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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[Rumlow had been in the 'industry' long enough to have learned a thing or two about making bombs, but he was trying to avoid the possibility of getting drawn directly into the conflict. As it was, he would be content with gasoline and a questionable lighter, though he supposed rubbing two sticks together could eventually work. It seemed impractical with how quickly that thing moved.

Quick and dirty was the way he thought this was going to go.

He wasn't expecting anyone else to get involved quite frankly. Humans as a general rule were all a bunch of herd-bound cowards that looked out for number one over all else save in a select few circumstances. So when some young woman stomped her way over, he turned his head to regard her with a half-lidded look.]

Could you stomp a little louder? I don't think it heard you or felt the vibrations of your flat feet slapping the pavement.

[Of course, if she was really offering to be effective, he would take the assistance. She looked like her dog had more grit than she did. He flexed his hand against his hip and shrugged.]

You actually have thermite or are you pulling my leg?

[Barnaby sniffed at Rumlow, ears back, but didn't growl. Miriam flashed him her second most charming smile. She was cute and she knew it, and cute almost never ranked on the same level as threat. But she could usually shift it into useful if she played it just right, and the scary soldier types were good to have in a pinch. Kinda like now.] Didn't wanna spook you, mister. You look like you got quick hands and I don't like gettin' shot at all.

[No she did not. Or getting smacked, which he might do if she played this wrong. But she was sitting and smiling, which was about as far from threatening as you could go, so Miriam figured she was safe for the moment. Probably.

She hoped his boots weren't steel-toed, anyway.] Yeah. Gots grenades.

[She cocks her head, still smiling.] I share, you keep me breathing. Square?

[Rumlow had plugged enough bullets into the heads of dogs in his lifetime to know how to read them - more or less - and he kept an eye on the beast of a dog that sniffed at him. The compliment earned a nod of his head and a small quirk of his lips at the corners, and he found himself piqued with curiosity at the sheer notion she had been shot at before. That explained the hulking dog to a degree.]

Must live in a rough neighbourhood if you're first thought is avoiding being shot.

[So he had a young woman with a giant dog, a knowledge of avoiding getting in potential conflict involving bullets and grenades somewhere on that person. Interesting. Her sunny attitude and attempts at cute were amusing, and so he tolerated her current attempts to butter him up.

He wasn't about to throw her and the meat of her dog into the blob thing anyway. He never liked wasting useful resources on pointless endeavours.]

I'm trying to see the downside myself. Where'd you get the grenades from?

Somethin' like that.

[Echo Six was an interesting place at the best of times. And to be fair, Miriam had seen some of its best and worse. The Sons had come down and now things were complicated. Thankfully this particular soldier man wasn't wearing their colors, else they'd have a real problem. Miriam rocked up onto her feet, shifting her knapsack around so she could get at the grenades. It would've been better to hide a few, in case the soldier man decided just to smack her around and take them without keeping his end of the deal, but there hadn't been time.] Got 'em from somebody who don't need anything no more.

[She pulled one of the grenades out, tapping the activation switch without actually turning it on.] We square, soldier man?

[Evasive? Well, that just added to the potentially interesting mystery. When they weren't immersed in a situation that would end in certain death, he might have bothered to prod for more details.

As it was, he kept an eye out on the slimy ooze that was apparently searching for something new to consume some distance away. At the same time, his gaze continually flicked to her pack to make certain she wasn't about to pull a gun or any other weapon on him. She produced grenades and not the military standard issue that he was used to toying with. It looked a bit more like some kind of SHIELD model in development.

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the dog and offered out his hand for a grenade.] Like a pear, strange girl.

[Miriam passed him the grenade without hesitation. The shiny thing was getting close, and she couldn't throw that far. So far the soldier man hadn't broken the deal, seemed pretty keen on surviving himself, and Miriam thought that was just fine. She ducked behind him, just in case. He was bigger. The monster would probably go for him first.] I like you. What's a pear?

[He ran his thumb over the grenade, his eyes focused on the shiny pink ooze that was clearly feeling around for something new and fleshy to attack. He fingered the pin, mentally calculating the range of a good throw and studying if there were any obvious areas that could benefit most from some shrapnel.

He didn't even glance when he had become the obvious body shield.] You don't know me well enough to like me or hate me. That will come soon though.

[His thumb caught and jerked the pin before he lobed the grenade with deadly accuracy into the deepest aspect of this thing. It came with a sweet blow-back of detonation. That thing had power, he would admit.]

A pear is a mild-tasting fruit. Grows on trees. You know what those are?

[Oooh, yep, there was the explosion. Miriam bounced up on her heels, hands clasped together. Funfunfun. Fire made her giddy sometimes, though Miriam had never figured out why. Probably because it wasn't her getting scorched.

Barnaby just flattened his ears, unbothered by the noise.] Nah, nah, I got instinct.

[And he's not wearing a uniform that she recognizes, therefore he's not one of the Sons and probably not a slaver.]

An' I don't hate nobody. 'cept the Sons. [Miriam rubs at nose.] I'm not stupid. I know what trees are, I just never seen one.

[It was like having a two-year-old getting excited about a new Grand Theft Auto video game at his back after the explosion. Of course, he understood that explosions were entertaining when dealing with certain death in oozing form. There were slimy pink flesh all over the place, but it was charred enough that he expected it to be mostly dead.

He wasn't about to nudge it with his boot to find out though. He watched the bits closest to him to see if it moved.]

You look a little young to be having a couple of baby boys. [He knew that she didn't mean it as a literal, but it was an easy misconception to use to gather more information about her.] Did you live in a bubble or something?

Huh? No, the SOP. Sons of Plunder.

[Thankfully they have rules about their uniforms, else she'd be more suspicious of the soldier man. He's got the sort of attitude she recognizes. It wouldn't be out of place with the Sons. Or just about any mercenary outfit, ever. Miriam goes up on her toes to stretch, arms reaching up towards the sky.]

Space station. Lots o' soldier types like you. No trees though. [She pauses, thinking.] Well, there's bonsai, in pots. Guess those count.

Sounds like a biker gang.

[The SOP of his world was 'standard operating procedures', which made this name all the more hilarious to him. Some people just didn't think things through when naming their organizations. Of course, some spent way too long on that in the case of SHIELD. Everyone was a critic he supposed.

He turned his head to regard her for a long moment, considering the information.]

No trees but you got yourself a rottweiler? Space sure is strange. Come on. [He turned and swaggered away from the area, intent on showing this little space rat what a tree actually looked like. There had to be a park around this town, right?]

[Her face went tight for a moment, before she smiled to smooth it out. Hopefully the soldier man hadn't noticed.]

They're really not.

[Miriam actually did know what a biker gang was, oddly enough. They don't have them on Echo Six, or at least not in the way they show up in the old movies, but she had a lot of free time. Lots of movies. The Sons weren't anything like that. Miriam had nightmares about their masks sometimes.

She skipped after the soldier man regardless, Barnaby following close. Lack of a better idea. And she'd been useful, so he had no reason to shoot her.] He was a present. And his name's Barnaby. Where're we going?

[He caught the expression from the periphery of his vision, but he filed the information away for contemplation later. Clearly, she'd rather not run into these 'sons' here, there or anywhere, which meant that they were either powerful or rebellious.

He kept a weathered eye out for sign that there were others of that creature about which needed fire to build a safe path. He stopped by a trash can to lift the lid and peer at the contents. Nothing worth while. He moved on to the next, finding a wine bottle near the top and taking it.]

Away from things with a high likelihood of liquifying our flesh. And collecting supplies but along the way, I'll show you a tree.

[Miriam peered into the trashcan curiously, standing on her toes. Looked like a normal trashcan to her. Aside from the wine, nothing worth snatching. She followed the soldier man without hesitation, though. Alcohol could be traded or used to clean wounds. Or to drink. She didn't like wine, though. The taste got under her skin.

She beamed at him suddenly, all sunny charm.] Really? You think they have trees here?

[She didn't ask his name or offer hers. Doesn't seem relevant just yet. Maybe later, if he hadn't ditched her. She could offer to clean his guns, Miriam thought. Scout ahead. Prove herself useful enough to keep around. Maybe. If he stayed nice.]

[In another trash can, he found an old ruined shirt and it felt like natural material rather than manufactured. He walked and tore a strip off of it, stuffing the remaining in his back pocket as they moved away from the danger zone.]

They better have trees here. How else am I going to start a campfire to sing scout songs around?

[He moved off in search of a liquid fuel source, something to add to the bottle and make it explosive when thrown. He wasn't about to waste her grenades unless he had to and being resourceful came with the job. He frankly didn't like having to rely on anyone for everything.]

What is it you exactly do, aside from carry around explosives and hand them to random strangers?

Creatively?

[Miriam liked fire. Sometimes she fell asleep watching it dance. All soft and pretty. Miriam, it might be said, had a thing about fire. It felt like safety and home, neither of which appeared to be here. She darted around the soldier man, peering into a pile of rubble and wondering if she'd see any dead people.

So far, nothing. Just trash.]

Don't dis the grenades, mister. [He hadn't, but Miriam preferred to dance around things rather than stating them outright. More fun that way.] Just call me a personal assistant. I run errands.

[And often did indeed hand out weapons to people, though rarely to strangers.]

Edited 2016-02-28 18:02 (UTC)

[He decided to find the edge of town, if there was such a thing here. He wasn't entirely certain where the door he had been shoved through was anymore, and he didn't intend to stay here in this place with a flesh-eating slim. He hadn't brought his Blob Axe of Slaying +5 with him; he must have left it on a different character sheet from the eighties.]

Going to blow me up, if I do, kiddo? [He was enjoying the lack of personal formality. There was no reason to give names to each other.

He paused on a street corner to look around, idly tapping the empty bottle against his thigh as he inspected their surroundings. It was awful quiet around here, but there had to be others.]

What kind of errands?

Maaaybe. [It came out sing-song and careless. Miriam went up on her toes to peer into a shattered window. More dust inside. A few bites of furniture, most of them smashed. Barnaby sniffed at the glass curiously, but didn't move to explore further. He was a good doggy. He stuck close.] You know. Errands. Pass some notes, give people stuff from other people.

[The soldier man looked like he'd know all about running errands. Miriam fished through some of the rubble and came up with a bracelet - simple, looked like copper, pretty banged up - and slipped it on her wrist. It was pretty and copper was worth something. Therefore it was hers now.]

I got lotsa friends, and they're really busy, see.

[Therefore they needed someone to pass messages and the occasional contraband between ships, because the station guard never did pay any attention to the kids dancing around underfoot.]

[Rumlow knew better than most about running errands; he had been doing them all of his life. Not only had he run all manner of elicit errands, but he had commanded others to do it as well, and he had slit more than a handful of throats for having too loose lips about their business. Loyalty and secrecy were valuable after all and it was only a deep seeded personal arrogance that required outside praise for a good job.

He crossed the street to a vehicle that sat overturned on its side. He examined the vehicle's undercarriage before setting his bottle down and pulling a stiletto from his belt and tapping it against the gas tank to test for how full it currently was. No point wasting in case they had to come back before it all evaporated after all.]

So you're a runner. We call them gophers back home. [She probably was involved in some kind of boring simple rebellion or something.] Must be pretty swift on your feet and known how to blend into the shadows.

[Miriam shrugged, not denying it. Personal assistant sounded better. More grownup. She skipped over to the - car? - thing, and peered over the soldier man's shoulder, trying to see what he was doing. Checking for fuel, probably. She was careful not to touch him, though. Just in case. Twitchy fingers and what not.] Mostly it's walking, not running.

[And she had Barnaby for the tricky moments, if someone felt like chasing her. Usually they didn't, but things were changing. The Sons were coming more and more often, talking about establishing themselves. Upsetting the natural order of things.

Miriam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.] Bet you ran errands one time, soldier man. Or maybe you moved up in the world. That's cool.

[He was older than a lot of the mercenary she ran into, therefore he was good. Probably worth knowing. Especially if he ever needed a personal assistant.]

I'm on the up and up too, see. I'm gonna be a pilot when I'm bigger.

[He tapped his knife point from bottom of the tank to the top in small intervals, listening for a change in the sound to indicate where the fuel stopped. He had done this more than a few times, and it helping being in relatively quiet streets. Aside from the girl's chattering and lurking around his elbows like she could learn a thing or two from him.

She probably could. It was amazing she stood still at all. Light on her feet, he could tell. And she had some smarts to her if she knew better than to run anywhere. Running attracted attention, made a memory but if one was calm and confident in their body language, they were generally left to themselves.]

Walking keeps you alive to see another day. [He saw no point in denying her assumption about him either. The less he said about his own affairs, the less she had to throw back at him at a later date if she proved useful.

He worked his knife point into the fuel tank until it began to leak, grabbing his bottle and catching the seepage at the bottom.]

What have you flown?

Yeah-yeah. [Stay cool and slow, and then you were just another face in the crowd. Soldier man got it. Miriam liked that bit, the feeling that she was just a little smarter than everyone else. It wasn't true, really - people had other things on their minds, was all - but it felt like that sometimes.

Oooh, he was making a flamer. Miriam rocked back on her heels. She liked those. Simple, cheap, a little messy. Fun.] Just a speeder, one time. But they got gunships comin' in all the time. I'm gonna fly one of those.

[Just as soon as she could pass for eighteen, she'd sign right up for the training. Get herself assigned to a crew that was going places, yesssir, she'd see the whole damn galaxy. She'd see the stars.]

You ever had to sell yourself? [It was a fact that women, regardless of age, faced the insurmountable odds of becoming predated upon by some loser with a libido and a dumb idea it was theirs for the giving. She was old enough to be able to sell willingly, young enough to have it taken by force. She might be fleet of foot, but she had to sleep sometime.] Or is that what the dog is for? Keeps you good and clean from the untowards assholes you probably deal with.

[He was curious if he'd offend her. He was curious just how much she could take when it came to prying and when too much was too much.

He didn't know what a speeder was, but he assumed it would be the equivalent of a Ford Focus. An old lady or family car, got people places but had limited guts when pushed.]

Legally fly a gunship or illegally fly one?

[Now that was just a bad question, wasn't it? Miriam felt herself tense, face going hard, and had to stop herself from backing up a step because you do not flinch, girl, you never flinch. Barnaby curled around her legs without a word and sat on her foot, ninety pounds of unmovable object between Miriam and the soldier man's rude questions.

Very rude, yes it was.

But. Just a question. Miriam smiled as wide as she could, until it hurt her face.] Nah. An' I'm too pretty for you anyway.

[There might've, maybe, maybe been one time. But that was a thing they did not discuss, no they did not, just like they did not think about the brand on the back of her neck that said - ever so clearly - that she was owned.

And just like that, Miriam plowed ahead with a grin, spinning her new bracelet in her hands just to do something. Movemovemove, can't ever stop.] Nobody checks those anymore. Who'd have the time? Nuh-uh. Maybe I'll fly for a tomb raider, they go everywhere and they don't fight wars - that'd be awesome, don'tcha think?

[Her body language and that of her rottweiler was all the answer that he needed on the subject. He figured she had to have a stiff spine if she didn't break into tears or immediately start to swear at him. It was a fact of life that he found disrespectful and well earning a bullet to the dick for.

He glanced back from where he was filling his bottle with gasoline or whatever equivalent was used in this place.] I would rather eat a bullet then put moves on some woman around the same age as my daughter. However, I know what I'd do to a guy I caught doing something naughty to her against her will. [He offered a razor smile that hinted at the kind of pain he would inflict.

Of course, Rumlow had no daughter. A little lie never hurt anyone on that matter, and there was no one here to confirm or deny his claim anyway.

He stepped away now that his bottle was three-quarters way full and stuff one end of the rag into it to stopper the fumes from leaving and to prime his make-shift molotov cocktail.] I think fighting for something that you believe in is far more worthwhile than running away from the fights happening around you. To each their own.

Test Drive Meme #6

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sorry for the delay

don't worry about it, life happens

cosplay happens :/

never apologize for cosplay :)

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