Test Drive Meme #24

[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 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!]

Comments

[salace]

[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.]

[scotlandthebrave]

[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?

[salace]

[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.

[scotlandthebrave]

[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.

[salace]

[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.

[scotlandthebrave]

'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.

[salace]

[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?

[scotlandthebrave]

[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.]

[salace]

[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.]

[scotlandthebrave]

[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.

[salace]

[France is honestly not good enough at English to follow the entirety of that -- but what Scotland is getting at is clear as day, even without the added emphasis of that shove. The blond lifts a hand to rub at his shoulder and offers an out of breath smile in the other man's direction. Vaguely apologetic.] You were faster than I was. It seemed unfair to hold you back. Ah... [He's breathless and trying to settle his heart rate back to something resembling normal.] Je n'aime pas courir.

[Not his favorite workout at all. He prefers to get his exercise between the sheets.]

You're all right though, yes? C'est la chose la plus importante. [That's what's most important. Scotland is all right. And hell. They're both alive. Despite the fact that Scotland is clearly ticked off and pushed him that's not going to stop France from stepping in and embracing him. Give him a moment. He's relieved here.] We're alive! But I hate this place already...

[scotlandthebrave]

[Most people who use English as their first language wouldn't understand half of what Scotland says when he's annoyed, so France can certainly be forgiven for not following it all.]

Fuck what's fair. [He grunts out, but then there's arms tight around him and he breathes out and unsteady sigh before returning the gesture, subtly pressing his face against France's hair. Of course he'd think the most important thing was that Scotland was safe.

Scotland settles, huffs out a breath, then moves away to look around.]

Mmph. [He says, rubbing one hand through his hair.] Sure nae in Kansas anymair.

[salace]

[Even if he is still winded, France manages a laugh. Fuck what's fair, is it? Very well. Either way, they both made it out alive, so all's well that ends -- so far. Granted, the way that this has been going.

He steps back, composed -- well as composed as France ever gets -- and looking around.]

...I think I'd actually prefer Kansas. [Which is saying something. But off-handed insults to America who isn't even here to appreciate them and he frowns.]

Qu'est-ce qu'on fait maintenant? I'd prefer meeting no more monsters. But which way out.