dankmemes | TEST DRIVE MEME #5

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TEST DRIVE MEME #5

Welcome to Hadriel's test drive, and thank you again for your interest in the game! As always, our reserves page is here, and our applications page is here! Reserves open January 25th, and apps are open February 1st.

Two quick points here as well:
1. Any thread made in Hadriel's test drive will be accepted as the sole Action Log sample in the application.
2. All threads made in the test drive can be considered game canon, either through handwaving or through a shared mental experience while coming through the Door!

Test drives will be broken up into specific god mini-events, during which your characters can see how well they fare under the watchful eye of one of the gods. Choose wisely or just simply pick 'em all, and have fun!

F E A R

SCENARIO ONE: HERE KITTY KITTY
[The Door brings in all that is chaotic and evil in the world. This may include you, may include the person next to you... and may include the monster behind you.

Watch out as you explore the streets of Hadriel, because you're not alone, and there's always something on the rooftops watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to separate you from your group and tear you into pieces. This time, the Door has brought in coeurls, from the video game Final Fantasy X for you meet.

These cat-like monsters can use elemental magic to attack, as well as their teeth and claws. When injured, they can cast a spell that will drain energy from their attacker and give it to them - and they are even able to temporarily petrify you. So if you decide to fight, let's hope you can finish them off quick!]

SCENARIO TWO: BURIED ALIVE
[What a wonderful day to find yourself - or a friend, or a stranger - buried six feet under. Covered in thick earth, the sturdy oak walls of the coffin trapping you in darkness, all alone. Not a soul to hear any cries of help.

Either you're in a coffin yourself, trapped, hoping for rescue, or you've got a GPS, a set of coordinates, and a shovel. Will you try to claw your way out of your possible grave, using only your bare hands and pure terror? Or will you be the one digging, hoping that down below is someone you love, waiting for you to unearth them?

Just don't take too long. Their air - your air - could run out at any moment.

This is a mini version of our Buried Alive event this month!]

R A G E

SCENARIO THREE: PET PEEVED
[Everything seems to be going just wrong enough to drive you right up the wall. Maybe your shoes keep coming untied, or you slammed your finger in the door while you were leaving the house. Maybe your friend keeps using the wrong form of 'your/you're' when they text you. Maybe that guy in the shop with you won't get off his damn phone.

Whatever it is, your day has been full of tiny annoyances, enough to leave you on edge and just about ready to explode. They're such little things, nothing that should inspire so much anger, but one after another - well, shouldn't anyone understand why you're mad?

And then someone else comes along, perfectly primed to push your buttons. Maybe they keep pronouncing your name wrong, or they won't stop staring at your scar, or they have hair just the right color to remind you of your last ex. You're already primed for a fight, and they seem just as pissed as you. What will you do?]

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Amos leans around the corner, and says very softly and clearly, "Back up slowly. No sudden moves, miss."

The cat-monster eyes him: it's just close enough to an animal Amos can "hear" the very softest brush of its thoughts, and they are all hungry-aggression-fight. He knows already he can't placate the creature, or divert it to another target... But he does know how to deal with large angry predators who are looking at making you an easy lunch.

Slowly, and without showing a weakness. Strong prey is just not worth the fight.

Amos is armed with several small knives and his latest acquisition from Rage's armory: a shorter composite bow and some very nicely steel-headed arrows.

Oh, company. Maketh nods slowly, and does as she's told. It's the same strategy with approaching any sort of enemy. Don't flinch, don't threaten, and most of all, don't run. A predator would have to chase. It was their nature.

Maketh doesn't know very much about animals, let alone this one, but she knows people.

All things considered, there's not much of a difference at the best of times.

Maketh breathes out through her mouth, careful as she moves back. Her chest is starting to ache now that the shock of - this - has worn off. A sharp, throbbing pain. Broken ribs, she thinks. She'll breathe through it.

Amos sets an arrow to the string and leans a little farther around the corner even as he starts the slow slide of pulling the string back...but without raising the bow yes. The cat-monster bares its teeth, and sinks deeper into a crouch. Oh, lovely, it knows about weapons.

But its attention is now on Amos, and not on the woman carefully easing out of immediate pouncing range.

"Not too far, you're almost there," Amos encourages, without looking away from the monster, his heart in his throat. This is a tricky, delicate situation, and his hands on the bow are tingling with adrenaline.

Back, back, steady steps back. Maketh breathes out through her mouth, slow and even. The animal doesn't appear placated. Maybe it's hungry.

That's a pleasant thought, really.

She moves until she's almost next to the man, and shifts a little so she won't block the shot. Though the weapon isn't giving her much in the way of confidence. A bow and arrow, really? This planet must fall on the extreme side of primitive. Not the sort of situation one wants to get stuck in, especially with wild animals in the mix.

Breathe. In and out. Stay focused, stay still. Everything will be fine. She knows the protocol for this.

Somehow, it's easier with rebels and not beasts. At least the rebels won't eat her, and she'd probably die quickly once shot--

No. Stop. Focus. Breathe. Like that.

Maketh barely realizes that she's raised her arms up in a fighting stance, ever so slowly. She's not fast enough to dodge away if it comes to that and the animal charges. Not that grappling would do her any good either, but somehow the mentality that comes with the motion helps to center her. She's fine. She's still breathing. And if she's still breathing, then she can come up with a plan.

"Right," says Amos, still quiet and calm. "Now back around the corner..."

The monster moves and Amos doesn't even spend a breath swearing, just slides out from behind the corner and in front of the woman quick as he can. At the same time he raises the bow, aims, and lets fly: he's not a perfect archer by any means, and his target is moving, but the arrow at least lands in the cat-monster's chest.

That's all he takes the time to see before he whirls, grabs her arm, and goes bolting down the passageway he'd just come from: Amos isn't very strong but he's stout, muscled like a gymnast and heavy with it. He at least gets her the first few strides by sheer surprise alone.

A moment before, Maketh hadn't thought she could run. Then she hears the snap of the arrow, catches the motion of the man as he darts in front of her.

Things happen quickly after that.

She runs without protest, getting her feet under her after only a few steps. It hurts to breathe, but she doesn't want to die; she'll endure. That means running, even withe jagged spikes of wrongwrongwrong snapping through her chest.

Ignore it. Run. Survive.

Hopefully she's not bleeding internally. That would probably ruin everything.

Maketh isn't sure how far they get - not very far, probably - before she's coughing suddenly, can't stop coughing, and has to slump against a rock before she lands flat on her face. Hopefully the animal hasn't given chase, since Maketh knows - with a certain amount of finality - that she won't be running anymore.

Amos whirls to check their backtrail as she stops, stringing another arrow and straining his mental senses. Nothing: either they've come too far for Amos's limited telepathy to work, or the monster has decided they're not worth the chase. Less likely is the idea that they've lot it, or that Amos's wild shot had killed it. He's certainly not counting on it.

But for now... He puts the arrow back into the quiver at his side and kneels down beside the woman. "Hey, hey, what's hurt?" Chest, lungs, with the way she's breathing, and Amos hopes it isn't serious because he is no healer. He's not even a decent field-medic.

If worst comes to worst, Amos supposes he might be able to carry her, but he's not very tall and muscled more for quick athletic moves than burden-bearing or great stamina.

Back when she first woke up, when the shock of breathing hadn't yet worn off and Maketh could swear she could still feel the heat of the explosion, hear the roar of it, she'd checked herself for injuries. Just because she didn't feel any didn't mean there was nothing wrong. She remembered quite clearly the mess on Empire Day and how she'd found two inches of shrapnel embedded in her arm hours later, when she'd finally held still long enough to notice the ache. The medics had gotten rid of the scar. Appearances and what not.

No shrapnel this time. At least, none that she could find.

But this - this is different. There's no ignoring it.

Maketh tries to slow her breathing, control it, find the center. Focus. Remember the protocol. "Ribs," she manages. "I'll--live."

Maybe. Hopefully.

Amos grimaces. Oh, yay, ribs. Either they're fine or whoops, there goes your lung or your heart or any other important life-sustaining bit in your chest. Definitely out of his league as far as field-patches. "It ain't safe to stop here. We should at least try to walk, if we can. You can lean on me if you need it."

They're out here in the corridors, far away from the ruined city and Hope's otherworldly protects. They won't be safe until they get there, either.

Right, of course it's not safe. Maketh grits her teeth and forces herself to stand upright. Her eyes are watering, jaw clenched tight against the curse she wants to hiss. Breathe. Grit your teeth and take it on the chin like a good soldier, there you go. She'd almost been an officer, one time. She knows what happens to dead weight.

"I can walk," she says, applying that tone of hard-edged certainty that she memorized from Governor Pryce. No questions, no backtalk. Whether or not she can run is another question, but one she doesn't feel like addressing right now. "Do you know a safe place?"

Amos has been around enough military and ex-military to recognize the tone, even if her uniform is unfamiliar to him. He nods a little, watching the way she moves carefully, to see if there's anything he can help with, which side she's favoring most. "I do. C'mon, follow me."

He's almost got these tunnels mapped out in his head by now. He can certainly lead them out and back to the ruined city. Now whether or not he can do that and not run into any more cat-monsters...well, they'll have to see about that.

If this is a rebel plot, Maketh thinks, then it's a needlessly complicated one. Dropping her in the middle of some foreign planet and then forcing her to rely on a stranger for a guide might - might - make sense for a long game on an unwilling source, but her information has been freely given, and the rebels don't have the resources to pull something like this off in the first place. Or at least they haven't tried anything of this nature previously and this speaks of a recklessness that borders on careless - which is not their signature at all, whatever else can be said. There are too many moving pieces, too many variables. She could have died from her injuries before giving them any information, and all the grandstanding would have been for nothing.

There are easier ways to get information.

So if it's not the rebellion, then it might be the Empire. Possible, Maketh supposes, but again - not their style. Too many ways this might get out of hand. The Empire would probably just shoot her. Well, maybe torture her first, if they suspected she knew more than she ought to. But that too would be done a different way. Much cleaner than this.

Whatever this was supposed to be.

Maketh lifts her head up. Whatever the truth and however she's ended up here, she's still breathing. She intends to stay that way. "My name is Maketh Tua. Thank you for...helping. I would rather not have been eaten."

Her guide is interesting. Carrying outdated weapons, but quick on his feet. Used to the area, too. And willing to help a stranger.

Interesting. She'll be polite to him. He's been useful so far and Maketh supposes she owes him at least that much for saving her.

The problem with names like that is it gets tricky to tell which is first or last. Amos nods to her, without taking his gaze away from the passageway before him. "You're welcome. My name's Amos." She'd given him her name first, so he was perfectly fine with giving her his. Besides, she looked and acted very human.

Nothing ahead, as far as he could tell, but he was starting to get the feeling something was behind. He glanced that way, but saw nothing. Being stalked, probably. Lovely.

Maketh brushed off her uniform, giving the jacket a tug to straighten the lines out. It...didn't really help.

"Is that your only weapon?" she asked after a moment.

Because really, a bow and arrow?

"It's the only long-distance weapon I can find enough ammunition for to be useful," Amos answers, hearing the disdain in her tones. "Supplies being a bit scarce here." There's enough food, mostly, but weaponry and other supplies are a recent addition and they haven't worked their way out of the dark ages yet. Which Amos thinks is probably a good thing. The last thing they need here is crazy fools with guns.

Crazy fools with swords are bad enough, thank you.

He glances over his shoulder again, wary.

Oh, wonderful. That's just great. Not only is she stuck here - wherever this place is - but there's a shortage of supplies. Things must be desperate if they're relying on weapons like this. Primitive technology indeed. Maketh thinks back to her academy days when she learned how to use a vibroblade. She'd been good at it. The weapons were banned in most systems, but exceptions were made for peacekeepers working for the Empire.

Not that they'd ever created much peace.

Maketh decides not to think about that right now and eyes Amos up and down, sizing him up critically. Smart, aware of his surroundings, and quick on his feet. Not a soldier, she thinks, or at least not in the way that she was used to. But he reminds Maketh of the rebels she's encountered before. He's probably dangerous in the same way.

"I'm unarmed," she says simply, in case he expects her to add something to their defense. She can't really, not right now. All she has is her uniform and a datapad of useless, treasonous information. Burnt to a crisp, of course.

"I would appreciate it," she continues, "if you would show me to safety."

Maketh knows better than to beg, or rely on anyone's good will. She'll pay her debts when they come due. In the meantime, there's no point in sneering down at Amos' choice in weaponry.

Amos flicks a little smile at her over his shoulder. "That's the plan, but we'll see how it goes, sugar."

The sweet-name is automatic, going with the rapid snap of his New Orleans accent (Brooklyn meets Southern, his Yat accent both clipped and drawled in equal measures). "Can't promise anything yet. Though I'd be surprised if you could still fight, what with your ribs." He hasn't expected much help, especially after discovering she's injured.

Sugar. Hmm. Well, it's not like she can insist on her title. That's gone up in smoke along with her dignity. Maketh gives him a cool look, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not useless."

Dead weight gets dropped, and she's not ready to lie down and take that just yet.

Maketh lifts her chin. "Let's go."

It said in a particular kind of tone, the voice of someone used to giving orders and having them followed.

"Never said you was. Just that fighting with your ribs broke is damn hard." Amos's reply is amiable, easy, as he walks along the corridor. Though he's wearing steel-toed boots, his footfalls are very quiet. He's had a lot of practise, and is light on his feet. He draws and arrow from his quiver and sets it to the string, walking along with his weapon as ready as he can get it.

The twists and turns of the dimly-lit tunnels are not new to him, and he navigates as much by memory as by sense: thoughts of anger-hunger there and he'l take this turning instead...

Maketh thins her mouth, but doesn't say anything more. She'll keep pace no matter how bad it hurts. Don't look weak in front of your allies, ever. That was one of the first things she learned at the Academy. Blunders in front of your opponents are one thing, but failure to stand tall in front of your allies means you'll have none when you need them. A lesson that's become relevant, as of late.

Survive first. Plot later.

At least Amos seems to know what he's doing. He walks with the same quiet confidence that Maketh recognizes from some of her own soldiers, though without the arrogant swagger of a bounty-hunter. So far, so good. If she proves herself useful, worth more alive than as screaming bait for the animals, then he'll protect her. It's only logical.

But the moment she's a liability, Maketh knows she'll be dropped. That too is only logical.

Therefore she will be very useful.

Amos has built his life on being useful enough to be indispensable: thus his assertion Maketh is certainly not useless. In need of a helping hand, sure, but they all get that way, sometimes.

Amos stops at a crossing and tilts his head, concentrating for a long moment. Yes, no...to the left. He nods to himself and heads down the corridor, though he glances back again. His talent only works so faintly on these, he's having trouble making sure he stays clear of the monsters. But he can at leas steer them clear of any trouble not specifically looking for them.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #5

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