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

[battlebyballad]

Halfway through crafting a line of all the things they could do their best to playact at, her clever companion says something much more interesting. "Demiplane? That's some serious magic. Is that even a spell at that point? That reads more legend than wizardry."

She leans in closer than she needs to share a look at the picture, mindful to keep her hands clasped politely in front of her. Her smile softens as she looks, gentle and content. "There's no joy quite so sweet in any realm as the simple fondness of enjoying the company of someone who enjoys yours. It's the seed from which every love of every kind sprouts."

[abhorrently]

"You sound like you have a personal interest in the subject."

The discussions on what this place is and what godlike being they're commanded by are always going to be there. An interesting insight into this stranger is not.

[battlebyballad]

"Well, I'm a bard, as you might have guessed." She laughs, light and easy, as excitement starts to show in her eye. "And as typical as it might sound of a bard, I have a professional interest in love."

She spins her backpack around to dig around for something to illustrate her point. "These," she says, pulling out a pair of hand-bound leather journals, "are collections of myths and stories about love, collected by yours truly. Everything from destined romances to the heartache of lost brothers-in-arms. So many more stories are about love than people think, all because they keep such a narrow view of what kinds of love count for such things."

[abhorrently]

If she's allowed, she takes one of the journals, to open and glance at the pages.

"It takes a dedicated soul to build up this kind of collection."

And she means it when she says it, a sincere inclination, an invitation for Music to go on about this topic that gives her so much happiness and excitement.

"So you believe that staying close to just one type of love is limiting?"

[battlebyballad]

The journal is offered freely, and the contents of it surprisingly academic. Transcriptions of tales, annotated with performance notes and followed with descriptions of regional variations. It is a monument of effort and earnest seriousness.

"I'm glad to hear it, truly. It's my life's work, I should hope it looks like it." Oh, the joy in her laugh. "I mean only that love is present in many stories that aren't romantic, and it deserves to be recognized as such."

[abhorrently]

"With notes like this, you could easily publish, if the fancy ever struck you."

But if she chooses to keep them to herself, Fever understands. An artist's work, from all she can gather, is a deeply personal thing. Not always for the public's hands in that respect.

"The concept isn't unfamiliar to me. There are those who it'd be easy to say you loved, if the word didn't carry the specific weight."

People she'd trust with her life, without a single second's hesitation. She could say she loved them, in a different way.

[battlebyballad]

"That's the plan, in a way." She stands up a bit straighter, puts on a playfully important air. "I, Music Alwyn Szereban, am an academic fellow of the Giants' Shoulders Library, with the Bard College of Lore and Literature."

Light and easy as she speaks it, her pride is real. Every part of her demeanor tells Fever that this is an important thing, an incredibly accomplishment, one that she's endlessly grateful for.

And then her voice fills itself with poetry. "Oh, but do your feelings for those fellows not carry weight unto themselves? When you are without them and carry their influence on your life on your lonesome, can you not feel your heart bend under the load? What else could it be but love?"