test drive meme #20

[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 May 25th, and apps are open June 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: BURN BABY BURN
[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.

Or that... bonfire behind you? That's sure what it looks like, but if you get a little closer - which you probably shouldn't - you'll see a face in those flames This time, the Door has brought in some Doomers, from the Baten Kaitos video game.

Doomers are creatures made of flame that sure would like it if you were on fire too. It works for them, right? What do you mean you don't want to be engulfed in flames? These Doomers will send clouds of sparks in the direction of anyone that might be a threat (or anyone they don't like), searing them with the heat and trying to catch them on fire. Hot damn!]

SCENARIO TWO: IT'S JUST A CAT
[Why does it always have to be like this? There you were, going about your day, when you turned a corner and something jumped out at you. Maybe a monster with sharp teeth and claws, maybe a snake striking at your feet, maybe just a terrifying dark shape - whatever it was, it scared the shit out of you.

And then it disappeared in a puff of brightly-colored smoke and glitter, because that's just how Hadriel rolls. Awesome. And maybe if it just happened once it would be a big deal, but it's happening all the time. Practically every other corner you turn, half the doors you open, even just when you look over your shoulder. Careful about getting too jumpy, though - what are you gonna do if your friend taps you on the shoulder and you freak out? How embarrassing.

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

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: I LIKE YOUR HAIR
[Everything seems normal today. No monsters, no weird shapes jumping out at you. Maybe it'll just be a normal day. Maybe it'll even be nice. No - it'll definitely be nice.

How can we be sure of that? Easy! Every time you touch someone today - whether it's an accidental bump or an intentional touch - you'll blurt out a genuine compliment. If you don't know them well, it could be something as simple as saying they look nice today, or that their eyes are a lovely shade of green. If you do know them, it'll be more specific. Maybe you're impressed by their work ethic, or you love the sound of their singing voice. Maybe you actually hate them but you really appreciate the way they always remember to put the toilet seat down (because that's the only good thing about them).

Whatever it is, you'll find yourself saying it out loud. Don't worry - nothing too personal will be blurted out, and you can stop yourself if you really want to. But isn't it great to be nice to people for once?]

Comments

[wynand]

It's a question worth asking, just...not where he's concerned. He doesn't have the luxury for favorites of much of anything, does he? Or he...didn't. Even now, with the shadows leaping out at him and fly-girls insisting that they're friends even if he doesn't know her name and, at this point, thinks that maybe it would be awkward to have to ask this late in the game. Atlas, Tenenbaum, Ryan - they all saw fit to introduce themselves.

But then, they had all been human. For the most part.

Fresh fruit in Rapture, after the way Arcadia went? No, it doesn't seem...likely, or wise. But then she makes the decision for him, and Jack considers the instruction for a moment before nodding, cautiously.

Okay. Pears. He probably likes pears?

He may as well find out.

The tread of his feet are heavy, efficient and deliberate, but he's following.

"Do you have a name?" Not what one would call the most polite or socially prescient way of wording the question, but at least he got it out.

[flyfisher]

Good! He's following. Myia's very pleased at the confirmation, and continues on her way, leading him.

"Oh!" She gasps in surprise at herself when he reminds her. "Yes! I do! Course I do, course I do. Forgot, got attacked by very small bees, stung my head, forgot, forgot. Didn't forget my name, forgot to say." She has to clarify.

She whirls on her feet suddenly and, for the second time, offers her hand to shake, declaring, "Myia! I'm Myia. Spelled M-Y-I-A, with an I, with an I! Very good name, very good, right? Of course you think so! Hmhmhm, I only pick the best names! And you're Jack! See, I remembered!"

To think, only minutes ago she was crying and wailing on the ground. Myia doesn't like to remember bad moments, though. She'd rather just forget about them already. Who cares about the bee thing now? That was five minutes ago, and it just doesn't matter anymore.

[wynand]

Attacked by small bees, she says. It's nice of her to make it sound as though it wasn't his fault, even if, by now, it's become rapidly clear that he's not dealing with a Sister, or a splicer, or anything he's come to recognize as the norm in Rapture. They're underground, she'd claimed, and the more he takes the place in, the more apparent it gets. They are underground, no longer chained to the seafloor even if they are just as devoid of sunlight.

"Myia," he repeats once, and then nods. It's an easy name to remember, and an even easier face. There aren't very many fly people, he should think, down below.

"Where are we?" Moving on to the more pertinent questions.

[flyfisher]

"We're on a street, in a town, underground! The town is called Hadriel. I am still learning, too. Very strange place, very strange. Doesn't make sense. How can you breathe underground? How can a god walk the earth? All wrong, all wrong! Maybe the ceiling is a hologram, and the gods are fakes! Can't reach up there to tell."

Because, sure, her wings aren't for show, but she certainly can't fly that high. Birds are generally the ones that get more air, and even then, they can't just soar above the trees. Not like the stories.

They reach a store and Myia struts through the front door like she owns the place. Then she remembers she was being followed, and hurriedly doubles back to open the door for Jack, effectively ruining her Coolgirl Moment.

The place, inside, probably doesn't look so surprising to him. It's a dump, devoid of any workers or other shoppers. There are items on the shelves, fresh ones, but the floors are dirty and one wall in particular looks like it's on its last legs, not to mention the busted cash register. Still, Myia calls out when she walks in, "Helloooo?" At the resulting silence, she turns back to Jack. "See! No one here! Cheap as free, cheap as free!"

As if she was above shoplifting even when there were workers around... She likes to pretend, okay.

[wynand]

Even if this entire encounter weren't a solemn affirmation of it, her words that follow merely compound that this is far from Rapture. No gods or kings, in Rapture, aside from the looming facade of Andrew Ryan. Not ones that walk, or talk, or claim to dictate emotional output. He glances up at the ceiling studiously, as if to affirm her claims about holographic ceilings. Yet the ceiling looks very solid.

She waltzes through the place as though she owns it, and then holds the door open for him after. A bit of an unnecessary impulse, but he can appreciate nonetheless. Silently. He can appreciate it silently. He follows, scanning the shelves.

He's apparently as unconcerned with shoplifting as Myia is. Hefting the bag about his shoulder, he weaves throughout the accumulated objects until he retrieves a brown glass bottle of something that sloshes thickly inside. He unstoppers the bottle, sniffing at its contents. The sharp burn of alcohol tingles at his nostrils.

Good.

Without any further hesitation, he tips it back and starts to drink. It's not an EVE hypo, but it will earn him back some of his capacity to use his plasmids, bit by bit.

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he should offer some to his partner in crime. After a moment's contemplation, Jack holds the bottle out to her, lifting his eyebrows incrementally. Drinking buddies?

[flyfisher]

Myia, after opening the door for Jack, seems pretty unconcerned with his actions from then onward. She is fully consumed by what she's doing, which is grabbing a shirt to use as a makeshift bag of her own and stuffing whatever food she can find into it. She notices some sort of plastic cutlery that seems to have been designed for one time use, yes, but also for something a little fancier than a barbecue cookout, as they're less utilitarian, sporting pleasant designs carved into them, and have been made out of a golden plastic. She hums happily to herself and grabs every last one of those, even the ones that have fallen to the floor.

They may be worth almost nothing, but to her they're as good as real spoons or forks of gold.

By the time Jack finds the alcohol, Myia's makeshift bag is full nearly to bursting of food and junk, and that's around when she starts paying attention to him again. She looks back just in time to see him sniff at the bottle, then tip it back without hesitation. She instantly bursts into a shrill bark of laughter -- almost like the loudest whine of a small dog, only she's a fly, thank you very much.

"He knows what he wants! Good, good, good!" She nods approvingly, but when he offers her the alcohol as well, she falters, completely taken aback.

"Sharing? You're sharing?" She looks between the offered bottle and him, half expecting him to suddenly take it back and mock her for thinking he'd ever give her something that rightly belonged to him. But she quickly recovers from the surprise, laughing it off. "Well! Of course you'll share! I deserve it too! You already know!"

She takes the offered drink and tips it back herself. She can't hide it, she makes a face at the strong taste. Normally, she might keep the entire rest of it for herself, taking a mile when she's granted an inch, but she doesn't like the taste -- back to him it goes.

"I like them better when they're sweet and colorful," she explains, but she smiles regardless, still thankful though she doesn't say it.

[wynand]

She's a scavenger, like him. He can't fault her for that. You take what you can to survive or you die out of a useless, expired sense of guilt and obligation for the dead. The dead can't change where they are, and they certainly can't change what merits taking.

Myia is just as thrifty as he is, it turns out, scavenging whatever she can. There's plenty on the shelves, and whatever sense of preternatural guilt he might endure is worth it if it means he gets to eat and rejuvenate his strength in the meantime.

Jack accepts the bottle, watching her with a faint upward twitch to the side of his mouth - the closest thing to genuine amusement he's communicated in what feels like a lifetime.

"Me too," he says. Alcohol has a utility despite its bitter taste, and he takes another long swig, turning to card through the remnants of whatever's left on the shelves. A package of potato chips, bearing some nondescript brand, is ripped open and devoured in record time, simply because it's there.

[flyfisher]

She watches him as he turns back to the shelves, grabbing food, which she thinks is wise, only he's eating it right away. He should be saving that! Who knows when he'll really need it? But maybe he's already very hungry.

"Hungry?" He shared something, so Myia thinks she should return the favor. That's why she's opened her shirt-bag now, and, rifling through its contents, she procures a pear she had secretly kept for herself. One of several, in fact. Hey, it's first come, first serve. But Myia feels like she owes him one for sharing his alcohol.

She holds the pear out to Jack. "It's your favorite! I, um, I kept it for you!" she lies.

[wynand]

...right. His favorite, as she decided. He accepts it gingerly, turning the thing over and over in his hands with an odd fixation. He sniffs it, taken aback at the scent of fresh fruit. At the feel of the pocked green skin he's not felt, experienced, in - ever, maybe?

That can't be right. He's tasted pears before, he'd know. But when he bites into it, greedily, it might as well be something new.

Something he's never tasted before now. The rich sweetness, the nectar-like juice running down his chin, and Jack regards the thing with mild surprise before eagerly tucking in.

Maybe pears are his favorite, after all.

"'S good," he adds, mouth full, a bit belatedly but no less sincerely.

[flyfisher]

After the sniffing and appraisal of the pear, he digs in like it's about to evaporate in his hand. His face is covered in pear juice in no time, and it's not exactly the most dignified way to eat your favorite fruit, but the fact that Myia can really tell he appreciates it sort of makes her feel good in a way she's not used to feeling about giving things away.

He's a weird one, this "human", but Myia decides she likes Jack.

"I was right! He loves pears. Heehee, of course! Of course!"

She reaches for something else from the shelf beside her when she sees it -- him, rather, and it must be him, a red wasp, she can't tell if he's bleeding like the last time she saw him, it's only out of the corner of her eye but Amber screams and Myia shrieks, dropping her bag and leaving the contents to roll out onto the floor. She recoils back in the same motion into the shelf, nearly toppling it over, and it does teeter, but it stays upright while she falls onto her butt.

As soon as she hits the ground, he bursts into glitter and smoke. Amber was never here at all. She didn't kill him like she maybe should have, but he's still not here. It's fine.

But she can't get her breathing to slow again.

[wynand]

He's not used to a world in which food exists for enjoyment - or at least, the memories of such a world are distant and faint, like watercolor smears on a moistened canvas. Rapture is sharper, the most definitive moment in his life, for reasons that feel obvious enough. The strange world that shook everything at its core, that altered his life and his nucleotide chain from the moment he set foot into that ruined city.

Scavenging is second nature. Eating quickly, to lend himself strength, fueling a hyperactive metabolism with brusque efficiency, to best enable him to tear through walls of glass and steel, wrench in hand, and stay alive.

It's not clear what Myia sees, but whatever it is takes her off guard enough to elicit a terrified wail.

Jack's reaction is instantaneous. The pistol is out again, drawn smoothly, and remainder of the pear falls to the ground to roll across the floor, forlorn and forgotten. His left hand spritzes to life in a flare of arcing blue, electricity crackling at his fingertips as he scans the store for whatever took her off guard, whatever threat must be lingering around the corner.

Nothing comes.

His heartbeat, momentarily stirred, begins to slow almost at once. Jack's gaze drops to eye Myia warily.

"What is it?"