sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #10

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TEST DRIVE MEME #10

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.]

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"I quite like how you describe it. Yes, you're right, just because you are grown does not necessarily mean you no longer need a mentor. Even I, at my advanced age, am still sometimes in need of guidance from vampires older than myself." He has, often enough, called on the advice of Eshe; she occupies the territory directly to the right of his. Hers perspective is a sound one.

"I'm glad that you do have some concept of what it is to be a family. To answer your question, no, it is not a compulsion. It is an obligation. If Old Wayne called you and said that you were needed at home, I assume you would feel that same obligation to return to help?"

"The brand was necessary. He knew that at the time. I'm aware that it pains him, but it was to save his life. It was better than what was originally suggested; he doesn't know that there was a very strong demand to take one of his eyes." That way, if Erik had ever attempted to turn his human into a vampire down the line, he would forever have a missing eye as a handicap. He would be that much easier to kill. It took a lot of hard arguing to walk the punishment back to branding.

"I'm a monster. You're a monster. When did I ever claim anything to the contrary? Yes, I know the arrangement was not ideal for Max but given the circumstances it was the best I could safely offer. If you spent that long in my home, surely you saw what kind of dynamics are at play between vampires? In most vampire's estimation, humans are beneath us. To treat him as an equal in that kind of company would have put him more at risk."

His lips quirk just slightly into a smirk, "Besides, you must have observed that he likes being played with?"

In some ways it's like listening to all the things she used to tell herself to justify the harassment, the violence, the maiming, the murders. All the excuses about how of course they should face justice in prison, but the courts would never put them there. What she was excusing changed but the excuses never did. They were bad people. They deserved it.

Sometimes she might have been right. There were real monsters that died at her hands, both of the human kind and the Avatar kind; monsters that would have hurt more people, that shouldn't have been allowed to hurt more people, but...

She'd still made herself judge, jury and executioner.

And here's this bastard, saying all this shit that might even be true as if it excuses literally any of it. All that talk about how they weren't so different rings with a different tune, right now.

And then he has to go and get crude.

Her lip curls back, flashing those unnaturally large teeth of hers, snarl rippling up her throat, but despite the pounding blood in her skull and how easy it would be to lunge, to go for the damn eyes (she could do it, she knows she could do it, she's built for killing monsters)...

She just stands there, every muscle pulled tight like a rubber band waiting to snap. "...I could tell him, you know. Every. Word."

"You could."

He's standing there as still as a statue, only breathing when he needs to talk, not even bothering to blink. Just look at her. He's hit a deep nerve. He could keep going, provoke her into the fight she is so desperately trying to resist. If he dies what does it matter? He will be back in three days and she will still have to live with the consequences. But he thinks he knows why she's holding back. It's the same reason he doesn't believe she'll tell Max any of this. It would crush Max. And who would ever want to be responsible for that?

"So, why haven't you?"

Her fingers flex, claws all but physically itching to sink into flesh. She can feel her own heartbeat pounding in rhythm with the blood, but she stays steady.

She thinks she could rip his throat out and never fall into the Hunt.

It's a strange feeling, knowing that. It's a stranger feeling not acting on it.

"Woman of my word. Told you I wouldn't. Had some respect for that, despite... you." Not a lie. She could have told Max, she could have told Erin, but she didn't. So it doesn't account for everything happening here and now, doesn't account for how much she does not want to hurt Max, but it is not a lie. "But you're wearing that very thin."

Eddie starts to slowly let one eye slide open, looking over to the speaker with a concerned disbelief, face creased with what the fuck. "Yeah? Helpful." It is, and he can move now, but he still stares at this stranger with open frustration. "The shit is this?"

Anything up until this is point is a basketful of lies obviously, so he'll ask this question of the man who is probably not real out of...that being the only option he really has.

[ Eddie's eyes snap open when his name is mentioned, face still set with worry and concern, immediate bewilderment over the other guy standing there. Looks like someone who could be a peer of his, really, but he's never seen him before.

Plus, he's still on this not being exactly real, so he gives a labored sigh, staying still. ]

Yeah? Quite the elaborate shitshow. Who the fuck are you?

[ Rude, but facing down this mirage since what else is he gonna do? ]

Hearing Chrissy's voice in the Upside Down is definitely a new fucking low, and Eddie hasn't been awake long enough (or had enough time to process what the fuck is going on) to piece anything together when his eyes snap open. Full of fear and regret, wide dark orbs as he takes a step back, tripping over his own ankles, stumbling backward and onto his ass, looking up at her, face twisting with the same horror it had on the night she'd so horrendously died right in front of him.

His hands sort of catch his fall, but he does a bit of a crab walk a couple more paces away from her. "Chrissy?!" High, squeaky, eyes snapping shut again. God, fuck this. He'd do anything he could to enact vengeance on her behalf, but he doesn't want to look at her, if she's not actually real. Which, she can't be. Tears sting as his eyes, hand going up over his eyes as he swallows hard, head shaking desperately in place. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up." Through gritted teeth, a soft 'fuck,' thrown in at the end when it's not working, knows he's still on that same stupid deck.

"Fuck if I know, man, I just got here today. Magic bullshit, is all I've got."

His accent will sound distinctly not-American to Eddie's ears; his tone is somehow simultaneously cheerful and deeply irritated, though the irritation isn't directed at him.

She'd been in the process of deciding how to ask if he remembered anything about being here before without sounding accusatory. There's no point in doing so now, as the answer seems pretty obvious.

He looks about the same as he had the last time she saw him, all things considered, and Chrissy can't decide if that's a good thing or not. He also looks terrified, which is honestly not an incorrect response to this place. She's never actually seen him like this, so it's all she can manage to wait quietly until he calms down.

When it seems like that's not what's going to happen here, Chrissy crouches in an attempt to make herself seem less overwhelming. "It's okay, Eddie. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Decidedly not helpful," Eddie offers back, eyes scanning around, unable to pick up on any details that are revolutionary. Just, looks as much like a ship as he could imagine one might.

"So." A small dip of his head forward, eyes widening and blinking in a delay before they rise to make eye contact again. "Feel like I'm stuck in a fucked up mindscape rather than any of this being real." Another beat, dark eyes going somehow rounder. "What do you think?"

Christ, her voice is so sweet, so kind, so Chrissy. His eyelids stay squeezed together for awhile longer, a good half minute, while a stuttered gurgle in his throat sounds. Too much emotion in one young man's body, and Eddie has nowhere to put it all.

He moves, shifting so his back is against some hard surface, a wall, arms going to curl around his legs. Finally brown eyes open, wet and tears streaking down, looking over at Chrissy, pain striking everywhere in his body.

Dark curls shaking along with his head, he can't stop staring at her now, unblinking, lips like lead weights. He's heard the question, but what does asking it do? If it's part of some sick game, what's the purpose? His heart thrums quickly, anxiety and panic surging through his veins, lips parting gradually, enough to whisper out words. An answer, weak and vague, details that will sound weird, possibly unfamiliar.

"Bats, and...fighting. Vecna. Chrissy." Desperate, whiny, heart aching, throat hoarse. "Are you...real?"

Because, she just can't be?

"What, you mean like you're dreaming?" He raises his eyebrows. "Or like I am? Got to be just one of us, right?"

Even as she asks the question, Chrissy finds herself hoping, quite selfishly in fact, that the last thing he remembers has nothing to do with Vecna or Hawkins. It's foolish and unlikely, given the state he's in now, but a girl can dream.

There's nothing to do but wait while he comes to terms with being here. It's something that every passenger has to do in their own time. Being patient is easy. Being stared at isn't her favorite thing, but can she really blame him for it? If what she's assuming is correct, the last time he saw her was deeply unpleasant.

When he does finally answer, it's about the same as what he'd told her last October. He's left out the part about dying, Chrissy notices, which means that either he doesn't know or he's trying to protect her from hearing something unpleasant. Should she tell him that she knows, or would that just make things worse?

She's spared that particular dilemma, for the time being, when he speaks up again. "I'm as real as everyone else here," she tells him. It's just not as straightforward as he's probably hoping.

"And we are here. It's not a dream that you're going to wake up from." At least as far as she knows. It's been almost a year since she woke up here the first time, though, so she figures something like that would have happened a long time ago if it was going to happen at all.

"Oh yeah man, a few cycles back that was exactly what happened actually. He put out a general call to bring us all back together and everyone came that was able to."

A tinny voice comes from the drone's speakers.

That's sort of like someone asking your left eye or one of your fingertips if they're you. I mean, yeah, I'm Security talking to you, but you're seeing a single sensory organ, not the whole.

"Would you believe somehow both?"

A vague meandering gesture as Darcy tries to find a way to sum up a year of developments.

"So... other people might give you a different version of shit but they're dumb and wrong. We show up, the guy running the place is an asshole who's using us to power the ship. My dad and I talk to him, do some detective work, and... slowly, he starts changing. The excursions get safer, he talks to us more, he starts opening up to the idea of us leaving. He's run this ship the way he has for literal centuries because everyone's gotten so caught up in fighting him that they've made him insanely powerful. The more you struggle against him, the more you hate him, the more it fuels shit. More or less."

Another gesture.

"Or, you know, you can be like some people and decide that he's permanently evil forever and has to die despite the fact that will kill us, and that nobody's ever managed to find a way to do it. That's really been working for them."

Gwen has her eye on their surroundings as they head for the gym, taking in what she can about the place she is, apparently, now stuck for the foreseeable future. It feels so empty, which she supposes makes sense if there's only 100 people in such a large space. Coming from Spider Society it really is a contrast. (She wonders how many spots there are where she could climb and not be noticed, let alone bothered... she has a feeling she's going to need them...)

The fact there's a gym is nice, though it's been a while since she's had to monitor her strength in a public gym.

"So this place is powered by... the people on board. Our emotions? That's why the trips are designed to kill people, I'm guessing." There's dots connecting, slowly. "And all this means that now there's some passengers who want to fight their way out through the guy in charge, and some, like you, who are more trying to work... with him? Man. This all sounds like the plot of some TV show."

"I wish it was a TV show. Then maybe I could be played by Ruby Rose and I wouldn't have fucking pimples," they huff in amusement as they dump their bag, withdrawing their hand-wraps to begin wrapping their knuckles.

"But yeah, that's about it. Some of us aren't... don't get me wrong, not all of us are looking to be his best friend or anything, a lot of us just want a way out that doesn't involve all of us dying. You can ask my dad if you have more questions- he's hard to miss, you're looking for the skeleton in a suit. Peter, too- British, eternally grumpy, no eyebrows- or Ava- also British, looks like kind of a greasy supermodel- or my girlfriend Helena- big glasses, has a cane, impossibly cute. They probably know the most out of anyone. And are, like, the friendliest. Generally speaking."

New girl, like everyone, is going to have to work out where she fits in the ship, may as well give her a hand-up right away.

... speaking of-

"I'm Darcy, by the way. Sorry- I've got used to everyone just knowing who I am."

Okay. He's eyeing Edgar very suspiciously now.

"Yeah...?"

To herself, Gwen thinks yeah, me too, thoughts filled with echoes of Peter Parkers, men she'd never technically met, greeting her by name, and a collage of the looks in their eyes.

Aloud, she says: "I'm Gwen. Gwen Stacy. Thank you, Darcy, for uh. Not laughing in my face for trying to be sneaky and getting me up to speed. This is all... insane. And I'm from New York, so my scale's already off."

Which is a funny thing to say when two seconds later, she adds: "...wait, your dad is a skeleton? You're not a skeleton."

"Ehn, don't worry about it. All of us were new at one point. You just have the benefit of having people around who know what the fuck is going on. When I showed up, nobody had even met the Captain yet."

In the fraction of the second after Gwen says it, they consider just explaining the situation. But immediately their commitment to the Bit overrides it at the thought of how funny it would be if Gwen thought they didn't know they're adopted. This is exactly how the Bahamanal started and they have learned nothing.

"What... do you mean?" as innocently as they can muster.

The tall fella in an ostentatiously tiger-striped suit bats away the batting away, saying "if the fuckin' buttons zapped you I think I'da fuckin' know by now-" in an accent that sounds a bit like someone blended Italian and a bad fake American accent and then strained it through a sieve. He presses the button anyway and-

"Cazzo-" when it inevitably zaps him, and he draws his finger into his mouth. Fantastic.

"Okay, oracle of the fuckin' buttons," he grumbles around the finger, "how am I meant to use the fuckin' elevator if I can't touch the fuckin' button?"

Gwen blinks. "I mean, you're not— obviously you must have a skeleton, but you have. You know. Skin. And hair."

She even gestures helpfully between them and herself, flicking a bit of her own pink-tipped hair.

"So, I mean, I would've thought... a skeleton dad would have a skeleton child?" That sentence sounds insane even as she says it, but here she is. Is that how this works? How would a skeleton even have a skeleton child? Is Darcy... oh, wait. Obvious answer is obvious, but—

I'm Vance fucking Hopper, that's who.

[ This definitely isn't the Eddie he used to know, but how does he even explain that? That he knew a previous version of him? This situation is weird enough as it is. ]

This isn't a dream or anything like that. It's real. So, like, don't jump off the edge of the boat trying to wake up or anything like that.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #10

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