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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.]
no subject
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...]
no subject
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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If you're fucking with me, that's a really weird way to do it.
[Is Sharky trying to get some sort of revenge for that time he arrested him for lighting the barn on fire by now trying to spook him with ghosts?]
You know what though, if I can't see them I don't even fucking care. Bring on the ghosts, why the hell not. At least it's not people I've seen every day of my life.
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[Sharky knows where he's going, which is probably apparent by the way he's casually leading the way through the interior of the ship. Windjammer might be a couple of decks up, but at least it's a sure shot.]
So, like, there is a sorta... monkey's paw situation going on that I should probably tell you about? Mainly, like... the rules of death have been sorta shut off, here? Like, you can die, but then you wake up the next morning all better. And... I guess that happens sometimes on excursions? Like, uh. They can be... dangerous.
[Womp womp, not mentioning Battle Royale yet, thanks. Well, they're probably in a relatively quiet area in case Pratt wants to freak out about that. Maybe an elevator? Who knows!]
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[His voice is getting more strained and hoarse the longer he talks and yeah he is going to freak out but.. Instead he stops for a moment and rubs his eyes. He makes a cutting hand gesture and visibly gathers himself again.]
Okay, new plan. Tell me all this after I eat. Let's just.. pause the crazy for a minute.
[Both the ship based crazy and the him based crazy. Because he knows himself well enough that if he freaks the fuck out he'll probably run off somewhere and never get any coffee. ]
I just want to eat something in case I wake up and this was all a hallucination. At least I'll have that memory.
Probably.
no subject
...Except, obviously he's not going to leave Pratt's cult manipulation fester for somebody else to solve. They wouldn't know where to begin, first off, and second... Well, shit. Sharky didn't manage to save Rook from Joseph. He really, really does not want to fuck up again.
So while they finish the trek to the buffet, Sharky is basically just vibing with low-key concern, trying super hard not to give Pratt a worried glance every fifteen seconds. He's good at letting his motormouth fill in the empty space, at least.]
They, uhhh, got all sorts of food and shit here, not just at the buffet. There's also, like, a cigar lounge? Which is hella classy. And free alcohol, but I think I already told you that and, uh... maybe we'll put a pin in getting well and truly fucked up until the whole thing doesn't seem completely fuckin' nuts. ...Or, uh, you adjust to how nuts it is. [Pratt's good at adapting, right? ...He probably shouldn't say that aloud.]
no subject
Who knew that it would be Sharky of all people that would be a reassuring and calming presence.]
Yeah maybe I should skip the alcohol for now. Last time I was drunk I tried to fight someone in the parking lot of a movie theater in Missoula. Now I'd probably just kill them.
Hard pass.
[If he never kills anyone ever again it'll be too soon. So for now he trudges along next to Sharky but he stops on the threshold of the buffet as soon as they arrive. Now he's a believer. He has absolutely died, and this is some sort of pseuso-ghost heaven because holy shit? That is so much food. And it's free?
The aroma of mashed potatoes and gravy have him practically floating to where the plates are gathering one up and starting to go down the line of the buffet.
This is where Jacob or someone with any sense would warn him that he's about to eat so much he pukes because he's been starved for so long. And this is also where he would tell them to shove it because he doesn't care. ]
I think I'm gonna like being dead.
[For him that's almost like being well-adjusted!]
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It's pretty fuckin' delish, man, knock yourself out. [Sharky basically had the same reaction upon seeing the buffet. He'd been convinced he was dead, too, but he'd been crying way hard at the time so... at least Pratt is doing better there?
It's the best kind of jarring to see Pratt here, actually, now that he's giving himself time to think about it? While they'd never been friends, for obvious law-enforcement-related reasons, Sharky never thought Pratt was a genuinely shitty dude. He didn't deserve getting fucked up by Jacob and getting a psych-out rescue from the Collapse. And he sure as shit didn't deserve to die in a firey nuclear blast!
With all of that going on, it's hard for Sharky to think of eating, so he just... plops down at a table to try and process the green-shirted hobo-with-a-shovel about to split his stomach open on mashed potatoes and coffee.]
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