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TEST DRIVE MEME #3
1. you're the only one you owe (GUEST STARRING:
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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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[Marc isn't surprised at all, actually. He just wishes Steven's sights weren't set on his wife. At least she isn't here for Steven to try his luck...]
Mm... [He rolls his eyes and grabs a fry. Fine. He'll pick at what's left.]
Makes you nervous... Happy now? [A butter knife will only annoy someone, Steven, come on.]
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It's a little lonely, being-- a bit annoying. [Steven manages a small, brave smile, but it is a topic that brings him down a lot. He is a little nerdy. Isn't well liked by anybody. An easy target to bully. Doesn't always know what to say. He wants to make friends, but he doesn't have any redeeming qualities. Especially not compared to Marc. Marc is an Old Spice ad, everything you wish your man would be like and all that. On top of that he's overprotective of Steven.
Well, at least Steven doesn't have to worry about all of that anymore. There's a certain kind of freedom in death. No expectations for him to be... less of a loser.]
Wouldn't kill you to have a piece of cauliflower either. But I'll settle for you not drinking on an empty stomach. [Steven finishes his last samosa and glances up. He snickers and reaches over with a napkin wrapped around his finger, dabbing a bit of ketchup off the corner of Marc's mouth before folding the paper over and cleaning himself up.
Hey, that's practically kissing in another culture you know. Don't give him crap for his loneliness, Marc.]
Alright. Let's find a corner barstool you can leave me at while you go get something disgusting.
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You're-- not bad. Don't listen to the assholes you worked with. They didn't deserve you. [Or anyone else who's treated him like that, honestly. If they can't see the kind, thoughtful man underneath the awkwardness, or show respect to him? Then they didn't deserve him in their life.]
Maybe next time. [He's not going vegan though. Steven better get that one right out of his head...
And oh. He hadn't expected the napkin thing. It gets him to arch an eyebrow at Steven before he just shakes his head. Napkin sharing is not practically kissing.
But he gets up and reaches to tug Steven along.]
You just haven't tried anything good. C'mon, it's not all disgusting...
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A sparkling water please? [Steven glances over at Marc and wrings his hands anxiously at how much he's wanting to drink. He could better tell Marc to take it easy when he was inside him (?? That phrasing will need reworking) but now that they don't seem to be sharing their body, he feels a little less empowered to tell Marc to look after himself.]
No I don't-- want anything else, thanks. Marc it's-- a wee bit early in the day, innit?
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You said we should enjoy ourselves, right? Well, I'm enjoying myself.
[Which is... debatable, really. If this is actually enjoyable in any sense of the word for him, or if it's just a way to numb things down a bit. Either way, Steven's the one that said they're dead now, so he ought to relax. He's just trying to do that.]
Have you figured out what you want to do next?
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Well I was-- going to be responsible. Look for a change of clothes. Some toiletries. Go back to the room and put this back there. [He doesn't feel like lugging the lifejacket around everywhere he goes. He's not even sure why they would need it if they're already dead.
Anyway. He can't exactly tell Marc he just wants to go back into the room and sit on the bed and cry. Even if that's how he'd cope where Marc would prefer to stay here all day. One is socially acceptable and one is humiliating to talk about.]
Guess I could be irresponsible, go look if there's a library...
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But he just wonders how many more hits he can keep taking on the chin and still keep getting up after. It's not the first time he's wished he could be as hopeful as Steven is about things... that this is in any way a good thing, or that he even deserves good things. Maybe tomorrow will look better.]
... Alright. [Alright. He tosses back his last drink and puts it down, nodding. Better stop while he's still able to walk... in a mostly straight line, at least.] Let's save looking for clothes until tomorrow, okay? But-- we can see about toiletries. Some toothbrushes, at least...
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How about we go back to the room? [Steven's already walking the both of them that way. He's surprised he can hold Marc up as well as he does - he doesn't always know his own strength.] We've had a tiring-- getting murdered. You can get some rest and I'll bring some toiletries back, okay?
[He will also bring back a half-empty bottle of whiskey, because Steven is a lot weaker than Marc says he is. And a few slices of pizza, make sure he eats. And there'll be books when he does find the library. But he doesn't really want to go exploring much beyond that without Marc - sober, thank you!]
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Getting a little fresh there, Steven... And already dragging me back to the room. Didn't think you had it in you. [But joking aside, bed sounds good. They can deal with the rest... in the morning.
But if Steven's bringing back more alcohol... well, he can't blame Marc when he polishes the bottle off before he ends up on sprawled on the couch in his underwear or something.]
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He can't believe Marc won't even pace himself with that huge drink he brought back, and refuses to undress and sleep properly. It's like looking after a big child. Steven huffs a sigh and arranges Marc's discarded clothes in a neat little pile, giving him enough nudging to annoy him to the point where he naturally moves on his own to the bed.]
Here's the rubbish bin... in case you need to throw up... [Steven leaves that little goodwill gesture next to the bed and draws the curtains, making sure it's dark enough for Marc to catch some shuteye. The bathroom is stocked up with everything they could want - toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, towels of different shapes and sizes, boat-shaped soaps, aftershave, pomade, cologne... all in all Steven is quite happy with his haul, leaving a few things lying around in easy-to-reach locations after taking a shower and brushing his teeth to freshen up. But he can't help but still worry over Marc, sitting up in bed next to him petting his hair gently while he snores.
Who knew keeping your main personality happy could be such hard work?]
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But he's right. It's been a very long, very hard day, full of revisiting some of the worst memories up in his head, dying, failing. He just wants to sleep for a very long time, then when he wakes up, he'll-- deal with all this. Somehow.
At least he's still got Steven for now, even if it's... weird, honestly. Much as he's enjoying seeing him, touching him, outside of a mirror, it still feels weirdly like he's missing something that's always just been there.
Although apparently, that something sits up and pats his head while he naps off the booze. It doesn't stop Marc from jerking or wincing in his sleep, muttering in response to whatever nightmares are lingering in his head... but it does help. He doesn't wake up in any cold starts or screaming at least.
Even if none of it should be Steven's responsibility. It shouldn't be anyone's.]