TEST DRIVE MEME #5

[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 January 25th, and apps are open February 1st.

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: HERE KITTY KITTY
[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.

Watch out as you explore the streets of Hadriel, because you're not alone, and there's always something on the rooftops watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to separate you from your group and tear you into pieces. This time, the Door has brought in coeurls, from the video game Final Fantasy X for you meet.

These cat-like monsters can use elemental magic to attack, as well as their teeth and claws. When injured, they can cast a spell that will drain energy from their attacker and give it to them - and they are even able to temporarily petrify you. So if you decide to fight, let's hope you can finish them off quick!]


SCENARIO TWO: BURIED ALIVE
[What a wonderful day to find yourself - or a friend, or a stranger - buried six feet under. Covered in thick earth, the sturdy oak walls of the coffin trapping you in darkness, all alone. Not a soul to hear any cries of help.

Either you're in a coffin yourself, trapped, hoping for rescue, or you've got a GPS, a set of coordinates, and a shovel. Will you try to claw your way out of your possible grave, using only your bare hands and pure terror? Or will you be the one digging, hoping that down below is someone you love, waiting for you to unearth them?

Just don't take too long. Their air - your air - could run out at any moment.

This is a mini version of our Buried Alive event this month!]


R A G E

SCENARIO THREE: PET PEEVED
[Everything seems to be going just wrong enough to drive you right up the wall. Maybe your shoes keep coming untied, or you slammed your finger in the door while you were leaving the house. Maybe your friend keeps using the wrong form of 'your/you're' when they text you. Maybe that guy in the shop with you won't get off his damn phone.

Whatever it is, your day has been full of tiny annoyances, enough to leave you on edge and just about ready to explode. They're such little things, nothing that should inspire so much anger, but one after another - well, shouldn't anyone understand why you're mad?

And then someone else comes along, perfectly primed to push your buttons. Maybe they keep pronouncing your name wrong, or they won't stop staring at your scar, or they have hair just the right color to remind you of your last ex. You're already primed for a fight, and they seem just as pissed as you. What will you do?]

Comments

The Winter Soldier | MCU

[wipedclean]

scenario one

[This is not where the mission was supposed to take the soldier. He was supposed to be in Washington, D.C. with the STRIKE team, in pursuit of his targets.

This is definitely not Washington, D.C. Nor do there appear to be any other members of his team with him. When he turns his masked face upwards, there is no sky. When he looks around, he hears the growls and snarls of wild animals.

Strange.

He keeps his assault rifle ready and stalks through the streets, keeping to shadows where he can and learning the layout of the city. He's looking for clues, for the STRIKE team... anyone familiar.

It's not the creatures he hears creeping around that frighten him. Very little scares him. But the thought that he is alone here with a mission left undone and no orders to guide him... well. That worries him a little.]

scenario two

[It's fairly obvious what's happened. The soldier runs his hands across the wood, feels its strength and where it's weakest, knocks on it to hear how the earth swallows the vibrations.

Well it's not a cryostasis chamber.

He doesn't know how deep he's been buried, but there's no sense sticking it out in the coffin when he has a perfectly serviceable metal arm to punch straight through the wood. And then use one of his knives to start loosening up the dirt.

...and then dig himself out.

He breaks through the earth with a deep breath and hauls himself out to the surface, crawling away from the hole and curling up for a moment to catch his breath. That was definitely a workout. He'd rather not be put in that situation again, thank you very much.

But he's unhurt, he's alive, and he's scanning the area for any sign of the fucker that buried him with murder in his eyes.]

scenario three

[The soldier is not generally encouraged to explore his emotions. In general, emotions are distractions from missions and the successful completion of them. But anger was something familiar to him, something that, while not encouraged outright, was at least appreciated by his handlers.

Because missions could and would go wrong, and the frustration and anger that such challenges inspired could often lead to creative problem solving.

Which occasionally led to a target being eviscerated instead of just shot, but, well, such were the risks of difficult assassinations.

Right now, however, there's not much the soldier can reasonably blame for his foul mood. There's the obvious ones: being separated from his STRIKE team and from his handlers, being without orders, and being completely uncertain of what he's meant to be doing here at all. There's also the more subtle ones: being hungry, being low on ammunition, not having had much sleep since he's arrived.

Those last ones are subtle because the soldier believes he can push through them. They are problems that can be solved either by addressing them or ignoring them, and right now he's choosing to ignore them, and instead taking a seat on the roof of a building to loom and glare at anyone who passes by.]

one

[closerift]

You may want to keep alert. They're very quick.

[ Standing not far away is a woman in her late twenties, eyeing him in some amount of assessment from a distance. In her hands are a bow with an arrow notched, though it isn't aimed anywhere near the stranger. She seems unconcerned with his presence and actually appears to be looking for something, dark eyes scanning the ground around them, nostrils flaring with deep, even breaths. ]

Ah. [ There's a growl, medium-pitched, and one of the coeurls stalks out of the shadows to join them. She trains her weapon on it, but the monster only hisses at her. Perhaps sensing fresh meat, it watches the winter soldier hungrily, taking careful steps on long, graceful legs, tail swaying like a metronome.

Cecily doesn't lower the bow, following the cat's path, but she also doesn't strike. The man looks capable and isn't in immediate danger; if she thought she couldn't hit the beast in time, she might just take it out. ]

Do you need any help? [ She asks lightly, raising her gaze to look at him, at the monster that's sizing up a potential meal. ]

[wipedclean]

[He turns, looks at the woman, then watches the creature. It's the first he's actually seen so close. It looks so much like a giant cat, except with those... things coming off its ears. It's strange.

But certainly dangerous. He lifts his assault rifle and trains it on the cat-thing. They stare at each other, then, just as the cat ducks into a crouch, clearly ready to pounce, the soldier fires a quick burst.

It hits the cat directly between the eyes, mid-pounce, and it collapses, dead.

He immediately turns to look around and up, checking for any more in the vicinity.]

I'm all set.

[closerift]

[ Well then. Cecily's lip twitches upward in amusement and appreciation of the man's skills, at least, with the... gun, she has to assume, since she's never actually seen one. ]

A lot of the others will be jealous of your weapon. [ The Inquisitor says, nodding toward the rifle. ] They seem to be in short supply, around here.

[ Not that she would know how to use one if she got her hands on it, but. ]

Are you a soldier?

[wipedclean]

[He frowns at her, though all that's visible is the way his brow creases and furrows.]

Short supply?

[That's not good news. It's not... awful news, but it does mean he has to start rationing ammunition and looking for alternate weapon options. He has his knives, of course, but they're not going to be the best option against more of those cats.

As for the question...]

Yes. I am.

[closerift]

There are swords, bows, and axes, but none of your... guns.

[ Sharon had been bemoaning it and had told Cecily about them, which is why she's eyeing his with careful envy. ]

Well, you've come just in time for the battle. [ The Inquisitor says airily, quirking a brow. ] We are prisoners of three gods, or so they call themselves.

[wipedclean]

[He's going through his weapons and ammo now, counting it up carefully to keep track of how much he has. If there's no guns here, he needs to conserve their use. But he pays attention to her words, his brows furrowing at the description of three gods.]

Gods? [Strange.] What do they want us for?

[closerift]

Based solely on what they've told us, they need our energies.

[ She's loathe to say "emotions," because it sounds... frankly, stupid. ]

The one that calls himself Fear creates the monsters. [ Cecily nods in the direction of the dead coeurl. ] To generate our fear and gather it to use as power for himself, they say.

[wipedclean]

[He frowns at her, practically glaring. He's silent for a long moment, just glaring. Finally...]

That's ridiculous.

[One of the most ridiculous things he's heard. Or can remember hearing. Not that he can remember too much, but that's not the point.]

[closerift]

Well, you aren't wrong.

[ She chuckles mirthlessly. ]

But it is still true, unfortunately.

[wipedclean]

[He growls softly at that, his brow furrowed and his eyes glaring, though not at her.]

And there is no way out?

[closerift]

Not that we know of.

[ Yet. Despite the (brief) mention of the "artifact" that drew them in to Hadriel in the first place, Hope hadn't disclosed much about the god who may be able to return them. As such, they're still for some indeterminate amount of time. ]

Some had an idea of trying to burrow out, but I'm not sure that's a very good idea.

[ Fairly obviously not, Cecily thinks. ]

two

[respired]

[ Koltira's been looking for signs of life. Or, more precisely, listening: coordinates in hand, he strides into the designated area, his ears perked forward. If there's a heartbeat to be had beneath the silent earth, he'll know. For the first few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of his own boots, kicking aside small rocks, disturbing soil. Then, he hears more than a pulse; he hears frantic, forceful movement. Hurrying towards it, he arrives just as Bucky pushes himself up to the surface.

He has to admit, it's a pretty impressive feat. ]

Hmm. Well done.

[wipedclean]

[The soldier glares up at the creature, his expression clearly a scowl though a mask covers half his face. He sits up and looks the man over, his brow furrowed as he takes him in.

The ears and the eyes and the color of his skin are certainly odd, but who knows, that sort of thing could be the norm here. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything about this place.]

Did you do this?

[That's really the most important question. He doubts the creature would admit it if it was him, but it's worth the attempt.]

2 DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING

[starspangled]

[It's not so obvious on the other side of the dirt. It could be a distress signal that brings Steve here. It could also be a trap. True to his form, he follows the coordinates anyway, until he arrives here. If there's anything more ominous than being led right to a shovel and a mound of fresh dirt, he's not sure what it could be.

He takes a look around, but when he does hear someone, it comes from the last place he was expecting. Steve stares at the grave in the briefest moment of disbelief before grabbing the shovel. Whoever it is, he's ready to dig, and ready to put his back into it.

But the person is already breaking through the ground, and that's when Steve realizes that it's neither a rescue nor a trap. Watching his best friend crawl from his grave is a terrible, terrible joke.]

Bucky?

[Steve stands there, still gripping the shovel. And yeah, this looks bad.]

YELLS REALLY LOUDLY

[wipedclean]

[He glares up at the man standing there, and he pulls off his mask to breathe. It was helpful on the climb out to keep dirt from getting in his nose and mouth, but now it's an impediment.

The man...

...it's his target. The one whose shield he caught on the rooftop, after he used him to triangulate his shot against the other target in the apartment. Then he wasn't a target, but now he is, and he's holding the shovel, which...

...well. It actually appears that he hasn't been doing any shoveling at all. The shovel itself has clearly been used, but the man's hands are clean, free of sweat and all other signs of effort.

But he's still the target. Ignoring and pushing through the tiredness from his previous exertion, the soldier surges to his feet and at the target, pulling a knife from his belt to attack.]

[starspangled]

[It's surreal, a word that pretty much sums up his entire experience here so far. Someone put Bucky in that grave, but someone led Steve to him too, and he's not sure what any of it means.

He's slightly more familiar with the hard look in Bucky's eyes. Steve didn't like the anguish and confusion that he saw in them in the helicarrier either, but he thought they were past this. Only one person could've been responsible for dragging his unconscious body up onto the bank of the Potomac.]

Bucky, wait! [Lacking his shield, Steve lifts up the shovel to block the knife with.] Look at me! I'm not here to fight you!

[wipedclean]

[The voice stops him. His arm crashes against the shovel and he halts, staring at his target in confusion.

He's heard that voice before. And the name... why is the name familiar?

He takes a few steps back, his body still tense and ready. This is his target, his mission, there's no doubt about that, but... well. Hydra isn't here. He has no handlers here, no one to tell him if the mission is still active or not. He's not sure if he should continue despite the fact that the parameters have almost completely changed.

And he does have questions. And perhaps the target has answers. Inadvisable to speak to the target, but... until he knows if the mission has changed with his surroundings, he should put the mission on hold.

That doesn't mean he's going to let down his guard at all.]

Why are you calling me that?

[starspangled]

[Steve lowers the shovel slowly as the other man retreats. His breath and his heart are quicker than before, the way he used to feel when he tried to climb a flight of stairs. It has nothing to do with physical exertion now.

Bucky's still coiled. He sees it in his posture, the tense line of his shoulders. His body knows what to do, but there's uncertainty in his face. Steve dares to hope that it goes deeper than that. Does his guts feel all twisted up the way Steve's do? Whatever he is thinking or feeling, it probably more than he can assuage in one go, but Steve never did know when to quit.]

That's your name. James Buchanan Barnes. I always called you Bucky.

[Steve swallows against the emotions that threaten to rise up. If he did what he wanted to - but that's as far as that thought goes.]

Do you remember me?

[wipedclean]

[There is uncertainty, and it grows the longer the target speaks, with the name he uses and the nickname. The plaintive question. The soldier is unsettled.]

I do. You're my target.

[Marked for death. But Hydra isn't here. The soldier doesn't know what to do. He shouldn't have let the target speak.

His head hurts.]

[starspangled]

My name's Steve. You know me.

[It feels like deja vu, but it's because one of them's been here before. Steve remembers that look, the internal struggle when Bucky's programming cracked just enough to let the old memories seep through.]

I'm your friend. I was your friend long before Hydra made me your target. And I'm your friend now.

[Steve throws the shovel down.]

I didn't have anything to do with this, I swear it.

[wipedclean]

[He tenses when the shovel goes down, watching its progress, then flicks his attention back up to the man.

Steve.

I thought you were smaller.

He flinches, his brow furrowed. He's... he shouldn't have let the target speak, it's affecting him somehow.]

Stop talking.

[His head hurts. There's fragments of memories clamoring for attention and he's trying his best to ignore them but they refuse to go unnoticed. He's having trouble focusing.]

[starspangled]

You remember me, don't you?

[It's more hope than certainty. But Steve knows that talking, thinking for himself, those are things that Bucky hasn't done for awhile. It's like the bitter medicine he used to force him to take; Steve probably fought him more than once, but it was better in the long run.]

Just take it easy. Remember to breathe. Can you do that for me?

[Steve's heard those words too. It's like the tables have turned completely.]

[wipedclean]

[He balls his right hand into a fist and kneads it against his forehead, as if that can help him will the thoughts away. They're unacceptable. But they linger, even though they don't make any sense. They're just shards, pieces of what used to be, or what still is, buried somewhere.]

You're my target...

[They used to play chess with the remains of a set they found in the ruins of a house in Poland. They substituted missing pieces with bullets and sticks and shrapnel.]

Stop...

[One summer they sold papers and each took their own corner. He always sold more, but he'd dump most of his money into Steve's bag when he wasn't looking.]

Stop talking!

[In a swift, angry movement, he sheaths his knife and pulls out a gun, points it right at Steve's... his target's head. Finger on the trigger. One shot. One shot. But his vision is blurry. He's been compromised.]

[starspangled]

I'm your friend.

[It bears repeating. It's the one thing Steve will never waver on, the one thing he'll never deny. He's read the file - Natasha warned him, and he did it anyway. AS a result Steve knows much of what Hydra did to twist him into the weapon standing in front of him. Hell, maybe Steve's the one who started him down that path. Bucky killed for him long before they broke him out of cryofreeze the first time. But no matter what, Steve would rather cut his own left arm off than deny what he means to him.

Right now Bucky's fighting an enemy that Steve can't punch. He can't rush right in and instantly save him the way Bucky did for him all those years. It makes him ache, and when Bucky finally snaps, trying so desperately to shatter memories like glass beneath his boots, Steve just looks sad and tired instead of afraid afraid.]

I'm your friend, and pulling that trigger won't change that.

[He'll die loving his friend more than he loves his own life, and Steve thinks that's pretty good as far as deaths go.]