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

A fever sweeping through an entire hospital? Almost incomprehensible. But he doesn't have time to fully consider the horror when the subject shifts. His smile is still bright, but there's a bit of nervousness behind it. His brows furrow the slightest bit.

"That's precisely why I said anything at all, hearing you were a doctor; the more normalized it is, the more people that can be helped. People shouldn't have to turn to alcohol or illicit substances. Mental illness isn't a weakness, it's something that needs to be treated, like any other illness.

"What I deal with... it alters how my brain processes information, makes me more prone to tangents, restlessness, forgetfulness, ignoring cues like social or physical... and completing boring or horrible tasks is nearly impossible for me without being medicated. I could be prone to addiction if I remembered alcohol or drugs existed." A little laugh at himself. "I remember coffee, and that's far more important. Stimulants, such as my medication, actually work on my brain differently—they feel like they calm my mind and help me stay on task."

He shrugs, his smile returning. "I'm able to be productive because I've had treatment. We're not able to treat every mental illness or disorder yet, as everyone's brain is different and some are affected more severely, but we will, someday. And then no one will have to feel like a burden or be treated like one."

Edited (eh altering some description) 2022-03-01 03:57 (UTC)

"It's a shame, then," Watson muses, "that these advances are so far away from my time. Barely anyone speaks of such things in my day, and more's the pity. Well, at least I doubt you'll have difficulty finding coffee here, or at least I hope so, as I'm fond of a cup in the morning myself. That could be of some help."

He pauses a moment considering. " You said 'illicit,' but nothing I mentioned would have been illegal. Did they criminalize opium, or cocaine? Morphine has certainly done its share of damage. "

"A shame indeed," César agrees. "The more it's spoken of, the less people suffer."

"They've criminalized both opium and cocaine as well as many other dangerous drugs. And some... not so dangerous, whose ban is slowly being overturned. Morphine is only available through doctors as well as most other painkillers. My own drugs are heavily regulated... and while coffee does help, I'm hoping I can find some way to continue them here. We do have an infirmary, but I haven't searched-"

He pauses, makes an amused-annoyed face that transitions into a slight smirk at himself, and takes another mouthful of mixed nuts. Guess what he just remembered again?

Oh, they've criminalized cocaine. Isn't that interesting. Isn't that just the most interesting thing. He'd feel smug, if it weren't for... well, everything else.

"I did look through the infirmary's supplies, but I admit that not all of the drugs I found were familiar to me." Watson pauses, trying to read César's expression. "What is it? You've thought of something."

He finishes the bite then shrugs lightly, innocently. "I remembered I was supposed to be replenishing myself."

César is considering something while he's taking a drink this time, though.

Oh. Perhaps Watson got distracted too, for a moment, but this is a very interesting conversation. He's learning many things after all, some good, some bad.

"Is that all?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

César finishes taking his drink and shrugs lightly, again. "Mmm, no. I've remembered that I'll be going about adjusting my circadian rhythm over the next several days, so I'm considering how I wish to do that."

He tilts his head, frowning as he tries to recall the phrase, and fails. It's nothing he knows.

"I'm not familiar with that term," Watson says. "What does it mean?"

"Circadian: relating to biologic variations or rhythms with a frequency of 1 cycle in 24 ± 4 h; circa (about, approximately) and dies (day or 24 h)." Why yes, he's memorized the official definition of that term; what he says next is rote from someplace else as well. "Circadian rhythms are physical, mental, and behavioral changes that follow a 24-hour cycle. These natural processes respond primarily to light and dark and affect most living things, including animals, plants, and microbes."

Then, César adds himself: "Sleep-wake cycle, in this case. With the proliferation of artificial light in my time, it's very easy to get lost in one's work and stay up far later than before rapid electrification. Our artificial light is strong enough to disrupt our natural bodily rhythms."

Which absolutely had nothing to do with keeping himself distracted until he was literally too tired to think about one of the most traumatic experiences in his life that just happened. Nope. Absolutely not.

Okay. So that's not an entirely unfamiliar concept. People get tired at night, generally. It's maybe not something that he's spent a lot of time studying, but it's a sensible concept.

And he has to suppose that if one were to be somehow transported from one time zone to another, that could cause problems, but he's really not sure how it might do that.

Watson has been running a finger over his moustache thoughtfully, but now he leans forward. "César," he says, in a serious tone of voice, "how long have you been awake?"

Watson immediately finds not only the breadcrumbs that César was metaphorically leaving but the entire loaf guiltily held in his hands. Guilty, because that really describes the tone to his smile. He looks down at his left wrist, then starts to turn his hand around.

"I've been up for, uh, ahhhh-" That sure is a handful of mixed nuts that ended up in his lap before he tilts the bag back up. "Oh. ... ... ... perhaps a tad too long. Over 23 hours."

César was trying to be a smartass by reporting the time to the second. He's tired enough to be a dumbass instead. Very, very carefully, he puts down his water next to him and starts pinching up the nuts one at a time and gathering them in his fist.

Watson's face is as neutral as he can be, but sometimes doctors have to be able to do that. It would be a lie to say there was no disapproval in his face, though.

"Yes, I'd say that's a tad too long," he says sternly. "I think that perhaps you ought to rest, in that case."

César blinks a couple of times, regarding Watson curiously and looking directly at his face. "I was thinking it might be easier to sleep if I stayed up until bedtime proper."

It's not quite rolling up his personable nature that he was showing several seconds ago, but more that he's so fully taken attention to Watson's response that he's forgotten all else. Including the peanut between his thumb and index finger.

Watson looks at César for a moment, then takes his watch from his waistcoat pocket, consults it, and shakes his head. "No, that won't do. I cannot recommend that. While I applaud the general notion of trying to 'reset' yourself, I think that it would be far better to take a nap."

His expression is pointed. This is a very strong suggestion.

César makes himself relax. No use being paranoid. Black Knight wouldn't be able to hire someone who could care to save her life. No one who could would want to work for her. ... save for him. For good reasons. The end justify the means, the ends justifies the means....

He smiles weakly. "Do you have children, Doctor Watson? You have... t-the Stern Father Face down to a science." He had meant the words to be a teast; he hadn't meant that moment of wavering weakness.

It's alarming, really. His mental fortitude against showing his emotions is greatly weakened. César should've known. After today's events, staying up far too late, and not properly nourishing his body... Sleep. Sleep is the only thing he should be doing.

"You won't hear me argue. A nap is precisely what I need."

A flicker of pain passes over his face despite himself, his smile flickering, his gaze fading into the middle distance for a moment

"I am a widower, and we had no children," he says, his voice very neutral. "Perhaps it's not meant to be." And then, to avoid the conversation lingering in this uncomfortable place, he carries on. "Why don't I walk you to your room?"

Microexpressions. César's learned about them and to hate his own, but it means that sometimes he catches those of others now—

His expression mirrors Watson's, automatically, but this time César doesn't hate it. A swirl of relief that he doesn't have to stop it and grief because that's what it is. Understanding.

César's expression does melt into something quieter, and he nods silently. He throws the nuts he dropped on his lap into his mouth and while chewing, caps the water bottle, and rolls up the rest of the bag of nuts so they won't fall out. The nuts go into one of his pockets, like a squirrel saving food for later.

"... My condolences." César says quietly, looking forward, expression more neutral; he needn't apologize for reminding Watson, as he couldn't have known. "You reminded me of my father. You're cut from similar cloth."

"I'm sorry you've suffered such a loss, too." He slowly stands, a sad smile as he turns to offer Watson a hand this time. "I lost my parents, recently. An accident. It's never gotten any easier."

Watson's the first person he's ever told. A near stranger. The first person who's shown him genuine concern and caring for him in a moment of need since his parents. César's father would've made the exact same face had his mother been the only one to not make it out.

Watson stands, and he reaches to take César's hand. He squeezes gently, then releases.

"If I remind you of your father, I'll take that as a compliment," he says. "I'm sorry, César. I've had enough grief in my life that I know it fades with time, though it never truly leaves you. Some things, I think, you carry your whole life."

The gentle squeeze of his hand is surprisingly effective. It's not much. But it's more than two men that are strangers typically would show each other. Knowing one stranger can be so kind to another, can just care about another human being for being human still. It helps.

"Good, because it is. He was a good man that I hope I'll be like some day." He makes room for the man to gather his cane, and he nods, body posture a bit more relaxed, the emotions on his face not hidden away, even if they've gentled to slowly lapping waves and there's a gentle smile on his face. "I do not doubt this is one such thing."

César picks up his water bottle again then gestures down the hall. "My room is down this way. ... and if you ever need a listening ear, please do come find me. I've always been a good listener. People are fascinating and emotions are important, even if I understand neither all that well. We've learned in my time that talking helps, and that it isn't against being a man to do so. I'm honestly impressed you understand so much despite living before many of the discoveries I base my own knowledge off of."

Shut up, brain. He knows he's being a hypocrite. There's no choice back home.

Edited (added a sentence) 2022-03-04 20:55 (UTC)

Watson gives a wry smile. That might be a little bit insulting coming from someone else, but he recognises that César means well by it. And Holmes has said worse to him over the breakfast table, anyway. "Though there might be many advances I lived too early to see myself," he says, "I nevertheless know a thing or two about being human. I extend the same offer to you, of course. I'm just along here in 102, myself."

"Thank you. I will if I need someone." He means well by it, but also, he looks a bit embarrassed. "I didn't mean it quite like that... it's more like I had to binge on books and other media that aren't available in your time to get to a similar level of understanding. Understanding people has always eluded me."

A pause, then he rubs the back of his neck. "I've... suddenly forgotten my room number. I really am that tired. I'll just have to show you."

"It's quite all right," Watson assures him, unconcerned. "I shall save my fits of temper for when it matters." Which is generally a good rule to follow, he finds. He can certainly have a sharp temper, but it's definitely better saved for important occasions, when possible.
"We all have our strengths and weaknesses, after all. Please, lead the way."

Edited 2022-03-05 18:24 (UTC)

"I have a similar policy." César doesn't have much of a temper until he does. "I find my rare moments of anger flood my mind with energetic clarity, stripping away excess thoughts."

He does lead the way. "I've learned to accept most of my strengths and weaknesses."

Watson laughs a bit at that. "I wish I felt my own anger was so productive. Rather more likely to get me into trouble, since that's when I stop thinking clearly. That's when I think like a soldier, which is sometimes appropriate in civilian life, but not always."

César nods in understanding. "My baby brother is like that; he's impossible to reason with when he's mad. He's sixteen, so he's going to lose it even faster for a while until his body settles down again."

A wistful sort of sad-happiness, but he's mostly amused for the moment.

"I haven't seen him truly angry since he was a boy, though. We'll have to see if he still stomps around." Did he stomp around or is that bullshitting? It's César's big brotherly duty to never tell.

THIS IS HEADCANON but also there's ample evidence it's likely correct and hereditary in his family

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I dicerolled this to be fair but he rolled a 1

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