TEST DRIVE MEME #4

[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 December 25th, and apps are open January 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: A FACE FIT FOR A MEME
[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 trolls, from the Dungeons and Dragons tabletop roleplay series for you meet.

These trolls have a height of nine feet and weigh up to five hundred pounds. They may be slower and less intelligent than you, but their regenerative abilities make them difficult to kill. Trolls are capable of healing nonfatal damage dealt to them and can use simple tools, like swords and knives- all the better to incapacitate you so they can roast you alive!]


SCENARIO TWO: RED SNOW
[It's cold. A layer of snow envelops the city, turning the caves into a winter wonderland. Feel free to have snowball fights, scrounge for blankets and coats (there's never enough to go around), and make snow angels! It's just like back home during the holidays, isn't it?

That is, if your home had yeti and white walkers roaming around trying to kill you. Be careful when wandering out and about, because they seem to blend in with the snow, and they definitely want a snack.

Or, uh, to raise you from the dead to murder your friends at their behest. Either way, you're dead.

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


H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: HOPE FOR THE HOLIDAYS
[You're sitting on a couch in a living room. All around you are hints of magic- the mirrors seem to flicker with moving objects and people, the fireplace crackles with light, but no heat. There's a Christmas tree in the corner with soft, glowing lights that are unattached to any sort of wires.

Underneath the tree are four presents- two of them clearly marked for you, two of them clearly marked for the other person in the room with you. Inside one of these gifts is something you badly want- a stack of cash, a magical bow, an out-of-print book- but inside the other is something a little less pleasant. There may be spiders or snakes, or the box may be empty but coated in acid. It could be a wolf in sheep's clothing- wonderful-looking fruits, rotted on the inside- or it could just be a particularly nasty smell.

You can only open one, and there's no way to know which is which. Which gift will you choose?]

Comments

sam winchester ♦ supernatural ( coming in here late af but better late than never right? )

[hollowly]

fit for a meme → it never gets any easier, does it?

( well. it's not exactly as if this has never happened before – waking up in a strange place, alone, bereft of any knowledge of how or why he'd ended up there in the first place – and at least the reassuring weight of his gun tucked into the waistband of his pants is there, nice and cozy against his back, the one thing that doesn't have him immediately panicking about getting back to where he belongs.

his head feels fuzzy around the edges, like he's trying to work through a dense fog that covers everything around him, and even as he squints at his surroundings and doesn't immediately see anything, there's a distinct feeling – one that raises the fine hairs at the back of his neck – that he's being watched, and it immediately sets him on edge. watchful, careful and cautious, ready to reach for his gun the moment something seems out of place.

he's not quite expecting to run into a troll, though. ( when is anyone ever expecting to run into a troll? that shouldn't even be a thing. )

it has a good three feet on him in height – not that hard to do when you consider monsters and the like, even if he is something of a giant – and it's far off enough that he's not in any immediate danger, but he's reaching behind his back, curling fingers around the butt of his gun and already thumbing off the safety. just in case worse comes to worst and there's no time for further forward planning.

he could … probably use some help right about now. come now, before that hing notices him and decides to make a bloody, squishy mess of his head. )

hope → is this what christmas is really supposed to be like? where's the whiskey?

( this is certainly much, much different from a christmas spent in a seedy motel room. he's never had much experience with how these things are supposed to go, and even though he's gotten a taste of domestic life and doesn't feel so out of his element, it's still a little … weird.

especially considering that fire isn't giving off any heat. that's a bit more mind-boggling than he cares to admit. ( and really isn't the thing he should be concentrating on, all things considered. )

his gaze focuses briefly on the tree in front of him, the gifts nestled beneath it before closing some of the distance between, curiosity getting the better of him so much to the point that he kneels before the ones clearly marked for him. brows furrowed in that way of his when he's thinking particularly hard, fingertips reaching out to gently trace over the wrapping as though it might give him some clue as to what's in either of the packages.

he's not good at this. this whole picking-and-choosing thing. this is ridiculous. )

trooooooolls in the cave city

[bekommen]

[Well, shit. Nick is happy to mind her own business and expects everyone else to more or less do the same, but these monsters in this place, they just seem to have other ideas about that.

It's not like Nick's got some kind of hero complex or anything. She may not like people on general principle, but leaving someone to die bloody ... that just doesn't sit well with her. Besides, this dude doesn't look noticeably armed, and - well, she may not have much to offer in the way of combat abilities, but she can provide a good distraction. It's the one thing that she's learned about herself since she got yanked to this hellhole.

So she tiptoes a little closer, waving to get his attention, whisper-shouting:]

Psst! Hey!

ayyyyy.

[hollowly]

( well. there's nothing wrong with minding your own business - because he's been known to do that, himself, even though it doesn't happen very often - but in this particular scenario, it would definitely be in his best interest if she didn't, and he'll make sure she knows he appreciates it once it's all over.

distractions are always welcome, basically. especially when it's the only thing you have in your arsenal.

the wave of her arms is enough to get his attention, even though his eyes narrow at the initial psst. )

Uh ... hey? ( come on, sam. get on the ball. let's get this shit rolling. )

[bekommen]

[He must be new. Nick rolls her eyes and points emphatically at the troll, then to him, then the opposite direction.]

Get out of here.

[hollowly]

( oh. eyerolls, he's used to. very used to.

and yes. yes, he's new. we are so sorry you have to deal with the newness.

but he spreads his arms wide, that universal symbol for what the hell are you talking about!? )

And where am I supposed to go? I can at least try to wound that thing before I make a run for it!

( sigh. winchesters. )

[bekommen]

[Yeah, you and what battle axe, Sammy. Nick rolls her eyes again.]

You're not gonna be able to do anything when it's ripping your throat out, dumbass. Get going, I'll make sure it doesn't follow you.

[hollowly]

( look just give him a laptop and a general search area and he'll find out what he can bludgeon this thing with. he's got this. if shooting won't do anything for it -

wait. did you just call him a dumbass? you just called him a dumbass.

that's rude. )

And let it rip you apart instead? I don't think so. ( SIGH. WINCHESTERS. )

... Can't we both outrun it?

[bekommen]

[Yep, she sure did. Rude happens to be one of Nick's middle names. She levels a pointed stare at him, and even though she manages to not roll her eyes this time, it's obvious she thinks Sam is just. Completely stupid.]

Do you happen to be an expert on the land speed of whatever the fuck that is? 'Cause I'm not, and I don't feel like taking my chances on a footrace with monsters today. Now, just get the fuck outta here already. I'll handle this.

[hollowly]

( he's not. completely stupid. he's just brand-spanking-new and doesn't feel like being told what to do right off the bat.

even if it's an idea that's in his best interest.

so ... this is him sizing up a troll. from a distance, at least, but this is sam winchester sizing up a damned troll. )

It can't be that fast if it's that big. ( it's been his experience, anyway, that the bigger something is, the slower it is. let's just hope that this is the case for whatever this thing is.

and he shakes his head. )

It's either you come with me or we both stay and try to do some damage to this thing. ( brandishing his gun for her to see? yep. at least he has a weapon. ) You're not handling this alone.

[bekommen]

Fine. Suit yourself. I just hope you actually know how to use that thing.

[She rolls her eyes again. A gun is ... OK, she guesses. Better than nothing. But he better be a damn good shot. She's never touched a firearm in her life, but Nick knows there are only so many bullets in a gun, and if he ends up wasting them, they'll both be screwed.]

Wait until I tell you to shoot it, all right?

[She doesn't wait for an answer, but steps forward and claps her hands together to draw the troll's attention, yelling:]

Hey! Ugly shit! Yeah, you. Get over here.

[hollowly]

( he's been working with guns and just about any other kind of weapon you could think of ( and probably some that you wouldn't think to think of ) since he was a child, having told his father that he was scared of the thing in his closet and ended up with a .45 in small, shaking hands. you don't have anything to worry about.

he smirks. ) This won't be the first time I've ever had to use one, trust me.

( he's always been a good shot, if he says so himself. he's already trying to plan ahead, just in case this thing is resistant to bullets, what else he might be able to use against it. it's … just a shame he's coming up short.

all thoughts are cut short when she yells at the thing, and wouldn't you know, she manages to get its attention.

of course she does. well, here goes nothing.

let's just wait and see how this plays out. )

[bekommen]

[BUCKLE IN, SAMMY. How this plays out is something like this: in a matter of seconds, Nick doesn't look the same. She's tall for a girl, usually, but now she stands well over six feet tall. Her skin is porcelain, her hair cascades in long, dark curls down her back and over her shoulders, and her everyday clothes of jeans and jacket are replaced by an old-fashioned dress made of piles of black lace and ruffles and ribbons. She opens her mouth and what comes out is a loud, inhuman howl, and it stuns the troll in its tracks, right in front of them. When turns her head to Sam, he'll be able to see there's a deep crack in her forehead, exposing the hollowness underneath the shell of white. Her eyes, glassy and wide and fringed by dark lashes, are the same piercing shade of blue as they were before.]

Now!

[hollowly]

( consider him buckled in.

but that still doesn't prepare him for what unfolds in front of his eyes like exposition in a horror film.

( bad reference, we know. his entire fucking life is a horror film. and he doesn't even get paid well for it. )

his focus remains on her for a scant few seconds, but then he's turning back to the troll, lining up his first shot and pulling the trigger. it's good enough that the bullet buries itself in a thick-skinned shoulder, nowhere near enough to incapacitate it, but either enough to slow it down or … just piss it off.

he fires again, aiming for a knee, and this time it lands in the thick muscle of its calf. it stumbles, roars.

and then starts straight toward them. )

[bekommen]

[Sam. You had one job. If Nick could roll her eyes in this form, she'd be doing it right now, but she can't, and there's no time to yell at him for being a big idiot, either, so that will have to wait until after they've escaped - if they manage to escape, which ... looks less likely now that the monster is charging right for them.

Nick isn't much for strategy; she runs on instinct, and instinct tells her she's got one weapon in her arsenal, and that's her voice. So she uses it again, screaming with all her might at the oncoming attack, hoping it's enough to stop the monster long enough for this guy to either make a move or get enough sense to take off, like she originally suggested.]

[hollowly]

( look. he said he was a good shot, not a perfect one. give him a rifle with a scope or a shotgun with a kick and it might have done more damage, but when your only weapon is a pistol and you're trying to take something like a troll down without any prior knowledge of its weaknesses?

nick. give him a break. come on, now.

and if she thinks he's going to take off before this thing has been taken down, she's got another thing coming.

she screams, and the thing looks directly at her - ignoring him, for the most part, which fortuitously gives him the chance to line up a third shot. he keeps a running tally in his head, just to ensure that he doesn't over-shoot and empty the clip before this is all done with, and he reckons that, should this next shot meet its mark, he'll have enough to keep on standby should ... well, anything else happen.

he aims for the monster's throat, and pulls the trigger. )

[bekommen]

[A good shot is gonna have to be good enough, because Nick doesn't have any other weapons or combat training, so she's relying on Sam to get the job done. Which he does, finally, this time; the bullet to the throat is enough to send the troll crashing to its knees, gurgling and groaning as blood pours down its front.

Nick doesn't waste any time; she's instantly back to her human form, grabbing for Sam's arm to lead him away from the injured troll and (she hopes) out of further danger.]

Come on, move! Let's go!

[hollowly]

( well, if there's ever going to be someone in this place to come up with an idea for a bestiary -- complete with ways to both incapacitate and kill the baddies and beasties one comes across -- it will be this one, and once they're out of harm's way, that idea might just cross his mind.

but as he's watching the thing crash to the ground, she's grabbing his arm and he's running right along with her, long legs carrying him in easy strides.

you don't have to tell him twice! )

[bekommen]

[WELL GOOD. Maybe he's not as dumb as he looks after all.

Nick's not accustomed to running, though she's had more opportunities to practice in the time she's been here. They're probably a safe distance away by the time she slows to a stop, coughing hard. Smoker's lungs - not recommended for sprinting.]

Thought you said you knew how to use that thing.

hope ✠ joining the late club

[hotspurred]

[It says something about Henry that in a room designed to invoke comfort, he paces restlessly, agitation prickling under his skin. He'd thought himself done with fighting hordes of monsters, so the knowledge that they roam outside is bitter. He cannot know whether his allies were transported here too, and if so, how they fare. He hates that he can only worry.

Is this all part of God's plan? he wonders in disbelief, over and over.

It's not long before he grows impatient with the futile circling of his own thoughts, and ceasing his pacing, shifts his focus onto the other person in the room. He watches without comment for a short moment, then stalks over.]

Choose one already.

[Henry suggests, scornful of prolonged indecision on what he views as an inconsequential choice.]

welcome to the club, we're gonna get jackets eventually!

[hollowly]

( well. the restless pacing is something that he's definitely used to – because if he weren't perfectly aware of the other occupant of the room being someone that he is entirely unfamiliar with, if he hadn't looked? he might have simply assumed that it was dean wearing a track in the floor.

ask that question out loud, friend, and see what kind of reaction you get. sam is all but finished with thoughts of the bigger picture, the plan the man upstairs supposedly laid out for humanity before the birth of earth itself. neitzsche had it right – god is dead. or just so well-hidden and apathetic about the chaos going on up there that he's taking a permanent vacation.

sam starts when the other finally speaks up, brows raising the slightest bit. ) You choose, I'll choose. ( seems like a fair trade, right? unless this stranger has already taken it upon himself to open up one of his gifts, in which case … which one was it? )

[hotspurred]

[Henry tilts his head, sparing it brief consideration, before he nods.]

I accept your bargain.

[Henry kneels easily despite his layers of mail and plate, and living up to his famous nickname, simply seizes the first present intended for him. As he straightens up and moves to take a seat on the sofa, Henry directs a pointed look at the other man. When one's word is given, one does not back out.

Henry sets his present on his lap and proceeds to remove his gauntlets, but makes no further motion beyond that.]

[hollowly]

( well that was … a little easier than he'd thought.

the time has come, sam winchester, to choose your fate.

( and only this one would think of christmas presents like that. he might have gotten over his initial aversion to the holidays, thank you, dean, but that doesn't mean he's suddenly great at accepting gifts. especially when he has no idea who or where they've come from. )

but when he's set with that Look ( yes, it must be capitalized ), he takes a moment to stare back down at the gifts marked for him and – foregoing all logic – chooses one at random before he has a chance to convince himself to think about it some more. finally pulls himself up and moves to sit himself, a mirror image to the one sitting next to him.

why … does this feel so awkward? ) … There. That wasn't so hard. ( then why did it take you so long! )

[hotspurred]

[Henry huffs a short, derisive laugh, and raises his eyebrows.]

Indeed not. Deliberation at the expense of action is of times a failure equal to the inverse.

[The inverse of which he's still embodying, as his attention shifts to his present. He shows little caution in unwrapping it, and inside the wrapping paper is a box. Nothing bad happens when he opens the lid. Stuffed within is an impressive amount of tissue paper. As he learns by reaching in, the tissue paper forms many small parcels, two long, thin parcels and one large one. His brow furrows as he opens one of the small ones, and when he withdraws his hand he holds a gold bead, two centimetres tall, between his thumb and forefinger.

Henry starts, his lips curling back into a snarl.]

What?! How--

[He snaps, cutting himself off just as abruptly as he started. His eyes are wide and disbelieving as he stares at the bead. How can it possibly be what he thinks it is? For a second he is back in Champagne and the overpowering smell of blood and ash fills his nostrils. Even as he shakes himself out of the memory, there is only one word -- one name -- on his tongue. He swallows it back forcefully as he thinks it.

Iamarl.

He rolls the bead into his palm and presses it tightly into his flesh, holding it there with his little and ring fingers to keep the use of both of his hands. Wordlessly, Henry rips open the biggest parcel to reveal a large fan-shaped hair ornament made of bronze. Any doubts he has are cast aside.

There is no mistake: these are hers.]

[hollowly]

( this guy, he's beginning to sound a lot like castiel, if only with his speech patterns. ( he's never heard anyone else sound so formal, for any other reason than it's all they know. ) but he's right, and even if he hesitates in opening his gift, he finds his attention drawn to that of the box the stranger is opening. his reaction to the things buried among the bits of tissue paper.

it isn't a good one.

but not to be invasive, his focus shifts to that which rests in his lap, and long fingers begin working to tear the paper and open it up with minimal mess made along the way. ( look, it's just the way he thinks, because sometimes his priorities are skewed when he doesn't have anything pressing to focus on, and … well. at least until he knows what's going on around here, this is about as prioritized as he gets. )

the box itself is light, now that he's actually paying attention to it – and inside, among the mess of paper, wrapped up nice and neat is a very familiar necklace that he hasn't seen in years, something that he'd thought had been left in the bottom of a motel room wastebasket, left behind and forgotten along with his brother's faith in him and everything they'd been fighting for.

it's bittersweet, seeing it again, feeling the weight of it in his hand as he brushes over its surface with the pad of his thumb. it brings a tug to the very bottom of his heart, and something catches in the back of his throat, a lump he can't quite swallow around.

he turns to the other, just slightly, still holding the pendant tightly in one hand. )

Let me guess. It's something that can't possibly be here.

( trust him. he's thinking the very same thing. )

[hotspurred]

[The tone of the other man's voice and the way that he clutches a necklace --judging by the thong -- is a conbination that routes Henry's normal distance. It conveys loss of a similar sort to his own. He turns to better face his chance companion. Even he knows that understanding is nothing to scoff at.]

...Indeed.

[Henry turns Iamarl's hair ornament in his grip, warring with himself, then sighs and holds it up for inspection.]

'Tis no forgery, certes. See upon it the faint scars of battle?

[He doesn't share anything of himself easily, but he wants to speak of Iamarl. One such as her leaves behind no records of her life. At most her name is mentioned in the receipt of her commission as Prince Edward's bodyguard, but that says nothing of the extraordinary woman she was. It falls to him to spread her legacy -- little recompense for his life, but he will do it staunchly nonetheless. She deserves to be remembered.]

The woman to whom it belonged was named Iamarl. Her assistance spared me certain death, yet in her act of heroism she took a fateful wound.

[Not that it is easy. His eyes sting, which gives him pause. How much can words that only touch the surface communicate? He is wary of disturbing the well of grief he holds inside: as a blade without a sheath, he cannot risk losing any of his edge while monsters roam freely outside.]

I... had no choice but to leave her body where she passed. Well didst we know that any hope of retrieval would be slim.

[There's no conceivable way that the ornaments left secure in her hair could be here in his grasp. Still, to have something of her to bury one day -- that is a gift.]