sail_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME #1

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TEST DRIVE MEME #1

1. now it's fun to wake up in a strange chateau

[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 Passenger(s),

As your cruise director, it is my great honor to welcome you aboard the Serena Eterna, your destination for fun and adventure! We know you could have chosen any cruise line for your vacation, and we're very grateful you chose ours! On behalf of the Captain, I would like to assure each and every passenger that will we do whatever it takes to fulfill all your needs and desires during your journey with us.

At your earliest possible convenience, please attend the mandatory lifeboat drill by the end of the day. I'm sure everyone is very eager to get started on all the fun and sun, but safety always comes first! You can find your life jacket in your cabin's closet; carry it to your assigned muster station on deck one, where I will take you through the drill. If you can't find me in the crowd, just look for the gal with the winning smile!

See You Real Soon!

Sincerely,
Gal Friday

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 someone in uniform near the front of the crowd. she seems to be a gal, but is missing the winning smile, along with most of her other features. she seems to see you, though, rushing to your side and placing a lei around your neck with great formality. a voice, cheery but artificial, sees to come from nowhere and everywhere.]

Welcome aboard! We're so glad to have you!

[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.]

2. messing with my mind was fun at the time

[freshly lei'd, your legs are forced to lead out onto the deck and towards your muster station. the same woman is there, carrying a clipboard. this time, she introduces herself as Gal Friday, the cruise director, before immediately going into the muster drill spiel. it is very boring, and you are not allowed to move, except when you are required to show you know how to put your life vest on. you could try to not do this, but Friday will move to stand in front of you very closely and just. look in your direction until such a time that you decide to do it. and I'm sure your fellow passengers want you to just get on with it, too.

but, once it ends? she reiterates her desire to welcome you aboard. and, then, you're free.

well, free to move about the ship at your own leisure, of course. which is a kind of free, and probably the best one you can hope for. you could try to escape, maybe, if you have the means to; Friday certainly won't be one to stop you. that's what the barrier is for, after all.

but, wouldn't you much rather have fun?

the buffet is full. the pool is open. the casino jingles and chimes.

welcome aboard.]

3. lots of mystery in the history of the devils I knew

[you were never alone.

a few days have passed since you first arrived on the Serena Eterna. perhaps you've made yourself a little routine, and settled in a bit. or maybe you haven't done that at all. either way, you're here, and it looks like somebody is pretty pissed off about it.

it starts small. sometimes nearby plates skid off tables, or a pool chair upends while you're walking next to it. and sometimes that chair is aimed right at your head. objects are moving with quickly increasing frequency, and a wide variety of styles: some are dropped, or pushed, and others and others are tossed, but a few of the items are thrown, with great force and odd accuracy. if Friday is around during the lighter moments, she simply titters and cleans up whatever mess is made. if a pot of soup sails off the buffet line and nearly drenches you in boiling minestrone, she simply walks away.

and then there's the voices. hundreds, maybe thousands, calling out. not all are intelligible English, but you seem to understand them anyway. some sound scared, or angry. some are screams, others whispers. some sound entirely strange, while others are achingly familiar. and they're all saying the same exact thing:

Get Out.]

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He doesn't seem to consider the admission good, bad, or shocking. He frowns a little, accepts it, and nods. "Then it's good that you got out." And he means that. Even if the past three days have been miserable, terrifying, and full of uncertainty... he thinks they've been better than going back to HYDRA. Well. Probably.

The question gets a sidelong look. That sounds like two things that really should not belong together. "No," he says. He's not sure he wants to.

"Aye! Life's too short to be a miserable fucking bag of wank, eh?" The lanky blond gives Craig a bro slap on the back although that just seems to hurt his hand more than it even gets Craig to move. This is why he's the glass cannon warlock and Craig's the unusually tanky assassin.

"Course you haven't." Don't kinkshame weapons in bed without having tried it first, is all John's going to say about that. "The Ramones are probably more popular over on your side of the pond. Well, listen mate. Both the Sex Pistols and the Ramones got me through some really rough shite. We could get completely pissed tonight and hold each other singing bloody Celine Dion at the front of the ship or we could smoke a carton and I'll introduce you to some real fucking lifechanging garbage. How about it eh?"

Companionable or not, the slap doesn't connect. The former Winter Soldier doesn't know any kind of touch that isn't violent, controlling, or clinical, or more often all three at once.

So the raised hand out of the corner of his vision has him skittering aside and out of the way, metal arm coming up to block what he can only assume is an attempt at correction. Even if Constantine is being weirdly okay and not particularly terrifying, and all the rambling reminds him of something he no longer remembers (which is kind of making his brain itch), he's not accepting corrections from-- from anyone. Anyone.

Not anymore. Not again.

He doesn't even know what he did this time.

The whole shpiel about the Ramones and maybe going out drinking doesn't even penetrate.

Well someone's definitely touchy and John gets far too comfortable too quickly, and they mix like fire and ice. At least he did keep his arm intact even if it's uncomfortable smacking a metal arm. And he's not too bothered about the Titanic joke falling flat or whatever might end up transpiring tonight. It's still so many hours away.

"Whoa, oi, easy there young fella." He raises both hands in surrender, keeping an extra foot of distance between them just to make Craig more comfortable. "Not gonna hurt you, love."

He lowers his hands and curls them into loose fists, turning them over and slowly unfurling his fingers. His hands had been empty just seconds ago but now he's got a stress ball in his right hand that he's conjured out of seemingly nothing.

"You look like you could use a stress ball. Can I give this to you?"

Baffled, wary, and maybe a tiny bit frustrated, he slowly lowers his arm when no more blows are forthcoming. That wasn't even hard enough to hurt, if it had connected with flesh. What was Constantine doing?

He's starting to realize, maybe, that he's lacking in some integral knowledge of how actual human people behave. The ones who aren't technicians, handlers, or members of his STRIKE team.

Looking from Constantine's left cheekbone to the little fluffy ball in his hand for a moment, he does finally unbend to hold out his own hand. Flesh one, this time. "Okay. ... What's it for." Presumably it doesn't cause stress. It's a little ball. It looks soft. It has... fucking eyes on it, or something.

Well if he wants a study on actual human people he's hanging out with the wrong fellow. Not that John isn't actually human, but he's probably not very 'normal' in various senses of the word.

Putting the stress ball in Craig's hand, John slips his hands back into his pockets and flashes Craig a lopsided smirk.

"When you're feeling a wee bit stressed, give it a few squeezes. It'll make you feel better." There's probably a perfectly rational explanation for it; brain releasing some chemicals or whatever. John's more of a magic person than a science person so he wouldn't be able to explain it too well. Best thing is for Craig to give it a shot himself.

Craig could always talk to it if he has no friends, or glare it into submission, but it'd be sad to come away from a cruise holiday without at least making one friend.

He looks vaguely skeptical, but he gives it a few tentative squeezes. He doesn't want to break it.

It feels weird. But not bad. And he thinks he likes the texture of it, the ribbing and the fluffy fabric. So he tucks it into his hoodie pocket, along with both hands.

There is one lingering bit of human interaction he can remember, at least: "Thank you." Then a pause, and he adds, "Sorry for. That."

Oh good, there's some manners in there hiding behind that permanent scowl. Craig's not a complete lost cause.

"S'alright love. Least you didn't yank me arm off and bludgeon me with it." It would be fully deserved but John intends to enjoy himself on this cruise and disembark with all his limbs intact, if he has any say in the matter.

"Has uh... anyone-- mmh, lemme rephrase. When was the last time someone touched you?" And not necessarily in a sexy way, but Craig is free to overshare about his sex life too if he really wants.

"Four days ago." It's a ready answer, but he thinks maybe that's not what Constantine meant. So after a pause, he frowns, and adds, "I was trying to kill him."

Which might well prove the point Constantine is trying to make, here.

"Right. So you're quite recently retired then," John can't help but joke dryly. "Anyone you haven't tried to kill? Or anyone who hasn't tried to hurt you? Maybe someone you'd-- feel less alone with?"

He's silent a long moment, continuing slowly down the stairs now, but finally shakes his head. There's no one. Why would there be anyone? He's a weapon. There's no need for such things, right?

His hand is still curled around the stress ball in his pocket.

"I don't remember much. But there were only techs. Handlers. Targets."

Even weapons have holsters that they go to bed with, and a caring hand passing over them from time to time to clean them out.

"There's more to life than 'handlers' and 'targets'," John says as he follows the railing around to the next flight of stairs. Deck One is almost in view now. They can hear the previous batch's briefing going on from where they're standing.

"Retirement's better with company, whether you're a catch of the day still wearing her fishnets writhing in your lap kind of bloke or if you'd rather just sleep next to someone who'll put up with your shite and press your snooze button for you." He doubts Craig understands what he's talking about, but if he rambles enough, one or two things will get through that thick skull and hopefully stick in there somewhere.

"But maybe you should make a few friends you can have a beer and watch a game with before you accidentally gut a gorgeous fish, eh?"

Not this one. Not in a long time, anyway. They tried hard to turn him into as much of a machine as they could. And really, either situation John describes sounds entirely impossible, not to mention undesirable. He is about 98% sure he would throw anyone who tried to get on his lap across the room, and 94% sure he wouldn't get any sleep with anyone else in the room.

"I'm not going to gut anyone," he reminds him. "Just. Don't hit me." Or touch him at all, actually, would be preferable. He slows a little at the sound of voices up ahead, and adds, "I don't know what having friends is like."

"Well alright Craig." Putting aside the fact that throwing someone across the room is just another way of gutting them if they end up breaking their necks for now... "I'm not a hitting sort of bloke." He hits on everyone, sure, but it's mostly harmless, if slightly annoyingly persistent flirting.

"Maybe you can get some friend practice in with your stress ball." He can throw that thing safely across the room until he's comfortable enough sleeping with it sitting in the same room.

"This is you," John gestures to the muster point once they're on the final flight of stairs. "Just look sharp for ten minutes, and then we'll go and get that steak, alright?"

You just tried to smack his back, John, that counts as hitting.

He eyes the doorway, but nods. After a beat, he even says, "Thank you." Whatever John did broke the spell of non-movement, and that's probably even better than the stress ball. He doesn't necessarily expect John to show back up again for steak, but even if he doesn't, he's still done a lot to help.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Re: cw abuse

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sorry Constantine... XD

it's fine, he's too handsy anyways 🤷

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