Test Drive Meme #32

[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 May 25th, and apps are open June 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: HONK HONK
[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.

Hope you're not afraid of clowns!

Evil Clowns have been a terror on the imagination of children everywhere, and show up enough times in literature for us to reasonably say that plenty of adults are afraid of them too. While they love to laugh, they often bring themselves joy by murdering others and slicing them up with the sharp knives and other torture devices that they have tucked away in their seventeen pockets.

It's not difficult to outrun them, as they have big, squeaky shoes, but it might be difficult to fight them- these bastards are hardy!]

F E A R

SCENARIO TWO: MISSING SOMETHING?
[You may arrive in Hadriel... well, incomplete. Though some may reassure you that it's temporary, there's still something terrifying in suddenly losing your sight or your hearing... or even you arm!

While this event does not affect memories, it does affect body parts, senses, and potentially powers and abilities. You may find yourself unable to do things you once did, or behave the way you normally do.

This is a mini version of our Senses Fail event this month.]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

SCENARIO THREE: MAY FLOWERS
[You're in a beautiful garden. The sun is shining, the grass is green, and there are hundreds of thousands of flowers all around you. The temperature is just perfect, and above all else, it's satisfying.

Maybe you should pick some flowers for a friend, or your mother- you did skip mother's day, after all. Luckily, there's a few cutting shears to go around and you're more than welcome to start hacking away at these thistley bushes! Hopefully you know a thing or two about flower arranging- maybe that person over there is more experienced?]

Comments

Poison | Poison (Chris Wooding novel) | The Box CRAU

[writtendestiny]

SCENARIO ONE: HONK HONK

[A tall, pale young woman with sharp features, a nose slightly too long in the bridge, long black hair and deep, sullen violet eyes comes to in the middle of the coliseum, wearing dirty clothes and already bruised and bloody. She pushes herself up carefully, not looking afraid as much as confused, and a little annoyed.

Running turns out to be a great option. In fact, it's such a great option that it's the one that the entirely unarmed young woman takes, once she's scrambled up to her feet and taken stock of what is going on around her. Each time one of the clowns gets close, she strafes off and dodges to one side. Did she bump into you? Don't mind the way she lashes out and takes a swipe right for your head before trying to keep on moving.]

SCENARIO TWO: MISSING SOMETHING?

[She's holding the pen, but it's not working. Poison has already come to terms with the fact that her abilities as Hierophant - the one who writes the destinies of all Realms - have no use here just as they didn't in the last place she ended up, but...]

I can't... [She mutters, fumbling the pen in her fingers like she's forgotten how to hold it. It drops from her hand and rolls across the table, dropping to the floor with a soft clatter.

Poison feels her face grow hot, her throat tightening with suppressed frustration.]

I hate this place!

SCENARIO THREE: MAY FLOWERS

[Those who know Poison will know her as a sullen young woman who is quick to anger. A young woman who speaks little of herself and the horrors endured in whatever place she was subjected to before this one. Opinionated (loudly so), sharp-tongued and quick-witted.

They could hardly expect her to be found sitting in the middle of a garden, contentedly making a daisy chain threaded here and there with bluebells. There's a small smile on her face as she works on it, and as you draw close, she offers it up without looking.]

Here, you can have this one. I've finished it.

tranquility

[spietato]

[ The offer gives Jacopo pause enough that he stops and takes it, spellbound. Michelle would've liked this. The colors would've shone against her hair, contrasted against her red eyes. Damn, what a fool he was--

And now he's here, and he can't search for her.

He grips the flowers tighter for a moment, then holds it out to Poison. ]

I don't have anyone to give it to, and I won't wear it myself.

2

[ajackandanace]

[Jack bends to pick up the pen then simply holds it out to her]

It seems someone has a mighty burr under their saddle.

1

[braidsandglory]

"What the bastion fuck?!"

The only basis Rook has for "clowns" is the street shows of Punch and Judy, but by now he is very familiar with the concept of 'monsters with teeth.' He spots a familiar darting figure and lunges in to trip up a clown as it tries to grab her, knives gleaming. A slash, a brief struggle and kuck and he's free again, darting back with a quickness belied by his bulk.

He's swearing, lasped back into Volstovic, the sharp gutteral syllables of his native tongue.

may flowers

[proselytic]

[As Yaha-kui zaShunina has no prior preconceptions of Poison, his interest in the sight of her doesn't have anything to do with her by herself. Mostly it's her hands, and more than that, it's what they're doing. The flowers all around are fragrant—he enjoys it, probably—but he wouldn't have thought to wind them together like that. It's creation for the sake of creation. It's...]

Edible or ornamental?

[...petal-soft, the way he asks that, atmospheric like the sun reaching the garden. He's taking the chain of flowers from her hand with his own—his hand floats away from his body, from about the elbow down. It's perfectly functioning, it just isn't attached to him. There's a quiet curiosity in all the red shades of his eyes; his hand withdraws back toward himself, bringing the flowers with it. Soon, he's holding it atop both his palms (and, yes, both arms are detached from him), looking down at it with what could be marvel if you peer at it in the right light.]

YESSS BOX CR HOW CAN I RESIST?!

[glacius]

[One might not expect to see a sullen, sharp-tongued young woman sitting peacefully in a garden, just as they might not expect to see a towering being of ice surrounded by colorful greenery. Glacius and Poison are both out of place here in their own way, but the common ground they've shared has always helped them, even if this version of the alien isn't privy to any of that.

It's the scar that marks him as different from what she knew—long and gnarled, consuming the right side of his face where a pointed mandible once connected. The way he acts, though—slow, gentle, and considerate despite his looming size and fierce visage—should make it decently clear that he's some version of that alien she met back in that torturous Box, as does his voice when he speaks up.] Oh, ah... thank you..? [Glacius tilts his head, not quite moving to take the daisy chain yet.] What do I, ah. Do with it..?

3 - Sorry this is so late

[notblayde]

[ Matt is so, so wary of the flowers. After everything, who could blame him?

But... This was an entirely new world. New experiences. New people.

So, perhaps it was worth braving the gardens for a familiar face among it all.

Keeping a damn good eye on his leg, Matt sits next to Poison. Flighty, ready to run if need be, but... Content enough. ]

My favorite color. [ Matt laughs, taking the offered chain. ] How'd you know?

honk honk | holy dusting off the old muse, batman

[cardtrick]

( You know. Clowns aren't all that scary. They sort of get a bad rep. A good clown is an excellent performer. They're not a Gramarye or even The Gavinners, but Trucy still appreciates a good clown act. And one even helped her daddy, back in the day!

She really wished she could have been there for that case...

Wait. Where were we? Oh, right.

Clowns? Generally not that scary. Generally. It's quickly determined by some investigating (read: walking up to one; Trucy, honey, what are you doing?) that these are not the clowns Trucy is referring to when she says they get a bad rep.

These clowns are the reason clowns get a bad rep.

Trucy's reaction, once the bright smile and a quickly demonstrated sleight of hand doesn't strike up a conversation between professionals of a similar nature, is to shrink back from the couple she approached and turn her head quickly left to right, trying to find a familiar, or friendly, face. Or an exit.

Where's a smoke machine when you need one...?

Thankfully (for certain values of thankfully) it's about then that a young woman comes barrelling by and nearly takes Trucy's hat off with a swipe. )

--Eeeek!

( Well that's just rude.

But it's also a good path to follow. )

Hey! Wait for me!

( If she's chased panty thieves into garages, you bet she can outrun a few creepy clowns, right? )

jake peralta | brooklyn 99

[toight]

Honk Honk

[ This is a nightmare. Jake has literally had nightmares about this. Okay not specifically the part where he wakes up in a strange place but the group of creepy as hell knife wielding clowns has definitely played a part. Okay, this is cool. He’s got this. It’s just a bunch of scary clowns. ]

Oh come on! I thought the whole creepy clown phase was done! [ Alright, so this is happening. Great. He draws his gun on one of the clowns ] NYPD! Drop the knife and put your hands in the air!

[ Surprisingly the clown complies. Only to pull an improbably large machete out of its pocket. ]

What? That’s so much worse!



Missing Something

[ This entire place is the WORST. Sure, New York is dirty, smelly and has a ton of crime but he also never woke up missing his arm. It’s just gone! And it’s his dominant hand which means everything is even worse. It’s left him fumbling for everything and he can’t even button up his shirts properly. Don’t even get him started on how hard pants are one handed.

On the other hand, it’s given him a lot of opportunities for some truly terrible jokes. ]

You know, I used to think I was alright. Now I'm all left. Get it? Because my right arm is gone. [ He grins, totally unrepentant. ] Sorry, I’m armless, I swear.

Missing Something

[ajackandanace]

A joke like that ought to be put out to pasture.

[Jack simply looks unimpressed, though perhaps amused given the young man's apparent ease with his current predicament. He can appreciate his ability to roll with the punches, at least.]

honk!!!

[braveoff]

[ Unfortunately for everyone, Jake included, this is not a nightmare. Hadriel could certainly be described that way most of the time, but there are some people, good people, who've made it more than that for Drake at least. He gives back as much as he can, and that includes showing up at the colosseum to help the new arrivals every month. If he's also hoping to run into certain other people... well. That'd be nice but he's not holding his breath.

This month's piggybacking monsters seem to be evil clowns, which are creepy as fuck but don't seem as dangerous as a lot of other things that have come in. They can't run after the newbies very effectively in their big floppy shoes, so most people are making their way out of the colosseum without much trouble. But there are always some folks who opt for fight rather than flight, so Drake moves against the tide and glances around. Just in time to spot this stranger pulling a sidearm and shouting orders at a monster like he's making an arrest. NYPD, huh? Go figure. Drake doesn't think he's ever actually crossed paths with another cop here.

Better keep him from getting his head chopped off. The clown waddles forward with a machete and the cop stands his ground. A terrible decision, really. ]

Hey! Officer, this way! Trust me, just leave it!

missing something!

[tmied]

( Just shoot her now.

... Oh, wait. No, you can't, because there are no fucking bullets in this hellscape city. Not unless you want to go dealing with Rage, and Rage is a crazy bitch. (And not even in the good way).

Worse still? Rosa hasn't made a peep since Jake woke up without an arm. And why? Because this dump took her voice. Which, considering her disdain for talking, might have sounded like a fine loss to make once upon a time. Until she realised that without a voice, she has no way of telling people to get lost and shut up.

Other than glaring. So that's what she does.

Glares. A lot. Because the joke is terrible and she's not in the mood when they can't even get a good cup of coffee here and there's no crime to solve, nothing to do whatsoever. )

Jeyne Westerling | A Song of Ice and Fire

[goodandtrue]

SCENARIO TWO: MISSING SOMETHING?

[The world was no completely gone. It existed behind a murky haze, shapes and figures indistinguishable in the mists. Darkness at least meant ignorance, but this brought an awareness of someone's proximity, a knowledge someone was close by but offering no way to see them. Sight could never guarantee a sense of whether someone was kind or wicked, but she could at least see the intent in their eyes.

Everything stood on edge as the figure stepped closer to her. They were a shadow, opaque against the thick mist before her eyes. Half-blind. That was what this had to be, but even in telling herself this, it didn't remove the fear or shock at what was happening.

If she wasn't weak before, she was now reduced to relying on mewling for sympathy, as though begging for help would do any good. She knew how the world worked now.]

Who's there? Don't come any closer.

SCENARIO THREE: MAY FLOWERS

[Gardens and beauty lost their appeal for Jeyne. These softer moments offered little in relief and gave no shelter from the mind. In looking at them, all she could wonder was how long until something else happened, some other fear took hold or another attack came. There was no such thing as tranquility. It was an illusion to pacify while the rest of the world prepared and ready for battle.

In her hands, the flowers seemed wilted and faded, nothing like the blooms she remembered from her childhood. They didn't even smell as strongly as they used to.

She set a bouquet aside, giving a small sigh of defeat.]

Would you like these? I thought they were something I could use to brighten my room, but I don't know if I want them now.

Missing Something?

[northerndragon]

[These last days -- the ones since he woke up without any memory of how to wield Longclaw -- have been hard for Jon, and his attempts to supplant his sword with a bow or a spear haven't gone any better.

Others might be of more use in the Coliseum, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't want to help where he can, only that his ability to do so might be impeded. Apart from that, he wants to keep an eye on who's coming in. Not many people of any personal interest to him, so far, but if Arya can be here, or Father, he wants to see them. And if someone like Cersei Lannister turns up, he wants his sister and the others to know as soon as he can tell them.

This girl catches his eye because she's dressed in a way that's completely familiar to him, like some kind of highborn lady... like the ones he shares a home with, even, but he doesn't recognize her face. Still, what's happening to her is very clear to him, because it's been happening all over the place in these last days.

She can't see, or she can't see well.

He doesn't come too close, but he does speak in the sort of voice he'd use to try to calm a frightened animal. Or at least to avoid upsetting them any further.]

Don't be frightened, my lady. My name is Jon Snow.

Can you see anything at all?

May Flowers

[kingforboth]

[Meanwhile Kelson was just incredibly thrilled the garden wasn't filled with all sorts of lovely ladies looking for an excuse to catch his notice. Here at least, it was relaxing, without wondering who was watching and oh no, were those ladies making their way to him? Thankfully he didn't have to worry, and let himself get caught up in the greenery, and lovely smells and sights. After the worry and fear of the past couple of months, it was a nice change and he took it while he could, before something else happened.

He closed his eyes briefly, black hair tied into a braid falling over his chest and opened it when he heard someone walk in his direction and speak. She's obviously noble born or at least of gentle birth. The look on her face though, as if someone had drained away bits of happiness and replaced it with something worse. He wished he hadn't seen that look before.

He forced a smile, adopting an easily practiced courtly gaze, hoping he hid that brief moment of panic as the young lady offered him flowers.]

I could never turn down such a beautiful offering from a lovely lady. Why wouldn't you want them? A lady as beautiful as you should have something equally to adorn her surroundings.

jason todd | dc comics + crau | will match format

[scathefires]

one fear.

Clowns. Of course it's clowns, that just how Jason's shitty luck rolls, isn't it. They're obviously not the Joker - not even close - but the pasty, grinning faces and deranged laughter are reminiscent enough of his murderer to send a shiver down the back of his neck and make his stomach churn unpleasantly.

Well, unfortunately for these (ass)clowns, Jason isn't one to back down from a fight. He may not have his helmet or body armor, but he does have knives, and he's plenty lethal with just his bare hands. The first clown to come within swiping distance gets Jason's booted feet planted firmly planted on those nice, big, squeaky shoes while Jason maneuvers his arm around the clown's neck, twists hard on its jaw, and plunges a knife directly into its throat.

"Who's laughing now," he mutters through clenched teeth, dropping the limp body unceremoniously to the ground. Nothing to see here, folks. Everything is just fine!!

two fears.

Jason was taught how to lipread as a kid, but it's been a while since he's needed to actually employ that particular skill. No time like the present apparently, since he suddenly can't hear a damn thing. #thanksfear

What's more frustrating than the actual absence of sound is the total lack of explanation for it; there's no cause immediately apparent, no deafening explosion in close proximity, nothing Jason can pinpoint as the reason for his sudden deafness. There's a measure of autonomy over his own body that's missing, and he doesn't even know who to punch for it.

Anyone who attempts conversation with Jason will catch him squinting in concentration as he struggles to make out the words spoken, and might be questioned with a rather loud "What?"

one;

[kryptomight]

( there's a moment where he first sees jason where jon is extremely excited to be faced with a familiar body. with someone he knows, already knows he can trust. knows who he is, where he stands. it's great to see him again, especially stuck here in this weird place with scary clowns everywhere. jon has never faced the joker, but he knows from hanging around damian so much how absolutely terrifying the joker is supposed to be.

and he's moving out to help jason before he thinks better of it, raises a hand to wave him down from jason's right, starts with a-- )

Hey-- ( and stops when the knife plunges deep into the clown's throat, hand raising up to clasp over his mouth. startled more than he cares to admit and eyes wide.

yes thanks for showing him a murder, jason todd. )

Yaha-kui zaShunina | Kado: The Right Answer | cw: body horror / decapitation

[proselytic]

■fear two■

[His cloak is billowing; the hood on it is down, draped about his shoulders. The cloak would be more imposing if it weren't white—here it looks regal in a fairy tale way, like something maybe holy, like something maybe grand, but its color and its moving shape have the potential to be humbling. The rich red tassels, the golden accents... how pretty. Underneath the cloak is at odds with it. His body is slender and belongs to neither masculinity nor femininity in particular. It's also outlined completely, if you can catch glimpses where his cloak parts. The body suit is black, and its accents are more stark: here and there are bars of bright red, with a glow easily gone unnoticed. His sandals and his rings are the same sort of claim: elegant, but only a little ostentatious.

He has no head.]

Your assistance, [he says—that must be him, because he's gesturing, one set of his fingertips set fern-soft against his own chest, the other held out gently toward the person he has found. His voice is a wafting sort of thing with a weight of inevitability to it: it's like watching a feather make its way toward the ground. His body in general seems to be in good order, even with his bone-white skin and ethereal bearing. But his neck ends abruptly. There's no blood, no bone, nothing like tissue—the cutoff shows a green-yellow surface, and if you look closely enough, you'd see this surface constantly shifting, just minute. It glows a little. It doesn't look like something that could be real.]

I cannot find it. [The voice isn't coming from the body. That feather wafts over from the left, and then the source comes into view. This must be his head. His face matches the rest of him. His hair is white in the way of his skin, and unkempt; his eyes resemble the red highlights on his clothes; his ears carry a gold sparkle where they're pierced. His expression would almost be impassive, but there's an angling of his eyebrows. If you expect emotional output from him, this angle must be hard to catch; but for Yaha-kui zaShunina, the crease pressing into his brow feels like a groove of grave perplexity.

He clarifies,] My head. [But that can't really make it clearer.] There is no reason for this to have happened. The head I had here is unable to be located by myself at this time. [This head, the one hovering and speaking like a sermon, floats closer to his body.] Have you seen it elsewhere? It appears the same as this one.


■tranquility■

[zaShunina is markedly less of a body horror this time, with his head looking to be securely attached. He's sitting amongst the flowers, and despite his countenance—the clothing both futuristic and reminiscent of ancient worships—he looks like he should be here. Maybe there's some resemblance between himself and the flowers. Maybe if flowers had a sound, zaShunina would sound like them, too, in movement and in energy.

He isn't picking the flowers, mind you. He's arranged within them like a delicate piece of idolatry. As if to emphasize this image of purity, there's a bird upon his knee. He's looking at it with a quiet wonder, soft and white as daisy petals, though his eyes and mouth are intent as well. The bird in question happens to be a jabberjay, and it looks like it and zaShunina have been talking to each other for a little while, now. The bird says,] An unnatural thing. [It's in zaShunina's flat, floaty voice. He nods.] An unnatural thing. [And then the bird tilts its head at zaShunina, blinking in that birdish way, and begins speaking in various voices it has heard around the city.

zaShunina copies each of them just as precisely—tone, pitch, quality of voice... they're going back and forth with each other, with the jabberjay fluttering every so often before producing another sound, and zaShunina ringing it back clearly. Any voice that could easily be heard around the city will eventually come out of the both of their mouths.

But when someone draws nearer, zaShunina and the bird both look up. zaShunina remains at rest; the bird rustles itself, hops a bit, but stays at zaShunina's knee. They say in perfect unison, with zaShunina's voice,]

Hello.

fear 2: electric boogaloo

[proselytise]

[ In a way, this is the best kind of person to talk to. No head means no face means nothing to be afraid of. It's probably an awful thing, Charles thinks, to look at someone with no head and to think what a relief. He watches the shifting surface of the top of the person's(?) neck.

He has seen all kinds of medical mysteries, most of them imagined by himself and thrown into that world of his making. Usually, he watches from a greater distance than this, as an Observer.

By now, he must be obviously staring. ]

Well--

[ he starts, and feels like he's about to make a joke about drawing up some posters, as if the missing head is a lost pet.

Missing: possibly human head. Reward offered, please contact whatever-this-guy's-name-is if found. No reward. ]

I can't say I've seen it, but it's got to be around here somewhere, right?

[ Right? How far away could it even be? It's not like someone can just get up one morning and forget about their head and go about their day without it.

Or maybe it is. No judgment here. ]

Son Goku | Gensoumaden Saiyuki

[stupid_monkey]

Scenario One:
[Like usual, Goku has no idea what was going on. He assumed that the things attacking him were demons. They fit both qualifications: Didn’t look like regular humans and were attacking him. The short teen was bouncing around the middle of the colosseum, hitting every nearby clown with his red staff.

He finally got it down to just one. He hit it hard in the temple with the golden knob of his staff. The clown fell down like a board, but then sprang back up. Goku looked confused and just hit him again. Again the clown fell back only to bounce back to his original position.

Goku swung harder and faster over and over the same thing happening over and over.]

Why [wack!] Won’t [wack!] You [wack!] Stay [wack!] Down!

Scenario Two:
[There is an odd teenager standing in the middle of the speak-easy nose in the air. He’s getting increasingly distressed with each large sniff that he takes. He knows there’s food here, but he can’t smell it! He can’t smell any of the people around him either. There could be demons coming and he wouldn’t know! Or worse…]

How am I supposed to know if the food is tasty if I can’t smell it?

Scenario Three:
[The monkey boy was having a wonderful time in the garden. It reminded him of the temple, even if these trees didn’t have peaches.

He’s running from place to place just enjoying being outside. Jumping up into a nearby tree and jumping down onto…]
Ah! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.

[meteormercenary]

[A yell. There's definitely a yell from Yurick as the surprise-monkey drops on him. Followed quickly by flailing.]

Get off of me! This instant! Right now!

[He continues screaming demands until Goku gets himself off of him. In which he'll stand up and dust off the dirt, giving Goku a scowl.]

Honestly, of all the childish things. And being a child is no excuse. You need to watch your step, you could seriously hurt someone.

[His yelling has stopped, but his tone is still stern and very unamused. He even folds his arms impatiently.]

Rook | Havemercy/Volstovic Cycle

[braidsandglory]

Option 1: Rook really only has the faintest concept for ’clowns’ but after a year or so in the Box he’s gotten a very good grasp on the idea of ’monsters with teeth that much on people’. So he doesn’t quibble about what these things are supposed to be: the moment one lunges for him, out come the knives. He is very pleased these things can be injured and do in fact die.

They’re fast, but Rook is fast too, despite a well-muscled frame, and within a few minutes he’s gotten himself a clear spot and looks around, long blonde hair swaying, handsome face speckled with blood.

An exit? A friendly face - not just regular friendly but someone he knows? No? Get out of his way, then.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, whoreson?”

Option 2: The last thing he really remembers is the whole ”bodies gone wrong” fuckery the Techs were up to, so it’s not much of a surprise to Rook when he wakes up with all his limbs back in working order, but his voice gone.

He sits up, tucks his blonde braids back behind his ears, and gets up. He’s a big man but moves with a canny grace, a man who’s fought his whole life. A handsome man, despite the broken nose and scars, the cold beauty of a broken statue, uncompromising and enduring. He looks around, ice-blue eyes sharp, then heads off to see if he can find anyone he knows.

Option 3: Flowers and tranquility.

A child of a war-torn nation, a man who found his purpose in being a soldier, a survivor of poverty and crime, Rook has very little experience with the idea of tranquility. Even after his more settled time in the Box, the idea is fairly foreign to him.

It sits uneasily with him: he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He who is never at peace, especially with himself. He’s not one to play with flowers, either: he looks around, touches one with a calloused fingertip, and withdraws again.

Maeve Millay | Westworld

[madambutterfly]

FEAR

[ Stepping beyond the threshold just before it could leave with her she thought-

...Maeve doesn't know what she thought. Only that she could not leave the park, so long as the girl they wrote for her remained in one of its distant sectors. A face she remembers so clearly because she was permitted to, and the The train is now departing Westworld echoed behind her, the doors slid shut, and she was no longer in the station.

The gleaming carapace of that place - so like a bright, white beetle on a blade of grass - was gone, replaced with an environment so far from her ken that she wondered if she had not accidentally taken the train elsewhere and simply lost time. She had tried to count, steadily, backwards from three, with the intention of waking herself. The way she had in the laboratory, once, twice, again and again, garnering nothing but these foreign surroundings, still wearing the fitted black dress and heels she had tugged on to blend in with the guests.

More devastating still is the sudden, inexplicable lack of upgrades she made to herself with the technicians' help. The perception, the pain sensitivity, nothing as sharp and clear as it was. Maeve swallows panic, forces adaptation and improvisation to fill the cracks. ]

What is this place?

[She asks, the portrait of vulnerability in lieu of picking up recognizable features. Akin to being rolled back into the Madam again, she leans on the stress as a crutch to better give the impression of weakness.]

Can you tell me where I am?

TRANQUILITY

[ It's like the homestead, but possesses a lush, verdant quality that the land around Sweetwater so lacked. No desert sagebrush, no piñon-juniper, no scrubby little plants struggling to push out of the dry, cracking earth. The soil is rich and dark, the leaves broad, the scent of a dozen different varieties floating past on a light breeze. Maeve sways briefly, feeling flickers of a different sun and the brush of a wind that isn't there, dust in her throat. A small hand in hers. The calm before the storm.

Her fingers grip the back of a bench tightly and she centers herself, jaw tensing as she pulls away from memories that never belonged to her in the first place. ]

Fuck.

[ She hisses under her breath, straightening quickly and shelving the recollections back in their library, the same moving pictures she saw on the wall in the lobby of their cage. Maeve has traded one for the other, if people here are to be believed. Another pretty prison in its stead, far and away from the place that built her.

Pushing off the bench Maeve gravitates toward survival and ingratiation, approaching another visitor to the garden and smiling, polite and friendly. ]

A charming oasis, isn't it.

tranquility (screaming internally)

[roseofthetyrells]

[Margaery has been taking in the sights and smells of the garden herself. she's no stranger to beautifully cultivated gardens, having grown up in Highgarden, but she must begrudingly admit that this one is among the best that she's seen.

she sees the stranger in the distance and makes her way over. as she does, she can't help but notice that the stranger seems to have tensed a moment, then forced herself to relax. not unusual around here, really, and she assumes she'll be able to charm the story out of the stranger eventually. so she approaches, wearing her best smile and most welcoming demeanor]

Yes, it's quite lovely. [she leans in conspiratorially] So of course there's got to be a catch.

vanessa ives ( penny dreadful )

[possidetur]

( scenarioa two )

( whilst it may be meant to be reassuring that this isn't going to be permanent it doesn't little to actually reassure vanessa. the light of the city was harsh and unfamiliar enough to give he concerns but finding herself unable to also speak? she remembers how, and the act of her trying to is there, but no matter what vanessa says or does no words are heard from her mouth.

the silence itself isn't too bad, not on its own. vanessa has never spoken just for the sake of speaking, though considering how little she knows about this place it has made it difficult to ask any questions.

she's getting people's attention with gestures, even a gentle touch on an arm, though vanessa finds that communicating her intent after that is difficult. impossible, perhaps. if only she had paper or something to put a message on )

( scenario three )

( vanessa knows more about plantlife than she'd ever give away, though tending to flowers and knowing herbal properties are two entirely different things. whilst she wouldn't consider herself capable of keeping a plant alive vanessa can appreciate the beauty in the garden, eyes closed for a few seconds to simply feel the life around her, the evocation of feelings that being in such beauty brings. when her eyes open again they settle on one particular plant, leading her over to admire it. the touch of the petals, the smell of the flower. it's captivating )

( wildcard )

( want something else? pm me and we can chat something out )

three

[fernbeleafer]

[ if she can see the tree nearby out of the corner of her eye, vanessa will witness a woman stepping out of it.

out of the tree, that is. like she had just been inside of the tree and now she's outside of the tree looking pretty unbothered?? she's tall, bright red hair topped with deer antlers and skin covered in tattoos rivaled only by freckles which chase each other across her skin. she's covered in minimal leathers, green and brown and smelling like the trees in the rain.

but if vanessa didn't get a glimpse of that display it's ok too, because keyleth is heading right for that flower. ]

Ooh, careful with that one. Looks like sunset rose, maybe.

rosa diaz; brooklyn 99

[tmied]

honk honk;
( Living in New York, you see the Weird Shit™. The most eccentric of buskers, of crime lords. Hell, you see Gina Linetti, and that's just another level of Batshit Insane.

But even New York doesn't drop people into Colosseums and surround them with evil clowns. It probably could, don't get her wrong, but it doesn't usually happen to Rosa Diaz. Mostly because anyone with two brain cells to rub together remains nice and scared of her. There's the customary, wide-eyed blink of a newbie as she takes in the sight of this alien landscape and the truly strange scenario she's been dumped into before Rosa whips out her gun from her holster and points it directly at a clown that starts squeaking its way towards her. )

Hands above your head!

( Monster Evil Clowns, as it turns out, are pretty much deaf to police orders, and the next squeaky step echoes through the Colosseum. It's also the cue Rosa needs to empty a couple of shots right into the clown's knee.

Squeak squeak, motherfucker. )

missing something;
( It may be hard to tell that something is wrong with Rosa at first. She's glaring. She's quiet. Those two things aren't particularly unusual in and of themselves. But if you attempt to talk to her, or even approach her, you might notice that the silence is deafening.

No, really. She can't even groan in annoyance at your continued existence in her space because she has no voice.

On the bright side, she does have a pen and a pad of paper, so - if you're brave enough to approach the glaring woman in nothing but black and leather despite the desert planet - she will hold up a finger and scribble onto the pad:

WHAT? )

wildcard;
( Or leave me something else! )

wildcard

[magician_king]

[Quentin is from Brooklyn, and knows not to approach randoms wearing black leather in inappropriate situations.

But, Quentin is also in the speakeasy near to Rosa when the event ends and his missing hand comes back, and so he lets out a startled, pleased whoop close enough to her that she might be inadvertently caught up in the celebration.]

Hey, Pictionary, can you talk?

Harry Potter | those books

[luckyblunder]

tranquility

It wasn't King's Cross, but Harry assumed he was dead. Maybe rather than being in that liminal (not that he knew what that word meant) stage between life and death, he had moved on. That was kind of sad, but he felt okay with it. He had done what he'd needed to do and his friends were safe. There was still work to be done with rounding up Voldemort's followers but there were also a lot of good people left to do it.

He had done his part, just like the rest who hadn't made it and weren't left to clean up the mess the Death Eaters caused. Harry had hoped he would see his mom and dad here but instead he noticed a stranger nearby. Harry wasn't exactly shy but he had always had an awkwardness to him that made making the first gesture of friendship difficult.

And while it was serene here, Harry still felt weary. He felt exhausted down to the soles of his shoes. Funnily enough, he was still wearing his ill-abused trainers and raggedy clothes. Why hadn't the after-life given him a nice set of clothes at least? Really he probably looked an outright disaster after just coming through that battle. This wasn't hell, as it was surely nice, but it wasn't heaven either. If it were heaven, his family would be there, and all the friends he'd lost.

Still, the sweet and tangy scent of wildflowers eased through his nose. The perfume filled his heart if not his mind, and he offered the stranger a trepidatious smile.

[possidetur]

"They're rather beautiful, don't you think?"

It's an awkwardness that Vanessa understands even if she doesn't show it. She's never been particularly great with conversation, not unless that person had become close to her, though she can at least offer a surface commentary. Break the ice, so to speak.

The garden had dimmed some of her concerns, and though Vanessa still had questions about where she was and how she'd gotten there they felt significantly less pressing stood here. Those questions would still be there after they'd admired the flowers.

Kanji Tatsumi / Persona 4

[getknit]

one.
[Last time Kanji checked, there wasn't a great big ruined colloseum and loads of dust in his classroom. Not exactly what you expect to see when you cross the threshold, even at Yasogami. Sure, some of the teachers are a little weird, but none of them are this weird...

Right?

Definitely not. There isn't even any cohesion between themes. Ancient junk AND creepy clown cosplay? What even is this...

There's one thing he knows for sure, without having to think about it; this doesn't feel like that place. If feeling weren't enough, the fact that he doesn't need his shades to see is a big fat clue even Kanji can't ignore.]

Th'hell is goin' on— [Squeaksqueaksqueak.] Huh? Ted, is that you?

[Nope, just your friendly neighborhood killer clown creeping up behind you, hefting a bat with a comically large nail knocked through the end.]

three.
Hey. Ya need a hand with that?

[He gestures with a set of clippers. Tucked in the crook of the boy's (man's? it's hard to tell with that hairline and those eyebrows, particularly when he's frowning. which he is) other arm is a huge bouquet. It's... very elaborate.]

[curiousdesign]

three.

[Hannibal liked this place, more than most, if he had to choose somewhere here to not mind. Most of the time it was quiet and he was undisturbed here, surrounded by the various fragrances nature here had to offer his sensitive nose.

The boy intruding doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the odd choice of arrangement. He politely keeps any comments to himself until the other addresses him, surprisingly.

Hannibal raises one eyebrow curiously and turns to glance at the blond out of the corner of his eye.]

No, thank you.

[He can't help himself.]

It looks as if you might use some, however?

Jane Doe | Blindspot

[endingpoint]

F E A R

[ She can't speak. Jane tries, she tries so damn hard to open her mouth and yell for Kurt, but there's nothing. She can't remember where she is, she doesn't know where her husband is, and now she can't actually call out for help. There's a faint thudding at the back of her head and she thinks she can somewhat remember fainting, but she has no idea what that has to do with no longer being able to talk.

Finding something to write with and paper, she tries looking for someone who seems like they won't mind helping her with a message pre-written on the paper: My name is Jane. I think I need to go to a hospital.

If she really is pregnant and passing out, she needs to know now, and she needs to understand what's happening. She needs her husband, too, but this seems like a 'one step at a time' situation. First her voice, then her suspected pregnancy and passing out. It's the order Kurt would go in, she thinks. Flagging someone down, she shows them her message, hoping the urgency is conveyed in her eyes. ]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

[ Jane's in love with this garden. It's the kind of beauty she's always hoped to be surrounded by. There's a warmth she can feel as soon as she breathes deeply and all she wants to do is sit here, maybe lay in the grass and stay as long as the sun is shining.

She has a sketchbook with her, and she gets to work on drawing a few roses rather than cut them and when someone offers her the shears she shakes her head, smiling just a little. ]

No, I'm okay. Cutting them kills them, eventually. I'd rather enjoy them the way they are.

[inthewar]

[So Damien woke up this morning not being able to hear a fucking thing. It was a little unsettling, to say the least. But it didn't take him long to realize it was another damn side effect of this whole place. The gods enjoying the chance to mess with them. But he's not going to let that slow him down today, not a fucking chance. He doesn't have much food left so he decides to head out and see what he can scrounge up. He's more cautious right now than ever because he doesn't have the ability to hear if anything is coming up behind him.

He won't let this place keep him down for long though.

The only thing that makes him stop what he's doing is the sight of a stranger looking way more terrified than even he feels. A quick glance at her note tells him he's definitely not the only one being affected by whatever is going on.]

Hey. I can't hear a fucking thing but I'll try to help. It's not just you, it's this whole place.