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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.]
1. a familiar refrain
It sounds like somebody is having less than a good time in the room down the hall. Sharky hears thudding and banging in definitely un-sexy ways, but they die down by the time he flip-flops to the door. He debates for a full minute whether or not he's gonna interrupt -- usually not a great idea, you know, bothering people when they're throwing shit around and acting crazy. He has no idea whose door it is, and knocking could totally get him fucking murked.
But, uh, that song? That gross-ass humming is downright creepy. It makes him think that he's about to open the door and step back into a bunker surrounded by fuckin' cultists. Like, what if he knocks and fucking Jacob Seed opens the door? ...Shit. That could totally fucking happen here, couldn't it?
Well, if that happened, he could probably bring the guy down before he went psycho and started eating everyone. ...Or he'd get fucking clocked by an ex-military nutjob and wake up missing his liver.
No. Fuck that. Sharky's not gonna let anyone get fucked by a goddamn cannibal cultist. He squares up and raps his knuckles on the door. And then, in a confused and concerned voice, he very confidently asks,] ...Uh... Hhhey, buddy... You good in there?
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He's so startled by the knocking that he jerks to his feet with a curse, dislodging some of the junk he's piled against the door in the process. One of the items he hadn't been paying attention to, a wooden box, falls to the floor with a jangly chime of music and he recoils before kicking it.
Immediately he realizes that is a terrible idea, and then dives for it to keep it from knocking into something and then opening. Sure he just went headfirst into the corner of the bed and is probably bleeding (moreso than he already was), but hey, he now has the prize of a plain wooden box with hinges on one side that he's holding in a white knuckle grip.
Okay.
This is fine. He's fine.]
No. Not even a little.
[At least he's standing up now and not rocking back and forth on the ground. This is progress.]
Where the fuck is 'here'?
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But there's also a weird vibe he gets, hearing that voice, and combined with the music...]
Fuuuck, you're new here? Okay, uh. You're on a ship in the middle of the ocean. But like, not any ocean you know of? And... [Wow, suddenly mad appreciating Friday's job introducing people to this shit.] It's kinda hard to explain? But you can't open the door without the life vest, I think. [Because that's obviously what the problem is, right?]
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How much fucking Bliss did he give me....
[Though he doesn't feel high, and he doesn't feel like he's in a Trial, both of which he's more than familiar with. He feels.. well about as normal as he gets.
He goes back to the other side of the room, tucking the box into the pocket of his pants and moving some of the stuff out of the way so he can look out at the water. Huh, it sure does look like a ship in the middle of the ocean. What the hell kind of hallucination is this?]
Right. Ocean. That makes sense.
[Haha no it doesn't.]
Uh.. Life vest? Oh. Okay.
[Lots of shuffling and shoving crap around so he can actually get to the door, leaning against it but not opening it for a moment. He really wishes he had a gun or...
Yeah that'll do. He digs something yellow out of the pile holding a very cheerful shovel in one hand as he swings open the door, ready to clobber whoever is on the other side of it.
Though considering that Pratt looks like an emaciated escaped prisoner it's far more likely that he's about to be the one that's attacked. There's dried blood all around his hairline, he's dirty, weighs 120 pounds soaking wet, and his eyes are so sunken and ringed he gives the vague appearance of being a racoon in a deputy uniform.]
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The door opens and Sharky immediately steps back in the face of -- of --]
Holy shit--!!
[It's been seventeen years and one whole-ass apocalypse since Sharky last laid eyes on Staci Pratt. (Excluding all the morbid times Hurk would point out a skeleton and ask, "You think that's [Insert Dead Friend's Name]?") Seeing him here, now, emaciated and half-feral and wearing that ugly stupid green deputy get-up...]
Dude -- I...! [The barrage of words and screaming in his head sort of fries his ability to speak. He just sort of... stands there, gaping, hands up to prevent being whacked in the face by a goddamn shovel.] Fuckin' -- Pratt???
[Oh, damn, that's right, as soon as he opens the door, he's going to get magically compelled and shit.]
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But someone saying his name does keep Pratt from ending them unceremoniously with a shovel. He goes to back up away from whoever this is, only to find he can't. There's a weird sort of need to move that way which, ha ha okay now it feels like a Trial. Fuck. He's probably already failed at this point by hiding in the room for that long, and he's gonna get the shit kicked out of him by Jacob and then not fed for another day and...]
Sharky???
[He squints at the man, but now that what he said has registered in Pratt's messed up mind, that voice is unmistakeable.]
The.. fuck?
[That's a first, he's never had to kill Sharky in any of the Trials he's been put through before. Eli, sure. Hudson, Rook, the rest of the force.. but never Sharky. Jacob must be changing things up.
Though Sharky looks wrong, like his memory couldn't conjure the man up, probably from all the head trauma Pratt has sustained. He pokes him with the tip of the shovel, refusing to move even though his whole body wants to just give in and let the compulsion carry him away.]
Are you really here?
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He definitely cannot hide the brief break in his voice but, to be honest? Totally not trying.] Am I really here, how are you here? Holy shit, I haven't seen you since -- [since he died] -- uhh, you know, the whole....... [aaaaah fuck] ...Jacob thing?? [Which is how you properly characterize the massive amounts of psychological and physical torture Pratt went through, obviously.]
P-Promise, though, this is all, like, totally real. You just need'a doo the muster drill and you'll be totally good to go.
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[Holy shit bro, way to sum up months of torture into the most succinct phrasing ever. Pratt almost laughs, he only doesn't because he knows if he starts laughing he'll never stop. It's not a good look to maniacally laugh until passing out. And he has enough awareness of himself to kinda not want to look even crazier than he is.]
Are we dead? Is this the afterlife?
[
Well he is yes.Looking around at the hallway of the ship and back into the room he totally trashed (sorry potential roommates).]Well it sure as fuck isn't Eden's Gate. Good.
[Because if he ended up in the afterlife with Jacob.... Yeah he's not even going to finish that thought. Instead he'll actually step out of the room into the hallway, which for him is a huge first step. Literally.]
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Well... no? [Unfortunately not too sure about the answer to either of those... He steps back as Pratt enters the hallway, faintly recalling just how fucking weird the compelling shit had seemed at the time.] We're not in the afterlife, I don't think. It'd be pretty fuckin' weird if the afterlife was a never-ending cruise, right?
[...right????]
Uh... B-T-W, just like, outta curiosity, what... what is the last thing you remember, exactly?
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[Not that Sharky would have first hand experience with that or anything. The compulsion doesn't even register to Pratt, he's so used to not being in control of his body that this all just seems normal to him. He has a purpose, he's heading towards it.]
Whitehorse went through the windshield because he crashed the jeep into a tree. After the..
[OH.
Right.
The....collapse.]
FUCK.
[He abruptly turns to sharky, eyes wild and crazed, dropping the shovel on the ground with a loud clang and grabbing him by the lapels of his brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.]
You lying sack of shit. [Each word ground out between clenched teeth.] We're both dead. We're both fucking dead because the fucking Collapse happened and Jacob was right.
[He shoves Sharky away from him and into the wall with surprising strength for someone as emaciated as he is.]
He was right the whole damn time.
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[Well, at least the fucker isn't catatonic like he was fresh out of that fucking chair, but getting manhandled by the cops has never been Sharky's idea of a good time.
But... he can't, like. Deny anything Pratt's saying. The Collapse happened, the world ended, and Jacob -- Joseph -- had been right. Sort of. Kind of.]
I'm tellin' you, we aren't dead. I mean, uh. You... [FuUUUUCK] You aren't dead here. [...yeah, reassuring, right?] And Jacob was as right as fuckin' Zip was, man! Just 'cos he predicted nuclear warfare doesn't mean shit!
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Doesn't it though? It proves it all, they were right. We were too weak to see it and then we all died - just like he said.
[He clutches at his head briefly, fingers tearing into his hair as he hunches over before standing up again.]
What do you mean I'm not dead here?
[Wait.
Wait just a fucking minute.
His eyes never leave Sharky as he leans down to pick up the shovel again, knuckles white around the hilt as he grips it far tighter than necessary.]
What do you mean I'm not dead here.
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And then he feels incredibly anxious as Pratt goes for the shovel. The spike in adrenaline that accompanies Pratt's angry snarl is enough to flip the off switch on his mouth filter, for better or ultimately worse:]
Yo, man, I don't fuckin' know! The fuckin' Collapse happened and everyone said you were fuckin' dead but like, you're here, in front of me, which means maybe you weren't dead but just, like, here, the whole goddamn time, because time doesn't fuckin' exist here, and anyway I didn't die before I rolled up here, I was just drinkin' after --
[FUUUUCK how does he explain all of that shit to a cop who looks 5 seconds away from pulling an aggravated assault on Sharky's ass???] -- Look, man, it's been like, fifteen, sixteen years since I saw your ass last, I'm not fuckin' lyin' or anything, there's just so much fuckin' shit -- and if you swing that shit at me so help me God, Dep!
[Not the right deputy, but you know what, it's a catch-all nickname for traitorous BC types and right now, Pratt is definitely filling the BC part of ACAB.]
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It's not a comfortable look to be on the receiving end of, Pratt's eyes have both an intensity and a hollowness to them. A man who has seen too much and has been forever altered.
But he does relax his grip on the shovel as he looks away finally, boring holes into the ships carpeting with his eyes instead of tunneling through Sharky's skull.]
You're making less sense then I do.
[Well this is it then. He's finally snapped completely, something he always knew was coming but had been trying his best to ignore. Maybe he was a little too eager to hear Wheaty say it was gonna be okay man.
Even though he knew it wouldn't be.
But guess that's all over now and he's somehow hallucinated up a future prepper Sharky dressed like he's going to a weird pool party.]
How the fuck have I been dead for 15 years?
What happened? After? Like after the Collapse?
[Oh apparently he's walking now, his body has decided that's what he's doing now. Neat.]
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[Well, the cult had taken so many resources, and a lot of bunkers turned out to be not as well constructed as believed. Maybe if the gates had been intact -- but like hell is Sharky gonna say that aloud, much less to Pratt.]
...Well, you know how shit was right when everything went down. [awkwardly clears his throat] Anyway, after people started coming back, it was mostly just trying to survive. Some raiders came in from the east coast and tried to roll us over again, but we fucked them up real good. That's, uh, what I remember, anyway. We were all celebrating, I passed out, and then... [arm flail] Here I was! Same as you, I swear.
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Same as me.
[That same hollow echo of the words, like a broken automaton. But this one at least comes with a side-eye glance. Because from what he's gathered in the past five minutes: he died, Sharky didn't, and somehow shit is fine fifteen years later. Except it's not fine because Pratt you know.. died.]
So I died and showed up here, after you who didn't die lived for another decade and a half? You are the worst hallucination Sharky. You're not even trying to make sense.
Is there coffee?
[Priorities man, even as he's heading out onto the deck or wherever his feet are deciding to take him. That's fine, means he doesn't have to think for himself.]
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...There's also a huge chance he's gonna get smacked with a shovel if he talks about Joseph right now, so, uhhhhh.]
Okay, first of all, ouch! [Did he actually take being called the worst hallucination personally? ...No, of course not!] Man, Pratt, think about it, if you were gonna hallucinate, why the fuck would it be me? Before shit went down, the last time we talked was issuing me a fuckin' noise complaint, or something! And I sure as shit didn't have Eli's beard when that happened!
[HUFF] Anyways yeah, there's coffee, and food, too. And I told you, time is fuckin' buck-wild out here. Some people are like, from the future, and other people are from the past, and it's basically like, the worst fucking headache trying to keep it straight. That's why you gotta do the muster drill, I think...
[He's realizing that there is like, just. So much information to impart now and he has no idea how to do it without... freaking Pratt out. Because let's face it, the guy looks like one wrong word away from losing it. Pratt is the guy Rich and him had been worrying about. Someone who would lose it and murder everyone... Oh, boy.]
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I don't know why the fuck it would be you. Why would it be anyone? You're acting like this is all making sense to you, well it's not making sense to me!
Probably because I dunnno I fucking died.
[Because you were weak.]
Okay you know what...
[A disgruntled growl but at least they're outside now and he actually shuts up for a bit because he.. legitimately hasn't been outside much in a while. Is that really what the sun looks like? It's that fucking bright?]
Right. Okay. Look, this is a lot. And I've.. kinda been through a lot already.
Fifteen years? Seriously?
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Uh... y-yeah. Okay. Fair enough. [It's more than a lot, it's a literally fuck-load of information and trauma and all sorts of other shit, and that's not even talking about their newfound boat-related situation.
Speaking of: Pratt's immediate reaction to the sun hits like a two-by-four, reminding Sharky of his own reaction to blinding light after three years underground. Poor motherfucker really didn't get a lot of time outside of bunkers once Joseph went apeshit. It had been hard for him, and he hadn't died in a firey nuclear apocalypse.]
...Yeah, fifteen years, give or take. Look, just... it's a lot, and I wanna tell you everything but, uh. My brain isn't exactly coping with seeing your face right now? Hence the, uh, stammering and rambling and whatnot. Let's, uh... let's maybe focus on the ship part of things, for a second. [That's a slightly safer conversation than the one that revolves around Pratt fucking dying, that's for sure.] ...Although uh, full disclosure, it's definitely more insane than it already seems.
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Okay, yeah. That's probably.. yeah. Boat first. Fifteen years of Joseph fucking Seed being right later.
[Okay. He can do this. He is out here and on the deck and the minute Beetlejuice approaches him with the lei he is ready to beat him to death with a shovel. Along with all the rest of the passengers once he gets riled up.
Ebalon's grandiose speech goes right over him because he's expecting this to turn into a trial. Everything will go red and distorted at any moment.
Any second now.
It's gonna happen.
Or instead Pratt will stand there holding a stupid smiling shovel and looking like an insane homeless man stole clothing from a cop.]
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Sharky isn't being compelled to hang out in the muster area, but boy he might as well be. There's no fucking way he's letting Pratt out of his sight until he knows the guy isn't gonna wail on the first fat-mouthed teenager to roll up on him. It looks like a pretty close call when the dude with the leis tries to lay a fat one on Pratt, but thankfully there's minor bloodshed?
One thing is super clear to Sharky, though: uhhhh, Pratt is kinda fucked. He looks like he's waiting for Jacob Seed to roll up, like any second someone will round on them with an uzi and he'll have to Dep the fuck out. Or... Jacob the fuck out, maybe. And if that happens, then everyone's gonna think Sharky is one bad musical number away from psychosis, despite the fact that he has been coping like a fucking champ ever since Auntie Addie and Xander fucked off to Cuba. He absolutely cannot have Pratt ruining the vibe right now -- not right before a fucking excursion that may or may not involve murder games.]
H-Hey, soooo, you can probably feel it but you can move now, if you want. [Please don't run, dude, he doesn't think he could keep up.] That's the only part that you're forced to go through.
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Pratt has been living that way for long enough that he genuinely doesn't really know how else to be anymore. Wheaty and the rest of the remaining Whitetails had basically shoved Pratt in a room in a bunker to keep him alive, but it's not like they talked to him. Or let him out of there. He was a danger to himself but even more so to the others. No time for mental health care when there's a literal murderous cult and the apocalypse happening.
Pratt's police health benefits don't cover that anyway.]
Oh. Yeah. Guess that's..
[He lowers the shovel, rubbing his eyes with his other hand.]
I'm a goddamn mess.
I need an entire pot of coffee and about ten showers. Unless you just want to kill me now and save all the trouble of explaining this shit.
[He wouldn't even be mad about it.]
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Sharky knows he biffed it at the start there, but seeing Pratt hit a moment of lucidity encourages him to give a better second attempt. At the end of the day, Pratt isn't the only one who spent way too long locked up in a bunker, and Sharky knows first-hand how it can fuck with a person's brain. And that's without the personal mind-fuckery of a Seed sibling.
Okay. Sharky comes within five feet of Pratt's personal space, figuring he can grab the shovel if things get out of hand while (blindly) trusting the moment of clarity. He's not gonna touch the fucker, that's for sure, but, look. He's here, there are people around, everything's totally cool. Crazy, but cool.]
I'm not gonna kill you, man. I, uh. [Am weirdly glad to see you??? No, not gonna get that mushy that fast.] I was pretty fucked up when I got here, too, so I get it. Sorta. Uh... Look, if you want, I'll help you get whatever you need. Coffee, showers, food -- I got your back, dude.
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I haven't even thought about food in... Too long. Food, let's do food first.
[In case this really is a hallucination, at least he'll get to experience eating again and maybe not even anything that came out of a can or was once talking to him.]
How long have you been here then? Just.. on a boat? That's what this is? We're hanging out on a weird cruise?
[He's never been on a cruise before, but they seem pretty chill. You have some food, swim in the pool, go out on the deck and see a few whales...]
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Food first, hell yeah. There's a buffet and nobody's gonna stop you from just double-fisting the crab legs. [Because plates are for people who aren't experiencing serious emotional and psychological trauma. He's gonna gently sort of, usher the way.] Now, lemme preface this by saying I know it sounds fucking insane, but... We are stuck on a magic, haunted cruise ship, and uh, everything is free, and... all the crew are ghosts. [...Okay, he's going to give that a moment before he mentions the whole "there's a captain who sometimes forces people into surprise murder games" thing. That... he feels like might be too much, too fast.]
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