Test Drive Meme #34

[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 July 25th, and apps are open August 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: OOZES GEOMETRICALLY
[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.

The only warning you may get is the squish slick sound of movement before a gelatinous cube is upon you. Leaving gross trails behind them and with their see-through bodies filled with the bones of those that they've dissolved in their jelly, these cubes have no real vulnerability other than their limited movement.

Gelatinous cubes are exactly what it says on the tin, giant translucent cubes of jelly whose main attack tactic seems to be cornering people in small hallways and just sort of absorbing them into its mass. They then digest all meat and flesh and leave only floating bones and various metals their victim may have been wearing stashed inside of their jiggling forms.

Maybe it's time to apologize for the last time you brought a jelly mold to a potluck.]

A L L

SCENARIO TWO: MY LOYAL SERVANTS
[Thanks for your service to the gods! In order to power each of them up, it's up to you to pick a deity you like most (or dislike least, as it were) and simply say their name in order to be influenced by them and encouraged to inspire their emotion in others!

What, you don't want to play? Too bad, accidental name calling works just as well, even if you didn't mean to incite them- you'll feel their presence pulling their chosen emotion out in you anyway. Hope you picked a good one!

This is a mini version of our In Need Of A Boat event this month.]

C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO THREE: I MISS GPS
[Sure, you might be a little confused at being here at first, but that generally goes away within a few days. This time... well, this time, that feeling of befuddlement isn't quite going away. Roads that you take seem to disappear behind you when you turn around, your right turns are left turns on the map you're following, and you're pretty sure that everyone except for you put their shirt on backwards this morning.

Is everyone high? What they're saying makes absolutely no sense to you. You can't find your way out of a paper bag, let alone back to where you've been staying lately. Is that a dog or is it an eldritch horror coming up to lick at your calves?

During this prompt, everything will feel off and it can be very difficult to get your bearings at all. That's Confusion for you!]

Comments

i. wake up

[hardwearing]

[ Wash, like Carolina but also long before her, never misses arrivals day at the colosseum. He's not in the guard and he's not a medic, but both are understaffed so he does what he can to help the newcomers whenever the door opens and get a read on whatever monsters they'll be dealing with for the immediate future -- he lives on the same island, so after the move this is a more personal issue. Whatever comes through the Door each month is stuck in his backyard until he kills it, basically.

And, something he now admits to himself but no one else, he hopes each time he'll find a friend. The whole time that he was here with just Ephemera, he'd been solidly in denial, if not guilt, over those feelings. It's not like he'd wish this place on anyone he cared about but he'd been lonely, and then discovered that the Door could pull from different points in time, basically saving the dead.

He has an awful lot of dead friends.

Still, he'd told himself that even with death as an alternative, he shouldn't want to trap anyone here. So he claimed he just went to help, and to keep an eye out for anyone who might be a problem showing up. Ever since his team arrived he's been a little more honest with himself, and also more diligent. He'd missed Tex and Alpha showing up completely, somehow, that was unacceptable. What if someone like Felix came through, slipped away and shed his armor and started plotting against the rest of them? Wash may be paranoid, but it's not too much of a stretch.

When he reaches the colosseum today, Wash is unarmored -- it's their general rule these days, even with the firewall installed, and most things that come through don't merit that kind of protection. He was glad he had it for the earth elementals when they threw rocks at him, but also glad last month when he didn't wear it -- the rust monsters would have destroyed it and it's not like he can get a new suit. He's still got his rifle on his back, his magnum on his hip, pockets full of hard-earned ammo and all his knives. He's ready for most things.

Check that: if he made it inside, he would have been. But he doesn't. Because the first thing he sees isn't a monster, it's Maine. Or... something in Maine's armor, anyway. Bright white and splattered with blood, though Wash has no way of knowing for sure if it's from a monster inside or the person in the suit. Who he really hopes is Maine, because if it's the Meta, there are going to be problems.

More than that, though? Quietly, secretly, he's been hoping to see his friend again ever since he woke up in Hadriel. Where things like time and space and death don't matter.

The smart thing to do would be hanging back, trying to identify for sure who it is that's just arrived. But fuck that shit, if it is Maine, and he is hurt, Wash doesn't want to waste a second. He approaches anyway, if a little warily. Doesn't reach for his weapons, not yet, keeps his hands slightly to either side and hopes that whoever's in there recognizes his face as a friend. ]

Maine? That you..?

[bloodbathing]

[ Leaving the colosseum brings Maine into an environment just as unfamiliar as the arena. Which is weird, if he thinks about it. Aren't dreams supposed to be built from memories? Something about unconsciously processing shit?

The big man grunts in annoyance — and fuck, it sounds all wrong. Raw and strained and strangely wet. He swallows, like that will clear it up. Fix whatever's wrong. Make him sound normal, and rid him of the discomfort wrapped tight around his throat.

(He tries not to think about what's going on outside of this dream. Tries not to think about what they're doing to his neck. Tries not to think about surgery and the needles that always go with it.)

Motion catches his eye, then. Grip tightening on the Brute Shot, he turns to face it—

And instantly, he relaxes. Even from a distance, he knows the man approaching him. Knows that he's the very opposite of a threat. Not because of his ability in combat, but because of who he is.

Wash. Maine's best friend.

The big man huffs and raises his free hand to gesture to himself: a silent mix of "obviously" and "who else?" Then he starts forward, intending to meet Wash halfway.

It doesn't yet register that Wash is deliberately showing his empty hands. Nor is Maine close enough to see that Wash doesn't look like he should; that the rookie is much older than Maine remembers. Blame it on a preoccupied mind. ]

[hardwearing]

[ Some of the tension in Wash's shoulders eases at the man's confirmation that he is, in fact, Maine. But not much of it, because... is that the briefcase? Holy shit, was he only just shot in the throat? That's what the blood is from?!

Wash's manner changes a bit, speeding up his approach. Out of armor he can't drag Maine in his, that's for sure, but he's on his feet right now so they need to hustle. He can let himself have feelings later, right now he needs to focus.

Up close, even though the bloody visor, Maine will be able to tell that he's older. He looks tired, and has new scars visible on his face and his bare arms, and some premature grey in his hair. And his expression is... not just worried about the injury, there's something that runs much deeper and darker. A cross between guilt and grief, hiding behind the relief also in his eyes that Maine is here, Maine is alive, Maine is himself and--

--no. Feelings later.

He reaches up and grips Maine's shoulder tight, even if the other man can't feel it through his armor. ]

Come on, we've gotta get you to the clinic. Can you breathe okay?

[ Maybe, if it only just happened, one of the healers here could even save his voice... ]

[bloodbathing]

[ As Wash speeds up, Maine starts picking out details in his friend's appearance. Starts seeing differences between the man he knows and the one approaching. And the massive Freelancer slows, confusion knitting his brow as he peers down at a familiar-but-unfamiliar face.

Does Wash have an older brother? Maine's never asked. Never had a reason to. Maybe he should, if his brain's spitting out an image of what that brother might look like.

Shit. If this is how dreams usually are, he's glad he rarely remembers them. This is just weird.

But then the man reaches for him. A hand touches his shoulder, and the motion is natural. Fearless. And that? That's something only those closest to Maine ever manage to do. That, even more than the man's voice, convinces Maine that this is Wash.

An older Wash. A scarred Wash. A tired Wash. A Wash with an expression that Maine's never seen him wear; one that Maine can't fully parse, but he knows it doesn't belong on his best friend's face.

... What the fuck's going on?

It takes a moment for Maine to answer. And Wash may be able to read the startled stillness; the confusion taking hold as Maine cants his helmet, trying to make sense of the situation. Working to pick out the right words — something he doesn't realize he no longer has.

After a pause, he grunts an affirmative: he can breathe okay. And then he tries to speak.

It's one word. A simple one: "Old." A comment on Wash's appearance and a request for clarification. But it doesn't come out as a word. It catches in Maine's ruined throat. Gets lost on a bullet-pierced tongue that can no longer articulate. The word turns into something harsh and half-choked and more like a snarl than anything, utterly incomprehensible to anyone — save for Wash.

Maine twitches beneath his friend's hand. Tries to clear his throat. Ends up turning his head to the side (a habit, even with the helmet on) and coughing. Feels his body tense at how wrong even that feels.

Fucking hell... ]

[hardwearing]

[ Oh. Something sinks in Wash's chest at the question, and now he kind of wishes he had worn his armor today after all. Because of course he looks different, and this isn't how he would have wanted to ease Maine into things, into the reality of their situation... but it looks like the only option now is gonna be to fling him into it headfirst. Sub-optimal, that's for sure.

Where would he even start? Probably with Hadriel itself, the nature of this place pulling them from different points. That seems safest, easiest, and smartest. It's the rest that he hasn't thought about enough, because he never really allowed himself to believe that this could happen.

He can understand Maine, of course, but the other soldier probably doesn't know that yet if this just happened. And Wash is honestly a little more focused on the cough that comes after, the thick wetness of it, than figuring out how to explain the long stretch of time between them. Even if his breathing's okay, they need to fix him up as much as possible. Wash's brows knit together worriedly and he gives Maine's arm a little tug. ]

It's weird, I know. And I'll explain soon, promise, but let me get you checked out first.