dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #32

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?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

There's a flash of dyed blue braids and harsh curses in a voice she recognises so very well, and in the moments after Poison darts clear of the clown she wheels 'round and grins despite the situation.

"Rook! It's about time." What took you so long, tough guy? She holds up a hand.

"Toss me a knife."

"What in the- I ain't fuckin' tossing you nothing you fuckwit, move your ass!"

Rook manages most of that in English, actually, as he faces off with a clown who isn't quite sure it wants to be choking on its own blood, as the other one is currently doing. Rook is backing away a step at a time, head tipped to keep Poison in the corner of his vision.

Enjoying the fight has taken a back seat to making sure Poison gets out alive, and while Rook knows she can - and will - fend for herself, the odds right now are not looking very pretty. So he angles himself between Poison and the two incoming clowns he can see, then tosses her a glance over his shoulder, the sneer and disdain on his face easily mistaken for the truth by an outsider.

"Worse'n a fuckin' Ke-Han attack, I only got two damn knives an' we ain't staying put for you to get eaten, Poison."

~~Over and over again he's been chastised to use names, and he is glad to see her, he is.~~

She'll fend for herself far better if he gives her something to do it with, and his unwillingness to do so earns him a filthy look in return for his own disdain. It would be easy to think they hated each other, with expressions like that.

"We don't have time to argue about this," she snaps, and if he won't give her a knife... well, the floor has some interesting rocks. "If I get killed because you wanted to keep all the pointy things to yourself, I'm blaming you."

Jerk.

She's still trying to work everything out. The last she remembers they were on a train, being carted from one hellhole to the next like cattle for the slaughter, and--

Where are--?

"The cats!"

Guess where she's going now. Hint, it isn't away from the danger.

"You fuckin' Molly bitch!"

Fortunately Rook spits that in Volstovic (because a rock to the head will not improve his day) as he darts in and stabs one clown in the back as it turns to grab her. The other one pounces, and for a writhing moment Rook grapples with it, steps on a squeaky shoe and rolls out of the fight. Booted feet scrabble on rock as he shoots to his feet, trailing curse words, and darts after Poison again.

He hasn't seen any cats, but he hasn't been looking. He's also dead certain the animals will have the common sense to run away from the fight. He snarls a particularly foul curse in Old Ramanthine as he catches up to Poison's slim shadow.

"Fuck is wrong with - shit." A clown tries to grab his ankle: Rook kicks it in the painted face viciously. It rolls away and Rook swoops down on the knife it drops. "Fuckin' here, you goose-brained tart!"

It's just as well she doesn't need to know the language to understand what he's trying to say. After all, it's nowhere near the first time he's called her something unpleasant.

But this is one way to get a knife. Poison is fast and agile and she darts under and around the grasping hands of the clowns, keeping herself clear of them while she hears Room following behind. Of course he'll follow. He always does.

Not without complaint, though.

"Finally," is all she says to getting a knife in her hand. It's heavy and the weight is all wrong, but it's better than nothing. She swipes her hair out of her face as she spies two small shapes huddling down half under a nearby rock - one distinctly feline, one not as distinctly.

"Ah! There!"

Rook rises up from having killed another clown, knives dripping and the wild light of a fight back in his ice blue eyes, something altogether feral and gleeful. Nothing like a fight with something that doesn't want to die when it's damn well dead, and he's breathing hard but it'll take more than that to wind him.

"Found the fuckin' emergency rations, smart girl. Now let's fuckin' hustle our asses somewhere else, it's too crowded in this joint."

Case in point, he tosses one of his knives up, catches it, and throws it hard, his whole body behind it.

The blade thunks into the clown nearest Poison with a meaty wet noise, and Rook jogs over to collect his knife from the twitching corpse, a bloodthirsty grin baring his teeth.

"You're enjoying this too much," she tells him pointedly, though she trusts him to watch her back while she gathers Anderson and Bat up in her arms and holds the two frightened felines close to her chest.

But where is the best way out? It isn't obvious, even from here, but with Rook's presence keeping her shielded she casts her eyes around and they fall, after a moment, on something that looks like an exit.

Poison shuffles the cats into one arm (that one of them has eight octopus legs instead of four sets of claws makes his far easier) and grabs Rook by the hand, giving a sharp tug on his arm.

"There, that way. Let's go."

Rook can't help it, he's never more alive than when he's in a fight, and he only chuckles at her comment, ice blue eyes bright. He scans the immediate threats, looks to where Poison pulls him. That does look like a doorway, in the ancient coliseum, a structure Rook doesn't really have an understanding for aside from a giant kind of theatre, maybe.

He nods to Poison, braids and earrings swinging. "Right. Let's go, baby girl." He tossed her a grin, and resettled his grip on his knives.

She never had reason to think he'd refuse, and she's still got a hold on him as she darts towards the exit. Her quick steps drag them around one lumbering clown without pause, then another, and she ducks through the archway with every muscle in her legs protesting how fast she's moving.

It doesn't take her long to realise that they aren't being followed out. She swallows and breathes hard, turning on her heel and taking a few steps back.

"Wh... Where are we?"

Rook doesn't protest the pace, merely does his best to keep from stepping on her heels: his legs are a good bit longer. He stops when she slows, nearly tripping over her: swearing, he sorts himself out and scans for danger.

"Bastion fuck if I know. Don't look like the old place or the new one."

Test Drive Meme #32

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