Test Drive Meme #22

[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 July 25th, and apps are open August 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 WRONG KIND OF SCARY
[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.

There's an odd shuffling to your right and to your left. Do you know what that is? Maybe not, but at least nobody else does either. You might peek at an eye stalk or a stinger, you might catch a glimpse of something that can maybe pass for fingers... or maybe it just has a mouth on its butt because its creator was feeling particularly sadistic that day. That's right, you're looking at the creatures from Spore, EA's infamous alien creation game with the most awkward alien creator imaginable.

These particular Spore creatures are the carnivorous kind, the kind who seek out and eat other creatures so that they can instantly procreate to pass on their victim's genetic code and make their species even more wild. You might not want to stick around and watch the mating process. I promise it's just as weird as you think.]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y / C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO TWO: STEPFORD SUNDAY
[You wake up one lovely weekend morning to the sounds of birds chirping outside and sun streaming through your window. What a wonderful day to be perfectly normal and happy in the suburbs! Your family is all around you, like a Norman Rockwell painting, happy to go about their average day in their average life in their average city.

So what if your sister is an archdemon? Or your father is somehow a dragon? It's just the way that things have always been... isn't it?

The perceptive of you may begin to see cracks in the veneer, may begin to wonder why everything seems to be so perfect... and as the truth begins to unfold, it paints a much darker picture than the one you're seeing. Are you sure you don't want to stay, just a little while longer?

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

R A G E / D E L I G H T

SCENARIO THREE: CAKE WARS
[There are plenty of ways in this world to rouse your competitive spirit. Many of them involve athletics- few involve such beautiful edible artistry as this.

That's right, you're in a cake baking competition, and no matter how competitive you normally are, thanks to Rage's influence, you want to win. Competitors can be in teams of two or alone, and they have until morning to bake their cakes to the fullest and bring it to Delight's temple for judging.

So what kind of cake baker are you? Do you revel in your artistry? Do you measure everything and carefully prepare each icing tip? Or do you know that you suck at cooking and decide to use the opportunity to sabotage your opponent's cake instead? Nothing is off limits, and all's fair in cake and war, after all!]

Comments

Rita Du Clark | iZombie | come at me, will match format

[unheeled]

stepford sunday

Honestly, not much has changed about Rita as far as Tranquility and Confusion's influence. She's still rich, still vain and spoiled, and still a jerk, though that's somewhat toned down thanks to having had a good dad in her life.

She can be found tanning on the lakeshore, on a fancy pool chair with a cupholder, sipping a martini (it's happy hour somewhere). Perfection, really, except for the part where her skin should feel warm by now and it doesn't.

"Should've bought a coffee." By 'coffee' she means something artisan crafted and very expensive, of course.

Won't someone help the far toocpale rich lady before she freezes to death??? God.


cake wars

What kind of competitor is Rita? The sit back and give you instructions kind.

"Just put booze in it." In the batter, in the filling, in the frosting -- whatever, wherever. "Delight'll love it."

And so will all the alcoholics in this cave.

stepfords;

[braveoff]

Drake happens to be strolling by as she complains she wants coffee, and just happens to have one in his hand. It's not artisan or very expensive, but how's he supposed to know that's what she wants? Besides everything about her.

"Like this one?" he asks, sipping from his takeaway cup.

He's on duty, in full cop uniform.

Elena Fisher | Uncharted

[storyseeker]

[ fear ]

[Okay. So, this is clearly the most ridiculous, most vivid dream Elena's had in a while. She hadn't meant to fall asleep at all; after hanging up with Nate, she'd made up her mind to do a little digging on the computer, but it had been late, New Orleans time. She must have fallen asleep, which is why she fins herself god-knows-where staring at god-knows-what. Honestly, it looks like something out of a bad video game. Aaaaand it's getting a little too close.]

Hey! Back off!

[Bam. Pow. She punches the creature in its face, or what's her best guess is its face, and a jolt of fear hits her, because it felt very solid when she hit it. Not much like a dream at all.]

Oh shit.

[ no shirt no shoes no service ]

[So, this isn't a dream. So, she was somehow taken from her own house and brought wherever this is. Elena's read the message, she gets the idea (even if it doesn't make sense, she's willing to go with it for now rather than lie to herself that this is all fake.

But she's still pretty pissed that whatever power brought her here did so while she had bare feet. Once she's away from the monster and out of the arena, Elena goes right up to the first person she sees.]

Hey, any idea where a lady can get some shoes? My toes are freezing.

no shoes no service no fucks given, i am sorry for rita in advance

[unheeled]

[Who the fuck--

Rita gives Elena an unfriendly smile.]

I don't work here. [Does she look like she does ffs.] Try one of the "shops" here and let me know if you find hair dye. Or go soak in the hot springs.

[Show a little skin and some poor shmuck is bound to do anything for you.]

elizabeth | bioshock: infinite

[songburdened]

scenario one: absolutely a lovecraftian nightmare

[ What she had seen through the tear is not at all what she finds on the other side. A young woman, brunette and wide-eyed, appears in the coliseum with a different kind of confusion than many of the other arrivals. She hadn't expected to be here, exactly, but... she had just stepped deliberately into what she thought would be another world. ... Just, not this world. ]

What...? [ Elizabeth breathes, drawing her arms in close to her chest, glancing around with growing trepidation. Her next thought, of course, is to consult her companion, to... try and explain how the tear had lead them here (wherever it is), but - ]

... Mr. DeWitt? [ She breathes, heart racing. Could I possibly have left him behind? But - No, that wouldn't happen. It couldn't. ... Could it? ]

Booker? [ Elizabeth tries again, calling out with more strength into the shadowy arena. There are sounds of movement not far away, though she's right to embrace the creeping sensation of unease. That feeling is justified when something truly terrifying lumbers out into view, sending spikes of fear through her system. ]

What - What is that? [ She asks of no one, backing away from what can only be described as a monster. It doesn't answer, and neither does it stop, walking toward her with hungry intent. Elizabeth, unarmed, can only move away until she's pressed to the wall of the coliseum, eyes sweeping and trying to find some way out of this place and away from that thing. ]

Is anyone here? Please...!

[ She can try and run, at least. And she does. ]



scenario three: they didn't have the food network in 1912

[ Elizabeth has been slaving over her cake, which means a lot of hours of work, considering that she's never really had the opportunity to bake before... or the means to do it. Her tower didn't exactly have this futuristic kitchen, after all. Still, she's clearly enjoying herself as she goes, not quite noticing the bits of icing and flour that end up smudged on her cheek and on her blouse. ]

Oh - Excuse me! [ She has to get the cake to Delight's temple in order to qualify for this competition, but that means getting it there in one piece. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people around, so there's a high risk of bumping into someone and losing the cake altogether. As such, Elizabeth seems a little nervous, trying to balance her creation as she slowly makes her way from the kitchen to the temple.

She worked so hard on it! You wouldn't deliberately sabotage such a nice young woman's efforts, would you? ]

to your rescue;

[braveoff]

[ It's possibly not comforting that a large armed man is running for her, rifle out in front and an axe strapped to his hip. But that's what's happening. The burst of gunfire is loud but controlled, hitting the creature center mass and knocking it back from her. ]

Follow me!

[ He holds out a hand, beckoning. ]

clive babineaux. izombie.

[pizzaparties]

stepford summer
( He's the local detective who doesn't do that much, if only because there's not that much to do. Crimes are once in a while things, beyond collaring a few sneaky pickpockets and graffiti artists, and it's-

A little boring, really. But Clive's engrossed in the latest installment of the das Lied des Schattens - no, he's never figured out what the title means, but the twists and turns of the fantasy epic are undeniably addictive. He's only a few chapters in, which means that anyone who turns up gets scrutinised with a long, narrow eyed stare. )

You read this?

( HE SWEARS TO GOD IF YOU SPOIL THIS SHIT- )

cake wars
( Okay.

So. Story time. Clive likes cooking. Baking... eh, he's passable. But today? Today it's time to make cake. And you better believe he's going all out to win this thing. There's ingredients laid out all over the table, but the actual work is surprisingly neat - no flour disasters or tossed eggshells. Things are put away properly and cleaned up. A neat workspace means he's got more room to focus on the important things.

Currently, that's the carving of a piece of icing into a... well. It's a brain shape. What can we say, he's had brains on the brain lately. For many, many reasons. But his cake is all sorts of strawberry milkshake deliciousness, pale pink and already fully baked. No one would blame you for taking a slice.

Wait. No. Clive would definitely blame you. )

cake wars;

[braveoff]

[ Drake doesn't know how he got roped into this. He's decent in the kitchen, things don't burn too often -- unless he's distracted by Liv -- but baking? He's in way over his head.

He spots Clive at the next table while he's beating eggs into his cake batter, and raises an eyebrow. Brains? Really, man? He's a zombie and he's not making a brain cake. Not that he could sculpt it as well as Clive is. Anyway, he recognizes the other man from the station, often passing him on the way out of the morgue. It's the detective who works with Liv. ]

How long've you been doing this?

Ravi Chakrabarti (iZombie) / ota / will match format

[exmagician]

▹ ▹ ▹ sunday bloody sunday ◃ ◃ ◃

[Whoever said that imagination was lacking had certainly never been here, in a place like this. It's a far cry from Seattle and its huge skyscrapers and constant bustle but what it lacks in city living it makes up for in the overly detailed almost too perfect scenic landscape. It's not as though Ravi's unfamiliar with Rockwell, but his already skeptical sense of disbelief is too hyper-focused on figuring out where he is to catch the reference or comment upon it.

Ravi hasn't seen his family in some odd years, so when he does glimpse someone resembling an old relative it stops him in his tracks, in the middle of the street, on a relatively busy pathway.]

I've yet to see any pink rabbits or floating green men, so, is this eternity? Am I dead?

[These are the serious questions. Not at all what he pictured of the afterlife, of course, his own theories weren't exactly congruent to popular theology, nor had he ever partaken of more structural services. He found it much more enjoyable to risk his life helping his zombie best friend defy the odds of rationality.]

▹ ▹ ▹ deuces are wild ◃ ◃ ◃

[Feel free to throw me a prompt, mid-way, beginning, w/e. I'll reply in kind. You can contact me at doggos with any questions or anything you might have to say!! I'm also at discord at nerdmaste#7170]

I'M WALKIN HERE!!!

[ghostlocked]

[Harlan is incredibly crowd-savvy. He has to be since he very much hates touching other people. So, he's both shocked and pissed off that this guy stopped suddenly enough that Harlan knocks right into him. He staggers backward, swearing loudly in an effort to tamp down the burst of panic in his chest.]

What the hell, man? You want to pick a better place to suss out that existential crisis?

"Blackjack" Foley | Billions

[ajackandanace]

Opt. 1: Something So Ugly It'd Scare a Buzzard Off of a Gut Pile

[Now Jack is no young buck. He's not only been around the block, he's been up, down, and across the whole damn lot, and never in all that time had he ever laid eyes on anything so nonsensical or ugly as that thing lumbering after him with eyes the size of balloons from the Thanksgiving Day parade.]

Sir, you make about as much sense as tits on a bull

[He mutters under his breath, surprisingly quick on his feet for a man pushing 70.]

But I'm afraid I don't have the time for this.

[He can keep up the pace for a while, but the simple fact is he doesn't have any means of fighting back. Only running. And whether or not he's spry for an old goat, an old goat he still is and he knows well enough that if he keeps this up, that thing is going to be drawing the lottery ball with his number on it sooner or later.]

[ghostlocked]

[Huh, this guy has a shocking amount of get-up-and-go. Harlan is impressed. He watches this old dude chug along for as long as he can, but yeah, one of the monsters inevitably picks up his scent and starts to charge.

Harlan's curious about what these beasties can actually do, but seeing it go to town on a senior citizen feels just a touch cruel. He can't just let this dude get mauled.

He sends a blast of blue light in the monster's direction and smacks it squarely in the face. The thing wobbles on its... eyeballs? Those certainly aren't feet. The anatomy on this sucker is all messed up. Gross.

It rights itself and gets right back to chasing, but its moving much more slowly now, like its joints are encased in ice. Eh, good enough.

He waves at the old guy.]

Hey, buddy. Dial back that hustle. We don't need you busting a hip.

Trafalgar Law | One Piece

[hot_mes]

Option 1

[You'd think, given where he's from, that Law would be completely unfazed by something that weird and ugly. You'd be wrong. The strange and frightening still have the capacity to unnerve and alarm even the coolest of heads.

Yet, he only runs about ten meters or so before skidding on his heel and thrusting out a hand, fingers crooked.]

Room!

[An aura of power swells up around him, faintly blueish to some eyes and undoubtedly tangible in sensation to those with the ability to sense unusual powers. It encompasses Law, the Spore creatures, and anyone else unlucky enough to hit the ground at the same time as him. He unsheathes the long nodachi in his grip with one swift yank of the saya and instantly slashes outward. The creatures split into multiple pieces as the invisible slash hits them - but so will anyone caught on the wrong side of that slash. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt and there is no blood, but it is very hard to move when your legs and torso are in two different places. On the plus side, it instantly incapacitates anything with legs trying to pursue the newcomers.

If Law accidentally gets anyone human, he'll apologize in a minute and take care of it, but until then, he needs to make sure he got all the ugly nasty things, first. Secure your own safety before looking after the safety of others, right?]

Option 3

[Somewhere in the back of his mind Law is genuinely asking himself why and what are you doing, you idiot? He doesn't know that there's an undue influence forcing him to actually give a shit about a cake competition.

But he's a doctor, not a baker.]

I don't care about the look, just follow directions! What does it say? What is 'confectioner's sugar' anyway, how is that different from...? If you follow the directions, it will become a cake. How hard can that be?

option 3 this should be fine

[ghostlocked]

[Ugh. Harlan rolls his eyes for like, god, it's gotta be like the dozenth time in the last ten minutes. Why'd he get paired with this guy?]

Directions are for chumps. [He dumps what he deems is a cake-sized amount of flour into a bowl. Then there's like, eggs and shit. Milk, maybe? Do cakes have yeast or is that a bread thing? Whatever. He likes chocolate, so in goes a bag of chocolate chips. Boom. Best cake.]

Confectioner's sugar is the powdery shit. It's messy. We're not using that. [It's the same as regular sugar except... smaller, right?]

Harlan Halliday | Original | will match format!

[ghostlocked]

1. the wrong kind of scary

[Harlan isn't sure why these stupid monsters are so fucking horrifying. He's fought way meaner creatures back home. Like, what about that displacer beast? Or the manticores? These things aren't shit by comparison, and yet he can't shake the feeling that he's in some real trouble here. Maybe it's that these things are just edging on funny. They're pretty goofy if you're squinting and not standing within range of their... are those claws? What even is that? He doesn't fucking know. God.

He's got a kitten in his pocket, though, so he can't afford to find out. He backs toward the door, not about to take his eyes off of these nasties. John Frusciante mews from inside his jacket, and he reaches a hand into his pocket to hold her in place--he doesn't need her pulling a Houdini right now.]

What the fuck are these things? [This other weirdo should know, right?] You think they're hostile?



2. stepford sunday

[It's nice out today--or, Harlan's version of nice, anyway. It's overcast and a little chilly, but he prefers jacket weather so this works just fine for him. He's at the park with his daughter, alternating between dicking around on his phone and watching her bore a group of kids on the jungle gym with Star Trek trivia. He raised her well.

Daughter. Eventually, Harlan will remember he doesn't actually have one of those. This is just one of the kids he and his crew saved on their last job.

For now, what crew? He's a private investigator, and he's taking a day off to hang out at the park with his kid. He's happy.

He looks up as someone comes to join him on his bench.]

Hey there. Which one's yours?



3. cake wars

[Baking requires a special alchemy of patience and direction-following that Harlan is incapable of. He's super gonna lose, and he hates losing, even without Rage's influence.

But, fortunately for him, he has magic and can fuck with the other contestants accordingly... which is definitely not why he's sidling up to the nearest competitor. He's just seeing what you're up to, pal. It's all good.]

Hey. [He leans against the table to peer over the workstation. Is he in your way? Bummer.] What's going on over here?

stepford sunday!

[aroundthecoroner]

[Michael is walking his dog, and he's confused when Harlan asks him which one is his. This one? The one on the end of the leash he's holding? Duh. But, oh, wait, he means the kids playing over there.]

Uh, none of them. Just... just the dog. [Shit, now what? Quick, think of polite small talk!] Which one's yours? [The sentence hitches up at the end a little too much, like he's questioning his own question.]

Kyna Midha | Original

[evocation]

1. the wrong kind of scary

[Kyna is used to dealing with all sorts of monsters, and she's generally arrogant enough not to be scared. And, okay, she isn't scared this time, because these things are nothing compared to that stupid vampire that almost killed her a few weeks ago. She could definitely barbecue one if she needed to. Absolutely.

Except that they're just fast enough to be unsettling, like her eyes can't quite track their movement or parse how they get from point a to point b, and they've got some Ridley Scott aesthetic bullshit going on that she's not down with. One skitters its way past, glinting in the light before it disappears back into the shadows, and Kyna makes a face, trying to look annoyed and not uncomfortable.]

Jesus Christ. What the fuck are they?

3. cake wars

[This competition blows. The entirety of Kyna's prior baking experience involves watching too much Master Chef and buying cheap boxed cake mix, but she has to win this. She's never had to win anything this badly in her life. In fact, if she loses, she thinks she might end up punching whoever beats her right in their dumb, overly domestic face.

The problem here is that Kyna guesses at how the cake should be made. Eggs and milk are the easy parts, but everything else is a great big question mark, so what comes out of the oven couldn't even be called a cake by the most generous person. It's lumpy and misshapen and concerningly pockmarked, and she drops the pan onto the counter with a soft clang like the failure it is.]

Shit. Wait, wait, I've got this.

[Technically, she doesn't really care if she wins fair and square. She doesn't even bother to check if anyone else is looking before waving her hand over the cake in what she hopes is a subtle way. What's far less subtle is the fact that it suddenly transforms into a beautiful, three tiered thing covered in pink fondant with cute little spun sugar flowers cascading down one side. Nailed it.]

[ghostlocked]

[Nice try, Kyna. Harlan's perception check massively outclasses your stealth abilities. He leans against the countertop next to her.]

I saw that.

Aren Brosca | Dragon Age: Origins

[paragonbrosca]

The Wrong Kind of Scary

...what the fuck.

[The redheaded dwarf woman stops and stares because seriously, what is that. After what's felt like a lifetime as a Grey Warden, Aren thought she'd seen it all, but the Maker -or whoever- must have felt like proving her wrong today. She narrows her eyes at the...whatever it is, not sensing the taint that she does in darkspawn but that doesn't mean her guard is let down any. And a good thing, too. When the nearest creature lunges at her, she reacts by punching it with the hilt of her sword. The shriek makes her skin crawl even as she takes the opportunity to back up while her mabari places himself between her and the beast, snarling.]

Barkspawn, leave it! I think there's more--

[And there are, plenty more. Shitshitshit. They'd better get out of here and fast. Movement in the corner of her eye causes her to dart the quickest of glances in that direction. At least it's a person and not one of those things.]

Hey, you! Back away, it's not friendly!

Cake Wars

[Oh, it's on. What does Aren know about cake baking? Practically nothing, but that won't stop her from jumping in head-first, so to speak. There's no finesse on her part, as she adds whatever looks good to the mix. Chocolate? Sold. Ale? Well, why not. Maple-roasted bacon? Who says it can't be a bacon-cake? Glancing over to her partner, she grins.]

Best cake ever, right? Don't worry about how it looks, it's how it'll taste that'll matter. Speaking of which, think we're missing something?

The Wrong Kind of Scary

[fadeling]

[Those things are really not even the worst he's seen. Strange, yes, and they're probably dangerous, but after he's been here for so long there's really nothing that surprises him anymore. At least nothing the place does. He's very surprised she can see him.

Or maybe she didn't see him and he just appeared out of nowhere behind her. Maybe she was talking to someone else. Or to the mabari. It could be that, too.]

They're never friendly. But they can't see me. You should leave.

Michael Munroe | Original | oh god what am I doing

[aroundthecoroner]

2. Stepford Sunday

[Michael's starting to think there's something weird going on around here. Or maybe it's just him? That seems about right, somehow.

He's in the middle of a morning dog walk when it suddenly strikes him that every lawn he passes is perfectly green. And more than that, they're all obsessively curated, too, not a single weed in sight. That's weird, isn't it? He doesn't remember ever seeing anyone do yard work. He doesn't remember hiring anyone to do his lawn. Yet sure enough, when he rounds the corner in sight of home, his grass is just as pretentiously plush as everyone else's.

It kind of makes him want to dig a hole in the middle of it, just to break it up. But that's weird too, he thinks. Probably.

Michael gets pulled out of his thoughts as his dog, a big black mutt, tugs restlessly at its leash. He glances up to see someone else approaching, and, as he struggles to reel his dog in, he wonders if he should ask them about the yards. Nah, too dumb of a question. He starts with something he hopes is less bizarre.]

Hey, uh. Do you remember the last time it rained here? [Nailed it. Totally not a weird thing to ask at all.]


3. Cake Wars

[Michael has literally never baked a thing in his life. Not even those cookies that you just kind of take apart and stick on a baking sheet. The only thing he's ever done with those is eat them raw, like you're not supposed to.

So in short, he has no idea what he's doing. He wants to win, sure, but he doesn't exactly know how to go about that. For a while he just sort of awkwardly gathers things he thinks he remembers that cakes have. Flour, sugar... eggs?? Milk??? He grabs a lemon and some vanilla extract, just in case, then arranges and rearranges his ingredients on the counter for a minute.

Step one complete (maybe). Now what? This is stupid. He feels stupid. He went to med school.

After dragging this out long enough, he admits to himself that his cake adventure is going nowhere fast, and works up the nerve to turn to his nearest fellow baker. Maybe they'll be the sporting kind?]

So... you look like you know what you're doing. Got any tips, maybe?

don't look at me

[evocation]

[Kyna's attention is absolutely locked onto Michael's dog, not him, so she almost doesn't hear what he says to her, and then when it registers it doesn't make any sense.]

Uh... I don't know. Like a week ago? Why?

[Excuse her, Michael. She's just going to lean down to pet his dog, rubbing behind its ears.]

lucretia • the adventure zone (ota)

[scholiast]

01: the nightmare scenario

Uhh...

(Lucretia has seen monsters before, many times, but nothing quite as unsettling as these ones. It's something about the slipshod nature of their bodies, the limbs that bend at bizarre angles, the unwavering, unblinking eyes. She should... probably take note of these things, right? Currently, Lucretia is frozen in place and the monsters are similarly still: it feels as if moving might break the spell and set them loose.

Her hand shakes as she digs her journal out of her pocket, and a pen out of the other.

They're not watching her, exactly, but some how that only makes it worse?? At least they haven't moved yet. She starts to sketch out one of the big, bulbous eyes, gaze nervously darting from monster to page– she frames the little drawing with several question marks.)

03: a baller cookie

(Lucretia doesn't do a ton of baking, really. She's never had a reason to: she lives with two very sufficient cooks, both of which are bound to be absolutely beside themselves at the sight of her... creation.

I'm an artist, Lucretia thinks, and slowly spins the cake around on its little platter, frowning as she does. I'm intelligent. I know how to follow instructions– and I regularly paint portraits. This shouldn't be so... hard.

She has no idea where she's gone wrong, but her final product looks so... wonky. Lucretia scrunches up her nose, and tries to use a little spatula to give the icing on the top another smooth over, as if it might help. She wants to win this competition so, so badly– she abandons the spatula and goes back to her recipe book, wetting her thumb so she can flick through the pages at top speed, looking for something a little more basic. Maybe she has enough time to start again?)

01.

[weedbgon]

[ Well, chock one more up to the growing list of things that are incredibly familiar to see, yet equally confusing and jarring. Red robe, surrounded by chaos, scribbling away even though she looks... ah, a little on the scared side. Literally can't even blame her, what's up with this arena today.

This is a Lucretia he hasn't seen in... what, at least a decade? Hard to be sure, between his shit memory and the fact that he's still not 100% up to speed on his cycles yet. It's been coming back slower than it probably should. But whatever. He remembers enough to know she might get a little too distracted detailing a stinger or a seventh hand, so he makes his way over. Magic or no magic. Like. He's got a warhammer. ]

These are some weird-ass dogs, huh?

angus mcdonald / the adventure zone

[hellosirs]

spooky scary dogs with handS OH GOD WHAT

[ Angus isn't the type to panic when suddenly thrown into bizarre situations. For instance, waking up in a giant spooky cave after falling asleep in the library with a copy of the latest Caleb Cleveland novel doesn't immediately terrify him. The deep sense of unease is there, of course, but Angus deliberately buries it underneath several layers of Logic and Reasoning. This is weird as heck, but he can figure this out. He's the World's Greatest Detective, he can figure anything out. First, he has to take stock of the situation:

... Okay, he's got his wand, a notepad and pencil in his back pocket, and the latest Caleb Cleveland novel on him. That means that he can defend himself, take notes on his surroundings, and interview anyone he comes across in order to get a better idea of what this place is and how he got here. Then he can sit down with a good book once he gets a chance to rest. He's got this. He's got this.

At this point, a creature that looks like a cross between a watermelon and a dog with human hands skitters up to Angus, snuffles at his arm, and rips a chunk out of his sleeve with needle-sharp teeth. Angus yelps, and just manages to zap it with a Shocking Grasp before he stumbles to his feet and takes off running.

Okay, getting away from the bitey watermelon dog that's chasing him takes first priority, then he can figure out what's going on! ]


Pleasantville

[ Angus McDonald, World's Greatest Detective (or at least, the #1 member of the official Caleb Cleveland: Kid Cop fanclub, he has the official decoder ring and everything!), is sitting on the front porch of his house, swinging his legs back and forth, enjoying a beautiful summer day, and trying to figure out why something seems... off. He isn't sure what it is, and whenever he tries to think too hard about it, his head sort of gets fuzzy, and something about that seems familiar too, but...

It's probably nothing, he thinks to himself. I should just enjoy the nice weather and read the next chapter of my book while I'm outside.

The rest of him thinks: The weather is always nice here, isn't it? Caleb Cleveland would listen to his instincts.

He gives this a moment of thought, and then waves at the nearest person walking down the street.]

Excuse me, Sir/Ma'am? May I ask you something?

01; dog with HANDS

[restinglichface]

[The moment that Angus scrambles away, the abomination behind him lets out an anguished yelp of pain, scurrying away on it's human hands from a very familiar-looking elf standing just some feet away from the boy. Lup raises a hand and gives Angus a thumbs up across the short distance.]

Cute cantrip, little dude, but you may want to put a few more powerful spells in your arsenal for this place. The people who run this place don't discriminate by age. It's the same level of fun for everyone.

daenerys targaryen | game of thrones

[lemontree]

scary like a questionable adaptation

[ She feels small again in a way that she hasn't in years. Suddenly facing the unknown without her allies, without her armies, without her dragons, Daenerys Targaryen is all but alone in the shadowy corners of the coliseum. The silver-haired queen tries to calm her pounding heart, to silently remind herself to be strong in the face of what is... certainly a nightmare, but she... doubts. The fear is keen like a blade at her throat and even the air of this place is somehow palpable, sour and dangerous. It cloaks something, she knows, because she can hear them moving beyond its darkness. ]

Show yourself. [ The queen commands, her expression a mask of command and steel, though she feels the panic grow despite herself. No matter how she stifles it, that feeling is budding, watered by her surroundings and fed with each passing moment. The figures beyond are just out of her sight, and so she has to assume they are her enemies as she stands stock-still and waits for herself to wake.

Dany is still 'asleep' when one of the beasts shows themselves. Her eyes widen in pure shock at the sight of it, and she thinks: this must be a nightmare, without question. No beast so terrible exists. Of course, though, in their world... well, one can never tell.

Then, though: this may not be that world.

There's no use in a debate with this horror. Dany knows, if she is in real danger, that her best option is to run and find somewhere to hide. She has no weapons, and even if she did, she lacks the experience to fight anyone, let alone... this. So she flees, knowing that the thing is right behind her... ]



there's a high chance it will be completely charred

[ Dany is no cook. At no point in her life has she really learned the skill, beyond basic human assumptions about food, to be a chef of any kind. The contest seems ridiculous, then, except... there's something compelling her to participate that is beyond her normal, fiery spirit. It's a kind of competitiveness that is both laughable and very serious, and so she is watching an oven with great intensity, waiting for the cake to come out.

It's not looking good, based on the expression on her face. ]

... Honestly, who can make sense of these? [ She grumbles, gesturing to the oven at the first person who approaches. ] It isn't exactly a fair contest, given that we aren't all accustomed to... this kind of technology.

[ Really, though, she isn't sure that any of her advisors could produce a passable cake, at least as far as she knows. ]

Is this a... common event in this world? [ Dany asks, faintly exasperated. ]

cake boss

[restinglichface]

[Being one of the two assigned chefs for their crew, Lup often finds herself stuck in the kitchen, working alongside her brother to whip up meal after meal for their friends for the last fifty years of their mission. So, now that she's given the chance to be on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, the elf is enjoying her break while strolling around to each of the contestant's areas. She's silently judging their progress and making an inappropriate amount of disapproving noises at each one.

What? She's just trying to keep everyone on their toes!

But it isn't until she moves to Daenerys' station that Lup actually pauses and double takes. Her head tips inquisitively to the side.]

I never thought a cake could cave in while already being so flat. Huh. [That's talent right there.]

Wikus Van De Merwe | Districs 9

[the_sweetie_man]

( 01: This Thing Is Definitely Illegal! )

It was a good job Wikus had just been taking advantage of his new found ability to operate the Alien Mecha. The splicing of his genes with that of the Prawns made it so he was able to utilize their technology, otherwise inaccessible by human hand. Sure, the Mecha suit was painful, especially where the prongs and various jagged protruding instruments stuck in his body. Ribs, eyes, and back included.

Still, he'd only just fallen out of the machine, crawling back into it, despite the pain it offered, seemed to be his only viable option right now. Considering the hideously deformed Aliens running amuck. Wikus was startled but still had enough sense to both fight and flee.

It was instinctive, targeting the abomination as it headed towards a small group of people trying to flee. "Get to cover! Run! Run! Go!" His thick accent calling out through the microphone headset of the Mecha. The screen before him swirled then focused on his targets, setting off a few mini tracking projectiles. He'd help as many people as he could! Running in the suit took a lot of energy, the technology wasn't made for his human body in its current state, his mixed genes were the only thing letting him operate it after all, so it still took a heavy toll on him physically.


( 02: Every Man Thinks His Wife Is An Angel. )

Now, this felt more like it! Despite his deformed Prawn-like claw of an arm, and the unusual spikes and scales protruding the flesh of his left-hand side, Wikus was wearing his normal office attire. His wonderful wife kissed his cheek and waved him off to work. No one seemed to bat an eye at how he looked and yet in the back of his mind, Wikus knew something wasn't right.

On his way to work, he stopped off to grab a coffee. "Beautiful day isn't it? Shame we have to be a work huh?" That thick South African accent of his just rolling off the tongue as he happily greeted both the barista and other people waiting in line for their drinks. He felt happy. Wikus felt genuinely happy, something he hadn't experienced in a long time. He was going to bask in it as much as he could, for as long as it lasted.


( 03: Lets Cut Some Cake! )

Wikus had never really been much of a cook, his wife had always been the one to make their meals, Wikus simply paid for a nice night out every now and then as a treat. Today, however, today Wikus was taking great pleasure in designing a cake, with high hopes of winning.

He had always been good with his hands, in fact, making things out of whatever he could get his hands on, had been something of a hobby of his. From paper mache bowls to flowers made from old aluminum cans. So why would making a cake be any different?

Something was a mess, however. Wikus felt more than just the competitive urge to succeed. He felt malicious and envious. Currently envious at the beautiful three tiered cake the competitor on the next table to him had perfectly cooked up. As soon as their back was turned, Wikus used those long, sharp tentacle-like fingers of his Prawn-hand and sliced through in such a messy fashion, right down the middle of the cake. Oopsie?

Viktor Nikiforov | YOI

[extraversion]

[1]
[Things that are difficult—nigh impossible—to do in ice skates, even if you're living legend Viktor Nikiforov:

1. run

2. anything that doesn't involve thick, flat sheets of ice, not that this is much of a concern when there's a giant, reddish-purple... thing on your tail.

Which there is. A giant reddish-purple thing. On Viktor's tail. It doesn't move especially fast, dragging its unfortunately shaped, awkward body along on stubby little legs, but then, it doesn't really need a lot of speed to catch up. It makes a distressing, unending MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM noise as it lumbers along.

Viktor isn't so much running as he's throwing himself forward into a protracted stumble, thanking God between explosions of distraught Russian that he hadn't removed his skate guards before finding himself... here. Wherever here is.

Someplace awful, if this is the welcoming committee.

He lurches around a corner, chancing a glance over his shoulder--and runs smack into something. Someone? Doesn't matter. Whichever it is, it's being latched onto in a vain attempt at stopping himself going ass over teakettle.]

[3]
[The cake is beautiful. Stunning, even. Masterful, certainly. And yet...

Viktor eyes it critically, hip cocked, cupping his elbow in his hand with his cheek nestled in his other palm. Is it perfect? Is it... surprising? Likely yes, but not in a good way.]

It's lovely, of course, but I wonder... do you think the judge will look favorably on a cake that's mostly made of rice cereal treats and fondant?

[Might as well bring Delight a sheet cake. It would taste better.]

ooc: voice testing! hmd is here

1;

[restinglichface]

[It just isn't Viktor's day. Straight from one fire right into another.

In his mad dash to escape that awkward, mishmash of a monster, Viktor crashes straight into the least innocent bystander possible. Despite her lanky frame, Lup manages to keep from being sent flying, but as the man clutches at her in an attempt to stay upright, the woman is left glaring down at him.]

Right. You have about three seconds before you get roasted.

[Maybe facing that weird creature would actually be kinder than dealing with Lup.]

Sansa Stark | Game of Thrones + Previous Game Experience | Open

[stonebird]

Scenario One -

(She steps through the door of one foreign world and arrives in another. Nothing about the scenery feels like Westeros or Arda or Ruby City for that matter! Her stomach drops and she draws her sword, pale hands trembling.)

Who's there? (For she does hear...sounds. Not quite like footsteps, but not so different. It is only through the courage she has gained from her adoptive kin that she is able to turn and face the monstrosities. She lashes out once, blade biting more effectively than teeth, and then she is turning and running in a swirl of dark skirts and fiery hair.

She has faced nightmares before, but none like this and she feels...very alone.

Someone! Please... Her lungs hurt as she keeps running, afraid to stop, afraid to breathe. What has she done to deserve being brought here? She stumbles over uneven ground and collides with a tree trunk, knocking stars before her eyes.)

Leave me be! (She can hear her pursuers and she steels herself, gritting her teeth. Counting to three, Sansa Stark turns, blade poised and ready. There is no time to be afraid; no time to think. She just needs to...follow the lessons...)

I will kill you.

Scenario Two -

(What a fitting event. Fitting and cruel. Sansa cannot help loving the idyllic setting around her and yet she knows it isn't right. Worlds like this do not exist. Anything good in life does not come easy and it can be taken away in a flash.

As she stares into a mirror in her too neat bedroom, brush in hand, she is at war with herself. She can easily pretend all is well and enjoy the likely temporary peace or she can refuse to forget herself - a daughter of Stark - and try to make others see reason. Inside, she knows it will hurt them less to face the truth now rather than later.

Sansa sets the brush down and rises, brushing out her skirts, conveniently concealing a delicate sword. She doesn't need anyone feigning to be her family. She has two families and they need her.

A few minutes later, she can be found wandering the streets, searching for anyone who looks...ill at ease. She cannot be alone.)

One

[utulien_aure]

[It's her hair that Fingon catches sight of first, still bright against the shadows of the city streets. The maid must be a newcomer, he realizes- surely he would have noticed that color before?

The girl is fierce, he notices, but there's more training than experience in her stance and grip. She could use back up, and soon.]

Would you mind some help, my lady?

[He already has his own sword out, and scans the area to find her pursuers.]

Are you unharmed?

kravitz | the adventure zone

[knockthemdead]

stepford summer

[It's the same as every other morning.

Kravitz wakes early enough to watch the sun crawl up and begin peeking through the blinds. It's warm. The sky is clear, and his coffee tastes good. Not great. But good.

He doesn't eat lunch at work. That used to be a part of the routine, but it's been... taught out of him. Good food deserves a good view, apparently. The day goes quickly, and he packs up early, because why not? You can do that when you're your own boss, and there's a needy carrot patch at home with his name on it.

Things are the way they have always been. Right?]

cake wars

[He's composed. Cool. Totally put together. Definitely not desperate to win, irregardless of what it takes.

Okay. So maybe he's a little on edge. The irritation isn't an unfamiliar feeling, but the competitive itch under Kravitz's skin definitely is. It's childish, and slightly embarrassing, and he can't! Make it go away! So for want of a better option, he strides through the people gathered around, trying to spot someone who knows what they're doing.

You know. Because he doesn't, but he still has to win. Don't mind him staring at you pointedly, perhaps with a hint of judgement.]

[[ooc; for stepford summer: krav runs a funeral home! he can also be easily found tending his garden, or at the library. i love this entire concept please throw whatever assumed cr at me and i'll be down]]

KICKS THE FUCKING DOOR DOWN, GIMME THE STEPFORD GAYS

[pocketspa]

[See, here's the thing. If someone had told Taako "you're gonna find this amazing guy and actually want him to care about you" a few years ago, he'd have probably laughed straight in their face. Truthfully, knowing Taako's typical disposition, it wouldn't be much of a "probably" and more of an "absolutely", because he's not the type that deals in that sort of saccharine bullshit south of a cake order. Emotions are for people who can handle them, and also idiots, because idiots don't know what they're getting themselves into.

Then, of course, there was Kravitz. And Taako has joked in the past about being an idiot, but now he's convinced himself entirely that he's indeed a triple-decker moron bus for how hard he fell for this goddamn man. But he's a little past the point of denial now, if the ring on his finger is any indication.

He's more prone to sleeping in when Kravitz leaves early, seeing as late nights at the restaurant are much more commonplace when they don't even always run a lunch service. But that leaves him time to make his own personal lunch dropoff for a certain someone.

He swings into Kravitz' office as soon as he's sure there's not anyone like, sobbing in the next room. This wouldn't be the first time he accidentally busted a door down to do something romantic and was met with a widower. But Kravitz has asked him to mitigate that, at least a little. As it stands, he's got a few hours to burn, and he leans against the office doorway in one of his favorite flirty sundresses, hair pulled back but otherwise loose.]

Hey. You're doing that thing again. That thing when you're here and not paying attention to me.

finn, a human boy | adventure time

[realitymaster]

me beautiful spores.

What the heck, man!

[ WHY.... All of this, all of this, why? Showing up somewhere weird with weird monsters isn't a problem or anything. Just unexpected right now, and... they're so awful. They're so awful and trying to sting everyone??? It's classic dungeon.

Finn whips out his sword, but remains hesitant. Sometimes what seems obvious is actually a nefarious plot to donk up his alignment. Like a jerk wizard or something. ]

Are these puppies evil? [ And if questioned on his question: ] Are they evil? Would I be slaying an evil beast or just rolling up into their faces like a murderer?!

[ They definitely. Seem evil. They seem like creatures who wanna roll up into faces like murderers. ]

no cake princess to save the day.

[ Even the power of pure rage can't get Finn onto the cheating side for this, or at least not right away. He tells his hypothetical partner that they should both try making as many cakes as they possibly can individually and then see what happens and just put out whatever one looks coolest. His initial contributions definitely, uh. Definitely hit a certain zone of failure. This is a high-stakes, high-pressure, timecrunch competition. Normally he rules at this!

But glob, he wants to win so bad. He's getting all jacked up about it.

Eventually he winds up lying on the floor, defeated, casually slamming through a pan of finn cakes, which he hasn't made in like. Forever. They look cute and they taste nice, but they're no competition level. Plus he's pretty sure the idea is to make one singular big cool cake. Finn cakes are a whole other deal. Right now their deal is to be eaten and for him to keep talking with his mouth full.

There are two ways this will go, depending on when he gets stumbled upon. A little earlier on, he's subjecting himself to the whims of a classic mope session. What's even this cave's deal? Why do gods want edible goods? Sometimes he doesn't understand anything. ]

Want some? Usually when I make these I'm the only one allowed to eat any. Jake tries to steal 'em sometimes, but he's a dog. That cocoa would straight-up whump his rump. [ Siiiiigh. ] Jake's a real dingus sometimes.

[ He drags another finn cake across the floor towards his mouth and takes a bite, paper and all. Probably almost chokes. That's cool.

A little later or in a different timeline or whatever, and Finn is still on the floor with a tray of finn cakes. He's also staring through the little oven window, watching a new cake attempt to rise. Fail to rise. Either/or. Give it a minute and he sort of. Screams, without bothering to actually get up. ]

WHY IS MY FLOUR SO IMPOTEEEEEEEEEEENT?!

no cake princess to save the day.

[meteormercenary]

Wh... excuse me? Say again? [Finn's language is... surprising to say the least. And Yurick's not quite sure what to make of it. He's deriving what he can from the surrounding context.

Yes, chocolate is bad for dogs. Okay, he can grasp that. But what on Earth is a dingus? Does he even want to ask? Still, a child is asking him for... some sort of help. He thinks.]

Err, yes, I suppose I'll try some. [There's no harm in that.]

Kyrii | Blame! | hi, i'll match your format o/

[citytraveler]

spore.

Not many things phase Kyrii. And even fewer things disturb him. But this thing is fucking weird.

Strange enough that his first instinct is to aim his gravitational beam emitter at the thing and pull the trigger. The weapon clicks unresponsively in his hand. The noise seems to startle the creature and prompt it to aggressively react. Instead of trying the weapon again, Kyrii sends a solid punch square into the creature's face. Or at least what he thinks is its face. It crumbles into the floor on impact.

He firmly shakes off the loose spore-blood from his knuckles and wonders if that first punch killed the monster. It isn't moving.

It looks super dead.


cake.

He can't bake. Hardly understands or cares about the concept.

So there's your cake on the floor. Just right there on the ground where Kyrii dropped it.

Fight me, implies his scarred poker face.


wild card.

Look. He isn't exactly talk, dark, and handsome. But he is brooding as all heck. Say 'hi' and likely be ignored.

Unless you can keep him interested, that is.

Miriel | Silmarillion/Tolkien

[silver_jewel]

One
Everything changed between one breath and the next. The silver-haired, pale she-elf took a breath to steady herself before walking towards what appeared to be an exit. To where, she didn't know, and she wasn't particularly fond of her walking companions.

But she wasn't a fighter, and she looked it- as frail and ghost-like as she was. There was still a quiet dignity to her, and grace in her every movement. It wouldn't be fear that struck her down, though exhaustion and depression had.

The closest items on her there resembled a weapon were her knitting needles, but she tucked them into her pale blue robes, along with some golden-red yarn. A quick step away at a key moment took her out of immediate reach of one of the creatures who dogged her steps, and she increased her pace towards the exit, firmly determined to show no fear.

She wasn't the mother of Feanor and first wife of Finwe for nothing.

[bythewaves]

He doesn't know her - they've never had a chance to meet. But her picture hangs in their house and her tapestries are everywhere in the palace, Indis insisting on preserving her legacy (even if all it did was make Feanor huffy).

"Grandmother?"

He doesn't know what brought him here, but he knows her when he sees her, all the same.

Elrond | Tolkien CRAU

[loveathousandyearsgone]

One

Being thrown to new worlds had grown almost expected by the time Elrond woke to find himself in the midst of what could be a very bad situation. But he was armed, both with blade and power, and he knew his own skills. However, Ages of experience stayed his blade in its sheath until actually faced with an opponent, so he walked calmly forward, only glancing to either side (and up) to ensure he wasn't about to be attacked.

"If you seek fear, you would do better in haunting another," the half-elf remarked after a few good strides.

[bythewaves]

"Elrond?"

He had thought his ears were deceiving him. He's still not entirely certain that they aren't.

Oliver Queen/Green Arrow | Arrow | totally open, will match format

[callingshots]

One

[One minute, the Green Arrow is hard at work defending Star City from mostly-human evil. The next, he's face-to-face with something even more green than he is, and with far more teeth. The only time he's ever met anything this openly, explicitly non-human, it was a race of evil aliens trying to take over the Earth, so maybe he can be forgiven later for having something of a kneejerk reaction. In the moment, he jerks back and fires two quick arrows into the creature.

Even in his shock, he tries not to hit anything lethal, but the fact is he has no idea. The thing goes down, dead or not, and only then does he take a step back and realize that it's not the only one.]

What the hell?

[His voice is artificially deep and gruff, thanks to his modulator. He notches another arrow and hisses at, apparently, no one:]

Overwatch? Overwatch? Are you there?

Two

[Since arriving in Hadriel fully suited up, he's spent most of his time as the Green Arrow, and almost none of it as Oliver Queen. At least, that was true until the day he woke up and forgot that he ever put on a hood, or ever even had a reason to. Now he's just Oliver, jogging cheerfully home, waving a friendly hello to the neighbors he's had since forever... right?]

Hey! How are--

[He's been through something like this before, though, and it's only a matter of time before reality reasserts itself. Even now, he slows suddenly as an old scar, one he has no reason to have, twinges under his t-shirt.]

--um.

[He blinks, stopping dead.]

I'm-- I'm sorry. How are you...?

[hardwearing]

[ Have a man entirely encased in titanium armor and heavily armed, but not with arrows. A burst of rifle fire explodes to Oliver's right, taking out another of the supposed alien creatures. That's what Wash thinks they are, anyway. ]

On your left!

[ The man is shooting arrows. Arrows, for gods sake, Wash didn't even know they made those anymore. ]

Agent Washington | Red vs Blue | will match format

[hardwearing]

FEAR

Just a moment ago, Wash was fighting an army of mantis droids -- he remembers an explosion, being knocked sideways and his helmet cracking against the rock he'd been using as cover. He must have lost consciousness for a moment there (someday all this head trauma's going to get to him) because now he's picking himself up off the ground, grabbing for his dropped rifle. His ears are ringing and he can't hear the gunfire from a moment before.

"Ugh... Carolina? Report."

Nothing. No response, and he lifts his head and opens his eyes to see where he's ended up. He's hoping he's still under cover, but quick look around tells him this isn't Chorus. This isn't... anywhere he's seen before. A cold sort of panic settles over him as he scans the perimeter. "Where the fuck...? Carolina! Epsilon? Tucker!"

It's some kind of an arena, and there are other people unconscious around him but they're not in armor. Not anything like his, at least. That's the strangest part. He can't remember the last time he was around people out of armor.

Wash gets to his feet and steadies his rifle against his shoulder, because this has to be some kind of trick. He's been taken somewhere, obviously, separated from his team. That's the worst part, that he doesn't know what's happened to them. But right now he needs to do some recon. As he steps forward towards the closest person to him, however, there's movement in the shadows -- his weapon is up immediately.

"Show yourself!"

It does. It, he says, because he isn't proficient in alien anatomy enough to tell the creature's gender. But it's not the Covenant. He's fought enough of them to know. This thing is spindly and has way too many eyes and is making its way directly for him.

Can't have that. He's going to shoot first and ask questions later, when the threat's been dealt with.

[requiemshark]

Okay, so this whole Guardsmen business isn't a total shitshow. The people in charge know what they're doing - even if one of them is actually a medieval fucking knight - and Ephemera isn't going to complain about having stuff to do. The monsters have been quiet lately, keeping to themselves in the caves, and there's only so much enjoyment a man can get out of murdering shit for bullets. Especially the kind that just squeals and dies so easy.

Boring.

Today's offerings are more his style. He's moving up to engage when his HUD flashes a warning and--

Oh. Oh, hello.

Ephemera waits. Lets Washington work through the monster on his own. And when it's done, he comes up quick and makes a good attempt at bashing Washington's head in with his alien shield.

"Hi, freelancer."

Somebody is going to get a fucking beating.

Wyatt Halliwell | Charmed

[destinedheir]

Wrong kind of scary.

Wyatt was watching whatever that was with something of a morbid curiosity. He had faced demons if all kinds but not something quite like that with a big balloon body abd eyes on stalks... And four legs? Also, arms with three sharp claws. It didn't look that fast with those skinny legs but he didn't feel any evil. But then again it was a animal without any sort of moral understanding. So he kept his guard up as he watched, maybe a little too keen on going closer.

Cake wars

His mother may have been a chef but that didn't necessarily mean he had inherited that craft. But he's taking on the challenge with energy and try-hardness. Though he probably isn't using the correct measurements or following any proper direction. Just like how the table is all over the place with dripping tubes and forms. He's currently working on the second tier and the Elders knows how the first tier may taste!

Wrong Kind of Scary

[sonofacesius]

Will headed every month to the colosseum, not just to see if any new demigods had come through, but to help take care of the wounded and protect those who needed it. Not everyone came through with weapons--he himself had come through armed with a bag of medical supplies. It's very hard to defeat a monster with a scalpel. But now that he had his bow, well, it was more of an even fight. He let an arrow fly. He didn't know what kind of monster those things were--they certainly weren't Greek, but he was also pretty sure they weren't friendly. At least, the Door hadn't brought anything in that was particularly friendly in the short time he'd been there. On the bright side, since they weren't Greek, they didn't care about him any more than anyone else.

The fifteen year old wasn't exactly in an effective monster fighting uniform, flip flops, shorts and surgical scrubs, with a bag hung cross body over his shoulder.

"You might not want to hang around."