sail_ooc | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh that's a lovely name, particularly in his accent and he's taken Lucius's explanation without further need for detail which is--well, thank god for that. He's not keen on explaining all that. It isn't cute and he is doing his best to be as cute as possible.

"Oh, that's unfortunate," Lucius says with a wince. He can understand the conflict, though, or he thinks he can. "Rich knobs are all like that, aren't they? One little real job and suddenly you're tainted and not fancy enough to attend their schools?"

Not cute. This is not a cute thread.

"So!" Lucius plucks up the glass and gives him a brilliant smile. "Michel, do tell me all about this wine. Or being an apothecary? That sounds fascinating."

"Ah, the human body has always been a fascination of mine. How it works--what makes it suffer and what allows it to thrive. How the organs connect, and what happens when they fail. I've been lucky; even though I was expelled, I currently serve as court physician to the French royal family. I have tended to wounds from the prince's duels and aided noble women in giving birth. It's been an honor and a privilege, truly."

And if occasionally he was given prisoners to test poisons on, perhaps we don't tell the pirate that. He might take it the wrong way.

As macabre as that delivery was, it was given in that raspy masculine voice and Lucius is enchanted. (His tolerance for the macabre is also a bit higher than most, given the crew he's accustomed to sailing with.) He's tempted to say something banal, compliment his job or France but Lucius doesn't know a damn thing about France. He has a vague concept of which parts of the New World are owned by them, but that's hardly something he can flirt around.

Instead he takes a different route.

"I'm quite interested in the human form myself," he says in something closer to a drawl than a flirty comment. He takes a sip of his wine, if only for effect, and (damn it) this is a good glass of wine. What was he saying?

"But no tolerance for blood, myself, as I said." He waves his free hand a bit, idly, and fishes a notebook from his jacket pocket. "I draw. I prefer nude models but there are so few lately who will sit for me."

"You'll have to show me your artwork sometime. I've done some sketching myself, but it's more anatomical figures. Skeletons, musculature. Is it possible to be any more nude than looking at what's below the skin?"

He doesn't seem to realize how fucking creepy that question is.

Listen.

This ship is dry as a bone and this tall drink of water here can babble whatever he wants about skeletons and muscles and Lucius is determined to just nod along. After Buttons tried to eat him because it was fucking foggy out, it will take Michel actively disemboweling a man in front of him to give Lucius pause. He is six-five, has an accent, and that neck is begging, just begging, for someone to snuggle up to it.

Is he creepy? Yes, extremely. He also has good taste in wine.

In the end, don't those balance out? (No, but shut up.)

"You know I've never thought of it that way?" Lucius replies and then promptly resolves to never think of it that way for the rest of his life. Ever again. "I bet drawings like that are very helpful for a doctor?"

“Well, of course. It’s important to have a sense of what’s standard for a body, when dealing with illness and injuries. Though I fear on this ship, I’m a little behind the times with my treatment methods.”

He lets out a self-mocking laugh, but there’s a little actual sadness in his eyes.

Lucius peers at him from over his wine glass and clucks his tongue.

"Oh, don't take it to heart," he tells him in as genial a voice as he can manage. "It's very...flashy and fancy here, but really it's just more of the same.

"And hey! You can learn a wealth of new information about muscles, skeletons, organs, and the like. We have a few doctors scattered about who would probably love to discuss professional serious things."

Creepy things.

"I've been enjoying the new technological amenities, myself. Did you know there are machines that do all your washing? And drying? In an hour or so?"

"That truly is a wonder. How do they work?"

Sorry, Lucius, he's very much a scientist at heart, so questions like that come incredibly naturally to him.

"No idea. They require electricity, spin a lot, and save me several hours of work," Lucius says. He is definitely not a scientist at heart. "They could be powered by setting pieces of my immortal soul aflame to heat the water and I wouldn't ask questions."

"Do you value your soul so lightly, that you would give it up for a worldly convenience?"

Sadly, Nostradamus is actually a rather religious man, despite also being a scientist.

He draws up short for a moment--Lucius has been convinced since he arrived that this is Hell. Ergo, if he is here, then his soul is not his own regardless. He's had people try to convince him otherwise but so far, honestly, he is still very certain this is at least purgatory. Michel's question is so specifically disappointed though that Lucius doesn't have the heart to espouse that particular set of beliefs.

"I assumed it was forfeit already, really," Lucius admits with a sip of his wine. "Given the...everything about me. Might as well trade for earthly pleasures if I'm already damned, aye?"

He tries to look Lucius right in the eyes as he speaks, his own warm and dark and full or conviction. He's speaking from the heart, here.

"The word 'redemption' comes from a root that means 'to buy back'. Don't give up on your soul or yourself, Lucius. If there's one thing I've learned in my years, it's that evil is not a condition, not an affliction. Evil is a choice. You are only what you choose. That alone is what makes you."

The creepy barber-surgeon-flaying vibes Michel gave off weren't ideal fodder for flirting, but they gave him more to work with than this. Lucius can deal with weird and creepy--weird, creepy, and devoutly religious, however, is a combination that throws up so many red flags he feels like he's in a field of roses. He could maybe explain why he's sure he's damned and why he never intends to rennounce any of it for redemption, but thats not...cute. It also leads right back to the barber-surgeon-flaying vibe in a much more concerning way.

He smiles as politely as he can, but it's a bit strained and he is out of wine with which to occupy himself.

"That is certainly a sentiment!" Lucius compliments. "I will have to reflect on that. Later. In private."

Not here, with others, without wine. Hopefully. He has no idea how to talk around people who can stare him in the face and intensely advocate for his soul. Do they like jokes? Probably not.

"Thank you for your...kind encouragment."

Nostradamus stands. "I...should probably leave you to your peace. My apologies."

TEST DRIVE MEME #3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject