![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME #3
1. you're the only one you owe (GUEST STARRING:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
He wants off Mr Bones' Wild Ride thank you.
"Could probably use one of the life preserves."
no subject
He avoids a particularly wide-set potted plant that tries to literally fucking murder him as he ducks around for the nearest life preserver. He probably should make sure he lands it right -- otherwise, he's just adding another item to the conga.
But Sharky once absolutely destroyed ring-toss games at the state fair, and this is basically the exact same thing. Just replace the Coke bottle with a red mohawk and he's good!
Bugsy gets a quick, "Heads up, bro," before a life preserver is being frisbee'd at him by a guy who doesn't remember his own strength. It'll be fine!
no subject
"I probably deserved that," he groans, as it joins the ghostly conga line, dragging its rope in with it.
"Y'know what- just leave me here to die, it's probably less work than trying to rescue me."
no subject
"Uh, that would probably do it..." But he's not sure it's the best option. And Sharky was raised with a no-man-left-behind streak a mile wide; the option of leaving some poor dude suffering seems downright fucking untenable.
"I got all day and nothing better to do than fuck around with this conga line, dude. You think you can kick left when the lamps and shit kick right? I'll just fuckin' grab ya." It's slightly less risky that way, but there's still a chance he'll wind up sucked into the conga funeral march. But hey, like he said -- he's got nothing better to do than try and deal with this. At least until he needs another drink, anyway.