sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #3

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TEST DRIVE MEME #3

1. you're the only one you owe (GUEST STARRING: selenokinesis and creepyoldguy)

[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 Passengers(s),

You'll be unable to leave your cabin until you read this note. Congratulations on making it past the first step. Keep reading if you wish, as I have information to share with you, as a fellow passenger stuck aboard this ship. Or don't continue reading, and burn the note. I'm not particularly invested either way, especially if you choose to throw away valuable warnings.

Watch out for the Captain.

Be cautious what you sign up for.

If you die, you'll come back to life eventually, though I would recommend you try not to die.

Your life is the Captain's plaything.

Do not think for one moment that someone isn't watching you.

With that aside, I am now contractually obligated to tell you the following: You will find a life jacket within your cabin's closet, and you are required to bring it with you to your assigned muster station on deck one. A companion and I will take you through the drill. If you cannot find us, look for a tall male with white hair and blue eyes and a friendly-looking man with unkept brown hair and a winning smile.

Respectfully,
Moon Master Ebalon

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 two people standing at the front of the crowd: an exhausted-looking man with white hair who seems rather displeased that he's been roped into this, and a man with a wide grin, bright green tips on his hair, and amber eyes. the latter is waving cheerfully, having an armful of leis. he quite happily puts them around people’s necks and while they’re distracted, attempts to dip them into a kiss.

as he’s basically a walking corpse, and smells like one to boot, it’s not exactly hitting the jackpot. but, he does at least listen to the word “NO”.

the tired-seeming man ignores this and announces over the drone of chattering passengers like yourself,]

Welcome to the Serena Eterna. Do try to enjoy your stay here; it is rather permanent in nature, huhu.

[and from next to his companion, the… er, overly-affectionate man who sounds as though he smokes ten packs a day rasps,]

You’re all doomed!

[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.

after the duo complete the drill, you'll find that your legs suddenly obey your command, for what that's worth.

welcome aboard, passenger. we hope you enjoy your stay.]

2. one by one they'll do you in

[it starts, as most things do, with a table lamp. floating down a hallway, or the length of the promenade. ambling at a distinct clip: one-two-three-KICK, one-two-three-KICK.

and that's... not immediately concerning. after all, things float around here all the time; usually plates and drinks, but maybe the shades want to mix it up a bit. the lamp is alone for about a half hour before it is joined by others. a pillow. some knickknack from the ship store. Friday's clipboard. an empty vodka bottle. all have lined up, one in front of the other, and lead a procession snaking around the ship, growing with each passing hour. anyone familiar with the concept would begin to recognize it as a massive conga line.

there is a small chance you will want to join of your own free will. most likely, you will not want that. this does not matter: something compels you, like pins and needles in your feet, to join the dance. and once you have joined in... your body fights your mind on the subject, even as it grows more and more tired.

you pass by a familiar face. they could help pull you out. or you could pull them in.]

3. the price of vice foretold

[the scent of citrus and coconut rum hangs heavy in the air. there is a new storefront on the promenade, tucked between Sand Dollars and John's in a place where you are very certain there was not enough space to tuck a store before.

the clothes for sale are... a lot. like, a lot a lot. but, there are quite a lot of choices, though they do seem to repeat a little, once you've gone in far enough. in fact, even if you actively attempt to find it, you can't seem to find the back of the store. you can see a wall, sure, but it never seems to get any closer, even as you walk towards it.

be forewarned: the infinite tommy bahama does not have food or water.]

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Maeve smiles. “Well, every new world - new place, I suppose - gives you a chance to be whoever the fuck you want, doesn’t it?” Is that what she meant? No. But it’s what she meant for now. Humans were harder to trust than most, but not everyone here was human.

“Not everyone is so willing to be kind,” she notes. “Not without wanting something in return. Be careful. I have seen people destroyed for it.” She can only think of Teddy, of Clementine, of countless others. She lets out a small sigh at the second part. “I guess that’s not entirely surprising. Perhaps I’ll see what the repair kit offers before sitting on questionable fabrics. No offense to your preferred fashion.”

He has literally no idea what she's talking about, but that's okay. Sharky's all about making up context as he goes, he'll be fine.

Sharky's had his goodwill blow back in his face once or twice in his life. "Yeah, people do take advantage, huh?" He laughs it off, like it's no big deal, even though the most recent betrayal in his life stung like a motherfucker. Learning a person you formed a war-bond with converted to the enemy side is a bitch.

"And yeah, don't worry about it. Uh... you're kinda a classy lookin' lady, and as fancy as Tommy Bahama is... Well, it's cool. Maybe you could ask the faceless lady for another shop? I heard that's how we got this one to begin with."

“They have that habit, yes.” Humans and Hosts alike. But she just wanted to live and find her way to her daughter. It could never happen here. Her expression darkens slightly at the thought, but she forces it away, shaking both the thought and her reaction away, pushing forward a more charming smile, something she might have given a customer at the Mariposa.

“Thank you for thinking so.” She considers his comment about the faceless lady for a moment. “And the Faceless Lady is who again? So I can address her properly and hope for the best.” Throw in a bit of charm and put her time as a Madam to work.

He's still a red-blooded American dude, so of course her smile makes his ears go pink. And obviously he falls hook, line, and sinker for anyone showing him any shred of positive reinforcement.

"Uhhh, that's right, she's..." Dead? Is she still dead? There's a whole nebulous timeline thing going on here that he's not capable of understanding. It's fine. "Well, there's usually this lady without a face named after a day, I can't remember which. She's usually all over the place, but I guess she took a sick day or something recently." He can do better than that, right? "...I think her name is Friday. She's who you're supposed to go to if you need anything."

Sharky hasn't needed anything, though. He's in a gilded cage, for sure, but he is really fond of said gilding.

She's glad to at least have that same affect on others. She may not use it as much these days, but it's helpful all the same. Especially for potentially getting information and disguising things she'd prefer to keep to herself for now.

Maeve does her best to follow along with the conversation. A faceless lady who took a sick day recently. None of that makes any sense. She is more than willing to act like it makes sense all the same. "Friday." She's heard the name before. "I'll be sure to reach out to her, then. Thank you." She pauses. "I think I'm going to need a drink before I start worrying about that, however. Would you care to join me or are these questionably fashionable clothes very important to you?"

"No problem!" Which is where, you know, Sharky's whole deal usually ends for people. People come to him (or he runs into them), he espouses some kinda grounded wisdom of his age, and then they go run off and... whatever. Shoot people, usually? Blow something up?

So if Maeve notices that Sharky's quick to agree, that's just because he's expecting her to realize she's made a mistake and wants to get in there before "other plans" suddenly come up. "Yes! I mean, uh -- no, the clothes are whatever, I have so many shirts now. Plus, uh, I guess I can try and answer any questions you've got. No promises, though, I seriously don't know anything other than where the good bars are."

Maeve can't help a mixture of a smirk and a smile form as he replies. A very quick response, but he's seemed kind enough and there's still a part of her that remembers Dolores' last words about trying to see the beauty in life. Perhaps even if she didn't fully trust humans, she can try to hold out hope that he's more of a Lee Sizemore than some of the others she'd met.

"Well, luckily for you, where the good bars are is important information to me at this time."

To his credit, he knows exactly how he comes across. He's just old enough to not really care if his desperation for company of literally any type is on full display. Some people find it charming!

"Then I guess I'll be useful after all!" He takes a look at the clothes in hand and decides he can wait to add to the low-key outlet store he's developing in his cabin. "Oh, uhhh, that's right. Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV, at your service," and yes he's using his full name because she seems like she would appreciate it, "But everyone just calls me Sharky for short. Tell me what kinda drinks you want, and I got you covered!"

"Of course you will." The name is long, but she smiles. "A pleasure to properly meet you, Sharky. I'm Maeve Millay." She considers the question of the drink. She hadn't really had much outside of Westworld. She'd been too busy fighting and dying to really drink. Except when Serac tried to bribe her.

"Whiskey." It feels like a strong drink kind of day. Most of her time here feels like a strong drink kind of day if she's being honest.

"Maeve," he repeats, "Okay, that I can definitely do." Because the ship has a bar dedicated to whiskey, and it's right across the promenade from where they are. Obviously, he doesn't say that, because then he wouldn't have a reason to tag along! Instead, he'll casually lead the way, like a liquor field guide.

"So, like, just to clear the air and whatnot -- I'm definitely from Earth, and a pretty badass version of it to be sure, but not everyone is. So if somebody says something weird, really weird, it's usually better to just roll with it."

Whiskey was easy to come by. Same as gin in Westworld. Sherry and wine as well. She follows along after him, keeping up fairly well.

"I suppose that's fair. I'm not certain I could accurately explain the version of Earth I'm from." Without revealing things she's not ready to reveal yet. But she'll consider it later on. "But I will keep in mind the differences in home experiences." She'll be sure to keep notes of who was from where and access her memory banks when necessary for the reminder.

"See, I'm on the opposite end. I mentioned a nuclear apocalypse to this one -" -shit, not robot, it was another word but he can't remember it, "- dude and he was like, Which one?" He has a good sense of humor about it, apparently, laughing like it's a funny joke. It had kinda been offensive at the time, but he's gotten used to the concept since.

He definitely does jog ahead the last two steps so he can get the door to Tauva for her. Because that's what a gentleman does for classy ladies!

"Apocalypse. I haven't lived through anything like that." She's not entirely certain what it would look like. Had they started one? Was that what started. "Well, I don't believe so, anyway." It's hard to say if the destruction of Westworld and the transfer to Neo LA only to also destroy that counted as an apocalypse, but it didn't sound like what happened.

She smiles a little as he moves to open the door. "Such a gentleman," she says as she slips through, briefly pausing to wait for him to come through the door himself. "I have lived through multiple upheavals, but nothing I would call an apocalypse."

Tauva is all wood paneling and big leather chairs, and the whole place smells like cigar smoke. Sharky's not sure why, because he's never seen anybody smoking cigars in here, but it's not something worth questioning to him.

"It's not fun," he admits. "Like, not to be too much of a bummer, but nothing harshes your buzz faster than nuclear hellfire raining down on you and yours." He shrugs, although it is a bit of a bigger deal than the move might imply. It's depressing, honestly, and if they're gonna drink, he'd rather not start off on a bad note.

"Uh -- right, if you tell the invisible ghost behind the bar what you want, they'll serve it to you. It's weird at first, but you get used to it."

The smell of cigar smoke makes Maeve just a touch nostalgic. The image of Clementine leaning against the bar talking to her about some thing or another, the air filled with the scent of smoke and sweat is conjured up and she feels a pang of longing. She's seen her recently, but barely. She wishes she was here, wonders who she'd be without the control of others deciding her life.

She tunes back into the conversation, expression a touch more serious than it might have been. "I can't imagine it would be." She doesn't press the conversation any further, however. It seems like an uncomfortable subject. Instead, she tries not to show how unusual all this feels as she asks whatever an invisible ghost is for her drink. When it shows up, she pauses long enough to adjust to how strange it is. Before she was awake, she wouldn't have questioned it. Now? Well, she can't help but question everything. "Well, then." She takes a sip. "At least it tastes right."

It still impresses Sharky every time he sees the drinks poured without anybody touching anything. Ghosts, magic, or some wild technology -- whatever it is, Sharky's just glad he doesn't have to pay or plan for bar nights. When he wants a drink, all he has to do is point at what Maeve's already ordered and it's all taken care of.

"As far as I can tell, it's all legit." He takes a relative-for-him conservative sip of his own drink, which does indeed taste like whiskey. Good whiskey, too, not something blended together out of several nearly-empty bottles scavenged out of empty houses. "I dunno how they make it all. I haven't bothered asking. Sorta like looking a gift horse in the mouth, y'know?"

"Some things are likely best left a mystery." If it's something unsavory, Maeve is better off not knowing. Or at least she's less inclined toward the knowledge. Unless it offers her some way home, a way to her daughter. She doesn't know if she'll ever see her again back home, but there's absolutely no way she will here. Even if there was, she's not sure she wants her daughter in this place.

"I'm hoping it's nothing terribly nefarious, but I'm sure it isn't worth a serious investigation anyway." But it hardly matters. "How long have you been on this...ship? Or do they call it a boat?"

Sharky rotates his glass against the counter and then goes in to finish the drink off, pleased to see the bottle floating right up on cue. Still... Yeah. There's no doubt that the whole thing has a seedy underbelly, one that Sharky's been glancingly aware of since arriving. It's just... well, how much worse could it really be from how life was back home?

"Yeah, I'll leave all the problem-solving for smarter people than me." He thinks the question over as he grabs his glass from midair. "Everyone's been calling it a ship, but I dunno what the difference is. I've been here, uh, like... maybe a couple of weeks? It hasn't been too long, but there's no real way to tell time." He used to be okay at that, using the stars and all, but the constellations here don't make any sense and there's no way to tell what direction they're going, making the sun equally unreliable.

"I sorta just woke up in my cabin after a party and, uh... there really hasn't been any sign of a way off. Not that I've been looking. My family's all good at home, and nobody's gonna miss me, so..." He shrugs.

The bottle is an interesting touch. She downs her own drink before placing the glass back down for a refill.

“I suppose it’s wise to know your strengths.” But she’s still getting to know Sharky, so her assessment of his intelligence is still ongoing. “I’m not certain I know either.” She tries to will up a memory that might tell her, but she has none.

It’s a sad thing to feel that no one would miss you, but if she’s honest, would anyone miss her? She doesn’t like the idea of it and pushes it back as well. She also suppresses her desire to mention her daughter because there’s no good way to explain it without revealing too much. “I’m sure they would if they knew to. Most everyone I know is dead, so it’s hard to say if anyone would notice.”

"Yeah..." Sharky tilts his glass her way. "Same. The ones who didn't get killed in the Collapse mostly... well, got themselves killed other ways. Starvation, radiation poisoning, infection..."

The apocalypse didn't turn out to be nearly as fun as all the video games led him to believe. He'd sorta expected it, but that didn't make living through it any nicer. The only good thing he can think to say about it is that...

"Well, it's over now. For me, anyway. They can all, y'know, rebuild civilization and shit. I'm fine with being here, waiting for another Battle Royale or something."

Maeve understands that feeling. Not the ways of death because they're Hosts. Starvation isn't something she's ever known. She also doesn't know radiation poisioning and once she had an infection, but nothing that would have killed her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She drinks the rest of her drink and holds her glass out for another. Things have certainly taken a turn for the depressing.

"I have something back home. Unfinished business. I need to find a way back for it." She can't give up on her daughter. She needs to find her. "And I'm tired of being controlled by others. It's been too long."

Sharky might not know the details -- any details at all, honestly -- but he's been around tough people in his life before. He knows 'em when he sees 'em, and he's definitely sitting next to one right now.

"Can't argue with that," because you really can't. People aren't meant to be controlled, no matter what anybody says. Just because he's accepted his situation doesn't mean others need to roll over and die with him. "And, uh, for what it's worth, there are definitely people trying to get off the ship. I'm sure if you asked around, they'd be down to help fill you in on, uh... whatever it is they know."

She's glad to hear it. She doesn't want to feel like it's such a permanent thing. Even if she does wonder what's left and if she'll get what she's after. "I'll be sure to reach out. Thank you." She can't say she's entirely certain of it, but Sharky seems like maybe he's one of the humans she might be able to trust. Eventually. She'll revisit the idea with time.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #3

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