sail_ooc | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't identify as human. That's so rude and condescending. I'm a Warlock," Chip drawls, flapping his hands about in exaggerated gestures to accompany his obvious sarcasm as he trails along behind Security, bizarrely neither questioning it nor putting forth any protest.

Either the professor is very hungry indeed or he inexplicably trusts the construct's guidance. Or both. Most likely both. He absolutely looks short of a few good meals.

“I’m sure Warlocks need food, too, unless you thrive on curiosity alone.” Which, given how Chip has been going, he might.

“Buffet’s this way. You can also get food in the formal dining room or on the promenade. Oh, and we have a kitchen now. Don’t use it unless you know what the fuck you’re doing. The other Max won’t kill you, but he will be very sad if you break his kitchen or break yourself in his kitchen. If you make that Max sad, I might have to kill you.”

"I may be best banned from a kitchen, lest I turn it to nefarious crafting of spells and potions, you know. And while that may sound very sarcastic I promise it is not. I was put on restriction to the chemistry lab at several universities. Tragic, really. It's so much easier to make alchemical concoctions in modern laboratories. That said, I highly doubt I'll win any favors recreating Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. And I suppose I don't want to make this mysterious Max sad," he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a quick shrug of narrow shoulders.

"Please direct me to something sugary. Pray tell, is there soda? Pop? Cola? Whatever it's called here. Fizzy sugar drink. Biscuits, perchance? I will refrain from exploring any kitchens if you appease me with tasty beverages, please, and thank you."

"There is soda available at the buffet, at the drinks station. Biscuits and gravy, they might have today. Also, on the subject of laboratories, there's an infirmary and a morgue on the lowest accessible level of the ship. But Friday sleeps in the morgue, and the infirmary is for common usage. Dr. Watson's in charge of things, there."

Someone has not yet learned about the British use of the word 'biscuit'.

"Biscuits and--no no. Biscuits. Cookies? Little baked sweets?" he asks, pausing a moment in stunned silence before hurrying on again after Security.

"She sleeps...in the morgue? Why on Earth would--no, nevermind. A question for another time. I'm curious but I really would rather focus on food now that you've mentioned it. I hadn't even realized I was hungry. Actually, you wouldn't happen to know how much time passes between whenever we're stolen and when we wake to this reality, would you? Not that it matters, but it might be helpful to understand any transdimensional time delay."

"Do you eat?" he asks abruptly, changing subjects dramatically without any preamble. His conversational tactics grow more erratic when he's in motion, obviously.

"Five questions in the span of thirty seconds. Do I look like a search engine to you?" But the amusement bleeds through into its voice by this point. Yeah, this ~~human~~ Warlock is going to be Trouble, and will need someone to provide security.

"I was not manufactured to eat, sleep or certain other biological functions. But through Sundries gifts, I've acquired certain capacities completely against my will."

"Your name is Security, not Google. Oh! Can we use codenames? I'll be Warlock and you can be Firewall," the Brit remarks cheerily, looking quite pleased with himself for a moment before perking both brows with a small nod.

"Oh, I'm quite accustomed to the idea of dubious gifts," he muses aloud, holding up the lei, then stuffing it into his trouser pocket again. "But you got the jumper. Can't really complain about that, can you?"

"Some of the other sweatshirts have cat ears on the hood." Whether this is a complaint or agreement with Chip's point of view is hard to say. They reach the buffet and Sec looks to see what's for breakfast today, and what's running low.

"Sounds like someone has a sense of humor and thinks you need a softer look, if you were to ask me. Seems a bit like putting cute bow on a cactus," he snorts softly, gazing around the buffet in interest.

"You know, I've never actually been on a cruise. The other professors liked to take them on vacation with their spouses but it always seemed a bit too 'desperate retiree' for me. Funny how things work out."

"You'll be the furthest thing from retired, here, given what you've said about your fields of interest."

Security fixes itself a plate of dinosaur chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, like a grown adult. Yes, for breakfast.

"Making promises you can't keep! In my line of work, retired usually means dead, actually, and this place sounds to me like one that happens to cause death and death-like symptoms," the errant warlock explains conversationally as he weaves around the buffet in search of anything resembling familiar foods.

He pauses, lurching too close to Security and casting his gaze from the cyborg to the plate of food and back up several times, wordlessly questioning, judging, and commending it for its choices all in one go before swanning off to find the best facsimile of a full English breakfast.

"You mentioned a library before," he reignites conversation as he beelines for Security's personal space once more.

"Is it a library only intended to distract people from their circumstances here, or does it hold actually useful educational literature?"

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."

"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."

TEST DRIVE MEME #10

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