come_sailaway | i'm feeling devious, you're looking glamorous

WHO: Jeff & OPEN
WHEN: June 1 - June 10
WHERE: Random cabins, every bar, the buffet, idk basically anywhere
SUMMARY: A messy new arrival hits the ground, uh... stumbling to rock bottom. I swear he'll chill out after this.
WARNINGS: Binge drinking, references to demons, possession, trauma, and death. Oh and Billy Joel slander.

So, like...

All things considered, Jeff thinks he's taking this pretty well. Obviously, he's majorly fucking dead, which is about what he expected after performing the ritual to give his body over to a demon. And, okay, so the afterlife is a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, and that's, like, really not his scene, but it's better than the big empty void of oblivion he'd been expecting, so... Things are already looking up.

Look at him. He's chill. He's copacetic. He's not freaking out about anything at all.

After the mandatory safety drills are done, you can find Jeff all over the Serena Eterna, exploring all the fine shops and amenities the ship has to offer.

i. bar hopping...

...fuck it, okay, fine, he's bar hopping. That's all he's doing. Look, there's a lot of places to get a drink here, and Jeff's a connoisseur of self destruction and debauchery, and besides, he's already dead, so it's not like he has any reason to sober up now.

So, really, if you stop by any bar on the ship, you're likely to run into Jeff there at some point or another, in various states of intoxication. Maybe he's holding a one-sided conversation with an indifferent ghost at the poolside bar, while it blends him a daiquiri. Maybe he's singing to himself and anyone around him at Hurrikane-- hey, wait, did a cocktail napkin spontaneously burst into flames while he was singing? Maybe he's dancing with anyone who's got the misfortune of being at Rischie at the same time as him. Or maybe he's grooving alone at John's, to the beat of some song in his head, stopping to hurl expletives at the ghostly piano player as it launches into its set. "Fuuuuuck you, Piano Man. Billy Joel's a hack. Ha... ha... Fuck. Billy Joel. I'm in hell..."

The ghost of the piano man doesn't even care. Somehow, the indifference stings.

ii. strange bedfellows...

Big messy breakdowns can take a lot out of a guy. Not that Jeff's having a breakdown. It's just a general observation, about breakdowns in general, for other people. Jeff's fine, after all. He's just having a good time.

But sooner or later, that ~~breakdown~~ good time starts to take its toll, and Jeff's gotta crawl back to his cabin to sleep it off. The only thing is, he doesn't actually remember his cabin number. It's... 123, right? No. Wait. 113. 102... He knows for a fact it starts with a 1.

(What do you mean every cabin starts with a 1?)

Eventually, Jeff finds his way back to his cabin, or at least what he thinks is his cabin. Maybe it's actually your cabin, in which case: if you left the door unlocked, he's definitely going to stumble in and zonk out on one of the beds, thinking it's his. Total Goldilocks move. If it's locked, well, he'll just slump down in front of the door and sleep the booze off there, in the hall. You might have to step over him, or just wake him up.

iii. breakfast of champions...

Decked out in Tommy Bahama, with sunglasses perched in his hair, Jeff looks like he's finally settling into the cruise life... as he groans and slumps his head down on a table at the buffet, a plate of untouched food beside him. What's the point of hangovers in the afterlife?

"'s not fair. I wanna diiiie..." he whines into the table, as if this hangover is, truly, the worst hangover anyone's suffered, ever, in the history of the universe. If you join him, Jeff will lift his head and look absolutely pitiful. For as much of a mess as he is, he really has mastered the art of puppy dog eyes. Somehow, he actually manages to look like some kind of innocent Disney princess decked out in Tommy Bahama.

"I don't think I'm doing so good right now," he confesses.

Fine. Okay. So maybe Jeff isn't taking any of this well at all.

iv. wildcard...

go wild, throw anything at me. hit me at weeyotch or weeyotch#8200 if you want to plot something in particular!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Maximilien doesn't sleep, well not often anyway, but he does actually use his cabin occasionally and there is currently someone in the hallway outside it.

Someone drunk, snoring, and blocking the whole entire doorway.

So Jeff, enjoy getting prodded by a foot wearing a very expensive Italian leather loafer belonging to one entirely robotic being.

"Move."

Welcome to the ship.

Look, it's probably not the first time he's been nudged by a very expensive Italian leather loafer--

--but it is the first time he's been prodded by a robot. It's the first time he's even met or seen a robot, so when Jeff opens his bleary eyes and squints up at the guy standing over him, and he gets a look at that face, his first thought is IS THAT A FUCKING TERMINATOR?

Followed by: Is my roommate a fucking terminator?

Jeff's eyes widen, and he does his best to scoot out of the way, like, as much as his totally uncoordinated limbs will let him.

"Dude..." Don't ask if he's a terminator, don't ask if he's a terminator... "Um. I think... I got locked out?"

Because this is his room, of course. Obviously.

In good news he absolutely will not get the reference so if nothing else it'll be a good way to confuse him.

"I fail to see how that's my problem." He backs off a bit, folding his arms over his chest and watching Jeff with red glowing eyes. This isn't someone he recognizes, which means it might be someone who's just arrived.

And has been availing themselves of all the free liquor apparently.

"How drunk are you right now?"

His eyes are glowing red. Total terminator.

Jeff scrunches his nose in thought, trying to count back on the drinks he's had-- fuck, no that's a lost cause. He wasn't keeping track. All he knows is, the answer to that question is: very.

"Um..." He waves a hand, as if a vague, sloppy, noodly hand gesture counts as an answer. "Not..." He's dragging the word out, stalling as he tries to think of a totally convincing answer. "I'm not that drunk." Nailed it. Jeff flashes a totally convincing smile. "Just a little tipsy."

He waves up at the terminator. "I'm Jeff."

That drunken hand gesture tells Max way more than any words would. He takes another step back just in case the man is about to puke on his very expensive shoes.

"That is absolutely convincing and I totally believe you." Said utterly deadpan. Did you know robots can lie? Important information right there.

"Maximilien." A pause, "You're not intending to sleep this off in my room are you? Which one is yours?"

Glancing down the hall in the hopes there's a big blinking neon sign that says DRUNK GUYS ROOMso he can haul this guy away and dump him somewhere.

Jeff gives a slow, lazy smile in what looks something like pride. "Thanks, man..." Did the deadpan insincerity just fly over his drunken head? Absolutely.

And as for the question, Jeff shifts a little, though he doesn't bother trying to get up. He just sort of cranes his neck and tries to make out the number on the door.

"This one... I think? Yeah... I thought this was my room."

Okay, so he doesn't actually know his room number.

Max just stares because, he does in fact have a roommate that he's never met. Whoever it is has random stuff in the room, but doesn't seem to use the room very often or ever. In over a month Max has never even seen them. So it's actually plausible that this person is in fact his roommate.

Which would be horrifying.

"You're certain?" Because that's not.. ideal. With a long suffering sigh he steps around Jeff to open the door, entering the room and letting Jeff flop across the threshold.

"Have you been drunk and passed out in the bar for a month?" Because why hasn't he ever seen him before?

Maybe this is it, Max. Maybe you've finally met your roommate, and he's an absolute mess, and this is your life now. Jeff absolutely flops as the door opens, and it seems to take him a moment to realize it's even happened, before he sits up startled and looks around the cabin.

His cabin.

Right? The thing is, all these cabins look the same, and he's no good at remembering numbers anyway. This might as well be his room--

--wait. A month?

"Um... I think it's only been, like... a few days, maybe." He doesn't sound totally certain, and he takes a few moments to consider the possibility that it really has been a month, before he shakes his head. "I dunno. Time doesn't work different when you're--" Dead. "--in a place, um... a place like this..." He tilts his head curiously and looks up at Maximilien like the guy's got all the answers. "Does it?"

This place would make him room with a drunken human disaster, so everything is currently adding up to this actually being Jeff's cabin. Welcome home roomie.

"Well there's still day and night, though if you've been inside I'm not sure how you would tell. And time does seem to work the same here, twenty-four hours to a day, sixty minutes to an hour." He elegantly sits on the end of the bed, crossing his legs and watching Jeff on the floor.

He is not going to offer further assistance.

"Have you only just arrived then?"

It's fine, it's fine, Jeff's a strong, independent, mature adult with a can-do attitude and he can move himself... in a dragging sort of crawl towards the couch. He'll even pull himself upright just enough to lean his head on the cushions, which seems about all he can manage right now.

"Yeah..." He closes his eyes, clearly about to say more, before trailing off instead. But it's only for a few moments, before he opens his eyes again and continues like he didn't just nod off right there. "Still finding my... my sea legs."

He giggles a little, like he totally just told a joke.

Well that's something resembling sitting. It's in the same genre as sitting. It counts.

"As someone who does not get motion sick, or drunk, I'm probably not qualified to say this - but being intoxicated sounds like the opposite of finding your sea legs." It sounds like it's making it worse honestly.

"If you fall asleep like that will you fall and snap your neck and die?" maybe a little hopeful.

"No, see, it's like... training. Just wait 'til I sober up," he assures Max, somehow earnest in spite of how wasted he is. It's debatable if Jeff actually has any plans of ever sobering up. "I'll be unstoppable... with my walking."

Pretty lofty goals for a man who can't really stand up right now. He does lift his head up, though, eyes widening a little with panic.

"That can happen? I thought... thought I was already, um... you know... Dead?"

If Jeff was even slightly more sober he could enjoy this absolutely deadpan look of annoyance that Max is sending him. He may not know that much about humans but he's positive that you can't train for seasickness like tossing off weighted arm bands when getting into a fight. ~~what anime does Jeff think he's in??~~

"I cannot contain my excitement at your walking abilities once you're able to stand again. I'm sure it will be ever so impressive."

Oh hey, there's something a little like concern and panic on Jeff's face. That's fun and exploitable. "Of course you can die again. What did you expect? To be able to walk around riddled with bullets and bleeding forever if someone shot you?"

He scoffs as if this should all be obvious somehow, "You will come back if you die, but tomorrow. However that would get you out of this hangover so if you'd like me to throttle you I'd be willing to assist."

i'm feeling devious, you're looking glamorous | OPEN

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