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

iv.

[rovingdoctor]

"I must agree."

How does a doctor facing new species treat them? What she knows and what they can have could be entirely different things- and yet, she has no way to study save for resorting to perhaps the worst means. Or throwing caution to the wind and praying for the best, but Whisperain would like to keep that as a last resort for right now.

"I certainly don't mind fiction, but nothing here suits what I need."

[spindown]

"The longer I look the more I suspect that may be the point," Rosalind complains in a tone that is just slightly more frustrated than her usual banal monotone. She is still perusing the books and it is several seconds before she stands up and looks over at the person speaking. She looks relatively unobjectionable save, perhaps, for the tentacles extending from the back of her head.

Rosalind arches a brow.

"It wouldn't be prudent to provide books about lock-picking to men in handcuffs, after all. Metaphorical or otherwise."

[rovingdoctor]

"It's entirely possible our frustration amuses our captor. It wouldn't be the first I've heard of it." ... The first she remembers, however? That's a different story. But one for another time, by another narrator other than herself.

She closes the book in her hands with a snapping sound and tucks it back onto the shelf. All these books, designed to entertain and dazzle... her mind drifts back to Ebalon's note.

"I don't know about you, but I have no desire to be entertainment."

[spindown]

"I don't believe either of us have much of a choice in that regard," Rosalind replies. "Though I suppose we can endeavor to be less entertaining, if nothing else."

This is not a problem Rosalind Lutece has ever had to entertain. She is a brilliant scientist who works in an excruciatingly dense and staggeringly dry field of study. Being less than entertaining is sort of her forte. She even looks boring, between her beige tweed jacket, tie, and prim comportment. She has a face that promises that if you ask a question you will regret having done so when she enters the third hour of a lecture explaining the answer.

"If you are, however, suggesting violent revolution to avoid being amusement, you should perhaps consider that most men who like to kidnap people and put them in mazes are usually fairly amused by violent uprisings."

[rovingdoctor]

"Quite the opposite, actually. I've heard rumors about the previous event the Captain held- a camping trip as a rude to lure the attendees off the ship, forcing them to kill each other in some spectacle and broadcasted back here."

Some of them were children. It sickens her, honestly.

"If it's true, bloodshed amuses him. A revolt would be akin to a puppy trying to tug on his shoe. As a counter... I imagine our cooperation would bore him. A dry bit of small talk must drive him up the wall."

She pauses for a moment, before looking over with her one eye, sincere and blank all at once.

"I am called Whisperain, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you regardless of all of this."

[spindown]

"Rosalind Lutece, charmed," she replies.

If dry small-talk is his Achilles Heel then, frankly, abducting any Lutece is a death sentence. The concept earns an arched brow but she makes no real comment on that. The idea that they might be placed into deadly spectacles for amusement is new, however, and she notes it with some curiosity.

"Interesting that he would employ a ruse with people who are already so suspicious of him," Rosalind says. "I imagine that freed up quite a number of rooms, though."

[rovingdoctor]

"I wonder. If the note we received from the gentlemen performing the muster drill is anything to go by, I have to question if anything should be as we expect."

Does she believe in death undoing itself? ... Well, she kind of has to if only for the nature of her own longevity. But her own situation is a scientific process, a biological reset- not... straight up respawning like a bad video game.

Not that she will bring this up, let alone to a complete stranger, as much as Rosalind may enjoy it.

"My best guess is that many of the participants simply wanted off the boat for a little bit, and got more than they bargained for."

[spindown]

"Hmmm, it is a compelling risk. Being trapped on this ship for too long would make any risk seem minimal," Rosalind says. She doesn't actually agree at the moment. She dislikes all outdoors and outdoors activities, after all, but this ship is inherently infuriating. She can imagine the appeal running very thin before long.

"Would you sign up for an excursion?" Rosalind asks, if only to sate her professional courtesy.