sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #3

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!tdm

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

[Squint]

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.

Yeah, most of the time they're just, like... there. I try not to think about it too much. Easier, y'know?

[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!]

Wait you can die and come back? The fuck? That's... So you could actually kill everyone repeatedly and then...

[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.

[AH SHIT--] Uhhhhhh.... yes. That sounds totally fair. [--Yep, he definitely isn't going to say anything about any of this at all, for any reason whatsoever. Let some other sucker deal with Pratt's psychological bullshit; Sharky is officially in way over his head.

...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.]

[Pratt has never been happier to hear Sharky start talking and just.. never stop. Normally he tunes him out by the time he starts talking about burning things or the latest episode of Game of Thrones, but this time he's actually listening. It's something for him to focus on that is both familiar and not fucked up.

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!]

[He almost asks what the guy did to earn a drunk Pratt trying to throw down, but decides against it at the last second. No need to start stirring up that shit right now. Instead, he wonders whether or not there's a way to score some weed or maybe some Oxy to chill Pratt out in a less psychotic-inducing way. Eh, later!]

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.]

[In this rare instance Pratt hadn't even been the instigator! But that's beside the point and he doesn't really want to dwell on the 'before times'. He's not that person anymore. He's barely a Deputy now, no matter what his uniform proclaims.

That's for later self reflection; right now is the time for mashed potatoes. He sits across from Sharky with a full plate of everything in the buffet that isn't meat - he never wants to see meat chunks ever again. He also filled one of the fountain soda cups with more coffee than the human heart should be exposed to.

This is the best day he's had in a while. Granted the bar for good days for Pratt is buried twenty miles deep in the ground, but still.]

Okay. Alright, explain the monkey paw shit. We can't die? Or we can but we come back?

[Holy shit he has not had real food in months and this is fucking fantastic. Everything is salty and greasy and covered in butter and he's absolutely in heaven.]

And the food stays? Damn. Who the fuck cares if we die then.

[DEFINITELY going to get madly emotional later over this, but for now it's just like, good to see the dude eating. The lack of meat, uh, isn't surprising, to be honest, and Sharky just tries to file that away in case he needs to remember it for later. No meat, lots of coffee, extra mash. Easy.]

Okay, first of all? Totally with you on the food front, but uhhh... people are kinda sensitive about it around here. But basically, like... the guy in charge can put people back together. I... really hate using the M-word, but it's like, magic and shit. [ugh magic, who the fuck cares and/or wants to deal with that shit?] So if someone does get killed, they usually just come back the next day. But -- and I'm serious, here, dude -- there are a lot of really chill, cool people on this ship and nobody so far has tried to murder me even once. And you know how fuckin' annoying I can be.

[In about four hours he's going to have serious regrets about how much and how quickly he's eating. But that is a problem for future Pratt and fuck that guy.]

Not even once?

[Okay now you're definitely a lying hallucination Sharky. Even Pratt has wanted to throttle him, especially drunk in a holding cell screaming disco songs at the top of his lungs horribly out of tune.]

I wanna talk shit about the magic part but... How the fuck does Bliss work? I fed wolves that understood human speech. Like that's not natural.

[Maybe it's science, he doesn't know - he got a C in chemistry.]

So the downsides are being stuck here and sometimes people die and come back? That's it? No Project at Eden's Gate? No eating our friends? No running Trials?

[This is getting better by the minute.]

[Maybe the people here just appreciate his drunken antics better than his fellow compatriots in the drunk tank!]

Yeah, there's only so much I can blame on hallucinogens and methamphetamines before we start gettin' into straight-up mysticism. [Because you can only write off Faith's uncanny abilities for so long.

And you can only avoid this conversation for so long before you gotta own up to the whole murder game aspect of things.]

So, yeah, like. No cultists, no prophet, no cannibalism, no trials. I mean, okay, the excursion sign-up sheets are hella vague and the last one wound up being a sort of... Battle Royale type deal? But it's like. Uhhh. Totally... optional?

[He is distantly aware that there are more caveats to the whole shindig, but he doesn't know enough of the details to be totally reliable. Also, uh, he really wants to find a way to explain it that doesn't make it sound just like the Eden's Gate shit, because it isn't. They're not getting mindfucked into oblivion, for one thing.]

[Jacob's ability to make people hallucinate exactly what he wanted them to can't really be explained by drugs either. Maybe with a few years removed between being in Jacob's custody Pratt could rationally think about what the hell was actually going on, but he's definitely not at that point yet. He's only been 'free' for a week at most.

And then promptly died while screaming out prayers so - things sure didn't get much better for him.

But this... this place is good. He's been here twenty minutes so it could still turn into a nightmare, but right now? This is fucking fantastic.]

The movie with the schoolkids that all killed each other? Okay but like.. it was optional? I can just.. stay here and not do that?

[He's finally stopped shoveling food into his face like a starving wolverine, and is sitting there nursing his coffee. Almost looking like a normal person, if not for his mannerisms that are just a little off. Slightly too quick or too slow, like he's not used to the speed or gravity of reality.

And so long as no one looks at his eyes he might be able to pretend to be okay for at least three minutes.]

But no one tried you kill you right? I could stay here. Hide.

[Like a coward.]

Not hiding just.. tactically.. biding my time.

Technically, I didn't get here until after that happened, but, uh, no. Everyone who was, like, on the ship and not on the excursion got to just stay here, murder-free.

[He's not going to mention the whole television thing, because he, uh. Does Not Want To. But also, uhhhhhhhh... not a fan of the "biding my time" talk at all. He really doesn't wanna have to make up fliers...]

Most, uh. Most of the people I've met have been like. Kids. Teenagers and shit. And most of 'em didn't come from universes with nuclear apocalypses. You're, uh... you're the first person here that's known what the fuck I'm talking about with the Collapse and the Peggies and shit.

Different universes? Thats.. a thing?

Or are you saying the apocalypse only happened in Montana? Because I could sorta believe that too.

[He definitely does not want to hear about anything being broadcast anywhere! Ever! In fact when he finds out theres a PA system he will have a nuclear meltdown of his own.

But for now he will remain in ignorance and enjoy his coffee with the hallucination of Sharky.]

Boat of infinite food, battle royale, and teenagers.

I don't get it.

Yeah, like, a full-on multiverse situation. One kid I talked to had a... similar apocalypse-type deal, but there were like, spaceships and shit involved. And I met a robot! [he's forgotten the right word but assumes it will never be a problem for him or Pratt] Also -- [a vampire, but he... isn't sure he's supposed to announce that to the world so] -- like, pirates? The Jack Sparrow kind, not the Somali kind.

[And, you know what?] None of it makes any goddamn sense, dude, but at least everyone here agrees that it doesn't make sense. We're all, like, on the same team, mostly.

Was this Zip in disguise? Spaceships and robots sound right up his alley.

Zombies and ninjas too?

[There's just a hint that Pratt isn't taking this as seriously as he should. Because he is fully convinced this is some sort of hallucination and he's going to wake up to Jacob yelling at him that he's been in a coma because Faith overdosed him on a new strain of Bliss.

All of it was fake, the Wolf Den, the jeep, this ship. He's probably in the infirmary after starving away in that chair because Jacob miscalculated the exact moment where that would become fatal and now Pratt is hooked up to a feeding tube and that's somehow going to Pratt's fault.]

So what am I supposed to do here? Just.. eat and.. sleep.. and... like... [What's a normal thing people do? Barricade doors? Jump at shadows? Murder people?] look at the ocean?

[Yeah, okay. He's totally getting written off. Sharky's been through the disbelieving cop bullshit before, so he knows what he's seeing. He can't even really blame Pratt, because this whole thing is fucking insane, and Sharky still sometimes thinks it might be Hell or the afterlife or some weird LOST situation.

But you know what? Sharky is officially the adult here. He's actually older than Pratt, now, old enough to be his fuckin' dad, practically (not really), and he's gotta act like the mature one.]

I dunno, man, maybe! I'm not gonna write anythin' off. It's not my problem if you don't believe me. As for what you do... I mean... yeah? Kinda? Like, there's something about how the ship feeds off us or something, but I don't know the details. You'd have to ask around. I mean, dead or not, I figure I'm here, I'm just gonna roll with it. You can do you, I guess. So long as that doesn't include Mr. Smiley over there. [Yes, that's the name of the shovel, obviously.]

[In Pratt's defense this has a lot more depth than I swear officer those fireworks weren't mine or maybe even, I don't know what meth is where did that come from?.]

Okay okay. Sorry. It's just.. kind of. You know. A lot of info. At once. And I'm all messed up which I know everyone knows by the way. Wheaty kept trying to play dumb but I'm not that far gone out of reality, I know everyone knows.

[And he doesn't just mean the confession he had to read, or the video of him getting strapped to the chair. The other stuff. The cannibalism and the brainwashing and whatever Rook told them about what Pratt did. He's not going to deny any of it.]

We're not naming the shovel either.

Yeah, uh. I know you know, but it's like... okay? Not okay okay, but like. It's chill, I feel you. Everyone came outta the bunkers a little nutty, dude, I'm not gonna judge.

[He and Hurk did their whole Mad Max thing, after all, and plenty of bunker nuts became just plain old nuts after years spent in isolation. Who doesn't get a little jittery in wide-open spaces full of strangers these days?

Sure, not everyone came out with a taste for human flesh and a propensity to flip out any time the Platters play, but hey. That's just Pratt's special blend of fucked-up.]

You mean you haven't already? Dude, I've been personifying that thing since you nearly whacked me with it.

Alright. Good. That's good.

[Solidarity in the insanity or something. He's also managed to not flip out for like fourty-five minutes or something now which is probably a new record for him.]

No. I'm trying to pretend I'm not completely crazy. I don't want to start talking to it.

[Even though he has it propped up against the table like it's sitting there with them. Just a cheerfully silent third wheel.]

I named all the wolves. I probably would have started naming the guns if I didn't get out of there. Not gonna keep that up, not when I'm somewhere with food and no Jacob.

[A pause.]

Right? No Jacob?

[...]

I guess that makes sense... [He gives Mr. Smiley an apologetic look. Sorry, buddy, guess you're not getting personified today.]

Right, no Jacob. You'll be happy to know that guy did not get the cool haunted cruise ship treatment. Neither did John, Joseph or Faith. No cult, no Bliss, no Angels -- it's... just us, but y'know. Could be worse!

[Sharky's happy to not consider the fact that if Pratt showed up, anyone else could do the same. It'd be bad luck to think about it!]

[That is one hell of a sigh of relief.]

Thank fuck for that.

[Okay maybe this isn't a hallucination. Or at least not one of those intentional Bliss ones because if it was this would be the point where Jacob would storm in and very calmly shoot Pratt at point blank range somewhere in the abdomen where it would hurt like he was dying but not actually be fatal.

Which would be an exceptionally dick move right now when Pratt is likely to just leak recently eaten peas and carrots all over the floor.]

It could always be worse. But that's not bad. Not bad at all.

[Granted he and Sharky aren't exactly friends, what with the public indecency, arson, and inebriation that Pratt had to keep arresting him for. But right now Sharky's positive attitude is exactly what he needs. Anyone else probably would have been murdered already.

Well maybe not Grace. Who would have shot him first. But anyone else.]

I don't even know what to do with myself if I can do whatever I want. Don't even know who I am anymore. Though I guess it doesn't matter much here.

[That's both freeing and absolutely terrifying.]

[Sharky figures it'll take a couple of days before Pratt starts taking things at face value. Longer, probably, because he's a cop, and that makes him a naturally suspicious kinda dude. But that's cool. Everyone gets weird about this shit at first.]

Maybe that's what you need, man. Don't worry so much about who you are and just, like... enjoy existing for a minute? [Because he knows that was... not really a priority or possibility after Jacob got ahold of him. Pratt went from a sorta dickish but relatively level-headed dude to a full-on feral animal for a while there. And, shit. Jacob broadcasted that goddamn chair everywhere. Seventeen years might've dulled the memory, but he's never gonna forget it.]

[Once he has a full nights uninterrupted sleep and wakes up still here, he'll be a lot more believing. Right now coming fresh off the cult bullshit, and dying in a car crash, he's just not accepting of much of anything.

Other than how much he needed this food.]

You make it sound easy Sharky. It's not that easy. I mean I'll try. I gotta try since I'm here and have a chance to have a ... new start I guess. But...

[He sighs, staring down into his now empty Big Gulp coffee cup. It may have been seventeen years for Sharky but that was only weeks ago for Pratt. And he knows, deep inside, he's never really going to be okay again.]

Yeah, I'll give it a try.

[And fail. Because you're weak. You've always been weak.]

[Wince] Maybe a few tries if I need to.

Nah, it's definitely one of those, uh, easier said than done things, for sure. And, like, if you can't figure it out... that's okay, too? 'Cos, uh. I... am here for you, and am gonna be like, as semi-decent a support system as I can manage with my brain fried from a decade of ethanol abuse. [Thumbs up???] Sound good? Cool? Not totally fuckin' lame and clingy?

[Somebody went to like, three AA meetings and had one sponsor he ghosted after a month, and apparently he's decided to appropriate that experience here!]

[This is the closest to a smile that Pratt has had since Joseph showed up years ago.]

It's pretty lame and clingy. But it's appreciated man. If I hadn't died, and the world didn't blow up afterwards, no one else would have even tried. So like... thanks. I mean it.

[He would have gotten a bullet to the head pretty quickly. But maybe they would have had to eat him so at least he'd feel useful?]

Holy shit Sharky did you actually make bathtub booze in a bunker? Out of what??

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