TEST DRIVE MEME #3

[sailmods]

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.]

Comments

[firewalled]

Sharky, huh? Cool name. I don't think I'd want to kill someone who sounds so badass, but... I'll try to give you a warning if I feel like I'm snapping, I guess.

[He fought the SQUIP off once. He could probably do it again, right? It's fine. He's not nervous about the potential at all.]

[broshaw]

I am pretty fuckin' badass, so I understand the hesitation. Hopefully, you'll meet some dude more worthy of murdering, but, uh... that's kind of a shitty thing to hope for, so! Murder me all you want.

[Seems like a totally fair and reasonable thing to suggest!!! Sharky's whole attitude at this point in time is "whatever happens happens" and he's sticking by it!]

[firewalled]

...Dude, that's nice of you to offer and all, but I'm not planning on murdering anyone, no matter how chill they're acting about it. Seems messed up to even make weird blood pacts when we've just met.

[Rich would be way more upset about murdering and getting murdered! What is this guy's deal?]

[broshaw]

[Sharky just like. Shrugs. Not even thinking about it being weird in the slightest because, you know. What's a casual agreement to not take shit personally between people stuck on the same creepy ship together? Also sometimes you just accidentally repeat a tag without realizing it. Life goes on!!!]

Uhhh, blood pacts involve like, blood? [DUH???] Whatever, the point is, nobody here has freaked out. Everyone is mostly just sad and mopey about shit. You'll be fine!

[LOOK there's the entrance of the Tommy Bahama, which is radical because Sharky's stack of clothes has somehow gotten bigger while they talked??? He's got an empty closet to fill, man. He's on a mission.]

[firewalled]

[Sometimes things happen! Friends get turned on each other, someone gets forced to murder innocent people, a tag is repeated and all the characters on the ship get a weird sense of deja vu. Rich is... still not used to this enough to take it in stride, but the reassurances help, in their own awkward way.]

Thanks, man... I can tell you're trying to help. Weird as this all is. I'll try not to get too mopey on you, cool?

[He looks at Sharky's load of clothes and muffles his laughter.]

And I'll also try not to judge your fashion sense too much.

[broshaw]

[WOW he takes it back, he's gonna put up such a fuss when Rich goes crazy and tries to murder him!!!]

Hey! It's not my fault you don't know what fuckin' swag is, man. [Not actually offended, because LBR his whole fashion statement is "one time a girl told me it was okay to mix patterns and I never looked back."] Trust me, my original gear was fucking rank, bro. You're gonna be decked out in TB too before the week's fuckin' out, gau-run-teed.

[firewalled]

Hey, I'm the definition of swag! [Says the kid who used to think fashion was blending flannel, camo, and tye-dye together, for some godforsaken reason. Still, he wrinkles his nose at the idea of being caught in this crap.]

Ugh. It's way too touristy for me. I don't wanna look like a rich white yacht owner. I wanna look like I'm killing the rich white yacht owner when anarchy finally reigns.

[broshaw]

[Rich seems like a nice kid so Sharky'll let him pretend he's got anything other than delusions.]

When anarchy reigns, you're gonna want all the clothes you can get your hands on. This shit would be worth so much ammo back home! Not to mention food and liquor. And it would be hella intimidating to see someone roll up in pristine TB at the end of the world...

[firewalled]

Eh, I'd rather have a nice warm jacket than any prissy looking slacks. I mean, I guess if it's all I've got, I'll wear it, but I still think leather would be way more intimidating.

[He grins.]

Unless you grab a sunhat to go with the ensemble. Then that'd really sell it.

[broshaw]

Leather's great, but nobody wants to give it up. That's why you barter with the TB, bud! They get the fabric to make, like, solar windmills and awnings and shit, and you get some slick ass duds.

And I have one! I just, uhhh. Sat on the last one so I'm being more careful and respectful of, y'know... my property and shit. [You might be laughing at him Rich, but he doesn't seem to mind. Better to be the goofy dude in Tommy Bahama than, like, the weird trailer-trash explosives guy, any day of the week!]

[firewalled]

Hmm... You do have a point there. These Hawaiian style shirts would make some sick windmills.

[Very stylish. Maybe this guy doesn't have such bad taste after all. And considering how trailer-trash Rich's dad is, he also isn't really judging that too much.]

Ha! You squashed it, huh? Yeah, definitely pays to be more careful with that kind of thing. But I've also noticed the really important stuff, you tend to take care of instinctively.