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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Ah, the first hitch in the Bit. They can't really drag others in without implicating them in the Bit, and not everyone's going to be okay with pranking a newbie. And in any case, two people is a Bit, more than two people is a conspiracy. How to answer...

"I don't know how common it is, but I think it happens sometimes. One of the passengers before us showed up with her brothers."

Which is the truth, while also preserving the Bit.

"Sometimes," Gwen says, neutrally. "I guess that must be kind of nice. You know, help with the inevitable homesickness and stuff."

That's what she says, while what she's thinking is more along the lines of panic at the idea of her father turning up without warning and her having to deal with what she's been running from. (Another, deeper part of her wonders if it'd go better, in this strange new place; that same part is the one now cradling the bundle of homesicknesses that is already expanding to cover her entire home multiverse.) But it sounds a little like they tend to arrive at the same time, maybe...?

She visibly shakes off the thought.

"Yeah, kind of."

It would be nice if Darcy had more memories of Skully or Phil in Lyon than just being rescued from their death. Maybe it would help more.

"It gets easier to deal with, though. And sometimes stuff shows up from home at the Sundries store, so that's cool."

She perks up a little bit at that, actually. She hasn't been able to go back home-home for a couple months already, there was no way to get anything from there back, if it's possible here...

"Really? ...has anyone had anything, like, as big as a drum kit turn up?"

She's had chance to play in Hobie's world, and that's been good, but it's not her kit. (Her kit with the photo of her and Miles hidden in it, at that.)

"We've had entire cars show up, I think a drum kit is one of the more normal things that could possibly show up."

Now, finally, Darcy returns their other leg to the ground. It's starting to cramp.

"I'm guessing you play, then? What sort of music are you into?"

There's just a touch more light in Gwen's eyes at just the possibility of getting her kit back. It would hardly save the situation she's stuck in, but the outlet might help make things a little more bearable.

"All kinds of rock stuff, mostly? The last person I played with regularly is, like. A proper punk. I wish I was half as cool as him. Those were good sessions..."

"Like, legit? Battle jacket and everything?" Darcy gestures to where the lapel of a jacket would sit in a sort of circular motion, thinking of pins and badges and patches on one.

"That's sick. I like a lot of local stuff- I didn't really get to go to a lot of shows back home, I wasn't old enough, but Johnnie Carwash is really good, Pencey Sloe, Cheap Teen, Pogo Car Crash Control- luckily I had my Ipod on me when I showed up, so I still have all my music from home. I don't, like, loan it out because I would probably die if it got broken, but I'm always up to hang out and listen to music. I have a vinyl player too, but the records belonged to a friend of mine from home, and his music tastes... I mean, Talking Heads is good and everyone likes the Stones but it's dad rock, ehn?"

Wayne doesn't blame him for his frustration with the idea, really. None of them wanted this, even if for some it is a better alternative to what they were already going through. "From what I can tell, yeah. Pocket dimension existence is a bitch."

“Totes random,” he repeats, with a quizzical look.

“Pardon, I… think I may be misunderstanding. Are you saying we are here because bags have been randomized? I don’t know how that follows. Is there another meaning of ‘tote’ that I’m not party to?”

"Yeah... that's happened to a lot of people, actually. I wouldn't have minded as much if I'd gotten a little warning, you know? I'm still trying to work out how I can carry around my phone and maybe a pair of shorts when I'm like that. 'Cause I'm always naked when I turn back."

"..."

Edgar doesn't quite respond to that in words, but there's a look on his face that suggests some terrible joke is being suppressed.

"Short for totally. You know, totally random. But knowing the Captain it might have to do with luggage, I don't fucking know."

The elevator dings and the doors open, "Oh man I wish Lucius was here to teach you how to text emoji's. You're not from a place without electricity right?"

"Let me guess, I was always naked as a dog when you knew me too."

"Oh," very innocently, "not always."

Beds shouldn't be this fucking soft. It's like lying in a dungheap, and the linens are so stiff. Shinon wears them like plate, a smothering weight across his breast.

Waking up in an infirmary is not new. At least, probably an infirmary? Cool, dark, quiet. Only there's no pain. Just a boundless white expanse, a pristine absence of feeling. It is cleaner than anything should ever be.

He kicks, thrashing the bedclothes away. Gropes at the bedside--his flask?

It's there. He fumbles the cap, knocks it back.

Tastes wretched, burns going down. Just as it should. Shinon curses, a hiss that staggers between rage and satisfaction.

Perhaps more satisfaction--his carving knife lies on the nightstand. He grabs at it, finagles it back into his pocket.

There's an envelope under the knife. Something written on the back--he thinks he catches the first letter of his name. Whatever. Writing shit down is for blue-bloods and women.

He'll find the bitch who put it there and make them say it to his face.

Shinon stands--too quickly. Headrush. He swears.

It's only when the stars fizzle from his eyes that he finds them--his bow and quiver, leaning against the wall.

He snatches them up, fixes them to his back. They form to his body like a thirteenth pair of ribs.

Save for the headache, Shinon is complete. He stalks from the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Outside, it's fucking bright. Like that plane behind his eyes, painless and flat and clean. Brighter than anything should be.

It must be magic, lighting up the room. He sees it hanging from the ceiling--must be magic. He never had a head for that sort of shit.

What gets him is the window. It's round, for one thing. A perfect circle. Rounder than anything should be.

He's seen buildings going up. There's mud brick, stone if you're rich. Mortar slopped between. The masons sing like drunkards, leer at passing girls.

Nothing can be this perfect, and--and who can afford that much glass, and--

And outside, there is nothing but sea.

Shinon has never seen the ocean.

It is broader than the sky, and it is empty.

Emptier than anything should be.

And Shinon has never seen the ocean. He has been fighting--the mud-marred hinterlands--he is nowhere near--!

Shinon breaks to the side, and his body won't go. There's a length of hallway there, and no way to touch it.

But he's never had a head for magic. Never had a head for the sea, fuck, fuck--he bolts the other way.

The corridor gives way to a great room, bright and clean and biting. Shinon's harsh breaths hiss between his teeth.

A faceless woman approaches, a gaudy wreath of flowers in her hands. She moves without malice, but--but there is no pain here, and no land--!

There is no time to draw the bow. Shinon pulls the carving knife, flicks open the blade.

His voice is ragged when he tells her to come no fucking closer.

"Wow," someone chimes from... above? The top of one of the structures?

"I've literally never seen anyone try and kill Friday before, this should be good."

"We have electricity where I came from, though admittedly it's not quite as abundant as it seems to be here. Oh, and I've already been instructed on how to use emojis, by Ms. Grace."

A man stalking around the deck with weapons generally spells a bad time, in such a tense situation. An eye has been following him him, keeping tabs, making sure that intervention isn't necessary.

And then the knife comes out, and a hand, seemingly from nowhere, is shooting straight for it to wrap around the hand holding it. Whether it makes contact or not (and this is something that the narration can roll for d&d style if necessary,) the appendage will quickly be followed by an equally disembodied mouth.

"I wouldn't do that."

And the owner of those appendages soon makes himself obvious, stepping forward from one of the open walkways, all 6'2 of him doing a decent job of blocking some of that too-bright sunlight.

Shinon's fixed on the faceless girl, eyes and blade unwavering--until a movement kicks at his periphery. A hand reaches for his wrist--he'll see about that. Shinon drops his weight, sweeps one leg swiftly to the side. He'll catch the bastard by the ankles, lay 'em low without taking his eyes off...

But there are no ankles. Shinon's leg swipes a clean, uninterrupted arc, and it's only when that hand grips his wrist that Shinon looks up to see it hasn't got an arm.

And someone is speaking and Shinon doesn't care because the girl is still coming and the room shimmers with shades and that's fucked up but also the least of Shinon's priorities and--and he doesn't even really remember what those are.

Find someplace he can shoot from. Find someplace he can breathe.

But there's a voice above him, too, so the high ground must be out, and the girl's shoes click closer and--

Shinon hurls his body backward, but it's the same thing again. For all his strength, for the flood of his adrenaline, he won't go.

And he is alone here and in a decade of mercenary work this is the closest he's ever edged to panic and there's only one thing left.

He braces, grips his nerve and his carving knife tight--Shinon jerks his grappled arm back toward himself, he bares the chipped-raw edges of his teeth, he makes ready to bite.

"Battle jacket and everything. Totally legit."

And that's not even touching on everything else about Hobie that makes him so very legit, because that would just complicate keeping her story straight.

There's just the hint of a laugh, too, despite something that twists in her chest as she says: "Definitely dad rock," before she breezes right past any associated emotion into more music talk. "I'd love to hear stuff from the scene over in— France, right? Like I said I'm from New York, so, you know, we birthed the Ramons, Patti Smith, Blondie, so on, old school stuff, but we're still in it. Worriers, Down For Nothing," Up for Nothing, in other worlds, "Iron Chic, Dog Park Dissidents... but I mean, that's not even half of what I've got hoarded. I actually had a small collection vinyl and other retro audio stuff, back home. But it's all on my phone, I think I have that with me."

"Grace..." He tries to remember if he knows who that is, and comes up blank. "Dunno who that is but good cuz that's a prime part of life here. Necessary to your survival and everything."

Gwen perches up where most of them just don't want to, or can't, go. Which would mean in most circumstances that she's left alone to her thoughts, dour as they might be.

(Un)fortunately for her, she isn't the only one to indulge in such things. He likely wouldn't ping her spidey-sense, having no ill intent and no inherent danger to him, and so when he pops up on the opposite side of the screen and pulls himself up to stand just behind it, she's going to almost certainly have a Moment when it comes to seeing someone his size, with the amount of limbs that he has, a couple of branched off eyes raised and watching her from over his shoulders.

"Ah- I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone else was up here today..."

"Quite. The unbreakable rectangle is certainly a much more efficient method of communication than the flares and smoke signals we used back home, too."

Gwen jumps just a little bit out of her skin, it's true. She didn't expect anyone else to be up here at all, didn't expect to be interrupted. It never happens, at home; the only people who can really reach you are usually other spiders, and even that's only a fairly recent development. For a moment the silhouette of him, the muscle and extra limbs, makes her expect her spidey-sense to go off in that unique way it does when you meet another spider—there's plenty around the Society with extra limbs—but no, he's... something else.

The way this entire internal journey plays out externally is mostly very wide eyes, a jump backwards that she luckily catches before either falling or giving away her superhuman reflexes, and a look up and down Shouji's figure.

She's staring. She needs to stop staring.

"Oh, no, it's— it's fine, it's not like I own this spot or anything. I only just got here. To the boat, I mean. So."

The wide-eyed reaction as someone tries to figure out the presented ??!!??s of him is standard enough, and he's still, quiet as she recovers, though a hand does lift and almost sling out to stop her from falling, though she easily catches herself, and just as quickly as he'd started to make that motion, the hand returns to its normal place.

The longer she stares, the more inert his tentacles go, eyes retracting and main hands falling back to his sides, one propped on the edge of the screen beside him.

She explains, and he nods. He hadn't seen her around, so he's not surprised to learn that she's new.

"Sometimes you just need to be up high where you can keep an eye on things, right?" he supplies, keeping a careful distance in case she's still jumpy.

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Page 79 of 159

TEST DRIVE MEME #10

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oh god run it's shinon fire emblem

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hello shinon fireemblem meet shouji heroacademia

Re: hello shinon fireemblem meet shouji heroacademia

one wikipedia diving later...

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