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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By the time Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome is out of his room, John had already been to the safety briefing, and while he has no idea how he came on board, who else is on the boat, why he's here, how does he get off-- well. One look at someone just standing there in the hallway not-hyperventilating and not-panicking and Constantine's pretty sure that's how he's getting off.

A whiff of fresh sea air carries with it deep, rich undertones of freshly harvested fear. He might as well have DAMAGED GOODS tattooed on his forehead.

"'ello love." Is that a metal hand? Constantine's betting ten quid on PTSD. "You look lost."

That'll be the easiest ten quid you ever won, John. This bad boy can fit so much PTSD in him.

He doesn't quite look at John, but it's clear he keeps him in his sights. He struggles for a long moment between admitting weakness and maybe getting help, but finally he grates out, "I can't move."

"Course you can. Come to me." Constantine keeps his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to snap his fingers or gesture like he would to a stray cat or dog. But he's looking fairly relaxed and non-threatening - and not even really trying, at that.

"I don't bite until the second date." But he would if Mr. PTSD asks nicely.

Constantine gets his first actual, intentional expression, and even then it's kind of subtle. But he can probably pick out a baffled annoyance from the set of his eyebrows and mouth. He's a weapon. He doesn't go on dates.

Then the annoyance slides out for a second, leaving just confusion, as he wonders where he learned that particular slang. If he doesn't go on dates, how does he know what one is?

But it only lasts a few heartbeats before he tries doing as instructed. For one step. If Constantine is standing in the direction of "deck one", then he takes that one step, then hastily attempts to step backwards again only to find that also doesn't work. If Constantine is not standing in the direction of deck one, all he does is stand there and make a frustrated little noise. "Are you doing this?" he demands.

Well they can skip the date and just go straight to the heavy metal handjob if that's what Mr. PTSD prefers. Constantine's more of a punk rocker himself but he's already a freak in the streets; you can expect him to be the kinkiest fucker in the sheets.

He does happen to be standing between the weapon and Deck One so it seems the witchcraft is working.

"I am. I'm charming and irresistible and a real shite magnet that way. Now come on, love. Can't be standing there all day. "

This time the look is even clearer: he thinks Constantine is nowhere near as charming and irresistible as he claims. Also, that answer is as good as a no, really. But he starts moving again, slow and careful, like he expects each step to suddenly stick to the floor again.

If Constantine doesn't actually move with him, he'll give the guy a wide berth, as wide as the hallway will allow, half-turning to keep him in his sights. "Probably could. Stand there all day." It wouldn't be fun, but he could certainly do it, if he fucking knew why he couldn't move a minute ago.

He has not connected it to the ship making him go where it wants, just yet.

God he looks like hard work. At least John is willing to stick around. He backpedals a bit so they're on opposite sides of the hallway, but he follows along towards Deck One, keeping half a step ahead so he's in the other man's field of vision the entire time.

"And who's going to clean up the mess when you take a piss on the floor, then?" Because that's clearly the number one concern when you're rooted to the floor.

"What's your name, handsome?"

That's disgusting. He can hold his bodily functions for longer than that, Jesus. Also he's probably kind of dehydrated right now, anyway. He wrinkles his nose up, but it's brief, and not angled in Cosntantine's direction.

The actual decent question is the one he deigns to respond to. Even if it's not a great answer. "I don't have one." Shut up, stupid former target. He doesn't know if he wants that name yet. Names haven't been allowed for so long, the thought of picking one, even (or especially) one that leaves him so angry and confused, is hard.

"You don't have one?" John reiterates incredulously. "Then what do people call you? You have a serial number or something?" he jokes.

He turns to duck out of the side door towards the lift lobby area, expecting No Name to follow. If he doesn't, he'll get fingers rudely snapped in his direction and a whistle to catch his attention.

"Try and keep up, mate."

He's leery of getting into one of those elevators, but he follows for now. He hesitates on the question-- his brain does want to bring up a serial number, but he also has pretty firm associations of saying it with being electrocuted, so he isn't going to say it-- before answering, "They called me the asset. Or sometimes the Winter Soldier."

"Maaaaate." The 'Winter Soldier'? Whatever acid this fellow has been dropping, John wants some too. "That's not gonna work for me. Too many syllables when you're bollocks deep in someone's arse or-- bollocksed to begin with. Can I call you 'Craig'?"

He doesn't look like a Craig, but John probably doesn't look like a John either.

"Me name's John Constantine. They call me a bloody prick." Clearly he wears it with pride. Mashing the down button, he glances around the different elevator numbers before shooting a grin at Craig. "I'm an exorcist, demonologist and master of the dark arts."

"I didn't pick it," he answers flatly. "Blame HYDRA." Unaware of the poetic source of the name, he can only assume it has something to do with being in cryo.

But he doesn't protest to being called "Craig" either, even if he doesn't think he likes it. It doesn't feel right. He's not a "Craig". He's not anything else, though, either. "I don't know what any of that means. I'm an assassin." A pause. "I was. I don't. Do that anymore."

Four days of freedom really isn't enough to make that come easily.

"Your old man's name was 'Hydra'? Sounds like a real piece of work." He didn't peg Craig for a daddy issues on top of PTSD kind of bloke but maybe he can figure that out later, along with the just-got-fired-from-being-an-assassin thing. Tough luck.

"Right. Well all we need is a monk and a paladin and we can raid the lowest deck together," John remarks dryly as one of the elevators dings and the sleek door slide open, waiting for them to step inside.

"Well Craig, I don't want to be losing a hand like you, so you'd better come inside," John encourages, leading the way into the lift and holding the door open for Craig.

"I don't have an old man. HYDRA was my handlers."

Not anymore. He's not going back. Though given the amount of say he had in showing up here, he's not sure what good his desperate plans are anymore.

He takes one step towards the elevator, then stops. Shudders a little at the sight of the small space. "I. I can't."

Trust issues, no name, 'Winter Soldier', assassin, handlers - past tense, claustrophobic... Alright. John's piecing together bits and pieces, based on the dribs and drabs Craig is giving him. He slips out of the elevator just as it closes behind him, nearly clipping the tail of his trenchcoat, and stays standing, unmoving between Craig and the stairs.

"Alright love," John says, voice dropping to a gentle but firm tone. He has a calming spell up his sleeve - he has a lot of spells up his sleeve - but using magic from the get-go usually doesn't turn out so well.

"You're alright." He can't promise that there's no hydras here. He's seen some weird shite even when he hasn't ingested a whole bowl of ayahuasca. A hydra could be waiting in the men's loo waiting to attack them with all its heads flying out the door. But he can be a little bit serious for a little while, just try and get Craig to a slightly better headspace. People who are scared and unpredictable and have nothing to lose are far more dangerous than any hydras, angels or demons he's ever gone toe to toe with.

"Well I came here alone. I presume you came here alone. Let's say... Hydra isn't here. And nobody's going to find you, put you in a wee cage. You don't have to do what anyone else wants you to do. You're on a boat, somewhere nobody can find you, and you're free. What do you want to do?"

He can't actually remember a time when he was calm. He can fake it pretty well, but everything in his too-short memory is full of fear and fury, worry and stress. Even his sleep.

But he's not going to kill anyone. He's not. He doesn't do that anymore.

And maybe HYDRA's here, maybe they're not. But he can't go around scaring civilians, that's not right either. He takes a shuddering breath and gets the moment of more obvious terror under control. Constantine is being very patient with him, that's a kindness. "Take the stairs," he answers at last. The moving metal box is not a thing he can do, but if there's stairs, he can do that. He's done stairs many times since the helicarrier, and they've been fine.

"Alright." John meant more generally, like maybe there's something they could do on the ship once Craig's sufficiently stabilised somewhat, but they can take it one thing at a time.

"Let's take the stairs, pet." John takes the lead, again, slow steps and staying in front.

"You'll need to come down, with me." He can try going up, but that's moving away from Deck One, so he can stand there fighting it for another half hour or he can follow the annoying blond bloke with the accent.

"I'm feeling a wee bit peckish. Are you hungry?" Now he's just spontaneously throwing an itinerary together for Craig. After the safety briefing, he's free to peel off and go do whatever he likes of course, and John wouldn't care either way if he has company for mealtime or not. But it seems a little half-arsed to get Craig to the safety briefing and then fuck off.

Best to keep it small for now. He'll get to the more existential "what do you want" questions eventually. Just... maybe not today.

But he does follow along, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, where there's a knife that he can hold onto just for the feeling of security. "I should eat," he says, which is not exactly an answer. He struggles for a moment-- it was so much easier to handle his shit when he didn't have to admit to a need out loud because nobody was trying to talk to him-- then adds, "Food would be a good idea."

"Right." Lunch date counts as the first date by the way so the biting is coming, Craig.

"I'll take you to the safety briefing. Just stand there and look alive, nothing too complicated. Then we'll go for some scran." That's Scouse for 'food', but Craig will get the hang of it.

"What're you thinking to have?" John tries to distract him further as they head down multiple flights of stairs. Deck One is all the way down. "A huge chunk o' steak? Twelve strips of bacon and one leaf of lettuce? Or are you a vegetarian quiche sort of bloke?"

That seems like a lot of options. And he has no idea what some of them are.(Why does "vegetarian" make him think "Beans for breakfast, beans for supper, and oh boy, beans for dinner!"?)

So he just kind of slides a helpless look at Constantine and says, "I just. Mostly eat what I can find." It's only been three days that he's had to worry about feeding himself, man. Trash cans behind restaurants are his friends.

That's only the first three things that came to mind. There'll be ninety seven other options in the various eateries. The only thing more overwhelming than being dragged along somewhere is going to be the number of choices when you're standing in the middle of a buffet.

"Right. Charity diet, eh? I left 'ome when I was young, slept at a fair number of bus stops. I know what that's like. You're sticking with me for a couple meals. We'll try a wee bit o' everything until we find what you like - starting with a medium-rare steak." Craig looks like a steak might make him a little happier.

"I'm gonna leave you at the safety briefing for a wee bit, alright? Think you can stay for ten minutes while they talk you through everything?"

The buffet really, really is going to be overwhelming. He's not going to say no to somebody else making his eating decisions for... a while, probably. Then he won't lock up with indecision.

"I'll be fine," he mutters at the reassurance. He's not an infant, he is a highly trained weapon. He's just... only highly trained in certain things. Has he ever been to a safety briefing before? Has anyone ever cared about his safety...? Doesn't matter. He would have been fine if the whole couldn't-move-thing hadn't happened.

Not that he's not grateful for the help. And the patience. He just hopes he doesn't need to be treated like a child forever. "Why did you leave home?" he asks, pushing the subject away to something less irritating.

Constantine will definitely be intervening, albeit sporadically, until such time as Craig is able to pick different things at the buffet for himself for every meal every day. He can't be having bacon and steak day in, day out, no matter how good the chefs can make it. Who knows - maybe in time he'll even pick his own name and go by something else of his own choosing.

"Ah..." Usually he doesn't speak the truth to anyone. Well, actually. It's true that he left home to learn more about magic. And it's also true that he left home because he wanted to start his own punk band. Those aren't lies. But he'd also left home because if he'd stayed for much longer he probably would have died. John's eyebrows rise and he grins at Craig, a playful little glint in his eyes as he decides that maybe for once, he'd go with the truth. They're on holiday after all. He's not expecting to ever see Craig again in a few days' time when the boat reaches some port somewhere.

"The beatings were getting worse. And I got tired of being the old man's ashtray." He can't imagine it was all sunshine and rainbows either, hanging out with the hydra.

"You ever heard of the Sex Pistols, Craig?"

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?"

TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Strange Chateau

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cw abuse

Re: cw abuse

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sorry Constantine... XD

it's fine, he's too handsy anyways 🤷

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