dankmemes | test drive meme #16

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test drive meme #16

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 24th, and apps are open February 1st. Please remember that there is an app cap of 20 apps.

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: THE CREEPY CRAWLIES
[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 to impale you on its giant claws and crunch your bones between its mandibles. That's right, this time the Door is bringing you bugs from Starship Troopers, in all their giant and disgusting glory!

Bugs are, well, giant insects that come in all shapes and sizes, depending on the rank, and are way too tall or too heavy than they have any right to be. They can move quickly, most of them have the ability to fly, and their exo-skeletons means that it's difficult to really hurt them unless you've got some muscles on you. Or a really big boot, I guess.]

C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO TWO: WHO'S THAT IN THE MIRROR?
[Something's lurking in the dark. Something that really wants to ruin your day by any means necessary- that includes preying on your darkest fears, or just, you know, simply killing you. But that's not a problem, right? You're big and tough! Except, so is this creature out to get you. And it knows all of your weaknesses and insecurities too because, well... it is you.

Doubles of characters will be flooding the city and attempting to ruin the originals lives by whatever means necessary. This generally involves killing the original and then impersonating them, but it can also mean killing people you love or just bringing up your awkward teenage years to traumatize you in front of all your new cool friends.

What can you do to stop it? Well, you could kill them first, that certainly won't require a few trips to therapy later! There's always locking them away, or maybe trying to befriend them because hey, who's better at ruining your life than you?

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

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

SCENARIO THREE: CAN YOU JUST LIKE, CHILL FOR A SEC?
[Embrace tranquility! Or rather, get pulled, kicking and screaming into an event during which you magically have to find some chill, or else Tranquility will force chill upon you.

For this prompt, characters will find themselves in a state of sudden peace and calm, without much anger or meanness to go around. That guy you hate? Maybe you should give him a peace offering. The chick who stole your girlfriend? Maybe you should congratulate her! Everything is peaceful and everything is... sorta gray.

Don't get me wrong, it's nice to be able to relax, but we have an emotional spectrum for a reason. Pretty soon, the tranquility of this might turn into something a little creepy, even Stepfordish... but it's hard to really care when everything is so damn pleasant, right?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...huh. That is, uh, very definitely not what he would'a expected coming from his part-time boss. Or former boss, given the way things played out Underground. The way things are now.

None of his bombastic panache, along with a finely crushed layer of cold skepticism?

There's something here he's missing. In the absence of any immediate clues as to what it is he's missing - aside from the obvious, that is - he defaults to his typical carefree drawl.]

Wouldn't call it running off, exactly. [His shoulders hike up in an artless shrug.] More or less just ended up here.

Oh? So that little trip you wrote me about mustn't have been very worth it then. [He scoffed, but...actually, there's something strange about this.

This was Sans. Undeniably so, that personality of his was both grating and familiar. Something that Mettaton missed, even though he'd often avoid saying anything sentimental in front of the other monster because God, he just did not take a compliment. He didn't even take the goddamn scarf when Mettaton had guiltily offered it up!

Still...with what he knows, maybe he shouldn't be so judgmental.

Hah. That's a laugh.]

...Sans, how did you end up here?

Uh.

[Wow. He, uh. Has nothing to say to that. Not often that a smartass like him gets rendered speechless, but there's also a pretty big difference between being stricken to the point of silence and being confused by what he's guessin' is a pretty hefty lack of context.

Maybe he's from...there's all manner of potential futures out there, yeah? Only, if he runs off that don't really imply he's gonna be heading on back anytime soon. Like a real great vacation. Only it's the Underground; where's he gonna vacation to?
Knowing him? Off to join an endless cycle of worthless garbage.
Something ain't right here.]

Same way as you, I'd figure.

[He speaks slow, steady, not lettin' onto any obvious confusion just yet.]

One second I'm Underground, next I'm here.

Ah. Alright, this makes sense then.

[Mettaton's posture changes. Something that Sans said seems to have put him at ease. Truthfully, he's just kind of accepted that what happened is out of his control, and taking it out on someone who wasn't complicit except by existing wasn't fair. This particular Sans hadn't done him any wrong.]

You aren't the Sans I know. I truly apologize for imposing the mistakes of another onto you. That isn't very fair, is it?

[Hahaha. Mettaton. Sweetie. You do it to yourself all the time. Please.

He's also pretty certain that he shouldn't be implying knowledge of temporal anomalies to a guy who he had come to realize had that knowledge long before he could have even conceptualized how many Mettatons had existed at some point. Theoretically.

Science is bullshit. Time is bullshit.]

To clarify, I haven't seen the Underground in nearly a year. So I'm afraid our circumstances are different.

[And it's like a switch (hah) has been flipped, nigh immediately. The words wouldn't've made sense a few months ago but, uh, he's learned since then, that there's plenty of other "hubs" like this one. Nexuses, places where worlds funnel into one particular locus. And occasionally, there's bleed-over. Occasionally, people pile on top of each other like the universe's worst quantum superimposition, and you get to see all the lovely hypotheticals.

All the Sans-es you could'a been. All the Frisks that could'a showed up, and all the Charas that could'a joined 'em.

There was a Mettaton, once. Can't say if he was the right one.]

Ah.

[He nods, as if that explains everything. Which it does, to an extent.]

That happens, yeah. People've ended up other places before showin' up here before.

[While he's not entirely okay with Sans, Mettaton is happy to pretend as if he is. He's not the best liar, or so he'd been told, but A for effort, right?]

I'm fairly certain that you do not wish to know the details surrounding my situation--you never struck me as the sort.

[Nailed it.]

So perhaps I should lead with a relevant question, seeing as they are still milling around here like the vermin they are. What is with the insects? Arachnids? I'm not entirely certain what I just killed, to be quite honest.

[For a guy who didn't know what he'd killed, he sure didn't seem to care that he'd killed it in the first place. It was as if he had gone numb, just a little. He doesn't have to draw attention to it though. He knows who Sans is.

He knows that the skeleton can see it for himself if he looks. Or maybe he just thinks that, because he's seen it, once upon a time.

"you killed some people on purpose, didn't you?
that's probably bad.
though, maybe some of it was in self defense..."

Was it? He wonders that every single day.

Either way. Those words had never been for him. He's being selfish again, isn't he?]

It was spiders when I showed up here too. What's this place got against spiders, huh?

[Aside from the fact that he's up to his eyesockets in debt with Muffet and her ilk, but let's be real here - who in the Underground isn't? Money's a big contention 'round there with spiders, and he can be friends with all of 'em all he likes; same as Temmies, you never really wanna get into serious beef with spiders.

Thankfully, the ones down here ain't really sentient. He ain't fond of the "kill first and ask questions never" scenario that most people down here seem to favor, but he's also seen what happens when you don't fight back at all.

Papyrus saw what happened. And then he felt what happened too.

But, uh, hey, let's not think about that! He hitches a shoulder in a partial shrug and winks.]

Hey, now, let's not assume who wants to know what, yeah?

Right, I apologize.

[He apologizes. What?

Of course, Mettaton hardly recalls who he used to be anymore. Half the time he wonders who he is now, so he can't be expected to keep track of the weird shit he says.]

I can't say that I know what this place "has" against spiders, but I'd rather not deal with another. Is there some manner of safe haven?

[The further he can get away from a potential FIGHT, the better.]

[Mettaton apologizing. Yikes. What the hell went down in the world he ended up, huh? Though, uh...can't say he ain't changed in his own ways. That's the fun thing about linearity. After a certain point, things lose their stasis.

Fun time for everyone.

One supraorbital ridge inches upward, wryly.]

Safe haven? Uh...not so much, no.

[The giant spider wasn't a big enough context clue for ya?]

It was worth asking, I suppose.

[Mettaton didn't expect anything remotely positive to come of his question, honestly.]

At least I'm good at hurting things, hmm?

[Now it's his turn to be wry, though he does take a moment to tug the scarf from around his neck, folding it gently. As he does so, he tries to lighten the conversation.]

So what is the last thing you remember from home, honey?

[Haha...]

[Cuts right to the chase, don't he? Good at hurting things, and in the same moment, he reaches for a flare of red wrapped 'round his neck. Undeniable, that. Unmistakable. And for a second he - watches it go to dust and

Eh.

He's tired. And lettin' go, right now, sounds a whole hell of a lot more appealing than anything else. He can shrug and he can grin, amiably, 'cause not a single thing is wrong with that question.]

Nothin' special. Just askin' my bro if he wanted anything from Grillby's.

[The answer was, uh, fun story -

Well, that ain't important at all, huh?]

[Mettaton's fingers twitch, and he nearly drops the scarf.

He doesn't really know what to say to that, for so many reasons. The first? He was still incredibly sensitive to any mention of Papyrus. Call him sentimental, but he knows that he's still ruined over losing Papyrus to the whims of the Ingress.

The second reason was..definitely different. But in the hellscape of the Luminous Sea, the robot who did not sleep had found himself staring into a meta upheaval of his own world.

Simply put...he'd seen some shit. And some of that shit involved Sans dying over and over.

Gloved fingers gripped tightly at Papyrus' scarf, straining the fabric.]

Your brother. Is he here?

[Selfish. Selfish. SELFISH.

He just wanted to be told he had a chance to see the tall skeleton. He wanted to find a way to act as if Sans really meant something different.]

He was.

[He answers briefly, easily, and he lets the words slide out and skates on past 'em before he can let himself dwell for any span of time, 'cause he knows the shape of a scarf, the trail of red snapping in the ice-chilled wind in the curve of an S before it goes to grit and to powder, scattered interchangeably throughout the snow.

Ain't so difficult to put the pieces together. Someone holding onto something he never got to have, and, uh...wow, he really is a despicable stain of a monster, ain't he?

Something like envy, that someone can live with something to hold onto. A remnant that can be carried instead of an empty room with an empty racecar bed and the meticulously organized laundry hampers that he still won't use and the silverware that was perfectly scrubbed and rinsed and the garbage that was just taken out.

But, uh.

Nah.

He leaves it at that.

There's nothin' else to say.]

Of course...

[Mettaton lets his grip loosen, not wanting to damage the scarf. It's all he had left, and it had been bequeathed...before the same thing Sans is vaguely alluding to had happened where Mettaton had come from.]

Well, I...I suppose I'll keep tending to this, then. It belongs to a very important monster.

[Fuck, but it hurts. It hurts so much that before he can carry on thinking about it, he pulls his PacDisc out, slipping the scarf into it. He can't bear to look at it anymore, and anyway...he wanted to protect it.]

Did you know, Sans, that you and I--the other you--we got along best when we were talking about him. Complimenting him...

[It's an open invitation. Not one he particularly believes Sans will feel comfortable taking. But maybe he's wrong.]

'Course we did.

[He don't even bother to offer. Give his brother the remnants of whoever the Papyrus he knew was. And, huh, boy, what a selfish old thought that one is? Like Sans has a monopoly on grief. On mourning.

The scarf disappears. He lets the lights in his sockets swing idly away, scanning their surroundings. Torquing the trajectory of his thoughts until they end up in the vein of something halfway practical; searching out potential anomalies, potential dangers, and pinning them down.

No bugs and the like 'round them anymore. Not now. Maybe Mettaton scared 'em off, huh?]

He's a real star.

[As usual, there's something about Sans' tone, intentional or not, that makes Mettaton second-guess himself. He wonders if he'd done something--ah, but usually he has.

As good a read as he can usually get on people, on his fans and his friends, enough to say what he thinks will make them feel better...he has yet to figure out what will make Sans happy. Hell, offering the scarf on that damnable planet with the endless party had soured the skeleton's mood somehow. Even trying to compliment Sans never went over well. Maybe all Sanses weren't the same, but how could he know?!

Mettaton hated it, how very at a loss he was. It made him want to abscond from the conversation, because deep down...he was still bothered. Still angry. No amount of knowledge on timelines would ever make him comfortable with what the Sans he knew had done.

Still.

Even after all that...

Even then, he tries his hardest to pull a positive out of a negative. So he agrees with Sans, nodding vaguely.]

Very much so. He has a way of charging the room, hm? With his personality, and with his sweetness. I have never seen someone so genuine.

[His SOUL hurts.]

He's perfect.

[Tipped his hand there, a bit. Though maybe he'd done that already, since he'd spent more than 3 seconds dropping compliments on someone besides himself.]

[He's perfect.

What's he doing, huh? Maybe he just genuinely loved something about Papyrus, but hey - who the hell doesn't? Even Hermann, crotchety as he could be, got along great with -

God.

He don't wanna be thinking about this. Not about Papyrus. Not about Hermann, not about Newt, not about the whole long line of people who he made the fatal mistake of caring about. Because once you care, you're fucked. You see it all dragged away from you, and your SOUL hurts, and you got no one to blame yourself for gettin' so goddamn attached.

Your fault. Always your own damn fault. And he's a monster, so 'course he's gotta care, unduly. 'Course he's gotta try, even if every instinct screams against it.]

Yeah.

[That's about all he can think of to stay to that, another low rumble, utterly neutral. Don't dare lean his tone one way or another. He just keeps his hands sunk into his pockets, and he stops walking, the bottoms of his slippers scrapin' over the rock as he shuffles to a halt.]

He was.

[Past tense.

We gotta use proper grammar here, now. We're not barbarians.]

[Was.

The word makes Mettaton visibly twitch. Why. Why does Sans have to be this way? Mettaton was doing so good, he felt just a sliver of optimism returning to him, thinking happy things about Papyrus and pretending everything was alright like he used to do.

But the word. That one fucking word brings it all crashing down and reminds him that if he were still fused to this body, he'd be so fragile, so pathetically weak. His SOUL was weak, and why was that? Because he'd bared it to Papyrus, let himself care about someone other than himself.

He'd thought that he could have something. No, not just have it. Have him, and give himself in return, because Papyrus was everything that Mettaton wished he could be.

Alas.

Mettaton didn't deserve such a good monster.]

Sans.

["Don't you get tired of being this way?" he wants to ask. But he doesn't.]

...I'm sorry. This cannot be helping you.

[Mettaton hopes that the skeleton doesn't glance at him, not even for a second. He doesn't want to be looked at. He probably looks incredibly pathetic, impossibly lost.

Not himself. Never himself.]

[Playin' it up too much, ain't he? Who is he, Mettaton? He ain't one for dramatics. And, uh, neither is the showbot himself, by the looks of things. So what the hell're the two of 'em even doing? Falling back on habits?

Probably. Can't say he ain't done it before.

So what's he do, huh? He does what any good actor would do. He grins, he puts on a show. He closes an eyesocket in a jovial wink.]

Hey, fuhgeddabout it. Y'know I'll never miss an opportunity to talk about what a cool guy he was.

[He don't wanna be looked at, but Sans looks anyway. Of course he looks. It's only for a second, but it don't have to be longer than that. He gets the full scoop just from a glimpse. The way he stands there, like attention is acutely more painful than anything in the world.

Attention, the one thing his part-time boss once ate up like a split-crabapple sundae.]

So. [Decidedly nonchalant and assuredly casual. 'Cause that's just polite.] Where'd you end up, anyhow?

Of course you don't.

[Sans loved his brother. But it's not as if Mettaton had ever been a good boss to the skeleton, and their history from the Moira? Even the positives there no longer existed.

He was starting to realize why the guy was so jaded. Though...that's a little disingenuous to say isn't it? He's been having his own problems for months. Sans has been having them for years, he imagines.

It's not equal.

But it is enough to cause Mettaton some level of duress, clearly. When Sans looks at him, he stiffens momentarily...then tries to regain his composure. He almost does it. Almost!

But then he has to answer the question, and as he does, a wry expression crosses his metal features, almost like a sneer. Not at Sans this time, though. This time it's just the memories.]

I ended up on a spaceship. Stayed on it for quite a few months, actually, not that it was my choice. Of course there were positives. New perspectives, the stars, your brother.

[He doesn't elaborate on who was there aside from Papyrus. Sans has an imagination. He can use it.]

And then there were negatives.

[Again. Imagination.

Or, if the skeleton so chooses to ask, Mettaton may answer. But that's up to Sans.]

[Ended up in space, huh? Lucky bastard, only not really, he's thinkin' - not really, because not everybody is a weirdo who thinks the stars might be nice to look at. New perspectives, and positive things; plenty of silver linings to go 'round.

Just go ahead and dig that wedge in deeper, why don'tcha? His brother was there. How nice and fine for everyone.]

Welp. This ol' place is a little closer to home.

[He lifts a hand in a lazy supination, indicating the cave ceiling that reaches on upward, terminating in the rock stalactites that taper into fine points.]

No sky, for one.

[Lucky bastard hahahaha. if only you knew, Sans. If only you knew.]

Being underground again is not usually my idea of a good time. I rather enjoyed the sky when I still had the ability to view it.

[Still, he follows Sans' gesture, glancing up at the formations with feigned interest. So they're back in a hole, how terrible for them. How awful it must have been for Sans, only having to fight weird, gross bug creatures, while he was forced to fight for his life against aliens ascribing shitty motives onto him, murdering every monster he knew along with the child he'd grown to call friend.

How terrible, that Sans had never felt the weight of a slaver's collar like a manacle around that bony neck of his, being forced to kill and kill, and kill again, breaking himself until he didn't even know who he was anymore.

Life's hard, isn't it Sans?]

Still, if bugs are the only thing we have to deal with, I think I'll find that much more tolerable than the planets we tended to visit. Shame though, I had just started getting used to the newest one.

[He shrugs, like he's being facetious.

He's not. The planet they were on was much safer than any of the other places. And now he'd been dumped in another place where he'd have to kill things. What a surprise.

Speaking of bugs though, is that stalactite moving?]

[Everybody enjoys the sky, when they still got memories of seeing it. The first time, it's a novelty. The second time, it's...still a novelty, or still counts as one. And then it keeps going. And going. And going. Just as thrilling as the first time? Sure. He's sure it is.

Ain't like he could remember it. Just kinda seems like it taints the whole thing, more or less, knowin' that was achieved and then stripped away, 'cause there's a photograph he kept from Frisk for far too long that proved that little hypothesis right.

But, hey. Maybe that's just him.]

That ain't the only thing we have to deal with.

[C'mon, Mettaton. You're smarter than that, and everybody knows it.]

There's gods among us, buddo. Maybe you haven't heard just yet.

[He's too tired to make it sound like anything personal. Just a weary introductory guide to the state of things, one he's trotted out far too often. 'Cause he gets to know everybody, and they get to know him.

And then they disappear, same as ever.]

I just got here, of course I haven't had a chance to figure everything out. Of course, you're free to enlighten me further.

[There's a skittering sound, and Mettaton's gaze flicks upwards again, right before he heaves a long suffering sigh. The dramatic flair hasn't all been wrung out of him, it seems...but the way his expression falls flat afterwards is definitely not normal. It's like he's gone numb.

Like he knows what he has to do and whether he likes it or not, it's getting done.]

Though at the moment, it seems as if we have a visitor.

[He reaches a hand up to point at the source of the sound--another bug--but it's not just to point it out, given the sparks of electrical magic dancing across his fingertip. He doesn't even think about it as he releases a small burst, shocking the creature and causing it to lose its grip.

Better move out of the way, Sans. Maybe help too, that'd be neat.]

Y'gotta phone on you somewhere. Or, uh...you should. All newbies end up with one.

[Jury's out on whether Mettaton has pockets. He could ask Alphys, but, uh...she ain't here. So all he can do is put forward what Mettaton should have on his person. If not, hell, Sans can download the newbie guide himself.

Though for now? Looks like they'll have to settle for backin' away as one of the new creepy-crawlies catches wind of both of 'em.]

C'mon, guy. [He sounds more annoyed than anything else as he tosses a couple blue knucklebones lazily in the thing's direction. It's a desultory effort at best.] Do we look like a coupl'a decent meals to ya?

[One's bones and the other's electronics. What'd the thing expect?]

test drive meme #16

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