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

[madambutterfly]

Jesus- fuck.

[Not her most eloquent rejoinder, but Maeve thinks it can be forgiven, seeing as the ground under that thing suddenly erupts into a murder of crows. Shock has her transfixed by the sight for a fraction of a second before she steps back, quickly, noting more of their attackers in the distance.

Natives, he says, and Maeve shudders, an old chill running through a new body. Painted fingers twisting in her hair, exposing her throat as a blade began to carve a line into her forehead.

Screaming.]

You wouldn't happen to have another gun on you, would you, cowboy?

[She snaps, deeply regretting the impracticality of her attire.]

[dewitticisms]

[ Huh, guess she's not too well acquainted with vigors if that managed to shake her. He keeps an eye on the encroaching forces and then throws down a couple more traps just to keep them busy.

The request gives him pause, what with the sheer amount of folks who have tried to kill him the past couple of days before he gives her a quick look over. Fancy dress, shoes that look ridiculous for a fight. Probably not one of Daisy's soldiers. They liked red a little too much.

Reluctantly he pulls out his pistol and hands it to her. ]

I don't got too many bullets left so don't fire unless you have to.

[ He spy the exit not too far off so he throws a fireball at a clown who managed to avoid his traps and nudges her towards the exit. ]

Go!

[madambutterfly]

[ At least in the clothing she put on every morning to prepare for work at the Mariposa, Maeve could move with significantly more ease. She has to wonder whether the purported gods simply didn't need to move at all: if their lives were sedentary, as restrictive as their garments.

Maeve stares down the stranger just as hard, and when he hands over his firearm she makes short work of snapping the chambers open for a look at the stock. Six bullets. Wonderful. ]

I've got it.

[ Comes the sharp reply, and she catches his fist glowing in her periphery, followed by a small explosion of flames. Either he is a new model of host, or something else entirely. Maeve doesn't wait for confirmation, moving quickly with a balance in high heels that should be unattainable to most.

She almost doesn't linger in the doorway, in high drive to survive and giving him a look past the jamb after examining their available resources. ]

We can block the door here. Hurry up.

[dewitticisms]

[ At least she can run in that crazy get-up. He's hot on her heels as they run, hanging back to watch their backs in case one of those freaks decides to show off some unexpected speed. If it ain't madmen in presidential masks it's clowns.

Why can't things be simple? Just once?

Her sharp orders he greets with a raised eyebrow because of course he ends up with the queen of sheba barking orders at him. ]

Right away, your highness.

[ About ten feet off from the door he throws down two more flame traps before working on blocking the way out. Those bastards can rot in there for all he cares. Once the way seems reasonably blocked he steps back from it, scrubbing a dirty hand across his face and looks at their surroundings. ]

Where the hell did she send me this time...?

[madambutterfly]

[Her Highness raises an eyebrow in return as they slide a substantial piece of lumber across the door, and the way is blocked. For half a second Maeve startles again, suddenly reminded of a heavy, booted foot kicking the hinges off. Striding in on fading sunlight and dust as half a prayer caught in her throat.

Then she is here again, with the man who can apparently throw fire from his fingertips, as safe as houses for the circumstance.

Deftly, Maeve cocks the hand cannon and takes aim at his ruggedly handsome face.]

Why don't you start by telling me who the Hell you are.

[dewitticisms]

[ You have got to be kidding. With his own damn gun? Maeve gets greeted with the most exhausted expression ever to appear on someone's face. Once, just once he'd like to not be hit or threatened by someone he was helping out. Hands go up in the universal sign for don't shoot me in the face. He's seen what that hand cannon can do, he'd rather not be on the receiving end of it. ]

The name's Booker. I'm just trying to find a girl who got kidnapped.

[ Can he call up Ironsides fast enough to block a point blank shot? He really doesn't want to find out. ]

If you can keep control of that trigger finger I can even show you a picture of her.

[madambutterfly]

[He looks terribly put-upon - not a very becoming expression on someone with such a square jaw - and defends his argument with such vehemence she can tell that he is asserting the truth. Or something he believes so strongly it might as well be.

A girl who got kidnapped resonates too strongly and she takes a deep breath, releasing the hammer of the gun and lowering it.

It remains at her side.]

Maeve. [Still mildly suspicious, she nods to him.] The picture, please. And perhaps you can explain your ability to cast fire from your hand, while you're at it.

[dewitticisms]

[ He relaxes only a fraction as she lowers the gun, slowly reaching for his pocket to pull out the picture that he was given when he took this god forsaken job. It looks pretty rough now, creased from being folded repeatedly and singed around the edges. But the sepia image of Elizabeth in her tower is still clear as he holds it out for Maeve to see. ]

Her name is Elizabeth. Her hair's shorter now but otherwise she ain't much changed. As for the rest... it's hard to explain.

[ How do you explain that swigging a drink in a flying city gave you the ability to throw lightning without sounding like a madman? ]

The place I was had these drinks called vigors that give you powers that hardly seem real. They're not unlimited but they can turn the odds in a fight.

[madambutterfly]

[He has evidence to back his argument up, at any rate. She steps closer, aware of the proximity and glancing over the photograph in his hand. Maeve suddenly wishes - can they wish? is it the sensation of want, instead? - she had an image of her daughter. Intermittent flickers are not enough.

Nodding at the photograph she puts some space between them again, processing his search and the means by which he was executing it. A handful of fire is something that could certainly come in handy, but she didn't think even the scientists at Westworld's laboratories could construct something so...modifying.]

Someone told you a bottle full of mysterious liquid would make you expel fire from your hands and you thought- what, exactly? "Nothing to lose?"

[The critical edge is only dulled by the wry smile on her face.]