dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #6

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Test Drive Meme #6

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 February 23rd, and apps are open March 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: BLOBBED
[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 several Blobs, from the similarly titled 1988 movie, The Blob for you meet.

These gelatinous creatures have no weak spots or brains that can be sliced or crushed to kill them. Instead, their only goal is to absorb and dissolve its prey so that it can grow larger. Think that its, er, blob-like form makes it easy to avoid? Think again- it moves faster than one might expect, as shown in its canon 'kill' video here (with a healthy cw warning for gore and 80's movie effects).]

R A G E
SCENARIO TWO: WENDIGONE
[Hey, that snack you found? It might taste a little too familiar. At least you don't have time to worry about accidental cannibalism too much though, because you've now become host to a vengeful wendigo spirit! The transformation will be sped up for the purposes of this test drive, though you can post at whichever point in the change you desire. Want to tear people to shreds? Go for it. Want to try to clutch onto the last few pieces of your humanity? Be our guest!

On the flipside, as someone who is unaffected, you may be trying to arm yourself and take these wendigos head-on... or, you may be trying to figure out a way you can save them, which would involve somehow trapping them on Hope's altar. Think you can handle that?

This is a mini version of our Who What Where Wendigo event this month!]

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: CARNATION DAY
[You know those moments in high school that everyone used to dread? Where everyone would spend a week or so with the opportunity to buy a carnation or two for someone they like, only for carnation day to come along and dash any hopes and dreams you had of getting a flower from that special someone?

Well, here's your chance to relive that day- but, you know, hopefully make it end a little happier.

In this prompt, some characters will emerge through the Door- or wake up, or just suddenly appear- with carnations clutched in their hands. These flowers can be any color of your choosing, and all have tags on them. They can be addressed to you or to someone else, and in that FROM category? Well, from your secret admirer, of course- or any other character who may or may not have sent it! Here's to hoping they're a good one!]

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[There have been creatures, monsters, and people to avoid or kill, but the soldier handles them all without too much trouble.

He can tell Steve's trying to pull him into a conversation. He's tempted to just leave. But another part of him just can't help but be drawn to him.]

Nothing I couldn't handle.

[there's a reason why he tries to keep faeries at arm's length and this is it. Bigby has been, for his part, pretty patient and attentive, if those words can be defined by the total silence from his end (punctuated by the occasional gruff grunt to affirm that some distant part of him is listening). his mind is clearly elsewhere, but Tink's babbling is starting to become just a tiny bit difficult to ignore, less of a white noise in the background and more of a dull roar of sorts. still, he's not completely irritated; he doesn't even really think he can bring himself to be blunt with her because at least she's trying, which is more than he can say about everyone else so far. it hasn't taken long for this place to descend into chaos, but they've been fortunate enough to tear themselves away from the bulk of the fighting on their way back to the housing development. having a place to sit down, to formulate a good plan, is what they need now, and wasn't there talk about an altar that could—

oh, shit. what the hell was that, you ask? well, if he didn't know any better, he'd say it was hissing. it's faint and muffled, but make no mistake, it's there.

instead of giving an answer to her question, Bigby raises a finger to his mouth (shhhhh) and holds an arm out to block Tink from going any further as he scans the area, searching for any figures hiding in the shadows, clinging to the edges of the alien-looking buildings lining the streets.]

[ That's exactly what Steve asked her, the first time they'd met -- he'd asked for her name. It's a common occurrence, of course, but the sense of deja vu is both bizarre and sad.

She knows this must be Steve, though, because only Steve would sound so hopelessly idealistic. She gives him a sad almost-smile. ]

I know. You haven't changed -- you're the same kind of stupid.

[ A beat. ]

I told you my name was Nymeria, but that was a lie.

[ At least she doesn't have to lie to Steve this time. ]

I had no name.

f e a r.

[ what an absolute shithole, he thinks. he's seen a few, of course — every nation, every city has them, and he's been walking in what feels like circles for an age, with tumbledown ruin blending into tumbledown ruin. plenty of time, then, to have formulated and re-formulated an opinion.

he thinks, too, that there's something unnerving about the entire place; he shouldn't — he's seen and done and been so much worse than a bit of rot and decay, but— he sees something then, gelatinous and viscous and his expression distorts from disinterest to disgust. he moves and it moves, though it also seems to swallow up its surroundings (or maybe, he hopes, he's imagining that—.)

he takes a step backwards, his shoes sounding loud against the rubble and debris. a pause. an inhale and an exhale. he might be an anchorite, but that doesn't assure him against death, and his instinct has always been for flight over fight.

another step backwards, his attention fixed firmly on the thing. ] Fuck—. [ whispered more than spoken aloud, a verbal impetus to make himself turn away. he could always cloak himself, he thinks, but he's no certainty it would be effective, and he'd rather not test the matter. so he turns back the way he came, expecting the path to be as empty as it had been only moments before. ]

h o p e.

[ it's not that he awoke to find flowers, it's the where. it's the who. he doesn't care for the ones addressed to him, or the ones with unfamiliar names — they're cloying and sentimental and wholly unwanted. he's only ever bought and given flowers as a means to an end; as politeness; as formality.

no, it's the one nestled in amongst his ("his") addressed to holly sykes. it casts a strange, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. jealousy, he realises, though faint and tinged with the palest ghost of regret; he recalls for a brief moment the way he'd felt when he'd seen that postcard from ed brubeck, and he compares and contrasts and drops the flower.

it doesn't flutter to the ground gracefully, it falls, weighed down by that singular card. it was dead — they all were. pruned flowers don't last; it's a neat, if not tired metaphor for them (bone clocks) all. but then footsteps behind him catch his attention and he pauses, the remainder of the flowers in his right hand, lifted as if ready to discard with the first. ]

I've never actually seen them before. They're very pretty.

[ A glance around shows no cans. Or any spot where they look like they grow. ]

Where did they come from?

F E A R .

[ These things are freaking her out.

She's encountered blobbed masses before, except those normally had a centralized system for a brain or some other weakness to kill them. These definitely don't. Her only option has been to keep out of their way. Making her way through the streets proves more of an obstacle course to avoid the creatures, she climbs to the roof of the nearest building. There should be a way to cross and get around the city from there. At least where the blobs wouldn't risk overwhelming her.

Instead of moving on, she gives the street a once-over to make sure she isn't the only one trying to get away. ]

R A G E .

[ Cibo doesn't need to eat. She can, except it's a pointless gesture to a body that maintains itself.

So when the other humans who do eat start acting strangely, she's on alert. There must be something in the water or food supply changing them. People who would stick to groups are now separating or pairing off; They become hostile and move with a heightened state of awareness. It puts her on edge. She walks the streets with a consistent back-check and trying not to put herself into dark or closed spaces. Eventually that won't matter. If they really want to hunt her, or any of the other humans, they'll do it anywhere. She just needs to be ready.

With a stun baton at her hip, surged with 7.5 million volts of power, she's trying to a find a place to chill out and let this all blow over.*

*Without being eaten alive. ]

H O P E.

[ Flowers are a new thing for her. She holds them and gently probes the various petals, admiring the beauty of the organism. She had thought that she wouldn't be leaving this place any time soon. Perhaps this gift made that official. The card reads,

To: Cibo
— Never stop fighting. Even without me.

She imagines who sent them to her, tears in her eyes. ]

[It's not her he sees, it's her movement. He hears her and smells her better than he sees her, nearly blind as he is now. It still irks him, somewhere in his mind. He's a sniper, or was, and now he can't be anymore.

But that doesn't matter.

What matters is the urgent need to attack, to kill, to rip limb from limb.

But he's content to stalk her. The hunt is satisfying, as much as attacking would be.

Until it isn't anymore. At the moment when she is most at ease, most unaware, that is the moment he chooses to attack, charging her from behind.]

[There is indeed someone down below trying to escape the acidic mass that's come out of the Door this time.

[For the most part, the other creatures within the cave can be killed. Or at least, they had obvious kill marks. You could usually just beat them the old fashioned way -- burn them until they're dead. These things? Not so much. Flash fire doesn't seem to work, which means that they'll have to resort to something other than brute strength to beat them.

[Chemical warfare it is. That is, assuming that there are such tools within the city to combat an all-consuming mass that way.

[Although it seems to spread everywhere, Rey's fast, having put a safe enough distance between herself and the creature to allow herself time to rest.

[Cibo should be able to catch her slowing down from atop the building, looking as though she's searching for something.]

[ The thought is to maybe immobilize one of these humans. Figure out what mutation is going on inside of them. Science them for a cure.

But his speed is incredible. When she she hears the hastened pace coming up behind her, she doesn't get time to properly wield her stun baton from her waist.

Instead she slips a foot back for leverage, pushing her body to bring her elbow back around. Hopefully in time to clip him— there's something similarly inhuman about her strength as well. It'll give her a chance to bring the weapon up afterward, though it won't be on it'll be another attempt to stop him. ]

Wait! [ Even in the middle of the commotion, she'll want to be able to say she gave it a try.

Her thumb reaches the switch of the baton, electricity hums to life. Then bursts with a static buzz. ]

[ The woman down below definitely caught her attention. She leans over a guard railing to ensure the woman would see her and gives a controlled shout downward. Just in case the creatures lurking about were sensitive to noise, she tries not to be louder than she needs to be. Considering it wasn't something she tested yet. ]

Hey! [ She looks around the area listening to a soft reverb of her own voice. Was it too loud?

A motion to come up to the rooftop, an offer for the woman to get off the unpredictable ground. At least up here they will see everything coming. ]

[Steve nods, not sure what to say for a moment.

Wait, that's not true. He knows exactly what he wants to say.]

I miss my friend.

[It's a feeling he's gotten to know well over the years. But before it was more like the ache of a phantom limb. You know something's gone, but you feel the pain of it anyway. Steve just had to live with it. Until he found out that he didn't. That essential part of him wasn't as gone as he thought.]

We could handle it together. Might be easier that way.

[There's an earnest to it, a vulnerability that Steve only feels when he's asking someone out for a cup of coffee.]

I'm glad I'm not the only one who got one of these things.

[ New face to the city walking up behind Bigby, more noticeably are her legs-for-days making her a healthy six-five tall. She smells like metal and blood, something a little less than human. A hint of lavender from the bouquet in her hands, accompanied with note. Cheeks flustered from a recent emotional stimuli. ]

I'm sure someone was just thinking of you. That's the sentiment of flowers, right?

[ A shrug. She really doesn't know. Gift giving isn't her forte. ]

I don't know. They were just suddenly in my hand.

[Strange, but it seems pretty harmless so far. Steve looks down at one of the tags, addressed to him but from some secret admirer. He doesn't know what to make of it, but he ends up offering it to her.]

You want one? It'll last awhile if you get it into some water.

[The sentiment hits him harder than it should. He doesn't like it. He's not meant to feel, yet Steve seems to pull emotions from him like he's found a loose thread and is tugging it free, unraveling everything the soldier's been told to believe he is.]

I'm not him.

[It's all he can think to say, though he's not sure his tone is one of frustration at Steve or regret.]

one - "unfortunately, it's not the weirdest thing she's seen"

[ Have you ever been told more than once in the same week that you need to take a vacation? Have you ever brushed it aside with the ease of someone who hears it a little too regularly to take it seriously, and then woken up flat on your back in the middle of a coliseum?

If you have, you might be Snow White. Not the storybook princess, mind, or... not exactly. The woman who blinks into consciousness, dressed professionally, is the Snow White of Fabletown, of a vaguely-suspicious town in New York. When she finds herself not at all at her desk, the first thing that occurs is that she must have fallen asleep. ... Though, of course, she isn't waking up in any apartment she knows, so for a wild few seconds of panic as she regains full consciousness, she wonders if it's at all possible that she'd sleepwalked outside to the front bench. But... again, no, this place is completely unfamiliar. It's such a shock that she bolts upward into a sitting position, wide, blue eyes scanning the area around her. ]

Where...? [ For someone who knows everything about her city that she can know, it's unsettling and disorienting to be in a place so foreign. In another striking panic, she worries she's been kidnapped (cliche though it is), but there don't seem to be any restraints and no signs of captors. In fact, the coliseum isn't sealed at all, but is open for her to just walk out when she regains her bearings. Which she does fairly quickly, knowing that to stay put might mean danger.

Naturally, danger has already found her. The Fabletown resident stops short, halfway between her waking point and the exit, freezing where she stands. Off to one side is what she can only think to describe as a blob, oozing and gelatinous, and Snow peers suspiciously at it, slowly drawing away out of caution.

Good thing, too. The blob, apparently alive, or somehow otherwise in motion, seems to lunge toward her at a startlingly high speed. Snow gasps sharply, heart pounding, and heads as quickly as she can for the exit with the monster at her heels.

Another bright and happy morning in the life of Snow White. ]

three - "carnations as white as snow, carnations as red as blood"

[ The flowers are a nice touch, she thinks, despite herself, and hums out a little laugh as she looks through them. There are several carnations of varying colors on her person and she wonders vaguely if their combined meanings are meant to imply anything. Not that she really knows what each signifies, being... a little bit less than a romantic. No, the woman often described as icy and frigid has no special love for... that kind of thing, but she can appreciate a gift. ]

Do you know where they came from? [ Snow questions lightly of another resident nearby. They, too, seem to have been given a handful of the flowers, and she assumes that most, if not all, of the others have been here for longer than she has and have had a longer time to get answers. ] Or, do things just appear like that regularly?

[ It wouldn't be so bad if they were only carnations, but she can guess without much of a stretch of the imagination that what this place and its gods want to give them is unpleasant much more often than it is kind. ]

As a matter of fact, the Inquisitor isn't particularly fond of flowers, either. In Hadriel, especially, they seem like a slap in the face. You don't bury people alive, feed them human flesh, and then offer them blighted flowers. ... Well, she isn't at all surprised that the gods of their little cave city had done exactly that, and it's part of the reason she looks on them with her lip drawn back in a displeased frown.

"It's a damn sight from the strangest thing that's ever happened to me, actually." Oh, the stories she could tell. Or, better yet, the stories Varric could tell, and would, if he ever ended up penning This Shit is Weird. Cecily offers a thin smile to the stranger, not taking the carnations from him.

For the amount of times that she's read Tale of the Champion, she should, perhaps, recognize Anders. To her credit, it's been a very long... life.

"No, thank you," the Inquisitor ends up saying, and then adds, with a slightly more amused touch to the smile: "But, you're welcome to all of mine. I'm not planning on setting them in the middle of my table, anyway."

Maybe someone else in the house would want them, but she doesn't want any reminders of Hope's charity around.

Was kinda hoping it would be a one-off type of deal. [the words tumble out of his mouth before he can get a hold on them. his shoulders roll upwards in the barest hint of a shrug.] I can deal with the misery; just not the company.

[not that he'd really go so far as to call this miserable, but it IS concerning that others are getting these too. if it's a message, it's a strange one. and if it's a threat, it's downright stupid. either be blunt or go home. passive aggressive tip-toeing was never something he could get behind.]

Not necessarily. That would depend on the occasion, and who they're from. [easy and light, but honest. the woman's scent is...strange. she smells like violence, like wet copper and steel, but there's something alien underneath it that he can't quite pinpoint. best just to keep things neutral until he can get a better read on her.] Did yours come with a note too?

Edited 2016-02-21 02:25 (UTC)

[Higher definitely seems like the better place to be.

[Rather than going inside and finding a way up like a sensible person would, Rey scrambles up the side of the building instead. Despite her weighty mass, she's deft and adept to climbing and vaulting, able to accurately find the right grips and footholds to spider her way up the side of a structure.

[Eventually she climbs up over the top, pulling herself over the ledge to find the unrecognizable woman standing there already. Granted, Rey is hardly the social butterfly. She may have made some house calls the previous month to try and avoid hungry people from consuming Fear's food supply, but that doesn't mean much. Or so she keeps telling herself.]

Looks like you had the right idea, coming up here. [She glances over her shoulder at the view, able to find their predators within the vicinity.]

Edited 2016-02-21 02:47 (UTC)

[ She accepts the offer with a modest smile. Bringing it close to look closely at the petals and even the stem of it.

It seems so light in her hands that she may crush it by accident. ]

It's beautiful, really. Thank you.

Really? [That actually works? Who knew!] Right, okay then. First question. What’s it made of?

[Before an answer can come, he adds.] Uh, don’t say metal. I mean the nitty-gritty specifics. Because prosthetics may not be my science of choice, but I’m usually in the loop. And I don’t remember seeing that in Medscape recently. Or ever.

[He looks down at his arm and then shrugs again.]

I don't know.

[They didn't give him any information about the arm. It's not his place to know. They handle the upkeep, as part of their maintenance of their weapon. Him.]

[sometimes, he's never where he's needed the most.

it's a common gripe Bigby's had to deal with from just about every person who steps into his office. some mornings are worse than others because it's not as if they make a beeline to his department when they get into the building, oh no; nine out of ten times, they have the long line into the business office to sweeten them up first, then have to be told they need to speak to him. and that's where the fun begins.

("They were outside my apartment last night and I could hear them—")

("—kept calling and you never picked up, what was I supposed to do—")

("Where are you when we ever fucking NEED you?")

same song, different dance, crazy ballroom. that's about where he's found himself now, currently.

he wasn't sure what to expect when he caught her scent. it's unmistakable, totally distinct, completely...her. the caves are decrepit and wretchedly moist, filled with smells that reek of sweat and blood and piss, a great deal of them inhuman, but none of them are strong enough to mask hers. he follows it through the caverns, trying to keep his expectations to a manageable level, trying to be realistic and grounded because oh god, what if it's a trick? he's been told that this place isn't above using dirty tricks just to hurt you. that's what this could be. that's what he's expecting when the trail leads him directly into a crumbling amphitheater where the smell of perfume begins to mingle with dust and rot and something...acidic? is that what that is? before he can even wonder, he spots the blob, lurching and oozing across the ground, surging straight for a smaller figure running across the arena.

two guesses as to who it is; the first two don't count.]

SNOW!

Edited 2016-02-21 03:15 (UTC)

[ Of course he's here, how could she for a second have thought otherwise? It makes her feel a twinge better, though not in the way you'd expect upon discovering you aren't alone in a strange place and are, in fact, close to the person most likely to save you. In fact, it's more that him being here means, to her, that they must be closer to home than she'd thought. The enormous relief stems from the knowledge that, though she might easily be spirited away by some nefarious purpose, Bigby Wolf is not so movable. ]

Bigby! [ She calls out, slowing, because the creature, or whatever it is, slows, too. Should she get its attention, go for cover? It isn't as if she can help in any fight, much, and the blob-like thing seems to be out for blood as far as she can tell. A quick flit through her database of memories reveals no Fable like this, no story about a jellied monster. Dark brows cover bright eyes and she looks from the momentarily-fazed beast to the Sheriff, silently asking: what do you want me to do?

Snow may be the office expert, but Bigby is much better in the field. ]

Steve Rogers. How long have you been here?

[He has a million questions, which is probably to be expected. But she tells him that she's not from this place either, so Steve doesn't expect her to have the answers for all of them. But even if she doesn't, maybe she'll know someone who does.]

Is this the kind of thing that happens often?

[He nods back in the direction of the blob. He's tempted to let his shield bring down something in front of it, effectively cutting it off. But he did just arrived. Maybe he should go easy on the collateral damage.]

[Disappointing, yet oddly unsurprising. He waves it off.] Metal it is! I’m guessing you wouldn’t have an owner’s manual laying around, either. That'd be too easy. [There’s some condescension bleeding into his tone. It’s not intentional, but talking to this guy is like talking to a doll. A doll with a little pinch of anger mixed into the blank slate cocktail.]

What about the functionality? Are we talking the Six Million Dollar Man, or…?

Edited 2016-02-21 03:38 (UTC)

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Page 4 of 24

Test Drive Meme #6

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rage

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Hugo lamb | the bone clocks.

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cibo | blame!

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Fear

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hope

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snow white ❄ the wolf among us

hope

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YOOOOO (one!)

hEY BUDDY

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