dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #24

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Test Drive Meme #24

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 September 24th, and apps are open October 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: TITAN TERRORS
[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.

In this case, the monster behind you may as well be the monster above you. No, not anything flying overhead, but the freakishly giant nude monsters hellbent on shoving your crunchy body into their mouths and chowing down.

Titans are large humanlike creatures who have superior strength, though more limited intelligence. Much like zombies, they desire only to devour all of the humans in their vicinity and will use any tools at their disposal to do so. Get your steel guitars ready and get pumped, because sie sind das essen und wir sind die jager!!!]

R A G E

SCENARIO TWO: PAINTBALL ROYALE
[You've got a gun.

Okay, it's not a real gun- it's actually a paintball gun, which seems to knock people unconscious when you hit them. That's a pretty sweet deal! Except, you really want to be the last one standing, and you'll knock out countless people to do it. Every fight feels like life or death, whether you're waiting in the shadows to get the drop on someone or spraying paint all across the open streets in the fain hopes that you might get a tag or two.

Either way, if you lose, you'll find yourself waking up in a party! That's not so bad, right? It's a giant gathering of all the paint-covered losers in the city, with free food and drinks and a distribution of excellent prizes. What did you win? Fight your friends, but not in the dark and trauma-y way, and be the next winner of our Hadriel death (not really) match!

This is a mini version of our Party Royale event this month.]

C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO THREE: WALK WALK FASHION BABY
[Your trusty leather jacket is gone. So are your worn and torn jeans, all your summer dresses, your boots and high tops and heels. Suddenly, nothing is where you expect it to be, not even that load of clothes that you've left in the laundry for the past few weeks (oops). In the stead of all of your beloved duds, you find some stuff that... might be a little questionable.

Whether you were the lucky recipient of the hand shawl, the face skirt, the suspender sweats or some other wild atrocity, you'll be sure to have some fun trying to maneuver around the city in your weird, cumbersome outfits. At least you don't look as silly as that guy over there in the sea urchin costume!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( 01. Titans )

[This had not been on his schedule for the day! Now, granted, France has a knack for going with the flow, for giving into spontaneity and following his own whims, so it's not the disruption in schedule that is so dismaying.

It's the giant monster that doesn't even feel like something out of a nightmare because there is no way he'd ever imagine something like that! Even in his worst dreams! Jamais de la vie!]

Oh no... nono... [The only thing he has on him at present is a cloth grocery bag, mostly full (He just wanted to go shopping, go home, cook a nice meal, but no) of vegetables, bread, wine, cheese. It's a parsnip that he grabs out first, and hurls it at the enormous creature. Like that'll slow it down.] Vas-t-en! Shoo! Get back!

[...maybe he should run. Someone please help him.]

( 03. Fashion Show and Tell )

[Francis has seen odder fashion than this come through Paris in his time. He's never entirely understood some of the more avant garde trends, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Still, it's not idea to wind up in something so awkward to move around in. No, no that won't do at all.

Unfortunately out on the street and without any particular sense of shame, the only thing to do is strip.

It's an ungainly process, so he's careening about as he goes, first trying to shimmy it down. Then up, arms stuck in it, bottom clad in only his underwear. Anyone nearby may be bumped into with a muffled,] Pardonnez moi...

[Another moment, a string of exasperated curses,] I don't suppose you could help..?

[Or else, perhaps worse, find him after he's been successful and is strolling down the street in little more than black thong underwear like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because why wouldn't he?]

[Austria doesn't seem to mind his own rather odd ensemble of bread. If food is already stale then it's simply thrifty to re-purpose it into something of use, before it eventually rots away.

He does, however, seem to mind France.]

I would be happy to assist, of course.

[Austria cups his hands to amplify his shout.] Polizei!

[He may be basically stuck in the house -- and honestly can't see much because of it -- but he recognizes that voice. And for one beautiful moment there's hope, hope that AN OLD FRIE-- ACQUAINTANCE has come to his aid!

And then that hope is dashed, like so much delicate crystalware on the cold, hard stone ground of reality.]

Aah! That's cruel, to turn your back on a fellow man in distress. Vous êtes trop méchant! It's hardly a crime to be stuck.

[He's sulking. Genuinely pouting and it's obvious in his voice, even as he's still struggling to pop his head free of the house-skirt.]

It is a crime to be stuck attempting to strip in the middle of public!

Surely you of all individuals are familiar with the concept of indecent exposure, you fool!

Don't be so puritanical!

[That's England's or America's job, by etymology. But he sighs, trying to gesture to his underwear, but his hands are still quite stuck, so he just shimmies his hips by way of pointing instead.]

It's not indecent! People wear even less than this at the beach! [...well. Some beaches. His beaches. Ahem.] Perhaps you should try being less button--

...are you wearing bread?

I am hardly puritanical. This is merely common sense you decidedly lack!

[It is only acceptable to consider exposing yourself to such a degree when Germany is around and able to walk in front of you to hide your shameful body from view.]

Ja.

[What of it?]

Common sense nothing! The beauty of the human body is nothing to be ashamed of!

[And France is quite confident in his own beauty. Merci.

He's more or less gotten the house skirt down around his hips again and he's taking a moment to really take in the whole grain ensemble and nodding.]

You look delicious. Though perhaps just a bit stale.

[To a man like Austria, France's love of self is to be admired.

Just from a far. With gratuitous censorship.]

Und you've certainly given new meaning to the word address.

[Nailedit.]

[Did he really just.

He did.

France stares for a moment before dissolving into something that is simultaneously a groan and a laugh. He lifts his hands to give a few slow claps.]

Bravo. That was absolument horrible. I am impressed.

[Austria wins this round.]

But... I assume this fashion statement is also not by your choice. Someone is clearly playing a trick on us, it seems.

As my reward you'll be keeping that on then.

[Yet Germany has the nerve to think of Austria as useless??]

Nein, this is not something I would typically wear of my volition. [Austria absentmindedly rubs at his neck, not used to the lack of jabot. Surely there should have been some way to fashion one out of dough if one was simply creative enough.]

Is today a holiday of some sort, perhaps? [Odd outfits and events do seem to be the standard for them on such days.]

Aaaaah.... fine.

[France heaves a huge sigh because really. It would be infinitely more comfortable without the house-dress. Freeing, really. He'll never understand certain nations preoccupation with modesty.

But he'll relent, for Austria's sake. Try to play nice. That sort of thing. Because he is a mature nation.]

Maybe so... though I can see little reason to celebrate in this place.

[It's so cave-y and desolate and do you know what the wine selection is like here? Hideous.]

[Austria won't even refrain from rolling his eyes at the theatrics.]

So gracious of you. [Get Germany to walk in front of you, France, and he can budge on the modesty!!]

Ja. Well. [Austria frowns. He really would prefer to be back in his own home? Although that's probably not surprising.] I must concur with that.

It is rather... dire. [The selection of coffee and cake is even more bleak. Austria's challah breaded shoulders slump. He feels tired just thinking about it.] In every respect.

Dire is the right word, I think.

[France nods in agreement, uncharacteristically serious. Not seeing the sky perhaps is starting to get to him. He misses the countryside. He misses the bustle of Paris.

He misses everything really, and if he lets himself dwell too much on this he will wind up in a truly morose mood. Better to stop the gloom before it gets him.]

But perhaps it's up to us to change that, non? While we're here. Until we can find a way home.

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metronomelody - 2017-09-29 02:04 (UTC) - Expand

Quit yer hollerin'.

[He appears suddenly next to France like a flame-haired devil from the mist and grabs his fellow nation lightly by the arm (always so gentle-handed with France, even in the midst of a situation like this).

Scotland has seen many battles, and has often run full-tilt towards insurmountable odds - and won - but he knows when it is truly time to back down.]

France, this 's th' part where y' run.

[France's first reaction is reflex; he'd already been reaching into his grocery bag to pull out more ammunition. The hand at his arm is enough to have him raising his weapon -- which is a small bundle of scallions, so hardly a deadly weapon anyway -- and turning towards what is immediately a familiar face. Lowering the produce, there's no hiding the relief on his face or in his voice,]

Grâce à dieu... it's you!

[A familiar and friendly face. In this strange and frankly horrifying place. But right. Speaking of.] Yes. Running! But where...

[Actually that thing is getting closer rapidly so maybe details can be figured out as they go. He shifts the arm Scotland is holding in favor of grabbing the other nation's hand and pulling.] Run!

[Like it wasn't the other man's idea first. France will start off pulling Scotland with him.]

[Ah, yes, scallions. The perfect weapon. Scotland would roll his eyes if he wasn't so sure it would cost them valuable time, and he doesn't have the time to think much of anything before France is grabbing his hand and dragging him along.

He finds his stride quickly, long legs keeping pace with the blond man and his hand staying tightly gripped around the fingers in his. Scotland stops at the first thing that looks fine enough to hide behind to get a good view of the situation and ducks around it, pulling France towards him.]

This isnae exactly whit Ah thought eh'd be daein' the-day

[Honestly, he thought he might take his dog for a walk, then build up the fire and have a nice glass of whiskey. Being chased by ugly, naked giants didn't even get into the bottom ten on the list of things he thought he might be doing.

His arm goes around France's shoulders - protective - and he carefully peers out of cover.]

Big bastards, aren they?

[Now now. He's improvising. And where fighting is concerned, that's not his strong suit. It's better with time to plan, supply. Also really he's a lover not a fighter -- something France will happily expound upon given the opportunity. But that opportunity will have to wait until after running and hiding are through.

A soft (thankfully soft) surprised squawk as he's pulled into Scotland's chosen vantage point, pulled right into the other nation really. But that is somehow reassuring. A great deal warmer and more bolstering a feeling than being left on his own to face the enormous monstrosity. Ah. He's not made to fight monsters that can't possibly exist. This is too sci-fi for him. So he is quite happy to linger quite close to the other man.]

Too big! It shouldn't be possible. Comme un cauchemar.

[Genuinely horrible. Definitely like a nightmare France leans closer to whisper,] Am I dreaming? I could be. You're welcome in my dreams, of course, but those things are not.

[I've got you, that hold says, because Scotland is always a man given to harsh words over soft ones, but his actions often speak louder than his words.]

Ye wake up easier from a nightmaur. [He mutters, understanding the French but not responding in kind. His native accent invariably butchers it to a point that it's too embarrassing to try.

The thing is still advancing on them, and they can't stay here for long. He looks again, quickly, and turns back in time for the other man's words to tickle against his ear. He lightly pinches the back of France's arm.]

Y're nae in a dream. Start lookin' fur a way out.

[France would very much enjoy waking up right now, thank you. But. Scotland is right. Of course he is. This is no dream. Whatever is going on is tragically real -- a point driven home when he's pinched. And in dramatic (stage whispered) fashion he yells out an,] Aie... careful; I'm very delicate. But you've made your point...

[A way out. Though the question of where 'out' will lead them weighs more heavily on France's thoughts than he lets on. He's not always the most serious of nations, but he's a great deal more thoughtful than he tends to let on. He's been around a long time now, longer than many. And that doesn't come without lessons learned; and he's well aware of how easy it is to go from trying pan to fire without intending.

Still. Staying isn't an option. Clearly.

His lips purse as he looks around before. Ah. He sets a hand on Scotland's shoulder, inclining his head in a direction across the way.] There's a doorway... if we can get through it, there's no way the monster could fit to follow. ...so long as it doesn't snatch us up while we're running.

'Delicate', my arse. [Scotland, crude as always, brushes off the man's protests and takes his own time scanning the area while France does the same. Between them, they were bound to discover a way out of this, and France does not disappoint.

He sees the doorway... and the distance between it and them. The concern that they might not make it is a valid one, and while he thinks quickly he rubs the pad of his thumb absent-mindedly over the other nation's shoulder.]

Yae go. Ah'll distract it.

[France mutters something entirely unhelpful about Scotland's arse but falls silent as he tries to estimate the distance. It will be a run. And a risk. But if they're quick and lucky they might--

His thoughts stop at the touch, curious. Something is clearly on Scotland's mind. And then the other nation says that and France stares at him, before shaking his head. Vehement.]

No! Absolutely not. We go together or not at all. [He reaches out to grip at Scotland's arm.] D'accord?

[Entirely unhelpful, thank you, France. Scotland is ready to start off in the other direction, to make a hell of a lot of noise (good for venting, and he always needs it) as a distraction when it's decided for him that that idea will just not do at all.

He growls in the back of his throat, displeased, but not arguing.]

Fine. 'en you'd better be able tae keep up.

[Fine, fine, fine. Sharp green eyes watch the movement of the titan, then he gets a tight hold of France's hand and runs.

He doesn't look up. If they make it, then they make it.]

[France is relieved when Scotland doesn't argue it, doesn't just run off. He's grateful. He can't handle the image his brain provides him, the thought of watching Scotland taking that risk, getting hurt or even dying in this horrible place, and as a distraction for France's sake no less. No. The thought alone makes him feel nauseous. Those creatures are terrifying, but it's still far better to face them together.

He keeps hold of Scotland's hand and runs. Oh he plans on keeping up. And he runs as hard as he can, at first keeping his gaze firmly trained on the other nation's back. But he makes the mistake of looking back and up and sees the titan coming for them, sees its gaze fixed on them and for a moment France feels his legs threaten to give out. He manages to keep his feet though and they're so close to their goal.

But the monster is so close to them, and France realizes he is probably slowing Scotland down. He goes to wrench his hand free and push the other nation away, because he can hear the way the ground quakes with those quickly approaching giant footfalls.] Go..!

[They're so close. At least one of them should make it.]

[Oh, no you don't.

He feels it as it's happening, that push, and digs his heels against it. His hand loses grip of France's only to get another, firmer grip just below the other man's elbow, a sudden burst of speed throwing the both of them forwards. Scotland feels the sweep of air behind them as another clumsy grab misses, and with few more lurching steps, the two of them make it to the exit.

There's no ceremony as to which of them goes first, but once they're out, the redhead wheels on him with irritation flashing in his eyes.]

Whit th' fuck was 'at aw abit? That wasnae onie time tae gie aw self-sacrificin' oan me.

[He pushes at France's shoulder, not too hard, but hard enough to make his point.]

Ne'er dae that again, y' divit.

Test Drive Meme #24

France (Francis Bonnefoy if you're nasty) | Axis Powers Hetalia

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...with less journal fail this time oops

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