think of anything except that he needs out of this conversation immediately. He hasn't considered what he'll do once he makes it out the door but one problem at a time, here.

[bedrockfriend]

Well that's a hell of a reaction, and Parker's eyes narrow just slightly at the sheer terror on Crichton's face as he lets go of his glass. And seeing as he's damn certain he's never seen this guy before in his life, he's pretty sure he can assume which little English prick might have talked about him in the past tense.

Crichton doesn't make it to the door, because as soon as he runs, so does Parker, and Parker slams into him at the bar's opening so he can pin him against the wall with an elbow jammed against his throat.

"Woah there, Spaceman," he snarls through that beaming smile. "We were havin' a fucking conversation! You mind telling me what's got a fire under your ass all of a fuckin' sudden?"

She has SUCH beef with wizards -

[crushed_pearls]

"...Warlock. Two nickels." Erin's head tilts in a curiously bird-like motion. "I'm not gonna leap to assumptions, so - educated me, O licker of magic circles."

[chipsahoy]

"Alright well if I'm being completely honest it's sort of six of one half-dozen of the other," he sighs, waving a hand about in a circle, gesturing rolling with the conversation.

"Anyone can be an alchemist, or a wizard, or magician, or illusionist. To become a warlock you segue from theory to practice. A better analogy might be that all the others are paddling about with floaties in the kiddie pool and a warlock is in an atmospheric diving suit free-jumping off the edge of a deep sea chasm. An illusionist reads the books the wizard writes after witnessing the work of the warlock, my old mentor used to say. Warlocks have been touched by the demonic and divine, the void whispers to them, and Great Old Things take notice of them. And I might note, none of that is necessarily good."

[crushed_pearls]

"Ahhh, not two nickels, just more magic man dick waving. Useful distinction, but still." Erin frowns. "...Fuckin' weird name, why 'oath-breaker' from the Gaellic for it? Don't tell me goddamn Crowley is involved in your nomenclature somehow."

[ss_buttcrack]

"Oof!" His head bashes against the wall and stars explode behind his eyes, leaving him wheezing against the elbow jammed into his throat. Guess he knows who the brawn was in the partnership now.

He glares into that smile, hating how familiar it looks. That one bead of sweat on his forehead from before is joined by many.

"Yeah, I do mind. Get your hands off of me!"

[chipsahoy]

"Aleister Crowley? That hack is definitely shared culture. Don't know how successful he was in your world but in mine, he certainly gave a terrible name to the studies. Always making up rituals and stealing from other cultures without bothering to research anything. An absolute embarrassment not only to art but education," the professor huffs, utterly disgusted.

"To be fair, most people don't believe in magic where I'm from. Which is fortunate, because if everyone was trying to practice it would be impossible to protect anyone or anything. Real magic tends to attract some very nasty entities. Ergo Warlock is fairly applicable because there isn't a single ( real ) Warlock in the history of mankind that hasn't sacrificed some or all of their humanity in pursuit of their art. I'm not excluded."

[bedrockfriend]

He moves closer to John with even, quiet steps, until he's directly beside John and pauses, and there's a moment where it looks like he might, might keep walking.

And then he plants a foot on John's chest, heel jammed directly into his diaphragm, and leans his weight to push John back against the ground. Which is followed by him continuing to press his weight as he kneels down, other knee on the floor so he can rest his elbow - with the gun still in hand, still in a white-knuckled grip but slack at the wrist - on the leg pressing into John's ribs.

"Yeah? You got any reasons why he wouldn't thank me?" His voice is still calm, but there's a smile on his face now that absolutely does not meet his eyes. "You killed me. I kinda think I owe you one for that."

[bedrockfriend]

"Oh, so now you don't wanna talk?" His grin shifts, and it's just bared teeth now. "Lemme make a wild guess why, then, call it educated. I think you might be familiar with a certain English gentleman of mine." He shoves Crichton with the emphasis, and there's a bright ferocity in his eyes. "And I dunno what he mighta said about me, but if you're gonna try and walk on me I think it means you know I ain't gonna like it. Huh, Spaceman?"

[ss_buttcrack]

Welp. That's the final nail in the coffin. Is there really any point trying to pretend they aren't both talking about the same English gentleman?

"Believe it or not, it isn't about you." Crichton grips Parker's forearm to try and keep him from putting on more pressure. "You still ain't gonna like it."

There's another long pause during which Crichton's face contorts through all five stages of grief like a spinning roulette wheel until, finally, landing on depression.

"Arthur's my frelling roommate."

[maximumcake]

"Have I got great news for you? It's always sunny here. The weather is the same every day." Max kinda misses thunderstorms if he's being honest. Not tornadoes, but a hard rain and the roll of thunder can be soothing.

"Oh. Shit. Yeah, that might make a different kind of impression. I've never been in danger of falling off a mountain before." Unless you count those perilous parts of the drive where there's nothing but a flimsy guardrail between you and a plummet to certain death.

"The forced thing sucks, I know," Max says when Edgar rolls his eyes. "It will stop once you do the drill."

[serialskiller]

Security looks down at its plate while it's being judged, and doesn't comment on it. Look, say what you will, but chicken nuggies are consistent in texture and flavor and have some protein and...

...it just like the dinosaur shape.

"The library is all fiction. The Captain has, on occasion, picked torments out from books he's read. There are a few odd bits added here and there, like the fictionalized accounts of real detectives from peoples' individual worlds, but nothing that could even vaguely be called educational."

[crushed_pearls]

"Listen, if you've got a Crowley and he's a racist clown our Earths are close enough for government work." Erin looks satisfied. Not like, Deeply Satisfied (patent pending), but this makes more sense to her now at least. "My world's got little pissant hedge wizards with real power. Got hired to kill two of them and had to go through a whole fucking doctorate program to assassinate each one, it sucked, I hated it, I don't suggest it as a career choice. But hey, good news: as far as I can tell we're not currently in possession of any beings in the class you're describing." Beat. "...Currently being the key word, but the big man at the bridge presumably keeps a lid on that kind of shit. I don't think he'd tolerate fuckin' Yog-Sothoth setting up a tentacle gangbang without his permission."

[chipsahoy]

"Not necessarily. If someone is that obsessed with fiction that it's all they provide, and as you say, some torments have been drawn from them, then it's a fair bet that they are educational in the sense of making events slightly more predictable. For instance, if a book describes a fairly intense form of torture inflicted by a character therein and there's some sort of early warning, a well-read individual may be able to identify that sign and tell others, thereby preparing for - if not alleviating - the torment in question. All knowledge is worth having," he points out, raising his plate to his face and sniffing at a pile of beans with a relieved sigh.

"Either way, I'll still probably read as much as possible. Give me something to do on the days I'm feeling lazy and less adventurous."

[chipsahoy]

Utter relief floods Chip's face, glee flitting across his expression as he tosses his head back with a delighted laugh.

"Yog-Sothoth? Next you'll be telling me you know Shub-Niggurath and Nyarlehotep, cursed be thy names," he chuckles, tilting his head back down and arching a brow.

"You went through all the years of getting a doctorate just to kill someone? You couldn't have just..." he trails off, gesturing with both hands following someone presumably with a sniper rifle, then firing it off twice.

[crushed_pearls]

"I don't have an actual doctorate, it just took me eight fucking years to figure out how to kill a precog."

[chipsahoy]

"That makes slightly more sense, but now I'm disappointed. You could have been furthering your education and gotten a degree in that time, absolutely. Now I want to know how you managed the assassination of someone that could predict your arrival. That's quite fascinating."

[lordoftheozarks]

"Bold of you to say, but I truly have no interest in fighting." He can see her posture for what it is, but that doesn't make him back down either. He's also grown accustomed to a certain amount of power and respect.

"I have not, for the record, started a single fight since I got here."

[crushed_pearls]

He's gonna be so let down when it gets out that Erin never finished middle school.

"Yeah that's the bitch of it. He was clever enough to use it to kill too, hence getting hired to extinguish him. Took ages to figure out it was his only trick; bought an imprisoned succubus and traded her freedom for his life. He saw it coming the whole time, but..." Erin's smile is malicious. "Not a damn thing he could do about it. Your turn, why magic as a career?"

[lordoftheozarks]

She can't be serious...? If she's this much of an animal then there is no point trying to reason out of this.

"Well, get it over with then." He turns in the sky to face her, hovering in place in the air now instead of fleeing.

"If that will get you to leave me be. I no longer fear death in this place."

[bedrockfriend]

There's practically maths floating around Parker's head as he stares, eyes flicking between Crichton's as he tries to recalculate the situation.

"...what, you think I give a shit if he's a fuckin' nance?" he snarls. "You think I lived with him for goddamn years and didn't fuckin' figure that part out?"

He shifts his elbow but only so he can grab two fistfuls of the taller man's vest and bunch those up under his throat instead. "Or are you just a fuckin' heartbreaker, huh? You fucking hurting my partner?"

[lordoftheozarks]

"Tropes have some basis in reality, after all."

Off Windjammer? That must be a location. Why are there no maps around here? A real cruise ship would have some.

"I suppose that is another trope, a chef who wants no one else in their kitchen. You have a point. It would be much easier if you could give me Max's cabin number so I could text him myself."