dankmemes | test drive meme #21

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!test drive

test drive meme #21

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 June 24th, and apps are open July 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: A LITTLE FRENZIED
[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.

Do you hear something weird? Some kind of strange, constant humming? Hopefully by now you know enough to know that it's probably not nothing, and maybe you should run. If you don't, well- the Door has brought in some Winter Lanterns, from the Bloodborne video game.

Winter Lanterns are rather hideous creatures that hum constantly and glow orange when they detect someone's presence. They can grab you with their tentacles and take a nice bite out of you, which is super fun, or they can mess you up just by looking at you too long. Yep, hanging out in the gaze of a Winter Lantern for too long will end with you being afflicted by Frenzy - blood shooting out all over the place. Not great for the health, really, so maybe don't get into a staring contest. Maybe just run.]

S O R R O W / L O V E

SCENARIO TWO: HAUNTED
[You thought you might never see them again, but now they're here. That person you loved - that person you miss terribly. Except that you seem to be the only person who can see them, and you also seem to be getting steadily weaker.

So that's what it comes down to, then. This ghost that's haunting you will take your life so it can live, even if it doesn't mean to. Do you have the ability to stop them? You'll have to kill them to do it, and you love them so much. Now's the time to make your choice - but be careful. They're strong enough to be visible now, and one of your friends or even a passing stranger might have something to say about your decision.

This is a mini version of our Ghosts That You Know event this month!]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

SCENARIO THREE: SLEEPING SICKNESS
[For some reason you can't quite put your finger on, you're tired. Like really tired. Like slurring your words, stumbling over your own feet, nodding off if you stop for a second tired. You can't seem to get enough rest no matter what you try - because it's always a light sleep. The slightest sound or movement will wake you up, leaving you just as tired and irritable as before.

What are you going to do? Try to find a quiet place to nap? Good luck. It seems like a lot of other people have the same idea as you - it might be hard to find a truly empty place. Or maybe you just can't take it anymore, and you're going to lay down and take a nap right in the middle of the street. Or maybe you actually feel fine, but everyone around you is falling asleep - and they glare at you when you make the slightest sound.

Maybe you should wake them up? Sleeping in the middle of the street isn't exactly safe. But then, maybe you just want to join them and argue over who gets the most comfortable bit of road.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh my god, Wash does not believe this guy at all. But there's also a lot more Lanterns headed their way, and what's the worst that's gonna happen? The worst that's gonna happen is that he gets shot or stabbed for his charity, and he's honestly had worse.

So.

Wash reaches down with a hand open, still halfway expecting this to go south.]

[This is a bad idea. It's possibly one of the worst that Sharkface has ever gone through with, right up there with not trying to shoot Felix in the back when he had the chance. The opportunity was there! It was there multiple times! Just like he's got the opportunity now to just reach forward and stab Agent Washington in the throat as he bends down. There's a weak spot in the armor, right under the chin, that nobody's bothered to fix. It wouldn't be hard. It'd be the easiest thing in the world.

He sheathes the knife. He needs a free hand to grab his helmet, and the other to yank himself upright.

Ow. Motherfucker that hurts. His knee doesn't want to take the weight, probably is fucking broken again, but if he stands just right he can brace and that's --

Yeah, okay. He can work with that.

Sharkface shrugs back into his helmet, dismissing the blaring HUD warnings. Whatever, he's fine. He's totally fine.]

Right. Barbecue.

[He...tries not to be surprised when the guy doesn't actually straight up dismantle him on the spot. He tries, because he's seen a lot of shit lately, and this is somehow the most shocking thing to come of being spontaneously warped to an underground cave full of tentacle things that seem bent on snacking on a couple of armored chumps, probably in search of the gooey center.

Wash adjusts the grip on his rifle, eyeing the flamethrowers with trepidation.]

Just be sure to point those away from me until we're through here, okay?

[The helmet muffles his laugh. That's probably for the best.]

You're seriously worried about fire.

[The big bad freelancer is worried about his flamethrowers. That's actually funny.]

I don't feel like getting slow-cooked in my armor, no.

[This asshole just tried to shank him in the ankles. He has got no room to talk. None at all.]

Why? Do you?

I didn't think this was possible. [Sharkface turns his head slightly.] But you're actually more annoying than Felix.

You take that back.

[There's not an ounce of bite to the words as he says them, almost listless. A fresh magazine is snapped into place with the slap of his palm's heel, cocking his weapon in preparation for the approaching Lanterns.]

Nah.

[Sharkface shifts a little, testing his knee and how much he can move. Not much. But he's upright and that's what matters. Before, with his old team, he hadn't been one for banter during a fight. Stock silence was his trade, unless a directive was needed and even then --

Talking during a fight shakes him up. He made an exception for Carolina. The thought of her dying without knowing why was intolerable. She had to burn knowing what she'd done, that it had finally caught up with her.

This was different. This was just work.

The aliens are getting closer. He grins. Gets his arm up, checks his aim.

Hell. Yeah.

There's really no need to say anything, between the bullets and the fire. It's almost perfect like that.]

[Right. Okay. That's about the extent of the "friendly discussion" he's willing to have with Mr. No Pain No Gain over here. Wash doesn't bother to muffle the sigh he huffs into his helmet, bracing the stock of his rifle up against his shoulder as he opens fire. At least his armor filters out the sting of smoke and cordite.

They've got the advantage of distance on their side, and soon the things are either dead or dying. Wash shifts his weight back in preparation for whatever the hell else Sharkface might elect to attempt in the absence of anything else to fight.]

Okay. Great. I think we're good.

Uh huh.

[There's something just calming about watching the corpses of your enemies start smoking and curling in on themselves. It doesn't smell like burnt meat. It doesn't smell like anything. The helmets filter out smoke and toxins. There's just popping flesh and shell casings settling at their feet.

It's not beautiful, not at all, but it is fucking satisfying.

Sharkface lowers his arm. He feels much better now. And that's the only reason he doesn't turn around and try to burn Washington's face off.]

This isn't Chorus.

No, really? Never would've guessed.

[If he's going out here, he's going to go out making snide remarks to the guy gearing up to torch him - if that's even still on his mind. It's kind of hard to tell what with the helmet and all, and as good as Wash has gotten at reading into the body language beyond the armor, this guy seemingly only has two moods: maniacal laughter, and pissed.]

I will literally burn your face off.

[He says it quite calmly, almost conversationally. The aftermath of a fight always leaves him feeling pressed down, almost flat. It's not a bad feeling, exactly. Just a quiet one.

There's a pause. Then:]

Where's Carolina?

[But he doesn't burn Wash's face off (yet), and that's...well, he hesitates to use the word nice. But it's better than actually having his face burned off, he's pretty sure.

But he's not going to bother to sound anything but tiredly exasperated.]

I don't know where anyone is, much less Carolina. You said it yourself - this isn't Chorus.

[Sharkface resists the urge to do something utterly childish, like stomping on Washington's foot. It wouldn't help and he'd probably end up on his ass again.]

Your Freelancer shit is still working, right? Activate your emergency beacon.

[Then she'll come to them and Sharkface can beat her to death. And then kill Washington. Easy.]

Good thing you suggested it, because I sure didn't try doing that already.

[He taps at his chest piece with a gloved finger.]

Feels like half the stuff in here is busted. Even if it did work, I'm not about to activate an emergency beacon in unfamiliar territory. We've got no clue who's listening.

[And SOME things are just...more important than blind vengeance, stunning as it may sound.]

Uggggh.

[The urge to set Washington on fire is returning. Sharkface shifts his weight, glaring at their surroundings. Lots of rock and smoldering alien. Definitely not Chorus. Maybe they got sucked into one of the freaky temples? Or, possibly, this is hell.]

My radio's still alive, but it's not getting a signal.

[He eyes Washington up and down.]

Any bright ideas?

[Because it's either that or go back to murdering each other. Sharkface would be pretty happy to return to the attempted murder.]

[Some bright ideas would probably be good right about now, provided said brightness isn't being provided by fire.]

Well, if either of us wanna get anywhere, we're gonna have to figure out where we are. The hard way.

[More productive than attempted murder! Fun for the whole family.]

[Sharkface considers Washington for a moment.]

You help me walk and I won't stab you. Or set you on fire.

[Yeah, this is definitely hell.]

Just to be clear, this isn't gonna be one of those things where you try to kill me some other way that you didn't specify. Right?

[Just. Covering all his bases here.]

Nah.

[Probably. But the options are work together or go back to attempted murder, so.]

[Right, okay. He's gonna choose to trust this guy about as much as he could throw him right now. But they're also pretty short on options. Wash sighs and offers a reluctant arm.]

Fine. Let's just...try to get outta here and get our bearings, then.

[This is an awful idea. Sharkface knows that. He has a history of bad ideas, usually committed while blazed and getting egged on by his teammates. This, he has a feeling, is not going to end up with hilarious bruises the next morning. It might end up with another murder attempt, but that, he's fairly certain, is par for the course.

And it's not like he has a better idea.

So he takes Washington's arm. Gingerly.]

Looks like a building or something over there.

[He points. No idea what direction it's in. His fucking compass is shot.]

[Right. Okay. They're doing this. An earlier version of himself, he can't help but consider wryly, probably would've simply shot the guy dead on the spot and not bothered with any of this...piss-poor excuse for teamwork. But like it or not, the Reds and Blues have left their mark on him: a mixture of exhausted well-what's-the-point and might-as-fucking-well drawing him onward.]

Great. Maybe someone there has a biofoam pen.

[Or some drugs. Drugs would be awesome right about now. There are a lot of things that Sharkface has learned how to shrug off or ignore completely, but it appears that getting his knee fucked up isn't on the list. He can't just pop it back into place - he tried and he definitely did not cry after said attempt - and trying to force it to bear his weight isn't a matter of pain so much as a matter of his limbs flat out refusing to cooperate. It won't take the weight. Simple as that. Dislocated shoulder? Fine, he'll pop that baby right back where it belongs and keep fighting. Snapped fingers? Been there, done that. Shattered facial bones? Easy.

Apparently this is where his body draws the line. At his goddamn knee. That's just humiliating.]

How much ammo you have left, anyway?

[He needs to know. For practical reasons. And for personal reasons too, once they stop pretending to team up and go back to murdering each other. Sharkface prefers that, honestly. It's much easier. This - leaning on a goddamn Freelancer because his body finally said fuck it - is possibly one of the worst things he's ever done.]

Couple mags.

[That's about as specific as he plans to get, to be completely honest. He doesn't need to give Sharkface here a detailed list of every ounce of supplies he has on his person. Though as long as this is, allegedly, a two-way street...]

You?

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