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dankmemes2017-01-21 10:17 am
hadrielmods) wrote in dankmemes2017-01-21 10:17 am
Entry tags:
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?]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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?]
no subject
[While it doesn't appear that Mettaton has any pockets, he does indeed have very thin ones which blend in due to how skintight his outfit is. Basically, the only thing he holds onto is his PacDisc as it provides expanded storage not unlike one of Alphys' modified cell phones.
He mildly wonders if the phone had ended up in there somehow. But it isn't important to him at the moment, not when faced with a spider attempting to tear him apart
The creature makes a hissing sound at Sans' attack, though the lack of effort means that the bones are more or less easy to dodge.
Mettaton finds Sans' lack of fervor aggravating at best, infuriating at worst, but it's fine.
He's here to kill things, so he might as well get on with it, right? No holding back.
This time, he reaches both hands out and launches a full on electrical assault, enough to drain a fraction of his battery because not all of the attack is innate magic. It's overkill, but he's done this before. He knows how to attack a large insect, just how much power to use.
Isn't it funny, how events tend to repeat themselves?
The creature writhes under his attack, but Mettaton doesn't stop until he the scent of charred exoskeleton cuts through the air. Only then does the electrical magic fade, and he straightens as if nothing of importance had just occurred. The only indication that he'd done anything at all--besides the obvious insect corpse--was the way he rolled his wrists and adjusted his gloves.]
...You said something about a phone?
[In case it wasn't clear, Mettaton is hardly within the vicinity of fucking around.]
no subject
Delicious.
Probably for the best that he don't have a real sensitive sense of smell. Nasal cavities do well enough on their own, but they ain't as good as good old standard nose. But, hey. He ain't gonna judge.
Quick and dirty, but simple. 'Bout as much as he can ask. He shoves his hands back in his jacket pockets, and keeps talkin' as though there was no interruption.]
Sure. Should have one in your pockets or somethin' like that.
no subject
Sure enough, there is something in the PacDisc that doesn't belong, and at his will, the phone materializes.
...Well alright then. He holds it gingerly, as if it might break. Maybe it will, he's definitely seen better models.]
It's a little plain, isn't it?
[Pulled through a crazy magic door, having killed two large creatures out for his metaphorical blood, and already having upset himself with general conversation...and yet he still has time to insult the phone.
Yeah, sounds about right for him.]
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There's a joke in there about thinkin' he liked boxes anyhow, but, uh - that might be a sore subject. He wouldn't really know.]
'M sure you can spruce it up with stickers and glitter if y'want. Mostly just meant to get the job done, y'know?
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Should I come across any, then I certainly will be beautifying this. I've still got standards!
[His standards are just hidden under the crushing weight of loneliness and uncharacteristic self-esteem issues wrapped in unnecessary apologizes for things he doesn't have control of!
You know. Like a normal person. Especially Mettaton, right?
...He tries not to think about that, instead messing with the drab phone and trying to see what functions it has.]
I'm assuming the job this does is not tied simply to communication? Or am I incorrect to assume as much?
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[Everybody's got standards. But if Mettaton's asking, sure, Sans can be an impromptu phone guide. He don't mind it, really. Kinda made it his job to, in some cases. Somethin' about him just smacks of "introductory
NPChelpful guide," he supposes.]'S got a couple apps on there. Emojis, a clock, a pedometer. A map and a newbie guide too, if you're interested.
no subject
He does pause at the mention of a 'newbie guide', however.]
A guide. Really? Do all these strange places have this kind of thing? They sure do treat this like a game.
[Maybe he'd go along with it if he didn't know what he knew. But he does, so he finds it insulting.]
no subject
[Mello is a lotta things. Predisposed to be patient with newcomers is not among them. Bottom line, he mostly made the guide outta annoyance rather than any genuine desire to be a good Samaritan. Unsurprisingly.]
Think he just got sick of fielding questions.
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Well, at the very least you don't seem to be as annoyed with me as your acquaintance about all the questions!
[Except that whether Sans meant it or not, the statement had caused Mettaton to wonder if, perhaps, he was being too demanding. He didn't really care before, but now...despite the friction between them that apparently only Mettaton cared about, he still felt self-conscious.
One of these days he'd get over that shit. Not today though.]
That is...if I am annoying you, you are free to say so.
[What the fuck, Mettaton?]no subject
For the moment, he simply waves him off with a dismissive flap of a hand.]
Nah. Bein' annoyed takes work.
[The closest thing to an offender ain't even sentient - it'd have to be any number of those damn creepy crawlies.]