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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.]
steve harrington / stranger things (ship crau)
( steve harrington is pissed off.
not pissed off enough to, say, attempt to murder the current roster of passengers in hopes of opening the gateways to his ghostly friends in the nothing. that’s more of a 5 on the pissed off scale, and steve’s sitting at about a cozy, reasonable 3. pissed off enough to do something rash? maybe. it just sort of comes hand-in-hand with experiencing deaths of varying comical levels, disappearing into a vast void of nothing for the second time in one’s life, and then reappearing on the good ship suck ass.
so if you’re paying attention, you might notice a familiar coif of hair at today’s drill. a familiar coif that seems in a hurry. he could be pulled aside for a heartfelt reunion if one were so inclined, but otherwise he’s snatching his stupid lei and stomping away to —
a. one of the ship’s many bars. or, more accurately, each of the ship’s many bars. he’s hitting up all of them. the world’s most pathetic pub crawl, if you will. he’s not drinking, though. instead he’s loitering around each bar, still dressed in the last outfit he’d been wearing before he disappeared (a souvenir hoodie from murder lodge and some nice tommy bahama pajama pants. no shoes, echoing his original arrival on the ship). sometimes he's just leaning on the bar, other times he's standing with his hands on his hips and squinting at the selection of alcohol like he's at the supermarket.
he doesn't try to touch any of it though, because he figures that rule hasn't changed and he's not ready to test it.
so, if he finds himself in the company of literally anyone older than 21? he'll nod a greeting and say, )
Hey. Can you do me a favor? ( and then he'll point out a bottle or two. ) I need those. And, uh. Any of the others, if they're at least 100 proof.
( totally normal request. don't mind him. anyway, once he's got his totally normal, not-at-all-suspicious bottles of high proof alcohol, he heads to:
b. tauva. or... bobby b's? he wrinkles his nose at the sign before heading inside and claiming a chair he'd last occupied during the unplanned weed party. there's no devil's lettuce to be found this time, though. no, instead he's busy shredding a variety of tommy bahama clothing into strips.
if he finds himself with company he doesn't immediately address the super normal craft project he's got going on. instead, he'll nod back towards the entrance. )
What's with the name change?
( c. and finally, at long last, you will find steve harrington, still pissed off, still in bobby b's, but now with a selection of fun, tropical molotov cocktails lined up on mr. b's bartop.
he's leaning on the bar too, matchbook in hand, contemplative look on his face, but he seems hesitant to actually set his plan into motion.
and, yeah, the plan is literally "torch the one place where you can set fires and not get in trouble for it." )
electric buttons (pensive emoji)
( whether or not steve manages to accomplish his task to literally torch the boat from the inside out (presumably he does not but let's give him the benefit of a doubt), he'll eventually wind up on the elevator.
an elevator that isn't moving, because steve's trying to press literally any button but finding he just gets an unpleasant shock instead of, you know, a trip to whatever floor he's trying to get to. )
Shit!
( he presses a different button. another jolt of electricity travels through his arm, making him jump back, shaking his hand. )
Son of a bitch!
( he goes in for try number 3 (or 4 or 5, who's counting), but stops just short of touching the button and glances over at his poor companion. )
You wanna give it a shot? Maybe it just doesn't like me.
wildcard
( helloooo i am here just for funsies this time and up for literally anything so if you have any ideas just let me know. )
C (STEVE!!!!!!!)
Also the ship isn't repairing itself at the moment. Thought you should know.
lmaooo god not the bitch boy
Good, ( he says, and considers leaving it at that. maybe even lighting up one of his tommy bahama molotovs and chucking it at something for good measure.
but he doesn't. for some reason, he decides to elaborate. ) I'm trying to, y'know, send a message. ( he makes a sweeping gesture with one hand to the row of molotovs. ) It kind of wouldn't mean as much if whatever I do disappears overnight.
He can never escape it!!!
Is the message that you ran out of hairspray to do this with instead.
[ Y'know, because his hair's stupid and poofy. ]
STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE
The elevator door starts to automatically close.
The ants speed up. ]
Hey hey hey hey can you hold that please!!!
[ Which ant said that? All of them. In perfect unison. ]
https://youtu.be/LKWhhl0iSj8 (only steve instead of cat)
the elevator doors slide shut. steve continues to stare at the ants, not-so-subtly pressing himself maybe a liiiitttle closer to the wall, distancing himself as much as he can. )
Uh.
( is what he finally says, brow furrowing deeper still. )
It's broken. Sorry.
( why did he hold the door for a broken elevator? he was startled. cut him some slack. )
electric buttons
[ He rubs his eyes as he enters the elevator, as if it might be a trick of the light. But no: that big hair is unmistakable. It's Steve.
Vance pushes the button, and it shocks him. He pushes it again. Same result. One more try? Same result. It's gotta move eventually, right? ]
c
immediately doubles back. and just stares for a long moment, at the figure hunched against the suspiciously laden bar top. first and foremost, she appreciates the sentiment found behind molotov cocktails. secondly and much more importantly, she recognizes that head of hair. there's kneejerk disbelief — no way — that gives way to a pleasant flip flop of the stomach, which feels a lot like optimism. he came back? they can come back?
what follows is a very quick approach, somewhere between a half-jog and a brisk power walk, and she's calling out — ) Harrington. Steve.
( clarke pushes right up into the edge of steve's personal space with the aggressive slap of flip flops on tiled floor, then — stops. pauses, assesses. waits for him to turn to her, then looks him over from head to toe, only to immediately abandon any sort of reservation; throws both arms around his shoulders in a hug that somehow manages to feel excited, relieved, consoling, and a little desperate all at once. fingers scrabble at the back of his sweatshirt before finding purchase, and holding so tight her knuckles blanch grey-white. )
You — ( were gone, is how that sentence is supposed to end. clarke's not even entertaining the idea this could be a different version of steve harrington, and just assumes he already knows. had maybe spent the last few months steeped in nothingness, which honestly explains the molotov cocktails behind him. instead of explaining further, she just gives a very tight squeeze, and a substantially lacking: ) ...hi.
( please ignore the fact she's dressed like the discount bin in tommy bahama threw up all over her. we all suffer lowgrade psychotic breaks in different ways, right? )
Tauva
She'd actually been hoping that she was just imagining that she'd seen him during the muster drill. Coming here had been an attempt to prove that to herself, and that seems to have backfired gloriously.
"How much am I going to regret asking what you're doing?"
A
[Arthur can imagine wanting to get drunk in this place. But 100 proof is going to get the absinthe reference, and well before he hands it over, because that just seems uncomfortable and not very fun!]