Test Drive Meme #8

[hadrielmods]

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 April 24th, and apps are open May 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: DEAD FLESH BUFFET
[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 lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect chance to swarm around you and chow down. This time, the Door has brought in a group of rotfiends, from the video game The Witcher.

These unpleasant-looking creatures are necrophages, meaning they feed on the flesh of the dead, and if that flesh is in short supply they are happy to add to it. Normally found in groups, they are fast and difficult to corner. What's more, when on the verge of death, they have an annoying tendency to explode into a flammable cloud of poisonous toxins. You left your torch at home, right?]

R A G E
SCENARIO TWO: MMM WHATCHA SAY
[There you were, just walking along the street, minding your own business like a good underground hell-city citizen, when all of a sudden you saw someone. It was like love at first sight - if by 'love' you mean 'deep burning hatred'. You've never wanted to kill someone so much, and why? Well, you're not really sure, but there's probably a reason! You'll just have to figure it out. Or not. Who needs a reason for murder, anyway?

Or maybe you're the one someone else has targeted. Maybe you know they're after you and you're desperately trying to watch your back. Why do they hate you? You don't even know them. Or maybe you do, maybe they're your best friend. Either way, this is a super awkward situation, and someone might end up dead. Hopefully not you!

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


H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: SCRATCH OFF
[This morning, you received a scratch ticket in the mail (who knew Hadriel even had mail?), addressed to you. The instructions are clear enough - scratch off three matching icons, and you win a prize! Sure, okay. But here's the grand prize: a one-way ticket home.

Unfortunately, try as you might, you aren't gonna win that one, but keep hoping! And hey, just think of all the other GREAT PRIZES you could win: an inflatable duck, a plastic ring to give your sweetheart, an empty can of Red Bull, a cell phone charm shaped like a strange green creature with a boner.

So what if you didn't win that ticket home? You got something almost as good: a shitty prize! Thanks, Hope!]

Comments

sans | undertale | will match prose/brackets

[skelebro]

fear;

[Come on, now, he doesn't even have flesh. But maybe these things are jealous, easily riled up. Don't like another bony thing sharing a turf with them.

Well, alright. Sans can play a game of keep-away. He might not be very fast, but he has his ways around. Takes a shortcut down an alleyway, takes another to a more secluded part of town. Underground city, huh? That's nothing new.

Monsters aren't either, but he's not sure these things fit the bill for that one. They're a little bit less articulate than the monsters he's come to know.

The problem with taking so many shortcuts is it starts to tire him out pretty quick, sweat beading along the ridges of his skull the more he snaps himself out and away. All that he can run, but he can't hide business.

He's actually panting a little bit by the time he leans up against the nearest wall, sandwiched between two spire-looking buildings, smile a bit strained at the edges.]

You guys're given me a real workout here, huh?

[Apparently they heard that, because one of the wizened things lurches at him with a ghastly sound. Welp. Sans snaps himself out of that alley and...oh boy...right into the space available for him. Which may or may not result in him crashing right into some other innocent soul.

Whoops.]

hope;

He catches onto the caveat right after he gets his prize, a horrible little cheap plastic joy buzzer that looks like it'll buzz itself to an early death after one try. He's too amused to bother being miffed about the obvious joke at his expense. Looks like this place has a sense of humor.

It's not a whoopee cushion, but it'll do in a pinch. Sans ambles along unhurriedly, wedges the toy in his sleeve in just the right way, then parks himself right up against a wall and waits for a likely target.

When that target comes along, Sans waves them over and sticks out his hand in greeting. They'll never see it coming.

wildcard; exactly what it says on the tin

Fear les go 8D

[blowyoudown]

[Congratulations Sans, you found someone who's not overly concerned with how you look. He's a bit more concerned with himself; his shirt is half burned off and hanging by threads, and he has large patches of very raw skin. Not to mention that he stinks of burned fur. He catches himself pretty quickly after Sans crashes into him though, and can't stop a double take.

Overly concerned doesn't mean not curious, and the skeleton gets a long look before Bigby scoffs, somewhere between amused and confused.]

Does everyone look like you here?

yeaaaa monster bros

[skelebro]

[Smacks into the guy head-on, terminating his little shortcut with a direct collision. Terminating it with a direct collision like a pro.

This guy...this guy. Looks human, smells like a Hot Cat left on the grill too long. He can't figure him out quick as he'd like and he decides he doesn't have to.

Time for the go-to recovery. The joke, the grin, the unconcerned shrug.]

That's not very sensitive of you.

/o/

[blowyoudown]

[He's not getting an apology for it.]

'Sensitive' isn't one of my strong points.

[He looks over Sans (very very easily, since he doesn't even reach Bigby's shoulder) at the monsters lurking in the short distance.]

I'm gonna guess those aren't your friends.

[skelebro]

Who, them?

[Yep, he doesn't even need to look back. He can't manage more than short little spurts of distance, and these things are closing in quicker and quicker. Maybe if they find out there's no flesh to his bones they'll leave him alone.

Hah. That's a joke.]

Nah. They're just dying to meet me.

[W i n k.]

[blowyoudown]

[The pun just gets a dry look. He steps around Sans to stand between him and the monsters, and as he walks something... changes. He seems slightly taller, for one, and much scruffier. When he looks back down at Sans, his eyes are a much richer shade of gold than the brown they had been moments before.]

Well, I'd hate to keep them waiting.

[He's poised and ready, but then a thought occurs and he glances over his shoulder again.]

You, ah... might wanna hold your breath.

[skelebro]

[Ah...ha. Yeah, alright, more to him than meets the eye, someone might say. The sweat's cresting near one of his temples again, both in anticipation for the incipient conflict and at his new acquaintance's...changes, but Sans manages a little chuckle.]

Hey, don't worry about it. I don't have lungs.

[He starts edging back. He knows an incoming fight when he sees one.]

[blowyoudown]

[Oh good, he doesn't have to tell him to move too. He likes the smart ones.

He turns back to the nearest rotfiend, and steps forward. It only takes a single swing to sink his claws into its side, all but bissects it as he slices up towards its shoulder and then kick it powerfully back when it starts spasming. The resulting explosion still makes him stumble back towards Sans, very narrowly not falling over, but at least it's not a fireball this time, and he recovers quickly to see - and smell - the grisly result of the chain reaction, and as he turns away again he reaches into a pocket for his packet of cigarettes, already looking like a normal human again.]

Are you ready... for A GREAT TIME (Fear)

[bloodbrine]

[ Fortunately for Sans, the average Roegadyn isn't so easy to run over. Doubly so when Merlwyb's already taken stock of the situation and assumed a wider stance to accommodate the considerable kickback of the double-barreled musket she wields in one hand. It's twin is still holstered at her hip but clearly prepped for use.

There may or may not be a tense moment here with the barrel of her firearm wavering between the Mostly Harmless Monster and the Not At All Harmless Monsters behind him - clearly deciding whether or not a skeleton in clothes presents a bigger threat.

A sharp crack and plume of sparks, followed by the leading Rotfiend receiving a fatal dose of musket ball administered through the forehead, and the corpse explodes into poisonous gas at a safe range some five yalms away. Bullseye!
Merlwyb steps aside to allow Sans to pass. ]

Move quickly, ere we be overwhelmed. I cannot hold them off forever.

[ Another echoing gunshot as she takes another of the creatures through the eye - retreating step by step at a steady pace without checking to see if her strange new companion is keeping up. At least there's an upside to being chased out an alley, since the Rotfiends can't come at them more than one or two at a time. Classic example of bottleneck tactics. ]

ready for a favorable experience

[skelebro]

[Wow, okay, this one's got guns. Sans doesn't make any sudden movements while he's got the barrel half on him, half on his rather dogged pursuers, not even to raise his hands in the universal gesture of "don't shoot". He'll leave it up to her, but if she fires, well...he's got it in him to make that shot a MISS.

Thankfully, she takes care of his rather hostile shadows rather than him. He's lucky today.]

Nice shot.

[He ducks on past, keeping his new ally as a partition between himself and the incoming necrophages, even if the sweat's pouring off his skull more than ever. He's simply not built to move this fast. He's not built for anything, unless you factor in his tried-and-true method of skipping out of the narrative and waiting things out until it's all blown over.]

you'd be pretty boned otherwise

[bloodbrine]

[ All the guns. Hella guns. Be glad she couldn't bring half her fleet's cannons with her on arrival.

With the confusion in the alley rising to a fever pitch, Merlwyb fires one last parting shot into the murky melee of bodies falling over each other without bothering to aim, spins on her heel, and hauls ass retreats further along the sidewalk at a completely reasonable pace. Just. You know. Faster than usual.
But first thing's first, finding a secure place to hole up is number one priority. So once the first intact building comes into view, she's making a beeline for it to boot the door open.

Which coincidentally almost takes the damn thing right off the hinges but heyyyy... not important, right?

And because she's so very considerate, she'll even hold it open for Sans to hustle on through first. How's that for a welcome wagon?
No furnishings inside, though. You could say it's pretty bare bones for a fancy house. ]

in spine of it all

[skelebro]

[Bombastic person, isn't she? Ah, well. She's helping him out, so he's not inclined to care one way or the other. He doesn't judge.

He could've maybe nipped right inside without bothering with the door, the quantum foam in this area is real spotty, ragged enough for him to dart in and out if he could, but too much shortcutting has really left him bone tired.

So he ambles on in and starts searching for something to shove in front of the door and keep them from getting swarmed.]

it's a gutsy move

[bloodbrine]

[ "Old fashioned" would be a fair way of describing it.

Once they're clear of the door, Merlwyb shuts it and locks it (for whatever protection it's worth), joining Sans in finding suitably heavy things to chuck into a barricade.
Man is it surreal to be sharing a shelter with a talking skeleton. She's not exactly sure what to think just yet. ]

Forgive me my bluntness, but what in Llymlaen's name have you done to stir them up so? [ Suspicious? A little. Monsters generally don't attack their own kind as far as she's aware. ] They are your kin, are they not?

let's not be exskelusionary

[skelebro]

[W o w]

Wow, lady.

[He chuckles as he throws his shoulder against a table and shoves it up against the door with the scrape of wood over stone. He leans up against his makeshift barrier, wiping at the sweat off his skull with the back of his jacket sleeve.

Yep. That's enough tough work for now. He needs a break. Or like, ten breaks.]

You shouldn't be so quick to judge. I hear monsters are more than what meets eyesocket.

[His tone's mostly a joking one. No need to be alarmed.]

does it get under your skin

[bloodbrine]

[ Gently unaware she's p/much being super racist o o p s. ]

Is that so?

[ She studies him intently for a second or two longer with those unnervingly pale eyes of hers, delicately balancing an empty vase to the top of the pile of stuff like a cherry on a cake. Mostly for the humor of the situation rather than out of practical function.

And since she's freakishly tall, the Admiral can comfortably settle on a nearby counter a few paces away and begin reloading her gun with the fluid movement of long practice. Just in case. ]

I would assume you are one of those monsters?

[ If it makes him feel better, she's genuinely curious! Wights in Eorzea are more prone to stick a body with rusty swords instead of hold a polite conversation. Sans is quite the novelty. ]

fear;

[ramified]

[ He doesn't quite crash into Aradia, but that's solely because she isn't on the ground currently. There's a light exclamation of surprise from a few feet overhead, and then two gray hands hooking over Sans' shoulders in order to steady him. She stays like that for the space of a moment to make certain he's not going to crash into the street before letting go, flying around to hover before him. ]

It's generally not advisable to run around corners at such speeds - oh! I see what's going on. Do you require an assist in escaping the festering broods of the undead?

[ She doesn't seem concerned or upset in the least about the monsters beginning to follow him, her tone cheerful and light even as she holds out one hand, eyebrows raised.

He looks like a human skeleton. That's new, but it isn't as though new things are strange to her at this point in her personal chronology. ]

[skelebro]

[Woah, hey there. He doesn't expect someone to literally stop him in his tracks, and the contact is unexpected, but he eyes the hovering...monster?...without any complaint.]

You offering to carry me?

[Despite the, heh, the gravity of the situation, he can't help but crack the easy pun.]

I'll warn you, I'm pretty big-boned.

[ramified]

Haha! [ At least she seems not to mind puns? Though her specialty tends to run towards time. ] That isn't an issue at all. I'm a little stronger than I look - but beyond that, I won't be doing the lifting entirely by hand.

[ It just seems a little less jarring to offer her hand, she feels, than immediately going towards lifting him with her mind. ]

Well, we could always fight them off, but it's probably easier and less time-consuming to just relocate to a roof until they stop rampaging...still, the decision is yours! It isn't as though I'm not maid of time to waste.

[ Aradia, that pun makes literally no sense unless someone knows your classpect. ]

[skelebro]

[Well, if her suggestion didn't have him convinced before, the pun certainly maid up his mind for him. He winks one of his eyesockets.]

Lady, you're speaking my language. Where'd you have in mind?

[He's a bit worn out from all the snapping around he's been doing, but he can probably pull of one or two more good shortcuts. Roof's a good idea. He'd be annoyed he didn't think of it first if that particular emotion didn't require a whole lotta effort. Work of the moment to get there if he can. He'd offer to race, but...well, again. Effort.]

[ramified]

A roof with a view! As much of a view as one can get in this particular place, at least. Did you wish my assistance, or do you simply wish for me to meet you there?

[ She points to a particular roof based on intuition and an ingrained sense of defensive architecture, still smiling. Aradia is nothing if not calm and polite in the face of an oncoming horde of the undead, but honestly she's seen worse shit and on the bright side she's currently alive.

That will never stop being the best bright side ever. ]

[skelebro]

I got it covered.

[Not a bad choice of cover. Well-fortified, even if his grasp of architecture is pretty basic. Sans tosses her a jaunty wink.]

Guess I'll be ceiling you there.

[Here we go. The next minute he's gone again as he slips on through the scant antispace and ends up on the indicated roof. He leans against a railing-type protrusion, pausing to catch himself. All those constant shortcuts in such a short time can really take the marrow out of you.]

Let's break that combo and go with Hope!

[tongueamok]

It's not every day one walks down the street and spots a skeleton just hanging around, leaning against the wall as if he's got nothing better to do. It might be considered unusual for said skeleton to try to wave someone over, as though he might have something important to say. When that person being waved over is Carlisle Longinmouth, someone whose family was known for slaying beasts of both the living and undead variety, that's just asking for problems.

Most of said problems come from Carlisle himself as he eyes the cheerful skeleton leaning against the wall and tries not to panic. As opposed to the bony figure's relaxed stance -- almost friendly, the way he offers his hand for a shake -- Carlisle is as rigid as a man belonging in the grave, fear petrifying him the moment he locks eyes with the undead fellow. He's only dealt with necromancers and their minions a handful of times, and never has he seen one quite so... casual.

Carlisle looks over his shoulder, sure the skeleton must be motioning to someone else, then looks back. Still rooted, he points to his chest and nods, mouthing, Me?

[skelebro]

Sans winks, which is not exactly how solid bone is supposed to maneuver, but sometimes you just have to take a good look at physics and tell it to shove its laws down a Klein bottle.

The poor sucker looks pretty nervous. He's used to getting that reaction. From time to time. It kinda varies. Hey, look now, he's just a normal skeleton, no need to get worked up, right?

"C'mon, pal." Don't leave him hanging, that's just rude. "No worries. I don't bite."

[tongueamok]

Right, so the skeleton is definitely talking to him. And did he wink? Can skeletons do that?

Carlisle decides that he should, perhaps, set aside his concerns about the undead and malleability of bone, even if only for a moment. After all, it is dreadfully rude to leave someone waiting when they're clearly addressing him, even if that someone is only arguably alive. At least he seems friendly. He even looks like he might be smiling a little, though that could just be the way his skull is structured.

Heading his way, Carlisle puts on a sheepish grin himself and does his best to look as though he's not shaking in his boots (spoiler: he is. He very much is). "Er, sorry lad. It's not everyday that one meets, ah..."

He looks down at the skeleton's offered hand, his own curling into themselves nervously. He knows well enough the guy is looking for a handshake -- Cisth, he is friendly, isn't he? -- but Carlisle isn't too warm on physical contact himself, even with people of the living variety.

[skelebro]

Ha ha, yeah, he gets that reaction a lot. Hence the necessity of icebreakers. It's entirely possible that the image of a skeleton casually leaning up against wall could be unsettling for some, but this is why he takes things the extra mile and makes some real effort to get to know people. If by "effort" you mean "practical jokes," that is.

"Hey, don't sweat it, buddy. Don't you know how to greet a new friend?" He wiggles the bony fingers of his extended hand. This joke isn't going to play itself, and it only works once someone actually shakes his hand. Jokes usually take down the tone of a potentially stressful situation, right? Totally.