TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[sailmods]

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.]

Comments

So very true

[neverreallyalone]

[ He watches the antics with horror and sickened fascination, wincing in sympathy as he puffs on his own. Sure. Okay. So that's how things work here. If he's dead it makes as much sense as anything else so far, he supposes. ]

...BJ. Okay. I'm Luke. Nice, uh. Hair. It's really...green.

[creepyoldguy]

[At the compliment the tips brightened a shade.]

Thanks! Grew it myself.

[neverreallyalone]

That's usually how hair works, yeah.

[ But it at least pulls a smile out of Luke, albeit a little wary still. But it's not like he hasn't known plenty of people like the guy, so at least it's a familiar kind of wariness. Comfortable wariness. ]

...wait, did it just change color a little?

[creepyoldguy]

...naaaah. I'm sure not. [It was a pretty unconvincing lie. Which he did nothing to help as he continued.]

That would be weird. Probably just a trick of the light. Not like it does that all the time or anything, it's just normal hair, like any other breather.

[neverreallyalone]

[ Luke's really not buying it, but he's also all too used to people telling him the things he sees aren't real. The guy says it doesn't, even if it sounds like he's as good as admitting it, it's ingrained to Shut Up About It. ]

...yeah, okay. Sure. What do you mean by "breather"?

[creepyoldguy]

Normal living people like all of us normal living people types.

[Smooth.]

[neverreallyalone]

...right.

[ He's really not buying it now. He even gives the guy a sideline look, communicating how much he's not buying it. ]

I mean, I'm pretty sure I died before I got here, but sure.

[creepyoldguy]

You did?

[His relief was palpable.]

Oh, thank god/satan. See, I'm dead too. Born dead. I'm a demon. It's great to meet a fellow dead guy, I can't even begin to tell ya.

[neverreallyalone]

Yeah. I mean it was... It's not something I really want to talk about, but yeah.

[ He starts fidgeting more visible then, even as he continues to smoke, fingers scratching at the back of his head. ]

...you're a demon?

[creepyoldguy]

Jeeze, you're not gonna cry about it are ya? [He paused and stopped, pursing his lips, thinking of a certain pair of boring ghosts and a gothy teen.] Eh...suit yourself.

[He shook himself off, brushing absolutely nothing off of his suit, straightening his lapels.]

Yep. Genuine article, straight from the Netherworld.

[neverreallyalone]

No, I'm not gonna cry about it. I'm just not proud of it, that's all.

[ But the guy moves on from it, so he's just as happy to. ]

Huh. I guess now I've seen everything.

[creepyoldguy]

You're ashamed...of bein' dead?

[Beetlejuice puffed his chest a little.]

Normally, I'm a bioexorcist.

[neverreallyalone]

Not of death itself, just how it happened.

[ He shrugs; not the first time, sure, just the first time it stuck so hard, and he hadn't even been in control of it. Stupid fucking house. ]

...a what? What the hell is a bioexorcist?

[creepyoldguy]

Were you stabbed in the ass while on the john? There was this king who was assassinated that way, and yes, there were a lot of "ass-assinated" jokes. The guy was not a good sport. He was fun to yeet through a door.

[Without really waiting for an answer, he launched into a proud explanation of his chosen..."career".]

I get the living out of the deceased's home.

[neverreallyalone]

[ He gives the strange man an odd look, trying to decide what parts of what he says are true and what aren't, then finally huffs in something like a sigh. ]

No. I wasn't stabbed in the ass on the john.

Didn't realize that was even a service.

[creepyoldguy]

Getting stabbed on the john isn't really a----OH, bioxerocism.

[He nodded, beaming.]

I teach the ghosties how to haunt.

[neverreallyalone]

[ The topic changes for good this time, or at least changes enough it's easier to let it pass, even if the alternative is just...absurd. Regardless, a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he was holding onto slips out. ]

You what? Dude, ghosts know how to haunt. You don't need to teach them, trust me.

[creepyoldguy]

Pfffft. You'd think. You'd think that it'd just come natural. But, trust me, fella, there are boring, boring ghosts out there.

I met the universe's most boring dead couple. The Maitlands. Adorable. Both of 'em. But, literally unable to haunt.

[neverreallyalone]

Yeah well. Maybe there should be more of those.

[creepyoldguy]

They are adorable. [A fond, if somewhat oddly frustrated, smile.]

But, if all recently deceased were adorable boring middle-class suburban white couples, the afterlife would be even deader than it already is.

[neverreallyalone]

And what's wrong with that? Maybe more ghosts should be nice instead of scaring people all the time.

[ The crap he dealt with when he was six still hangs around, okay. ]

[creepyoldguy]

I dunno. I mean, Lyds was better at haunting and she's a living kid. We had a blast together, scaring the crap outta people!

....but the nice thing....is...uh...nice....I guess....

[neverreallyalone]

Better than being terrified out of your mind when you're six.

[creepyoldguy]

Isn't that just what being six is like for everyone? Being terrified of your Ma and hoping she doesn't find you?

[neverreallyalone]

[ His fidgeting only grows more prominent, fingers tapping rhythmically against his arm. one-two-three-four-five-six-seven. And a second time. And a third. He worries at his nails, restless unease keeping him in motion. ]

I loved my mom. She was the best.

She's not the one who terrorized me in a basement. Or in the middle of the night.