sailmods (
sailmods) wrote in
come_sailaway2022-08-12 01:46 am
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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
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."