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come_sailaway2022-08-12 01:46 am
sailmods) wrote in come_sailaway2022-08-12 01:46 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: ekko,
- arcane: jinx,
- changeling the lost: giles,
- changeling the lost: oswald wuthridge,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- far cry 5: deputy pratt,
- far cry new dawn: sharky boshaw,
- fe3h: dimitri alexandre blaiddyd,
- groundhog day musical: phil connors,
- interview with the vampire: claudia,
- lavender jack: honoria crabb,
- lavender jack: johnny summer,
- mcu: ava starr,
- mcu: marc spector,
- mcu: steven grant,
- original: aiden copeland,
- original: lucas kovach,
- original: ylva wolfsdottir,
- overwatch: bastion e54,
- overwatch: maximilien,
- prodigal son: malcolm bright,
- rwby: ruby rose,
- sherlock holmes: john watson,
- skulduggery pleasant: skulduggery,
- tales of the abyss: jade curtiss,
- tales of vesperia: rita mordio,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the locked tomb: palamedes sextus,
- the umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves,
- westworld: maeve millay
AUGUST EVENT: DRAGSTRIP RIOT
[it begins with a PA announcement on the morning of the 12th, Friday’s voice coming through clear and cheerful.]
Any passengers that wish to debark to our latest port of call can exit the ship through the metal detectors on deck zero! Please be advised that all alcohol will be confiscated prior to your exit!
[and whoever heads down to the lowest deck will find that what she said was true: there is a metal detector set up there, with Friday manning it. after placing all metal objects (including weapons, and all your weapons) onto the tray, she gestures for the passenger to step through the metal detector.
they exit in an entirely different location. suffering from a splitting headache, and wearing an entirely different outfit than they had put on this morning, but unscathed. they even got their weapons back!
the interior of the diner is essentially your average jonathan rockets establishment. the narrow lane between booths and counter is manned by an entirely mute Friday clone, who cheerily takes orders and serves up food (cooked??? somewhere???) with an almost unnatural talent for roller blading. there is a jukebox in the corner that can be fed with quarters passengers will inexplicably find on their person. the available songs range from the 50s to the 80s, with a particularly wide selection of songs from the platters.
outside, the diner is a great chrome boxcar, circled by a small parking lot. a large neon sign proclaims it to be GIL’S; it buzzes and flickers on and off often. passengers who have regained vehicles will find these vehicles parked outside. there are also a handful of midcentury American cars; none of them seem to require keys, and the gas tank seems set at full.
past the parking lot is a seemingly endless expanse of desert sand and scrubland, bisecting by the empty highway that the diner abuts. a few miles down this highway, the road forks into a smaller one, which winds its way up a steep, ragged mountain until plateauing into another parking lot, with only a small, old wooden fence between the cars and the edge of the cliff.
should they wish to return to the ship, passengers can leave at any time the same way they entered: walking through a doorway that now claims to be a mop closet. passing through will leave them on deck zero, again with a splitting headache. it’s probably fine.]
Any passengers that wish to debark to our latest port of call can exit the ship through the metal detectors on deck zero! Please be advised that all alcohol will be confiscated prior to your exit!
[and whoever heads down to the lowest deck will find that what she said was true: there is a metal detector set up there, with Friday manning it. after placing all metal objects (including weapons, and all your weapons) onto the tray, she gestures for the passenger to step through the metal detector.
they exit in an entirely different location. suffering from a splitting headache, and wearing an entirely different outfit than they had put on this morning, but unscathed. they even got their weapons back!
the interior of the diner is essentially your average jonathan rockets establishment. the narrow lane between booths and counter is manned by an entirely mute Friday clone, who cheerily takes orders and serves up food (cooked??? somewhere???) with an almost unnatural talent for roller blading. there is a jukebox in the corner that can be fed with quarters passengers will inexplicably find on their person. the available songs range from the 50s to the 80s, with a particularly wide selection of songs from the platters.
outside, the diner is a great chrome boxcar, circled by a small parking lot. a large neon sign proclaims it to be GIL’S; it buzzes and flickers on and off often. passengers who have regained vehicles will find these vehicles parked outside. there are also a handful of midcentury American cars; none of them seem to require keys, and the gas tank seems set at full.
past the parking lot is a seemingly endless expanse of desert sand and scrubland, bisecting by the empty highway that the diner abuts. a few miles down this highway, the road forks into a smaller one, which winds its way up a steep, ragged mountain until plateauing into another parking lot, with only a small, old wooden fence between the cars and the edge of the cliff.
should they wish to return to the ship, passengers can leave at any time the same way they entered: walking through a doorway that now claims to be a mop closet. passing through will leave them on deck zero, again with a splitting headache. it’s probably fine.]
no subject
He gestures for her to look at the hood and painfully continues, "The entire silhouette is completely different. Look at how defined the wheel-wells are -- or would be, if there were wheels." He will, however, give her some credit: "I can see some similarities, I suppose..."
no subject
Max's head jerks up at that, sure he's on the other side of the parking lot, but he can hear that slander about his precious vehicle, "What do you mean without a decent engine?!"
Hopefully no one is parked between them just trying to enjoy a meal in their car while these two connoisseurs yell at each other across a parking lot about vehicular personal slights.
And while Skulduggery can see the similarities, Max has to look between them to really see it because the blacks are different hues, different paint saturations, different clear coat densities, the curve of the hood is several degrees of variation and the overall construction is completely disparate if you're looking at it in numbers and schematics and data points the way he is. It's only when he shoves all that aside and actually looks at the two cars that he will grudgingly admit they're vaguely reminiscent of each other. In a way.
no subject
They're the same in all the ways that matter to somebody who doesn't know shit about cars, like her. And either they've discussed their cars together before, a conversation that Ava has no regrets being left out of, or Skulduggery is that much of a car nerd himself to recognize this very specific model on sight.
"Fine. Fine, they're not the exact same car. Obviously. Maximilien's can float."
Which is pretty cool. But Ava kinda doublechecks to make sure Skulduggery's isn't doing some weird magical thing.
"But they're the same concept of a car. Maximilien said there were two. And here they are. One." Gestures. "Two."
A pause.
"So. Are you just going to argue about engines, or are you going to race?"
no subject
"Two one-of-a-kind vehicles," which is as far as he's going to agree on that! But most important is that their cars are their own -- not illusions created by madness or constructed like the fake cars in the lot. (He doesn't even have to look under the hood to know they're all probably hollow like the rest of the technology.)
At Ava's question, Skulduggery immediately looks over to check Max's reaction to the suggestion. Because, like. Obviously, that's going to happen. But... the lack of traction is going to make catching up with Max's car a real trick on the straightaway extending out beyond the diner.
"I don't know," he says. "Does he feel like losing?"
no subject
Max immediately folds his arms, his eyes narrowing in calculation, "Oh please, that would be so unfair to you I'd nearly feel bad about it."
He wouldn't. At all. And he is definitely going to race him. He's not actually sure if they're evenly matched, his car is definitely winning in lack of wind resistance and having no tires meant he didn't have to worry about drag or drifting on turns as the car could rotate on a dime.
But combustion engines had that initial burst of a literal explosion, and could probably go faster all other things being equal. So he's not really sure who would win. At least that's what the calculating mechanical part of him is currently processing. Oh well, he doesn't care about the stats and he shuts that down immediately in favor of: THEY ARE GOING TO RACE THESE CARS.
no subject
"The most important question," Ava begins, slipping the neatly tied red scarf from around her neck. She gives it a shake, revealing the silky rectangle that flutters in the slightest amount of dusty breeze. It will work for a flag.
"After I give the signal. Which one of you will be willing to hit me with your car?" Obviously to pick her up for a ride.
no subject
Taking the Bentley down a straightaway like this will be a delight even if he loses, but rubbing his technologically-lesser success in Max's face would be an added bonus.
"I think the question should be, which one of us will get to you first." And then he gestures towards the edge of the lot next to the road. If they're going to race, they're going to do it right!
no subject
He even correctly guessed the color and interior of Skulduggery's car. The Omnic may not have a single ounce of creativity or much of an imagination, but he certainly nailed a lot of how this would go.
Being able to drive right into Ava to pick her up is definitely a bonus.
He gives an almost imperceptible nod back to Skulduggery getting into his car and listening as it hums to life, perking up and floating a foot off the ground. He will sedately drive out of the lot and to their new fictional starting line, real casual. As if he hasn't a care in the world and doesn't have visions of absolutely leaving this Bentley into the dust swirling around his head.
"Perhaps that cactus out there?" Far far in the distance is something that might even be a stick, but the familiar three arm shape proclaims what it's supposed to be.
no subject
Ava takes off a good distance to stand out in the middle of the stretch of road, giving the two time to start up and get positioned side by side for the race.
And then raises the red scarf in the air, grinning.
Three. Two. One. Ava whips it down to signal the start. And readies herself to jump into whichever vehicle gets to her first. It does take careful timing, after all.
no subject
But, bravado does many stupid things to many stupid men, so here he is, squaring up his late aughts engine against a hover car from the future.
By the time they've lined up, conveniently side-by-side, Ava's a good distance away. He revs the engine as she gets ready, lifting her scarf... when she brings it down, he lays on the gas and just hopes for the best.
no subject
He's never driven an actual car before, and he knows that race cars of the past could absolutely smoke his, but the Bentley isn't exactly a race car. So until proven otherwise his smug sense of superiority in his car is intact.
The two cars sit there rumbling, neck and neck, Max and Skulduggery ironically next to each other given the steering wheel situation in both cars. But Max doesn't look at him, all his attention is on Ava and that scarf.
He has his foot on the gas, prepped and ready for as soon as she brings it down. This entire diner experience, this whole pocket reality, might as well have been created for this very moment. The scarf drops and Max's car jets out, ahead at first because he has no lead up time to getting his car in motion, no tire traction to hold him back. And he's heading right at Ava.
no subject
It's obvious that Max is going to reach her first, and she blows Skulduggery an apologetic kiss right before the car collides with her. Except, of course, it doesn't.
In a blur of motion she hops far too gracefully upon the hood, and flips right through the windshield to land with a small 'hah' right in the passenger seat. She tucks a loose curl behind her ear, and beams. "Don't worry, I didn't scratch it."
no subject
At least the phones aren't working, so Max and Ava can't call him up to gloat...
Skulduggery barely lets up on the gas, however, because the race may be over but there is an entire expanse of desert to explore, and the Bentley is here, impossible as it is. He hopes the road loops the way the forest did. That would mean he could drive forever. (And never have to stop and acknowledge Max's win... Of course, if Max pulls over, so will he.)
no subject
Max is ahead, and as they continue he's more and more confident that the Bentley isn't going to catch up to him. But still, this is a race and he's going to play fair - heading for the indicated cactus and whipping past it with ease.
"I think he's going to be rather cross about this." but Max isn't. He sounds positively delighted. "Can you see him? Does he look mad?"
He asks of a skeleton with no facial expressions.
no subject
Although glasses aren't quite accurate to the sort of correction her eyesight needs while phasing, her mask has special lenses. But otherwise she's left to dealing with the split in her vision without. She blinks a few times, trying to focus in on Skulduggery.
For one, they're a bit too far away. Two, the windows of the Bentley are both too dark tinted for her to see through, and glaring the reflection from the sun isn't helping matters. Three, Skulduggery is a skeleton with no facial expressions even if her and Max do manage quite well for interpreting the intention of them anyway.
She pulls her head back instead and peeks at Max through the rearview mirror. "Oh yeah, he's mad." She's interpreting the Bentley's headlights and grill for a facial expression instead.
no subject
Alright, fine. He honks a few times in resignation and defeat. And then one long honk to stand in for the censor over all of his extensive swearing.
no subject
"Ah well, let's let him stew in that for a while. It's better that way." And it allows Max savor the triumph for a little longer.
"We'll make it up to him later."