sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #3

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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

[Once again, Hurk Drubman Jr. saves the day by being a wacky-ass bastard. Sharky cannot help himself from gushing, because let's be real, his family is all that he cares about back home.]

Her name's Gina and she's, like, a total fuckin' badass. Stupid hot, crazy good with a gun, tough as a wolverine. She was part of the Highwaymen, like, the raiders that came from the east? She totally changed Hurk's life, man. They had a baby together, his name is Blade, and he is the cutest little motherfucker in the whole world. Man, I wish I had a picture of him...

[That would be cool, but unfortunately it's hard to get pictures in the apocalypse, and it's even harder to get them when you're stuck on a ship in the middle of nowhere.]

When the Highwaymen kidnapped her, Hurk went on like, a Rambo-style mission to save her, so I stayed back with the kid and kept him safe. Sorta fell into the mommy gig over the mercenary gig in the end. Who'da thunk?

[Sharky better appreciate that he is trying so hard to believe this and not accuse him of being a hallucination again. It is taking all of his meager mental willpower to do so.]

Hurk has a baby?

[Honestly the only believable part of this is that he named his baby Blade.]

You took care of a baby?

[And both the baby and Sharky are still alive???]

I... I mean... Congrats I think?

[Can they talk about Joseph again? This is breaking him.]

[Unfortunately, buddy, it's the Baby Blade Power Hour, featuring the disconcerting news that Hurk Jr. managed to bag a solid 10.5 while never surpassing a 5 himself.]

Oh, I get it. Gina is waaaaaaay outta Hurk's league, straight up. But that's always how it's been, man! I dunno what kinda whack-ass pheromones that dude puts out but hot chicks are always up on him for some reason. [Sharky never could figure that one out, but if he had, he'd use it for himself.]

And I understand your surprise but man, that little tyke just... like... totally changed my world. He instilled a sense of, uhhh... responsibility and, like, the desire to better myself to thereby better his self? Does that make sense?

[How does Hurk keep doing this? What kind of time travelling secret wizard is he?]

That is so fucking unfair. Hurk of all people.

[Pratt has also never managed to score a 10 let alone a 10.5 and prior to being a neurotic cannibal he was a decent, charismatic dude! And he was definitely less of a dick to people who's pants he wanted to get into.

Damn. Went thru police academy to get the uniform that chicks love and apparently Hurk was out here in off rack Wal-Mart bargain bin clothes getting panties thrown at him.

Life is so fucking rough.]

That's how having a kid is supposed to make you feel. You get a sense of purpose. A reason to keep going and be better. That's what everyone from high school who had two kids by 19 said anyway.

But I believe you more than I believe them.

[Because if Sharky is being earnest about something, he's probably telling the truth. Not getting all shifty while talking to a cop.]

[Maybe it was all the travel Hurk engaged in? Maybe it was the massive amounts of disposable income thanks to his job as a weapons dealer? Maybe it's because his dick is the size and shape of a coke can? Who knows.]

Hurk isn't so bad, man. He's a great daddy, you know? Real protective of Blade, and Gina too, even though she does not need it. And he always uses voices when he reads bedtime stories, which is great. [...For Blade. Great for Blade, obviously.

Pratt is treated to an embarrassed laugh at the kinda-sorta-compliment there.] I think that's the first time you've ever said that to me. Of course, I used to lie my ass off to you all the time, so...

[Which Pratt knows, because they were never very good lies. But now that there's no law to get him, it's a lot easier to own up to it!]

[These two want what Hurk has. A sentence I have never even considered typing before.]

He's not a bad guy, I'm just not.. I'm having trouble imagining him as a dad? Like as a good dad and not a dick like Senior was.

[As for the lying....]

Come on man, I wasn't gonna fall for 'I've never seen fireworks before in my life'. You had them covered with a towel.

[It was so bad that it was almost endearing. Luckily Hudson was there or Pratt would have laughed too hard to do any arresting.]

[Sometimes the phrase "nice guys finish last" really means "over-confident idiots finish first." that is terrible news for these two nice guys :(]

Fuck Senior, for sure. [Good riddance, TBH! See you never, fuckhead!]

Fuck, I forgot about that! I was, like, really fuckin' high when you rolled me, you realize that, right? [What are you gonna do, arrest him again?] "Roman candles? What do I look like, a Yankee Candle Factory?" Hah!

[Somewhere there's an even worse timeline where not only did the cult win but Hurk Sr. became the Montana State Senator.]

Yeah I could tell. I've been doing this a while now but even so you're not a great liar. [Barest hint of a smirk there.] You know we spent the rest of the night trying to imagine what scent of Yankee Candle you would be?

It was down to Frosted Forest or Pineapple Cilantro.

[Really puts the whole ship thing into perspective...]

Uhhh... [He looks down at his shirt,] I think we can officially call it, dude. Pineapple Cilantro sounds like the name of whatever they're piping into the Tommy Bahama, and I am all about that lifestyle right now. [Mostly because the only other lifestyle he knows involves a fursuit and his flamethrower, of which he has neither.]

Yesss. That was my suggestion.

[For a man who hasn't gotten a win in years he is going to cherish this small candle based one.]

It suits you. I mean you look you know.. alive and cheerful.

[It's amazing what a Hawaiian shirt can do to a man.]

[He is alive, and he is cheerful! Sometimes guiltily so. People around the ship seem put off by how little he seems to care about their impending doom, of which he hasn't even bothered to outline.]

I know we're, like, supposed to be stuck here or whatever, but it's been pretty good for me, not gonna lie. Uh, and I bet we can get you there, too. ["We" obviously meaning Pratt and Sharky, unlikely buddy-cop-comedy-duo that they are.] Maybe not the full Bahama gear, or whatever, but... all the other shit.

[Alive and cheerful, he means. It might wind up being more of a manic cheer in Pratt's case, but that would still be better than the overt, hardcore trauma. They're gonna beat Jacob's influence out of him via good food, clean clothes, and nice weather!]

[The buddy cop comedy no one ever asked for.]

I'm already enjoying the food. And I feel okay, which is pretty good for a dead guy.

[He's taking being dead a little better now.]

I don't know about Tommy Bahama, I don't think I can pull it off. I'll look like a weird perv outside a high school.

[Yeah, it's probably better just to live in that delusion... Sharky sort of swings back and forth depending on what makes him feel better, so who is he to judge??]

Well, don't go wanderin' around high schools, then, duh. [Heheh. No really] Anyway, I got it on good authority that this shit is fashionable. Not, uhh, what I'm wearing, because fuck fashion, but other people do it okay. [SORRY EFFIE, but he has to keep your fashion advice a secret for now.] Should, uhh, probably find something other than a fuckin' cop uniform, though. [You know, because fuck the police? And also because it probably needs to be washed? Or burned???]

[He is giving Sharky such a look. But at least it's not a look of terror or psychosis, so that's progress. Because he is not going to be caught dead (heh) anywhere near high schools.]

You look like you retired to Florida and became a gator rancher. Which I guess is like Montana, but with humidity.

[Sounds terrible.]

Look the uniform is useful.

[It has pockets. A utility belt. And most importantly his name is printed right on it so if he forgets who he is he can just look down and be reminded. He will however; wash it. A couple of times.]

Uh, man, that is exactly the look I was going for! [FINALLY SOMEBODY GETS IT. He forgot how fucking lame people outside of Hope County are! Not one person has gotten the gator rancher part of the aesthetic at all.]

And sure, but you look like a fuckin' cop. I guess that might not matter here, since there ain't any laws or anything, but... [He makes a face, complete with sticking his tongue out.] Gross, man. ...Actually, like, legit gross. We needa get you a fuckin' shower and, like, all the detergent the laundry room's got.

[Sometimes you just need the shared camaraderie of experiencing the Testy Festy together in order to truly understand another person. The 'charm' of Hope County.]

I look like a cop because I am a cop Sharky.

[He has a badge and everything. Still right there on his uniform, a constant reminder of who he used to be.]

But shower yes. Several showers maybe. I don't know where Eli got the shit he stocked his bunker with, but I'm pretty sure the soap was just compressed sawdust or something awful.

Jacob made his own.

[His grimace says all that needs to be said about what he made that soap out of.]

Well, yeah, but I gotta be able to vouch for you, you know? How is anyone gonna take me seriously if they know my friend's a cop!

[...nobody takes him seriously to begin with but that is beside the point!]

Eurgh. Yeah, uh... all the soap here is definitely better than any prepper crap. [Or whatever Jacob used to make his... Eugh. Not worth thinking about.] Even I'm takin' like, bi-weekly showers now, which is crazy.

[Wait. Friends? Are they friends? Are you allowed to be friends with a guy you've arrested?]

Vouch for me? You probably... probably shouldn't do that?

[Okay let's avoid the friends thing because Pratt feels some kind of way about that and he's not in a good state to get emotional. Plus if he cries he's gonna look even more a mess than he already is.]

Wow, you really are a changed man embracing the gator rancher lifestyle. That's pretty good.

[Pratt is in no condition to argue that maybe showers should happen slightly more often. Not when he looks like he crawled out of a dumpster.]

Nahhh, it'll be fine. [He'll just vouch for Pratt's rabies vaccination status when he goes feral and bites someone!]

I sorta always imagined I'd wind up in Florida as one of those, like, dudes who raises baby gators from eggs to sell them. Like, to rap stars and presidents and shit. So far, no gators or crocodiles have shown up here, so for now I just look the part!

[Too bad he'll never find a gator egg at the sundries shop. Boo.]

No but really Sharky, if you wanna keep up the no one has tried to murder you cred, probably shouldn't be vouching for me. Or even be around me.

It's only a matter of time before I do something crazy.

[Though Sharky wanting to become the Tiger King but for alligators is probably the most normal thing he's heard so far. Makes him a lot more convinced he's talking to the real Sharky and not a hallucination.]

The Boshaw Gator Ranch huh? I can see it. You out there in a straw hat throwing whole chickens to the gators from a wheelbarrow. Know all their names.

Yes, man, yes, you are fully getting it! Originally I was gonna go with the basics, y'know, Chomp, Big Tooth, One-Eyed Motherfucker -- but then I thought, you know, I could do better. Then [the collapse happened and] I sorta never got around to it.

[And that is exactly why he's got to speak up for Pratt! Nobody else gets him here. Nobody else is fucking Hope County Crazy!]

Look, you're definitely gonna do something crazy, which is exactly why I gotta, uhhh... [he's looking for the word "advocate" and not finding it] Make sure people don't take it personally. Hold a grudge or whatever. They're gonna come at me anyway once they know we're from the same place, anyway, all: "Sharky, your friend just went apeshit and bit a dude," and I'm gonna have to tell them, y'know, "That's just like, a temporary state of psychosis or some shit, he's totally got his rabies shots," blah blah blah. Otherwise, they'll get all fuckin' sensitive about it.

[For obvious reasons! Sharky's not stupid, he knows that killing someone is bound to leave bad blood, but like. Come on. It's not like it's permanent or anything!]

You could theme them too. Like how people with puppies name them all something similar, like types of pasta or trees. Since they're alligators you could do something like... types of luggage. Different names for teeth. Shades of green.

[He is 100% behind Sharky the gator farmer. That seems like the perfect profession for him.]

Please don't introduce me to people as that crazy guy who definitely doesn't have rabies.

[Even though it would be the most accurate introduction of all time. He drops his head into his hands to rub his eyes because Sharky is right. At some point he's going to go nuts and murder someone, though hopefully not bite them. Well, probably not. At least if he eats them they'll be dead first. That's a positive right.

Okay no that's not really a positive. But it's not like he can help it.

He should probably wear a muzzle.]

Maybe I should just.. stay in my room. Forever. Only come out at night to raid the buffet. Then hopefully people think I'm a werewolf which is better than the truth right?

[That he's just a regular guy who's gone totally insane.]

Ohh, shit. Maybe like, fancy brand names? Gucci, Louie Vuitton, Armani... [Wow. That is such a good idea. Shit, he needs an alligator. No, he needs two of them, so he can get lots of eggs from.]

And don't fuckin' do that, man. ...Actually, uhhh, you could probably do that. I don't know if there are any werewolves around, but I know there are, like... [Ohhhh shit, he probably shouldn't just like, go around telling everyone "my bro Aiden is a vampire!" sooo...] ...All sorts of weird people around. I would seriously not be surprised if one of these dudes legit wolfed out on a full moon.

Not sure if you're telling me I should do that because no one would be suspicious, or I shouldn't because I might get killed by a werewolf.

[At least that'd be a pretty great death to tell stories about later. Currently all he has is 'died in car crash immediately after the apocalypse nuke dropped' which is a good story, but not werewolf good.]

I need to.. think about what I'm gonna do. About... you know. Myself.

[So far he's leaning towards tying his ankle to the bed every night.]

[Sharky... is not exactly equipped to handle this situation. What he does know comes from, uhhh... a handful of Al-Anon brochures, daytime doctor shows, one half-assed bout of mandated therapy and a couple of Nick's old parenting books. (The last of which being in what a library would call "what did you do to it" condition.)

None of that shit had anything about what to do for a dude dealing with severe emotional and physical trauma from a stint in the care of a psychotic cannibal cultist. Not even about one of those things, TBH. Also, the party liquor may or may not have had a negative impact on his memory recall.

But, like. The alternative would be to leave Pratt to his own devices, to probably get worse and worse and turn into like, Jacob Seed's doppelganger. Which is basically what happened to Rook. And that is not fucking allowed to happen again, no matter how much of a dick Pratt might be or how fucked up he might get.]

Yeah, man. Makes sense. Shit was fucked back home, and T-B-H it's gonna be fucked here sometime sooner or later. But there ain't any Peggies or any John, Jacob or Joseph Seeds to be found. No Faith, either, and no Bliss, either! [Except for that one time with the ice cream...] So at least you got that goin' for you. Get you cleaned up, get you some sleep, mayyyyybe in a deck chair in the sun??? [Ehhhh, ehhh??] You'll start feelin' better. For sure. [Definitely. Positively.]

TEST DRIVE MEME #3

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