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

[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?

[Sharkface huffs.] Couple for the rile. And like half a canister of fuel left.

[There may be a teeny tiny design flaw with his current armor. Namely, he can't carry much fuel for his flame throwers.]

Great.

[So they're down to a few shots before they have no choice but to resort to the old-fashioned scrapping with their fists. Now would be a fantastic time for Carolina to actually be here, but as it is?

Awesome.]

Well, then we'd better hope those things back there are the worst we'll have to deal with.

Uh huh.

[Doubtful. Sharkface still has a few knives, though. So that's...something.

He'll make a point to stab Washington before they both get eaten, if it comes to that.]

Any idea what the fuck those were?

Nope. Didn't look like any kind of alien I've seen.

[But who knows? Maybe whoever those temples belonged to got sick of people dicking around with their technology and decided to shuffle things around. Wouldn't be the first time an alien artifact fucked something up.]

[Great. More alien bullshit.]

Must've something with the teleporters. Probably dropped us on some new fucking planet.

[It would be his luck. He's quiet for a moment. Then, rather abruptly:]

You guys are fucked. You know that right?

Edited 2017-07-01 03:32 (UTC)

[There's a short moment as Wash processes that, debating simply not answering the question at all, or maybe just letting Sharkface go and watching him flounder as he tries to support his own damn self.

But instead, he sighs.]

You mean that in the general sense, or...?

On Chorus.

[There are rules against sharing information with the enemy, but that would involve caring about the mission one way or another. Sharkface really doesn't. At best it's a means to an end. At worst, a distraction. And he's starting to feel itchy, caught up in his own head, and wants out. If they're not going to fight then they're going to talk. Even if it is meaningless sniping or possibly treasonous small talk.

Felix would definitely shank him for this. Sharkface never liked Felix.]

You know you're not going to win. Why fight for those people?

I could ask you the same thing. Except, oh wait, I already know the answer - it's so you can feel slightly more accomplished when you wreak some kind of vengeance on people who've pretty much forgotten that you even exist.

[Is it wise to sass the guy who just tried to torch you alive? Probably not. But if he proves troublesome, Wash can just shove off and let Sharkface try and make it on his own.]

I don't give a shit about Chorus.

[It's going to die, he's fairly certain. No big surprise there. People die all the time. And killing a planet really isn't that hard. A few bombs in the right place, cut off the exits, and there you go. Tic-tic-boom.]

Just needed the armor so I could snap Carolina's neck.

[He says it with no small amount of satisfaction. It's only a matter of time. He'll kill Carolina, then Washington, then find the others. One by one until he's dead or they're all gone, and his family gets their vengeance.]

A one-track mind like that? Yeah, no wonder Locus hired you.

[Not that Wash can really judge, to an extent. Too much of himself has been defined by waiting for the opportune moment to bare every grudge and take advantage of every weakness. Holding out for the precise moment in which he could exact retribution.

Until he stopped being that man altogether.]

[There's a reason Sharkface doesn't stab him right then and there. There's a reason and a few minutes ago it'd been a compelling one. It takes him a moment to remember and in that moment he's fighting down the urge to just get it over with, kill the fucker right here, right now, let's go. Wouldn't even be hard. Go for the weak point in the armor. Gut him.

Boom, done. Blood on the ground.

There's a reason he's not doing that. There is. Somewhere.]

Changed my mind. Shut the fuck up.

You don't like what I have to say, you can find someone else to help you walk.

[At least Wash isn't the kind of asshole to sound smug as he says it, though the irritated weariness to his tone probably doesn't help any.]

Fuck you, Washington.

[There's venom in his voice now, he doesn't bother hiding it. Fuck Carolina, fuck the goddamn freelancers and their freakish armor. It all started going wrong after CT took his girlfriend's armor and name for his own, when the twins stopped talking all together, when chica woke them all up with her nightmares in the middle of the night - but mostly it went wrong with the freelancers and the building they dropped. Everything was fine before then - not good but understood - and now--

Well, there's just him now. Even CT's dead. Sharkface hopes he died in the armor. It wouldn't be right otherwise.]

Connie was the only decent one of you fuckers. I liked her.

[Oh, fuck him.

Washington pushes away from him, forgoing any and all agreements or promises or teamwork. He dug the knife in where it hurt and twisted, scarring far worse than any bullet or flamethrower could have.

Whether he intended for that to sting as it did or not, he crossed a line. He crossed a fucking line.]

Yeah, okay. Changed my mind.

You can crawl instead.

[He's expecting a blow and manages to keep his feet under him when it comes, staggering back. There's stabbing pain, a lot of it, pounding into his joints, but he holds. He fucking holds.

Finally, he's got an opening. A way to draw some blood.

Sharkface doesn't lunge or go for his pistol.

Instead he laughs, low and mean.]

What? What? You fucks got her killed.

[Wash circles, wearily. There's not a lot of hostility there, no - not to any undue extent. But he's tired. God, he's tired, and the last thing he needed at this point was for some jackass to emotionally subluxate him with a reminder of Freelancer's collective failures.]

You think we don't know that?

I think we buried her.

[Sharkface hadn't known her that well, mostly heard her voice over the comms and occasionally shared some intelligence with her, but he'd known CT and he knew - probably better than anyone living - what Connie had meant to his friend. What she'd made of him, in the aftermath. He keeps low, trying to brace himself. If a blow comes - when it comes - Washington has the advantage. Sharkface knows his knee won't hold much longer, he's barely upright as it is, and no amount of willpower is going to keep him standing when it crumbles.

Whatever. He still has his flame throwers and a debt to settle. For CT and Chica and the twins, all of them, his brothers and sisters long since gone. Because of the fucking Freelancers.]

You don't get to move on, Freelancer. They're dead because of you. And one of these days, you're going to die. You're going to remember what you fucking did!

[Connie.

He calls her Connie. She'd torn into him for the nickname, and deservedly so - made her sound like a fucking kid. Maybe she didn't mind it so much when it was the people she walked out helping.]

She was smart.

[He doesn't need to meet the other guy's eyes - grateful, at least, that the gold shine of his visor allows him that much.]

She got out before any of us did. She knew what that place was doing to us, right from the start.

You think the rest of us don't live with that, every day of our lives? Knowing what we've done, and the fact that no matter what we do now, it won't ever wipe away any of it?

You don't get it at all.

[He doesn't see the unfairness of it, and that alone is enough to raise Sharkface's voice almost to shouting. It hurts to get that loud these days, his throat and lungs closing up in protest, but he powers through. This is important. It needs to be said, needs to be known. He's the last one left, he has to protect the others. Avenge their memory.

Make sure that they didn't die for nothing. Or at least that somebody else suffers for their dying.]

You got to live!

[Connie tried to make it right. The rest of them died. And now he's alone.]

She was the best of you motherfuckers and you're still alive.

[Sharkface laughs, feeling wild. He's going to collapse soon, can feel his knee starting to buckle.]

I'm going to carve their names into your goddamn corpse.

[It's not quite a laugh that coaxes its way out of Wash's throat. It's too sardonic, too desiccated, too bereft to count as even a perversion of mirth.]

Whatever it is you think we deserve?

It's nothing compared to what we've already gotten.

[That, at least, he can say with utter certainty. C.T. said it once - questioning every aspect of a mission, wondering aloud how it is that Wyoming and Maine managed to smuggle live rounds into a training simulation.

Not nearly as hard as they're going to be, she'd said.

She was right.]

You deserve to rot in a fucking ditch!

[He's shouting for real now, loud enough that his voice is cracking, threatening to give out just like this knee. Neither will hold for much longer. He'll power through it regardless. To the end, to the bitter fucking end.]

I don't care if you suffered, I don't care if you're fucking sorry. You're here and they're --

[They're gone and he's alone, he's the last one left, and that's unforgivable.]

No. No, no, no! You don't get to breathe when they're gone!

I'll make a note of it.

[He shakes his head, for once more than a little frustrated that his visor masks the look of cold disgust. That one track mind of this guy's makes him a liability, a long term threat.

But none of that matters if all he's gonna do is dredge up the things Wash still doesn't care to think about.

He's backing away. He's just about had it.]

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