dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #30

Entry tags:

!test drive

Test Drive Meme #30

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 March 25th, and apps are open April 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: CHOMP CHOMP
[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.

Or sticking out of that pipe, even. Yes, that's right, the Door seems to have brought in an infestation of piranha plants, which may be familiar to you, since they've been in nearly every Mario game.

Piranha plants are large orb-shaped plants with big ol' teeth, all the better for biting you with. They can't walk around, but their stalks can stretch pretty far, so they'll be perfectly happy to stretch out and bite the heck out of you if you get too close - and some of them are good at hiding. You might not see them until it's too late. Luckily, while the biting is pretty bad, it's just about all they can do. You'll be fine, as long as you keep your distance.]

SCENARIO TWO: THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU
[You've got a scratchy throat, a little cough, a general feeling of awfulness. It sucks being sick, doesn't it? Maybe you can find someone to get you some juice, or hold your hand, or just be sympathetic to how crappy you feel. After all, no one likes being sick. But how can you know that person is actually trying to help you? They have an untrustworthy look in their eye, and you're pretty sure you just heard them mutter something about leaving your body in a ditch.

Or maybe you're the one trying to take care of a sick friend. You have only the best intentions, but they don't seem interested in cooperating at all. In fact, it seems like they think you're trying to hurt them! What the hell? And here you were trying to be a good person for once. Oh shit - did you just sneeze? This isn't going to end well.

This is a mini version of our Flu Season event this month.]

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: FONDLY YOURS
[When you stepped out of the house this morning, you found a small bouquet of flowers on the doorstep, just waiting for you. They're just the sort you like - your favorite kind, in fact - so they must be meant for you. But who could they be from?

Of course, there must be someone you wish they were from. A lover, a long-term flirtation, your best friend thinking of you. Or maybe you're hoping for something else: an apology from someone who hurt you, or an olive branch from and enemy. Whoever you're hoping they're from, well - the only way to know is ask, right?

Unless you'd rather leave a secret bouquet for them, instead.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

one for my highlight reel! - one

[ Anyone in the coliseum today is in for quite a show. A MEKA suit is zipping around the field, firing off round upon round of bullets and even small missiles, taking out every piranha plant in sight. Some of the monsters withdraw into their tubes, but the fighter seems experienced enough to know to wait for them to pop out before shooting... or to bait them by marching close by and then raining destruction down on them when they appear. ]

Score! [ Comes the occasional cheer from inside the mech. It'd be difficult, with the way it's moving so quickly, but you might be able to catch a glimpse of the pilot within the cockpit as she works.

The bright pink of the mech might be a little jarring, but, hey: at least she's containing the monster problem! ]

i'm too young to die! - two

[ Hana has dressed down for the occasion of picking through the abandoned shops, but the comfy and casual wear does not seem to have improved her mood. The little fighter puffs out her cheeks in an exasperated sigh before sneezing - one, two, three, four times - and then uttering a noise of clear unhappiness. ]

There's just nothing left! [ She complains to whoever might be within earshot. ] Is it too much to ask to have - ugh, anything to help a sick girl out?

[ And she is sick, clearly. With several symptoms of a cold, or worse, she's far from her usual, perky self. More than that, she seems especially negative, squinting to peer at the person in question with her arms crossed defensively. ]

What'd you find, huh? Did you take all the good stuff?

[ Someone should probably direct her to the clinic before she snatches various goods out of others' hands... or homes, depending on how aggressive the paranoia grows. ]

thanks for the love! - three

Ooh, what's this?

[ Hana looks down with an expression of surprise and delight when she finds the bouquet at her doorstep. The thrilled pilot immediately brings the flowers inside to make them a home in a vase and water, humming to herself along the way... until she stops, hit with inspiration. It isn't long after that she can be found in the streets of the city, imposing a single flower on every person that she passes. ]

Here you go! Better to share the love, right? [ She winks and pops her gum, wandering until she's out of flowers. Then, she'll settle on a bench with her headphones on, bobbing her head to the music and scrolling through the communicator she'd found upon arrival.

It's good karma to pass on little bits of kindness like that, right? And it's not like she has the time to take care of all those flowers... ]

Scenario One

[To say that stationary plants with teeth doesn't really phase Bucky much is more or less the understatement of the year. But considering the last thing he remembers he hadn't been too hopeful about making it out alive, this is almost like a goddamn walk in the park. Carnivorous plants. That's not even the worst thing you run into on a daytrip to the Savage Lands.

He's still in uniform, which yeah, looks a little bit worse for wear at the moment, but at least he still has the shield. That's somethin' anyway. And it definitely comes in handy when one of the plants tries to take a bite out of him. Bucky curses, using the shield to hit the plant in its orb-shaped head and detach it from his shoulder. You'd think they were too big and brightly colored to be particularly steathy, but either they're better than he gave them credit for, or he's just tired.]

Anyone need any help?

[He calls, trying tpo see if there's anyone else around. Given that he hasn't seen any threats that are independently mobile, he's more concerned about other people in need of assistance.]

Scenario Three

[He's dressed down now, having found himself clothes and a place to say. But he stops in surprise, and can't help smiling a little at the flowers, lifting them up so he can breathe in the scent of red roses. They always remind him of Natasha, but considering the current circumstances he can't imagine who would have left them for him.

So for the moment he just kind of stands there a bit awkwardly with the flowers, looking around to see if there's anyone around that seems to be leaving flowers for people. It's certainly a nice gesture, at any rate, he guesses. Certainly beats the first round of fauna.]

So does everyone get one, or am I just lucky?

Wildcard

[Bucky's pretty easy, feel free to find him working out, or whatever seems fun; I'll roll with it.]

[Natasha is still trying to settle in, herself, and of course she's having a bit of trouble trusting anything just yet. It's like a curse. She follows Bucky into the apartment, and her eyebrows go up when she sees the bouquet. Well, they certainly are pretty.]

Maybe you have fans you don't know about, James.

( Things that don't happen to Carl every day: nearly being speared by a bunch of missiles aiming at a plant just behind where he pops in.

So, understandably, Carl pops out, disappearing from the spot in the same sudden way he appeared, disappearing in the span of a blink. )

... Christ, it's stuffy in here.

( Because, obviously, as we all know, the best and most foolproof way of avoiding missiles is to teleport yourself into the pilot's cockpit. )

[ Things don't happen to Hana Song every day: having a person appear, out of nowhere, in the cockpit of her MEKA.

So, understandably, she reacts without thinking by slamming her fist down on the eject button, sending herself, at least, flying out through the top. Hana manages to land on her feet despite the surprise, but her blaster is trained on the mech she'd just exited. ]

How'd you get in there? Show yourself!

[ The first face that comes to mind is only sort of a face at all: the ugly mug of the masked assassin from Talon. This guy didn't sound like the infamous 'Repaer,' though, so... ]

I won't ask again! Get out of there!

( Well, if you're going to point a gun at him...

Another blink, a breath maybe, and he's appeared in front of her without any fanfare, hands raised and suit slightly crinkled from being crammed up in that small cockpit. )

Alreet, pet. No need to get your knickers in a twist.

( Besides, he's not nearly as primary a target as the plants.

Yikes. Would you call those vegan friendly? )

[ She doesn't relax. It's annoying, the whole teleportation thing. ... However people do it. Hana wrinkles her nose, particularly at the way he addresses her, and then gives her hair a bit of a toss to display how much she Doesn't Care. ]

Whatever. I've got bigger targets anyway. [ And, with a suspicious look at him, she moves back toward the mech. Hana pauses for a minute, hand on the exterior, glancing again to the stranger with a persistent frown. ]

You better not've broken anything! [ And, with that, she clambers back inside. Once there, her voice rings out, slightly distorted. ]

You didn't make these creepy things, did you? [ The 'plants,' obviously. ]

one | we are kings from the underground
... Reet.

( That's all the warning given to the plant baring down on a dark haired, well-dressed man before he flickers away and out of the grasp of its jaws, pulling a dagger out from his belt, the metal glinting in the harsh sunlight, almost too brightly.

His fingers tap the side of the hilt once before he strikes, slicing through the stem of the... well, he wouldn't call it a beast. A possessed plant? Can Creatures possess plants? That's news to him. )

Y'need to learn 'boot the food chain, mate.

( There's a pop on that t, something which makes the word sound more like an insult than a friendly address. )

three | we are louder than your bullshit
( Witness, one (1) Carl Smith (is that last name too plain, too English for a man with his complexion and dark eyes? Maybe that's the point) walking through Hadriel, instead of popping from rooftop to rooftop, without a care in the world. If it weren't for the bouquet of deep red roses in his hands, this would be utterly unremarkable.

Of course, a bouquet of deep, red roses won't simply stay in his hands, otherwise that would be dull as dishwater. The first flower gets wound into his suit's lapel, threaded through the buttonhole and standing stark against the grey (this suit is nowhere near as nice as the ones he has back home, but beggars and choosing and all the rest of it).

The second he pulls close to his nose, inhaling deeply, offering a glistening white, incredibly charming (if he does say so himself) smile to passers by. )

Thought these were lush till I got a look at you.

( Carl, no. )

( Well, usually he just thinks where he wants to go and it happens. It was a pain when he was a kid and had no control over his powers, but nowadays it all comes easy.

Case in point: he quickly disappears and reappears up on some of the Colosseum seats, withdrawing the blade strapped to his back. They definitely have bigger fish to fry, which necessitates the big guns, the ones which make unnaturally sharp metallic sounds as they're drawn and glint just a bit too much. )

Cannit!

( C'mon, stranger, he can teleport. Teleporters don't also get the power to make armies of weird plants. )

Y'wanna try aiming for them next time?

( Carl please, you teleported into the missiles. )

scenario one

[ If you're in the colosseum today, you might see-- in addition to the plants trying to eat people-- someone fighting the plants off. They're fast, apparently pretty used to handling a sword, and uh...very...sparkly?

(Seriously, their hair is basically reflecting sunlight in a very colorful fashion.)

As they cut through one of the plants, another pops up and...latches on to this newcomer's arm.

Oh dear. ]

{ ooc: OF NOTE is that this character is literally made of diamond and also has never seen a living human being and will be absolutely fascinated if your character is human/not a rock !! }

Edited 2018-03-21 22:27 (UTC)

i. chomp chomp

[Honestly, killer plants are almost a little bit of a welcome reprieve for Natasha. No drama, no questions, just straight-forward get rid of the monsters. And that, she can do. No questions about what she's been doing with her life for the past ten years, what she does now- doesn't even have to focus on the fact that she she was just dragged to some world that she doesn't know the rules of. The main rules right now are to survive and make it to safety. And if she finds anyone else that becomes protect. Simple. And she could use a little bit of simple.]

Hey, you okay?

[Another figure out here gets her immediate attention. Gun still in her right hand, but she holds her hands in a way that's meant to be non-threatening, the gun doesn't get aimed at them, even if she's still careful. She's in street clothes- blending in clothes- but she has her Widow's bite under her sleeves, and her Glock 26 had been in a shoulder holster under her jacket. The nearest creature sports two bullet holes, courtesy of her sidearm. The gun's deceptively small, but with a lot of stopping power. Makes the recoil harsh, but Nat's always been good with firearms.]

ii. they're coming to get you

[Natasha is not exactly the best at playing nurse or babysitter, but she's making the attempt. Honestly, the way that the person seems to get actively skittish and suspicious the longer this sickness has its hold of them just makes her less likely to leave. Something's not right here.

So if you're sick, she'll be continuing to patiently offer blankets and water and keeping track of the paranoia as it worsens. Though, that comment, about leaving your body in a ditch? Yeah, that might not be the paranoia and more the effect of an unsettled and increasingly irritated spy. If you're another caretaker, there might be some realtalk about what's going around.]

Whatever this is, I don't think it's natural.

iii. wildcard, take one

[One of the first things Natasha does, after finding food and shelter, is finding someplace for her morning workouts. She's up at dawn, with a patch of something close to security, though the fact that her Widow's Bites stay on says she doesn't think too much of that in truth.

Her routine varies. Gymnastics, yoga, or combat circuits. Come offer her someone to practice with, or if you're lucky, you might even catch her dancing by herself.]

iv. wildcard baby

[Open to whatever. If you have an idea, I'll roll with it, or feel free to PM me to plot!]

[He's still smiling, but when he looks at her something warms in his expression. They're both new here, but there's a certain stability to having Natasha around. It's something he can trust, lean on a little. She gives him hope.

There's a lot they haven't talked about, but Bucky has no problem avoiding those conversations for the moment. It's easy to tell himself that it makes sense while they're still settling in, getting their bearings. The truth of course is that he doesn't really want to have to talk about whether or not Natasha watched him die. Maybe it's the elephant in the room, but they've got the space for it.]

Yeah, I doubt it. They suit you better, anyway.

[He plucks one rose from the bouquet, holding it out to her, mindful of the thorns. It's easier to dwell on her than it is on Sin with an Asgardian Hammer, hitting the ground, and then... being here.]

[Elephant in the room is an understatement, but Natasha is used to pushing things like that aside when something more pressing presents itself. It's like second nature for both of them, and at the moment, being trapped in another universe takes precedent.

Still, even if she knows he was alive, if terribly injured, even if she knows they have other things to focus on, her heart twists when he holds out the flower. When she takes it, her fingers brush against his, lingering for just a few seconds as she smiles back.]

Do they? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to flatter me.

( Scenario One )

[ When Leo comes to, he has no idea where in Hades he is. He's actually not convinced that he's not in the Underworld or somewhere just as awful. He doesn't see any of his friends nearby and he's muttering to himself about how clearly they must have forgotten him.

There's no one around to be braggadocious for just then.

But as he starts moving, all the sudden there's a ...is that a plant moving to snap at him, managing to catch his shirt before he quickly ducks away. ]

What the hell!

[ Maybe this really is the Underworld and Persephone and Hades had some ungodly plant death child. He'd prefer Nico just now, thank you very much.

But at least now he's more aware of his surroundings even if he's not sure it is but he starts searching for a way out, trying to pick his way through these annoying buggers without getting bit. ]

( Wildcard )

[ I'll match tenses and styles! Feel free to hit me with your best shot or hit me up via PM or on plurk at

poetanarchy if you want to plot something or want a specific starter. ]

Edited 2018-03-22 04:16 (UTC)

{I: CHOMP CHOMP}

This isn't the kind of threat Jon is used to.

He's been hunting since he was a boy, and he's fought all sorts of men: dozens of foes are dead at his hand, and countless animals, ones harmless as hares or dangerous as wolves. He's fought dead men, too, and White Walkers, things people used to call impossible.

But plants? It's true enough that there are some you shouldn't eat, some that will make you itch, some that are good medicine. Until now, he's never seen one that will crane its neck to bite you -- never even thought of a plant's stem as its neck before. There are scrapes on the arm of his padded arming jacket where one tried to gain purchase with its teeth. The slight ridiculousness of the plant itself doesn't negate the threat it poses.

He waits, staring at the metal cylinder, watching for the flower to reveal itself again, and when it does, it's over in a second: he separates the bud from the stem with a clean slice from Longclaw.

Some distance away, he sees someone else about to be bitten... someone who isn't as well armed or armored as he is. He dashes over and slices the head of the flower off before it can sink its fangs in, or its thorns... it really does look remarkably and unsettlingly like a mouth, and not a kind one.

He turns to whoever he's just rescued from a nasty bite with a concerned, inquisitive expression.

"Are you all right? These things are everywhere. Are they normal in this place?"

{II: THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU}

Months north of the Wall with the Free Folk with no illness, and only the injuries that came as a result of his betrayal -- a betrayal of those he'd been told were his enemies for his entire life, now enemies no longer. No sickness in all his years at Castle Black but the sickness that sometimes comes with wounds. He knows he was seriously ill once as a child, with a pox, but he came through it well enough then, and it was years ago. He's strong now.

He's been in this cave city only a matter of days, and he's coughing and sneezing. His head is on fire; his body is all ice and deep ache, and his throat feels like he's swallowed nettles. He's been a good enough patient in that he's not peevish or unkind... he's been visibly grateful for the care, until now... but "patient" isn't the word that describes him: the trouble is keeping him in bed when he'd rather be moving, would rather be working to some useful end.

When he isn't asleep, he's bored. If offered a book, he might browse it, but he'll set it aside after a few minutes. "Tell me how you came to be here," he says. If you're not from his world, he may add, "Tell me what the place you came from was like." Or he sniffs, frowns, and asks, "Sicknesses like this... do they happen often here?" The environment, in his opinion, can't be healthy. It's like never leaving the worm tunnels at the Wall.

He keeps the blankets tucked up high on his bare chest, but sometimes, when he sleeps, they slide down, exposing cruel, half-healed scars. There's more than one; the worst is inches long, a deep curve over his heart.

Today, though, he's starting to wonder: why are you trying to keep him in bed? Or, if it comes to that: why has he woken to find you staring at his scars? The look he turns on you is suspicious and narrow-eyed, even as he sniffles.

{Notes}

1. Canon point for TDM purposes is somewhere around the end of 7x02, when Jon is departing from Winterfell en route to Dragonstone! This is pretty much for the convenience of the existing cast; I could be talked into later canon points.
2. If you're not canon-familiar, Longclaw is an unusually sharp and lightweight hand-and-a-half sword with a pommel in the shape of a white wolf's head, and is a rare and valuable antique. Like half of everything else in this canon, It's Symbolic.
3. About those scars in the second prompt (please keep in mind before looking that these are images of fatal knife wounds): fresh, healed (6-12 months later).
4. Any format is fine. I'll match yours.
5. HMU at detectivefiction for anything more specific, discussion, etc.

Edited (Mistakes were made....) 2018-03-22 06:53 (UTC)

[ Beth's reaction to the rose and pickup line is almost comical, given she takes a full step backwards, practically recoiling at the...well, just the whole thing really. She's still not used to the people here being able to see her, and now someone is...what, trying to flirt? Like, this is how kids these days flirt, right? Or maybe it's old-timey flirting.

Either way, she wants no part in it. ]

No.

[ And she almost just leaves it at that, but just in case he doesn't get it she adds: ]

Keep it to yourself.

One:

[ Ruffnut may not know what the heck is happening right now, or where her stupid brother's run off to, but she does know one thing: Those weird plants are the greatest thing she's ever seen. Seriously, look at them! It's destruction in a pot, and it's great. She turns to grin at her brother, only to find he's just. Not. It's a weird, off-kilter kind of feeling.

It's not gonna stop her from trying to take one of these bad boys along with her, though. To anyone trying to attack or approach the piranha plant she's mentally claimed as her own? Watch out, because there's now a viking barreling in your direction. ]

Hey, watch it! That one's mine!

Two:

[ So much for that Thorston constitution, Ruffnut feels like actual death. It's the worst, and as far as she can tell there's no getting rid of it. She's already tried to punch the sickness out of herself and...well, maybe it would be more effective if Tuffnut hit her with Macey or she had Barf and Belch there to light her on fire temporarily, burn that sick right out. But alas.

Sure, someone around here can probably give some sound advice, but she's pretty sure this whole place is out to get her. Why? She doesn't know, go figure that out for yourself. Maybe they want to steal her dragon secrets or the cool plant that's always trying to eat her. Or maybe they're just buttheads. Either way, she doesn't trust a'one of ya.

Ruff has taken to just laying in the middle of the street. Inside was too warm. Outside is too cold. Or maybe it was the other way around? It's hard to tell. Point is, there's no winning, and after leaving her house and laying down to cool off(warm up?), Ruff's made the executive decision to never stand up again.

So yeah. Here she is. Sick and in your way. ]

One more step and I'll clobber you. [ Ughhh. No, wait, that requires getting up and not immediately dying. ] Or...sneeze in your general direction. Either way, you'll be sorry.

Three:

[ Oh yeah, poison oak. Well, poison oak hidden in an otherwise pretty bouquet of flowers. Time to have some good ol' 'cause trouble for literally everyone else' fun.

Taking to the street, her hands wrapped in leather so she doesn't end up itchy, she starts trying to hand them out to people she runs into. ]

Hey, these dumb flowers aren't my style. Want one?

[It's something they'll handle when they have to. Bucky isn't exactly desperate to know his future, and he's fairly sure the answer isn't something good. When is it ever? But there's enough to keep them busy, easy distractions as they work out the world they've ended up in (gods, of course it was gods, because Bucky definitely hasn't had enough of that shit).

Their fingers touch as Natasha takes the flower, and she lets the touch linger a little. That counts for something; maybe more than it should.

It's the other thing they haven't really talked about. What this all means for them, where their relationship stands. On Bucky's side it's easy, but with so much unsaid he doesn't push too hard, either. It's enough to have her close. So the little things- they mean a lot. That touch makes it a little easier as he raises an eyebrow, a slight shrug to his shoulders.]

Well, they say it's not flattery if it's true.

Jon meant everything to her. He was her brother - fully, no bastard about it - and she smiled tremulously when he came to her aid. Her bright hair was hidden by the hood of her cloak, so he could be forgiven for not recognizing her at first. It might also be shocking that Sansa Stark - the woman who was the perfect lady as a child - was wielding a sword.

And an Elven sword at that!

"I'm not sure you can say anything is normal in Hadriel." her voice shook and she embraced him tightly, "Jon, I have so much to tell you!"

But she realized that they might want to get to a safe place first.

"Follow me. I have a house mostly to myself. We can talk there."

Edited 2018-03-22 09:53 (UTC)

Sword or no sword, the cloaked woman -- something about the shape of the figure and the way she moves tells him it is a woman -- was lucky to have not been bitten, and --

"Sansa?"

He'd waved goodbye to his sister as he rode out the East Gate of Winterfell. His plan had been to ride to White Harbor, then go by ship to Dragonstone, and even if he were to stay there only a day, it would have been three moons before he'd have seen Sansa again.

She shouldn't be here. More than that, the sword in her hand... he hadn't gotten a close look at it before she spoke to him, but there was something light and beautiful about it, in the way that swords can be beautiful, but not quite in the same way that Longclaw is beautiful.

A sword, a house... how could she have these things when so little time had passed since he last saw her? Why is she armed with a sword to begin with? She's never shown any interest in learning how to use one. He's too surprised to do much to return her warm hug, and his face shows it.

"All right. We'll talk." He looks her up and down, bewildered. "How are you here? Who armed you?"

And is anyone -- anyone at all -- ruling the North at the moment?

ONE:
[There must have been a transporter malfunction. This doesn't look like a Bajoran colony at all.

Wesley slowly gets up on his feet, groaning softly as little aches and pains make themselves known all over his body. It feels like he's been flung sideways and landed hard on the ground. There's hot sand all over his uniform, on his face, in his hair. Looking around, it appears he's in some sort arena. Two suns? He squints up at them, shielding his eyes. This definitely isn't the Bajoran colony he was supposed to visit. And he's not familiar with any binary solar systems in the vicinity.

Hopefully the ship is within range. Hopefully they're looking for him. Wesley taps the combadge on his chest, clearing his throat, still trying to get his bearings.] Ensign Crusher to Enterprise.

[No response. He frowns at the badge. Taps it again. It doesn't make a sound, not a single chirp. It doesn't seem to be functioning.] E-Ensign Crusher to Enterprise, come in. Enterprise? Captain? Mr. O'Brien, a-are you there?

[Nothing. Wesley can feel his stomach turning. It's okay. Don't panic. They'll get in touch with you. Maybe you need to get to a higher elevation, boost the signal of the combadge somehow, yes, that's it, boost the signal, brilliant, find something on this planet that could juice the subspace transceiver assembly, or maybe just the power supply, just some tinkering, just some tinkering and you'll be fine--

A sound from behind snaps him out of it. It sounded like a rustle, and kind of like... snarling? But all he can see is a strange, bulbous plant. Is it moving? Wesley is immediately fascinated, immediately curious. If he's to stay here until the ship picks him up, he might as well explore a little, right?]

Whoa... What're you? [He starts reaching for the plant.]

TWO:
[Wesley might not be a little kid anymore, but he's still a growing young man, his immune system still changing and adjusting. Add to that the fact that his mom is a doctor, and it goes without saying that he gets sick a lot. Not like this though - the symptoms remind him of a disease his mom told him about years ago called the "common cold". A couple hundred different viruses that humans struggled with for hundreds of thousands of years, all with roughly the same symptoms he's displaying right now. Coughing, runny nose, sore throat, body fatigue.

It sucks. Even with how often he gets sick, it's usually over in a day or two - just pop around to sickbay and get a hypospray injection, a quick treatment, immediate relief. A mom to brush his hair back and hold his hand. He doesn't have that on this strange planet. How could he? They're all strangers... all with conflicting stories about their home worlds and tall tales about gods... some of them are obviously dangerous.

They're trying to confuse him. So they can hurt him. So they can get to his tech, get at the crew. He's not going to let them.]

Three:
What the heck..? [Flowers? Wesley frowns at the bouquet of camellias and hellebores resting on the doorstep. Is this a prank? Is it meant for someone in the house..? It can't be meant for him...

That'd be silly.

But... they're his favorites. Not that he dares to admit that out loud, but he really likes camellias. They smell like his great grandma. Like home. His mom would keep a bouquet around their quarters whenever they could find one. He picks up the bouquet. It's beautiful... Is there a note? He turns to you then, the closest person around, and tries to keep a straight face.] Did you see who left these here?

Hey, you know what weapon is kind of useless in combat with the long thin stalks of a murderous plant? Why, that'd be a gun. Jack's gun, specifically, since he's already fired it once. There had been a flicker of movement behind him and the weapon had practically leapt into his hand, firing before he could think about it, but it doesn't do shit.

Still, that doesn't mean he wants some other guy stealing his kill. Sure, with his shirt and coat and sneakers Jack kinda looks like a civilian in any universe, the shield at his belt invisible, and the gun is all he's got as a weapon, and it's just a hand pistol. And okay, he probably looked pretty surprised. But still: "Hey, I had that," he objects, pointing at Jon. "If they're so everywhere, go kill your own, buddy."

Well, that's gratitude for you... but at least he's used to sometimes being received with an utter lack of gratitude. Just not by men who were near enough to having a bite of flesh taken out of them by what amounts to a wild beast, and who aren't, by Jon's estimation, carrying a proper weapon.

What is that thing in his hand?

"Didn't seem like you had it," he says, with cool, bland courtesy, raised eyebrows, and a hint of doubt. His Northern accent is strong. "Where's your blade?"

1. FLU SEASON

"Right, come on then," Cerith says to her brand new sick friend, along with an aggravated huff that blows her thick blue-black hair out of her eyes. This isn't the first time she's had to look after someone who's sick — her brother was always a right mope about it, once he stopped toughing it out and stayed in bed. Though that's currently the bit she's trying to get to.

"Look, I know we don't know each other," she says, trying to both sound calm and reasonable and also physically strain her tiny green frame to move another person. "But you've got to get some rest. I mean, you collapsed! Your're lucky I still had a spellslot. And I can't just keep hobbling about with you like this forever."

2. PLANT SEASON.

Are you watching Cerith fight? She's not particularly good at it, though she holds the rapier in her hands like she does actually know how to stick someone with the pointy end. Still, it's not the rapier she's using: standing well out of the way of the flower's reach, she says: "Can I just point out, that you're ludicrously top-heavy, not to mention sort of obvious — I mean, surely, as a monster, you can do better than being just a big mouth with teeth. What are you even going to do if you get me? Swallow me? I won't fit inside that skinny stem of yours, that's for sure."

A swirl of blue-green magic seems to gather around her as she speaks, wrapping around her throat, puffing out her lungs like condensation on a cold day, the aqua highlights in her hair and sickly green of her skin all the more vivid. When she scoffs as punctuation, the shimmer of colour splashes over to the flower and it reels itself back in immediately, injured.

And that's how they do it in bard school.

Edited 2018-03-22 14:04 (UTC)

Jack, meanwhile, talks like he's stuck somewhere between New York and Ottawa, so this is a fun conversation, like, audibly. He doesn't seem too bothered by all that Britishness, though, still hung up on being rescued. By a guy with a sword. Who uses a sword?

(Okay, so he knows a lot of people around here use a sword, and they're probably smart to do it because his ammo can run pretty light.)

"I don't need a blade — wait, wait, that's not actually true? Check it out." Zelda gave him a couple of lil kunai blades a while back, and he still keeps one tucked into a flap of his holster, draws it. It's ... it's inches long. Next to Longclaw it's actually kind of emasculating, and he puts it back. "But whatever, that doesn't count. Point is, swords are for morons who think it's a good idea to get up in the face of whatever they're fighting."

Is he calling some stranger a moron? Yes, and he's not even benign malicious about it, it's just thrown in there like a passing fact. He talks a lot, but maybe doesn't pay a lot of attention to what he's actually saying.

"This baby," he lifts his beloved Win-Win Vision. "This baby can take out your problems at a nice safe distance from 'em."

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Test Drive Meme #30

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