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

Shiroe - Log Horizon

[guildmastermind]

1. All armies don't salute [Arrival]
Some people gladly and willingly find their way to the muster drill. Others fight every step, as if they can out-stubborn the magic. Shiroe, however, may be found along the muster route slowly experimenting, seeing what "counts" in terms of not moving in the right direction, and leaning to see if it's a barrier that prevents backwards movement or more of a paralysis. Eventually, he's satisfied with his answer, heading to the muster drill, his long white coat swishing behind him.

And when handed a lei, he is absolutely the sort to lick that white carved bit in the center. You know, just to see.


2. To the spirit your armies do [Shadows and Crabcakes]
After the first couple times the shadows reach out to bother Shiroe, he sets the end of his staff on the ground and speaks in a loud voice.

"Magic Light!"

The spell manifests in the form of a cheery orb of light that sticks near Shiroe until dismissed, which is only when he's in a truly properly lit area. And if anyone gives him or his happy light orb an odd look, well. He'll warn them to stay clear of the shadows, too.

"Something's lurking there. I'm not about to start a fight with it without more information, but I'm also not going to make it easy for it to target me. Hence the orb."


3. Our high and fiery youth [Windjammer]
Shiroe's first meal aboard is perhaps a curious thing to watch. He seems apprehensive about the food as he serves himself from the buffet, as if not entirely sure everything is going to be edible (or perhaps worth eating)--his plate only has a few small things on it.

It is only after he takes his first bites that he breaks out into a broad grin and seems to relax, immediately going to fill another plate, more properly this time.


X. Got a spirit that's lost on you [Wildcard]
Find me on plurk or discord to discuss, OR just fling something random at me!

mycroft holmes | mycroft holmes series

[conclusively]

start.

To say he's in shock is a mild understatement. His mind simply has stopped processing things, enough that he followed the pull to the drill in a silent haze. His eyes are wide, and now that it's over, Mycroft's leaning over the railing looking very much like someone just told him that he needs to start rewriting his will.

No one can give him a straight answer - every ocean is somewhere. It can't be nothing. It can't be a ship with a name he's never heard of, foreign and strange and confusing all at once. The note from Gal Friday - the woman has no face - is in his hands, being turned over and over, but offering no clues. Suddenly, he shoves the card in his pocket, and rips the lei from over his head. His eyes fix on the disc, and his tone is one of quiet horror a second later.

"This is bone. What on earth...?"

He'd know that hue anywhere. He might be on the verge of throwing it into the water.

recollection. - bobby b's.

There's small mercies, even when thrust into what seems like an impossible nightmare. There's a humidor, and that he doesn't break at the idea of finding decent tobacco in the midst of utter absurdity is a sign that he still retains his faculties. So it is that Mycroft is pacing the room, his chosen cigar already lit, with a steady stream of smoke following.

It can't be the way it is, and yet it is. The lei he was given is half hanging out of his pocket, crammed there after the drill, and it's only when a sharp pain hits his leg that he yelps, cigar jumping from his hands as he pivots to see what happened and why it hurts.

...A crab, with a knife taped to it, scuttling away. He'd kick it if it wasn't running so quickly. Instead, he curses under his breath, and then rushes to also stamp out the still lit cigar. What a waste, and he'd hysterically laugh if he didn't need to staunch the bleeding. Handkerchief sacrificed to create a tight and impromptu bandage, and he looks at the sight mournfully. Trousers ruined, cigar wasted, some knife-ridden crab on the loose. Running a hand through his hair, he needs to help himself somehow.

"...focus, Holmes."

blocked - cosmic bowling.

Why he came in here is his own guess. He's held court with his own thoughts already, checked his body for signs of being surreptitiously drugged and found nothing, imagined what everyone he knows would say, and perhaps had latched onto the word "bowling" like a homesick sailor, desperate for something else he can understand. The trappings are different - tacky and sickening, almost oppressive - but the basic shape can be remembered. There's a skeleton of the same, under it, and Mycroft is greedy for something understandable.

Picking up a ball, he approaches the line, judges the angle and weight, and casts it forward. The pins have no choice but to fall, a perfectly calculated strike without him having to take in such factors as the ground. It'd be a moment to be proud of, if the monitor didn't see that moment to bellow out "STRIKE" in a tone better suited to a chain smoking frog with the volume of a sports watching drunkard.

It startles him, bad enough that his hand goes up to clutch at his chest. Deep breaths to steady himself. And giving a death glare to a strange metal and glass box doesn't do anything, but it makes him feel better.

wildcard.

[throw me anyone and anything. should it come up, please ask me before fourth walling him with the Doyle stories. in his world, his baby brother is not yet a consulting detective, but instead a troublesome teenager.]

ENA | ENA

[cheeseandrice]

i. the deck

It's a very strange dissonance when you look at her. The world is just as real as you expect it to be, but she is half-polygonal, pixelated, and slightly blurry; neither does she move so much as animate, at quite a lower framerate than anything else around her.

Ena is nine feet tall and smells like chocolate milk. And she's headed your way.

"Salutations!" she greets in a cheery voice, the mouth aligned with the yellow side of her face. It sounds... compressed. "May I solicit your local guidance and wisdom? I have some urgent business to attend to with the Great Runas!"

ii. shadows

Ena doesn't pay much attention when her ankles are struck by the crab. She doesn't even flinch--although she does flicker with strange images, but, like, that's probably fine.

What gets her are the little hands. It's one too many odd movements. One last knock on her stiff hair is what does it.

"My own shadow thinks I'm stupid, doesn't it? And it's pwobably wight!" she wails in the middle of the Promenade. She turns towards where her shadow is cast on the floor, waving her arms in fury. "Why don't you just get it ovew with, huh?!"

And not a half second later, she snaps upright. "What liveliness! Nevertheless, I must request that you cease, dearest shade of mine!"

iii. wildcard

[ got any other ideas? feel free to just see her around! ]

Victor "Brutus" Laurel | Lancer OC

[allhonourablemen]

Traveling in a fried-out Kombi, on a hippie trail head full of zombie(Meta, arrival)

A nice soft plush bed under him when Brutus awakes is… odd. Mostly because his last memory was falling asleep in the pilot’s seat of Bright Day Brings Forth the Adder. For a moment he thinks that he’s been dragged back to the cushy quarters of a Smith-Shimano Corporation outpost, and the noise he makes is somewhere in between an animal cackle and the sputter of a V-26 engine turning over.

But Brutus is past his expiry date. The only way they’d take him back is in a body bag for spare parts. So that can’t be it.

He heaves himself off the bed, his joints clunking and popping themselves back into place, arrhythmic crunches all along his spine. His cane is leaning against the bedside table, and he gives the paper a bit of a squiz before passing it off as corpro nonsense that was probably written by some underpaid intern. Is it a kidnapping? Who the fuck knows. So long as he’s not back as corporate property or dead, things could be worse. He checks his pockets for the fob that goes with his mech, his spare plastic-fantastic in his thigh holster, his multitool, a couple of spare ration packs, and his tablet. Finding all of them, he decides not to panic.

Brutus makes his way up to the muster drill, cane tapping, six feet of brick-shithouse blocking the hallway wherever he goes, dressed in sensible boots and half an undone flight suit tied around his soft middle. His t-shirt- mostly faded and stained with spots of oil and grease- advertises “Big Samson’s Bar Grill and Ship Repairs” with a set of coordinates that don’t match any used on earth and a cheery looking... animal? of some description? Wearing a chef's hat. Might be an alien, might be a designer dog breed. Hard to tell.

I met a strange lady, she made me nervous (Sports deck)

Weird necklace acquired and weirder lady encountered, Brutus sets about working out where the hell he is. A scan of the horizon just reveals water- novel, he’s never actually set foot on a planet with a proper ocean before. The amenities are a bit old-school, and any attempt to communicate with the ship’s AI winds up with radio silence. So if they are kidnapping him, they’re doing a shit job of it, and he’s not entertaining this dog and pony show a moment longer. He stands on the open-air deck and hits the button on his fob to call his mech to him.
Waits a few minutes.
Hits it again. It beeps like the mech is in range, but no dice. He hits the alarm button, waiting to hear if it’s stuck somewhere but… huh.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

He’s just gonna keep standing here pressing the alarm button until he hears something.

She took me in and gave me breakfast (Buffet)

Okay, so his kidnappers had the foresight to impound his mech somewhere. Big fuckin whoop. Not enough to completely disarm him, but enough that he can’t immediately tear this tin-can open. So… until he finds a face to put his fist in who isn’t one of the other kidnapped cunts, he’d better make himself comfortable.

The buffet is a welcome sight- long stretches in deep space keeps him away from anything that isn’t dried or frozen for longer than he’d like, and if they’re going to poison him with it then fuck it, it’s not like he had anything better to spend his afternoon doing. He grabs himself a bowl of noodles and sits down at one of the booths to hunch over it, nabbing a pair of chopsticks and shoveling it into his-
Brutus bites down on something squishy and stringy and immediately pulls it out of his mouth with his fingers-

“What the fuck is this?” loud enough for any of the neighbouring tables to hear.

It’s a slice of pork.

And she asked me- (Bars)

It’s not like he’s ever had the chance to visit a pleasure vessel at any point in his employment. Been in the guts of one, sure, but never properly aboard. What is it exactly people do on these things? There’s old-world precursers to tablets in some of the rooms that only seem to be programmed with one story, a couple of bright loud rooms that give him headaches, and bars.

Okay, the bars are straightforward enough. Fuck it, may as well. If they try and charge him for the drinks he can laugh em off and bid them good luck finding the money.
After a couple of minutes sat on a stool trying to decide which between ‘rum’ and ‘scotch’ is a safer bet, he hears something tok against the stool. A… what is that?

Brutus picks it up carefully, avoiding the knife and it’s little sharp hands.

“Is this anyone’s… uh… fuckin… teacup-war- Cancheqt?”

“Do you come from a land down-under?” (Wildcard)

(Hit me. I match formatting.)

She took me in and gave me breakfast

[kingoftheanthill]

"I'll eat it if you don't want it!" call out a couple of thousand ants who are politely swarming a dropped muffin underneath one of the adjoining tables.

Victor hasn't even seen what 'it' is yet, but he's a naturally opportunistic helpful sort.

HIIII VICTOR MY LOVE

[allhonourablemen]

...

Brutus does a little bit of a swivel to try and work out where. All? Those? Voices? Plural? Came from?

.........

"I dunno if I don' want it yet, I'm tryin' to work out what 'it' is."

He's just gonna lean out of the side of the booth, one of the hands gripped on the table to keep his balance, taking another look.

"You, uh... right? You hidin' under something?"

Wildcard, as discussed.

[guildmastermind]

Shiroe is in the library for remarkably similar reasons to Mycroft, though he’s dressed in a manner that probably reads a little ridiculous to a Victorian gentleman. White cape (cloak?) over a black turtleneck and grayish pants, a clunky brown bag worn at his hip, and a large wooden staff in one hand that can in no way be mistaken for a sensible cane.

Still, as Shiroe realizes what’s not here among the books on the shelves, he glances at Mycroft and speaks in a polite tone of voice. “You haven’t seen the non-fiction section on that end of the room, have you?”

Not that there seems to be sufficient organization to give Shiroe hope that there is a section for such books at all, but he’s clinging to hope like a new dog-walker with the leash of a beagle that just smelled food.

[runs into your arms] [runs into your arms] [runs into your arms] [runs into your

[kingoftheanthill]

They are all such very tiny voices, but in combination they reach the approximate volume of an overly excited human. And they say, in unison: "I could help you work it out if you like! I know a lot of things! I'm not hiding, it's just not table time!"

Victor assumes this guy will know what table time is. He's been told that bipedal people attach great importance to table time.

and she asked me—

[skaikru]

Or more like demanded, because one second he's alone with the murderous crab and the next a girl in her late teens is shoving aside a barstool and inviting herself into his personal space. Clarke looks a little frazzled, like she's been running pell mell around the ship, only to find her quarry in the hands of another. Teacup-war-cancheqt? Is this stranger having a stroke? Whatever, nevermind, he'd wake up again if he were unlucky.

"Give him to me," she snaps, and reaches to snatch the crab out of Brutus' hands.

But it's a sloppy grab. Miscalculated, and in the end she's catching more knife than shell. The edge of the blade is pristine and sharp, and cuts lines along her fingers that just look like paper cuts until they begin to bubble and bleed black. Clarke hisses, but undeterred by a bit of pain, reaches out again.

[allhonourablemen]

Brutus attempts to pull the whatever-the-fuck-it-is away before the girl gets herself cut, but nope- she's insistent and earns herself a nice little line of blood for her efforts. He raises half a lazy eyebrow, holding the crab directly up with his... Slightly longer than seems proportional arm-span.

"Ah, first mistake, now I know you want it."

A low chuckle like metal creaking, "you go around stickin' knives on all your pets, ya fuckin' muppet?"

[allhonourablemen]

This guy does not know what table time is.

"It could be table time, I'm not dobbing to anyone. And I could use the help. 'm fuckin' starving but 'm not fangin' mystery meat. Did that once, had to get the scab-lifter to take a duf-worm the length of my arm out'a my stomach. Fuckin' rough time, true story."

Maybe they left their tablet under the table, and are... transmitting through it?

"I'd owe ya one."

[kingoftheanthill]

"Okay, it's table time!" This is not what Brutus said, but it's what Victor chose to hear. A couple thousand ants -- some big and black, some red, and all in tight formation -- start to swarm out from under their table and up the leg of their new friend's. They're carrying the half-eaten muffin, in case he wants to share. It has blueberries in it.

"Did you make up some of those words?" Genuine question. He's fascinated.

[allhonourablemen]

Oh that's.

Bad.

He does not like that.

Brutus scrambles back a little, wincing and trying to keep his bad leg straight as he half-climbs up the booth trying to keep some distance from the swarm. He realises he's still holding the weird meat substance and tosses it haphazardly on the table.

"Make up what words," he asks, not taking his eyes off the bugs. Of course there's fucking bugs- rich cunts like the ones who make pleasure vessels like this never actually check their supplies for eggs or fumigate anything or store their rations properly, of course. Of course. Fucking hell.

"Are you- why are you talking?"

Which isn't the most pressing question but it sure as shit is the one that comes to mind right now.

[ i'm just shitposting ignore me ]

[neverleave]

So Natsuno is stalking Rita or Jade right now, but damn if he didn't just get the world's most ominous headache, can Clarke stop getting stabbed for FIVE MINUTES IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FUCKING ASK

[kingoftheanthill]

Oh, scrambling away is... typically prey behaviour. Is this guy okay? Victor slows his roll a little as he gets to the tabletop, mills uncertainly, and then decides to lift the muffin as high into the air as he can as a peace offering.

"Don't worry! I'm not here to eat you!"

Conflict averted :D

"I'm talking cause I want to, to communicate and have a conversation! I think... I forgot the words already." Wait no he's got this. "Dove worm?"

[conclusively]

"Unfortunately, sir, that was the question I was poised to ask you."

His tone is clipped, but still civil - merely the bearing of someone who's sat up all night pondering their situation and only grabbing a few fitful hours of sleep. Still, he has a duty to put his best self forward, while his mind spins its wheels to rationalize things still. It hasn't given up yet.

Taking in the stranger, a grey-eyed gaze gives him a cursory overview. Without anything in his bearing to suggest an injury, the staff must be for other purposes - combat, he assumes, since this is no mountain trail where extra stability may be needed, and the general prevalence of those on this ship that are armed. Hardly unreasonable, given the circumstances, and more logically minded, hopefully, than a tendency to despair. He's maybe projecting just a bit with that.

"Though if you find even one volume, please allow me to examine it as well. Even if the subject seems terribly farfetched - I've never wandered into a library that lacks some kind of reference."

recollection. - bobby b's

[yourexoduslaughing]

"Oh man, he got you good!" Flan, who did not enter through the door and whose appearance was proceeded by a mild gush of displaced air, is standing about a meter away from the fancy looking gentleman looking at his makeshift bandage. "That little guy's a real menace with a knife! Do you think you're going to scar, because it's not funny now but it totally will be funny in like, two weeks or so."

n e v e r

[skaikru]

Come on, it's just a little 'slicy dicey ody's feeling feisty'. And probably friendly, he must just be spooked getting subsequently hoisted in the air like a pinata.

I met a strange lady, she made me nervous (Sports deck)

[yourexoduslaughing]

Flan's just meandering around with a drink in one hand when she spots the guy trying his keyfob over and over again, and her heart goes out to him. She totally knows that feeling, and he's going to be like, crushed.

"Hey!" She says as she walks over to him. He's a big tall glass of water (woooboy!) and she also doesn't want to startle him 'cause he looks like he probably doesn't do well with people sneaking up behind. "Hi! Bad news, they don't let us have our vehicles or ships or anything here. We also can't actually go anywhere, it's like a box-"

Her plans on breaking the bad news to this guy go out the window when she sees his t-shirt. "Oh my god, your shirt! I love the little guy on it!"

[allhonourablemen]

"Oh, well, if ya not here to eat me," Brutus answers back dry as the grinding of stone on stone, and he absolutely does not get down or take the peace muffin. (This place has muffins? Probably made with... sugar? And fruit? Real fruit? Is this the fucking HS Ritz?)

"Duf-worm. Cus' you're a duffing fumbass if you get one," not the first time he's had to explain a bit of slang, rim slang doesn't travel very far inwards, and. He has no idea how far in the galaxy this........ thing. is from.

"Are you... some sorta science experiment?"

[guildmastermind]

"I fear this voyage is bound to yield a significant amount of 'I've never wandered into' situations." After all, Shiroe's already quietly noted the variety of clothing on display, and the fact that not all passengers seem to be human.

(Technically, he isn't, either, but he passes pretty well. Half-Alvs only differ from humans in a few small ways.)

But as he actually turns his full attention onto Mycroft, he finds himself concerned. The man must be another new passenger, given he's not familiar with the library. And his attire implies European, centuries ago.

(Yet, they're mutually understanding one another's speech. Okay, that's a good thing.)

The specifics of time period are lost on him; fashion was not something he paid close attention to. But he can guess the effect of the current situation on someone who's from before the concept of isekai became a thing.

"The lack of fact, rather than fiction, does have some interesting implications about the curator of this library."

[kingoftheanthill]

"No, I'm ants!"

He really thinks he's clarifying.

"Ohhh," he adds, out of order, "how do you get one?" He's gradually lowering the muffin, since Brutus doesn't seem to be going for it. You snooze you loose, my man.

[allhonourablemen]

Brutus blinks, processing the last thing in first and answering-

"Oh- yeah, this old thing- spent about six months working there a while back. Big Samson was the boss's pet Fthark. Vicious shit. Used to steal my tools from the worksh-"

Hold on, "don't let us have? Who? The cunts who kidnapped me? Us?"

cw I guess for mentions of parisitism???

[allhonourablemen]

"...You eat mystery meat," which is what he thought he just said.

"They lay eggs in the meat of critters that eat other critters, and that includes people sometimes. Ants? You're just... ants? Talking ants?"

Which is what the ants just said but look he's an old dog and he needs a second or two to process... talking ants.

[yourexoduslaughing]

"Oh yeah, them, us, everybody here except like the Captain and Gal Friday and the little black shadow kid. We're all abductees!" She hops up on the railing, swinging her legs. "Also nobody's looking for us, 'cause the original version of us is just ticking along like normal wherever we came from. We're clones or copies or something like that. So it's not like a ransom situation, or even like a cult kind of thing either."

News ever so delicately delivered, she nods back to his t-shirt. "I have to know, did he name the business after his Fthark, or the Fthark after the business?"