dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #3

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 November 24th, and apps are open December 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!

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: GIMME A HUG
[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 a large slithering beast for you meet.

This Titanoboa is not the friendliest of snakes. Over fifty feet long, it requires quite a lot of meals in order to keep going, and it seems to be most interested in making you one of them. A giant anaconda, this is a constrictor rather than a venomous snake - but don't worry. It's got teeth, too, in case it needs to do a touch of nibbling. We're sure you'll get along just fine.]

SCENARIO TWO: THE DOCTOR IS IN
[You awaken on an operating table. How did you get here? What's going on? You don't remember checking into a hospital or seeing a doctor, and when you try to get up you quickly discover that your hands and legs are secured tightly to the table, the straps digging into your skin.

Next to the table is a tray of gleaming steel surgical instruments, their sharp blades glittering as the overhead light flickers. They seem to be the only clean thing in the room, as you begin to realize that the walls of this operating room are moldy and stained, and there's something dripping from the ceiling. This may not be a legitimate hospital at all.

There are footsteps outside the door. It could be a friend - or not. Will you call for help? Try to free yourself? Lay back and wait for the doctor to arrive?]

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: HOPESGIVING
[You find yourself in a kitschy, brightly lit, utterly pleasant gift shop. Lining the shelves are all manner of stuffed animals, inspirational figurines, greeting cards, and delightful ornaments. Some even look familiar, like something you might have seen before.

The door isn't locked. You can just leave, if you want. But on a pedestal where the registers should be is a globe of glittering light, and within it, a picture of the person you care for most in the world. Carved on the pedestal are the words Bring someone hope, and you will bring them happiness.

Of course, you aren't alone in there. Will you find something on the shelves to show to your companion, something that might bring them hope? Or maybe you brought something from home. Or maybe you don't care at all, and just want to smash everything in there. It's all up to you.

This is a simplified version of this month's Hope event.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

scenario two.

Beyond wakes, strapped to a table, and he can tell it's been a while since he was last awake. Everything is painful and new, like his body has forgotten what it's like to be alive, and since the last thing he remembers is being murdered at the hands of a girl with weaponized blood and unnatural strength - well. It's not difficult to put the pieces together, solve the puzzle for a complete picture. He was dead; now he's not. (Again.)

But this isn't the Barge infirmary; he knows that much, at first glance. This place is filthy, an undercurrent of menace running through everything inside the room, the way the operating instruments are placed, the inconstant light blinking overhead. He turns his head toward the sound of footsteps outside the door.

"Who's there?" His voice is quiet, raspy from disuse, but it still rings through the silence louder than he expects.

scenario three.

Beyond inspects each object inside the shop with a agonizing attention to detail, the sort of keen interest that most ordinary shopkeepers would attribute to intent toward shoplifting or some other sort of criminal activity. This is no ordinary shop, of course; his unnerving quietness goes, for the most part, unnoticed.

He does finally turn to the person nearby after reading the words on the brightly lit pedestal, his voice even and calm: "Does hope need to be gift-wrapped as well?" He could be serious; he could be sarcastic. It's difficult to say.

Chris doesn't mind the other man's quiet. He's a quiet person himself, and if he doesn't have to make small talk with the other people in the shop, that's just fine.

He's been examining the pedestal for quite some time. He doesn't know what the other man sees, but Chris sees a picture of his daughter. His daughter, who he hasn't seen in years, who is most likely dead.

Chris takes the man's comment as sarcastic and replies cooly, "Gift-wrapped and delivered, I'd wager. Though I don't think this place has a mail service."

The picture Beyond sees inside the globe on the pedestal unsettles him - a young blond man, barely more than a boy, really, but the air of having been forced to age faster than his natural years is evident in the scar that covers half his face, the anger and pain written in his expression, the defiance flashing in the blue of his eyes. The photograph unnerves Beyond because it shouldn't exist. The House rules were quite clear about that - paper trails of identity were never left behind, especially not photographs.

"I wonder if there's an extra charge for gift wrap." Again he speaks in a flat tone, glancing sideways toward the other man. "Have you made a thorough inquiry as to the existence of delivery services?"

"I haven't." There is nothing more Chris wants to do than bring his daughter some hope. He doubts she'd be interested in the trinkets they were selling here, though. Veronica was a genius -- solemn, mature for her age, more interested in population growth than teddy bears or hair product.

It's only now that he realizes how much hope he's been holding onto. He's hoped that his daughter might still be alive for years. He never thought about it consciously, not often, anyway. That was too dangerous. He'd seen people in his corner at the end of the world go mad from longing for people who could very well be dead. But the hope was always there, in the back corners of his mind.

Chris speaks stiffly, not trusting his own voice to let any kind of emotion in. Chris McShell will not let himself look like a pining wreck -- he's got too much dignity for that. "I haven't. Aside from you, I've only seen one other living person here." He steals a look at Beyond and realizes that Beyond only fits the description of 'person' in the most minimal sense.

Person isn't the only description Beyond fits at bare minimum. He laughs at the other man's statement, a horrible, grating sound ringing out in the otherwise still air of the shop, as if his insides are made of metal scraping against more of the same.

"Living," he repeats to himself, raking his fingers up through the hair hanging over his forehead as he paces a few steps away from the other man. That single word feels like a curse rolling over his tongue. He turns back toward Chris, hand dropped to his side, head tilted in interest.

"Do you know for certain that I'm alive? Or do you simply assume this to be true?" It's a challenge, a test. Show your work.

This time, Chris does more than take a quick glance at Beyond. He gives the strange man a long, hard look, as if Beyond was an animal in a cage that he was studying. It's all very analytical, of course. Chris was never a biologist, after all -- he's a mathematician, calculating everything from the rate at which the man blinks to the number of times he shifts his weight. It's low, disturbingly low, although nothing approaching zombie levels.

He straightens his glasses, prepared to give an analysis. "I suppose I must admit that I did assume that to be true, given your functionally normal speech patterns and the way you carry yourself. You show none of the neurological impairments of the undead." He smiles, wryly. "Although in my life, I've only ever met zombies and humans. You might be something wholly different." He shrugs. "And I don't even know if I can call myself alive. I was bitten, you see."

Beyond is no stranger to the value of an appraising stare; he was taught, from an early age, to always observe, to take in as much information as possible and sift through it to form a conclusion. If he were in a better frame of mind, he would recognize this commonality with the other man in front of him.

If. Clearly, though, he's not.

"Undead?" Beyond grins, sharp and bitter. "I haven't been bitten, but I've been murdered. Twice, in fact." Dead or undead - either way, a designation seems like splitting hairs.

"Frankly, I'm not even convinced any of this is real." There's no name over the other man's head that Beyond can see, no numbers signifying his life. Something that should be there, but isn't. But is he dead, like so many were aboard the Barge? Or has his sight been taken again, by a being of incredible ego, like the Admiral? Beyond doesn't know.

Test Drive Meme #3

beyond birthday (crau) | death note: another note

three.

ty! c:

np! :)

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