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

[astrogator]

'You're welcome,' says Ari. 'I do value honesty, even if far too often that means admitting that I don't know the answers yet. We'll stay in touch, yes? Work together if one of us ever finds those books?'

Then Ari gives her a curious look. 'And... will you tell me a little about your homeland? What it is you left behind?' Both because she wants to know, and because to her, staying focused on home makes this entire situation the tiniest bit more bearable.

[abhorrently]

She nods to the questions - it's hard to imagine falling out of touch in an enclosed area like this. And if the books do come, it'll help to be able to go over them with someone, even if they don't have magic.

There's a funny little twist in her expression when Ari mentions homeland - how do you talk about a place when your own memories are absent or fragmented? But she can try. And if not, she can always make something up. Weaving lies and half-truths until they're convincing enough.

"There's a lot to go on with that. But I think of Baldur's Gate, first. Biggest city state on the Sword Coast, and full of life. A place where nearly anyone could put down roots with some work, where you might be able to find anything you're looking for. Bustling is the right word for it - you could live your life in its walls and still have it be full."

Even if what she knows is only hazy supposition, she knows the fondness in her companions for it. She has the faint threads of remembering that seem to tug their way into being at occasional times. And a sense that the Gate could never, never fall.

"And it's under threat, and that's why I have to go back."

wrap this one for something new this month?

[astrogator]

Ari nods. 'It sounds a little like a hub station, a little like a Company Tower. I think I can picture that well enough.' Her mental picture isn't remotely accurate, of course, but she's trying. She has the mood, even if not the details.

'Bustling,' she goes on to echo. 'Full of life. Of value. Of course you want to protect it. Of course you have to go back.'

It seems absolutely logical to her. Fever has her duty, as Ari has hers, and both involve the protection of those who need it. 'We both have an incentive, don't we? And that's why we'll find a way out - because this matters enough that giving up isn't an option.'