test drive meme # 38

[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 November 24th, and apps are open December 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: FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC MOTHERFUCKER
[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.

Of course, a War Unicorn may not seem too lethal, but anyone who's seen Cabin in the Woods knows that they pack a powerful, uh, stab (cw for gore). War Unicorns are mighty beasts, larger than most horses and made of raw muscle. They might seem cute and cuddly in concept, but they're trained to use their horns to blind their opponents before trampling over them with their ironclad hooves and their two thousand pound bulk.

Want to try to bring one down? It's harder than it looks, thanks to their natural magic resistance- many offensive abilities and spells simply don't work on them, and you might piss them off if you try, so be careful...]

C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO TWO: REMEMBER ME
[It may have just been a brush against the shoulder, a quick handshake, a simple hug- but at the first touch of skin on skin, suddenly you see the other person's memories. This can range anywhere from a recent moment to something traumatic from their past and can be done willingly, if you like.

Of course, once you realize what's going on, you might want to bundle up and avoid contact with everyone- though you might look a little strange, so don't be surprised if someone asks you what you're doing!

This is a mini version of our Memories Past event this month.]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y

SCENARIO THREE: PASS THE TURKEY
[It's that special time of year again, where you get to hang out with people you only kinda sorta know and catch up with every other month or so and pretend that you're all really close for the sake of food.

Because of course, there's a splendid feast waiting for you- juicy turkey and warm stuffing and your very favorite potato dish! The only downside is that you have to spend your evening with these losers, but we're sure you'll find something to talk about!

Well- maybe not religion, relationships, or politics. How 'bout that weather we're having?]

Comments

[uptightness]

[Years. Sleepless nights. A hole that she had refused to acknowledge for years but rather had filled with pain that had driven her like a hellhound after a soul that needed to be reaped. For the longest time there had been no thought of after, because she hadn't thought that there would be any after.

Who the hell would have thought that a ragtag bunch of idiots would change that. Of course Carolina can see now why Wash had defended them. They didn't have the best training or the best ethics, and half the time it was bullshit that they did, but somehow, beyond all expectations, they defied reality.

There's new scars, inside and out, most not seen to the naked eye, but she's not entirely unrecognizable. There is still that determination in those green eyes, and while there are lines there, smiles and laughs can come easier to her at times. Like now, the image that he paints, mouth filled with food, as if it might just poof. It could, she acknowledges with a slight upward twist of one side of her mouth, although it is unlikely.

As much as she has changed, grown older, a little wiser, he's just as her memory serves. She sees him still, in her memories, in her nightmares. Sees them all. The feelings that the temple had driven up when she had walked in to it are always there just below the surface. It's that feeling of failure, of amends and atonement, of bearing that cross until it finally does break her one of these days.

Ghosts of past she knows of, wonders how long he will remain. Caboose had come and gone. Texas. Alpha. Even York, for a very short time. Her gaze has turned away from his watching eyes, drifting out over the array of food, although that alertness that makes her a good soldier never does depart. It's almost offhand, although it's clear that it's not, but rather an attempt to put her thoughts in to some semblance of order.]

Not an every day thing. Likely lucky. Might have to make my morning work out longer.

[bloodbathing]

[ Her smile may be slight, but it's a smile all the same. It's good to see. Might be even better if he knew what she'd been through, and knew what a damn near miracle it is that she's still able to smile like that. But then, if he knew what she'd been through, smiling would be the very last thing on Maine's mind.

He doesn't know about her nightmares. Doesn't know about the cross she bears. Doesn't know what she gave up for him, or what his hands did to her.

What Maine does know, as he watches those brilliant eyes turn away, is that she looks different than he remembers. Undoubtedly Carolina — even if someone could imitate her physically, they could never match her presence — but changed. It's distracting. Enough so that, when she speaks, he doesn't think before answering.

Maine's quick shrug remains unchanged. A careless rise and fall of massive shoulders, as unimpeded by his armor as ever. But the words — "worth it" — don't come out as words. They come out as a choked, harsh growl — and he snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.

The collar of his bodysuit hides most of the scars on his throat, save for the one on the underside of his jaw. But right now, it feels like they're burning red-hot on his skin.

Dark eyes dart away, following her gaze to the food. He shrugs again. Hopes that'll be enough. ]

[uptightness]

[There are so many images that remain vivid in her mind, events that she can recall with the smallest of thoughts. Missions, training, jests and jokes. Failures... Carolina stills, a slight frown marring her mouth at that noise. She doesn't need to look to see, to know, having lived that aftermath, having given up her AI for him. He had never been much of a talker before, being more of a doer, and after...

Sigma had been but one piece in many in that path to perdition.

She's always hated her own weaknesses, whether losing to Texas or not being fast enough, smart enough, wise enough. It is hard, accepting those hands that are offered when she falls, and while once she would have slapped them away and growled, Carolina now knows that it doesn't make her any less. Yet she had never been the power house that he had been, hadn't been shot in the throat- and even that has her pausing, thinking back on Washington, on a fate that she's only spoken about but that he hasn't lived.

There is no pity there though when her eyes slide back, but rather respect and understanding. Acknowledgment that without him, she may well have been the one six feet under. She can guess, roughly estimate, what he had been trying to say, to convey, given his cheeks have been puffed with food.]

Although if you've got pockets...

[A little tip of her head. One roll. Five. She'll dub it being resourceful. But her focus does shift slightly, idly giving him a once over, checking, confirming, assuring. After all, he may well be in a tight spot and attempt to not show a sign of it. Her eyes may linger a moment on his neck, on the knowledge that she knows is there.]

It's good to see you again.

[Perhaps the lightest hint of an emphasis on the you.]

[bloodbathing]

[ The lack of pity in her expression is appreciated. He doesn't need pity. Doesn't want it. Would be more likely to bare his teeth and snarl than swallow the sympathies of someone who felt sorry for him.

Maine hasn't learned the lessons Carolina has. He still smacks away helping hands — even though he can no longer growl, "Get off me." Still bristles at the very idea of feeling weak.

(And oh, had he felt weak. Thrown flat on his back, reeling from the point-blank shot beneath his chin. Stepped on, boot over the bullet wound in his chest. Unable to do anything as the muzzle flashed again and again and again...)

But, when he feels Carolina's eyes on him, there's nothing off about her gaze. Just understanding. And she picks up on what he was trying to say, smoothing past it with a joke that doesn't feel forced. That, too, he appreciates.

A little gesture to his middle shows off the sad lack of pockets. Plenty of magnetic locks, if they happen to want to snag a few knives. But nothing fit for smuggling away food.

When she looks him over, visually assessing his status, he doesn't mind. That's fine. Normal. Part of being mission-ready. When she lingers at his neck, his stillness is more deliberate.

Maine's never been shy, and he's long since grown accustomed to people staring at him. So it's strange, having to fight the urge to shift in something like discomfort.

Her words receive a hum of agreement. That, at least, sounds mostly as it should. Definitely a "you, too," even if it's rough around the edges. He tilts his head slightly at her emphasis. Requesting clarification, if she'll give it — but willing to let it go. ]

[uptightness]

[It's that change, that she would even consider it, that she has stuffed some things in her pockets, but Carolina has done plenty of things that she would never have thought that she would have done. Join a band even though she sounded like a cat being tortured? She can check that off. Adpot and be adopted by a ragtag group that she still doesn't know how they have survived so long. They're the sort that Carolina wouldn't have given two seconds to before, but now? Now they are family.]

Well. See anything you like, let me know. I've got some room left.

[Weak is the last word that anyone would use to describe Maine, ever. While Carolina has been injured and gotten back up to fight, it's nothing like what Maine had been through. How could a stab to the leg or days on end without food or drink even compare? Heck, she'd all but passed out on the couch until events had started up and Carolina knew that she was needed. Arriving here, it had taken her days to feel like herself again.

There is a part of her that still finds herself wanting to reach out, to verify that he is actually here, that he isn't some memory, that she isn't dreaming. York feels like that now, a distant memory that remains a dull ache in her chest. Yet she doesn't, rather lets her gaze remain, as if looking at some picture of the past. As strange as it is though, as much that has happened, most of it that he doesn't even know about, there is something that naturally falls back in to place, that just seems to make sense, a sereneness that Carolina can't really explain.

A tip of her head, as no doubt he doesn't get it, as he hasn't lived it. Her gaze moves away, taking a thoughtful bite of her bread. It's clear that she's not going to talk about that day on the planet, about being tossed from a cliff. That wasn't him. The others might need a bit of a warning, given their history with who, or perhaps what, he would become.]

It's been a while, since I last saw you. Time- it works differently here. People, they can come from all over. Hours, days, months, years...

[bloodbathing]

[ The massive man bears Carolina's scrutiny without complaint. Distracts himself from his odd discomfort by taking a moment to study her in turn, trying to spot all the differences in her face. As though mentally cataloging them will explain why she looks so much older than she should. By the time Carolina looks away, declining to clarify her earlier emphasis, Maine is no closer to finding an answer. So he waits, silent and still, as she chews her bread. Contents himself with the knowledge that, if it's relevant to the situation at hand, she'll give him the intel he needs.

And so she does.

Surprise causes Maine's eyebrows to rise. And that's where they stay as he turns that information over in his mind, trying to process it. It's ... well, it's a lot, but it doesn't occur to him to doubt Carolina's claim. Maybe he would if it were someone other than his leader making it. Then again, Maine doesn't know how slipspace works, either, but he's traveled through it more times than he cares to count.

After a moment of consideration, his eyes dart across Carolina's face again. Taking in all those differences that should only have formed over years. Then he inclines his head in a slight nod.

Time works differently. That's why Carolina looks old. He can work with that.

And maybe time working differently is why she's looking at him so closely. Like she hasn't seen him in... Fuck, how long has it been? How long is "a while" for her? Why hasn't she seen him?

Questions he doesn't have the words to ask.

Maine finds that his lips have unconsciously parted, ready to request more information with a grunted word or two. He presses them together without making an attempt. Waits instead, his head tilted again and his eyes locked on hers. Insistent, this time. Wanting to know more. ]

[uptightness]

[A few more scars silvered on her skin, some more faded than others. Lines around her face, speaking of the subtle passage of time. She's not unrecognizable, still keeps herself in shape, doesn't look too vastly changed, but changes are there regardless. Around a decade, she thinks, although time here is strange. Ten months already here, living, surviving, growing in some respects, although Carolina knows that it can all vanish in one moment, and this place and all that she knows about it will poof away.

The words from Wash when she had first arrived had helped. It isn't like Wash is one to pull her leg, at least not usually. He, like herself, might have loosened up a little (sometimes), but there is a trust between them that comes from shared experiences, that comes from being two left standing once the dust had settled. So when Wash had taken her back to the spire he had been living in, Carolina had listened, as fantastical and out of place as it seemed. Time would prove to Maine the same, that what he would learn would be collaborated, if he stayed long enough.

No doubt he has many (unspoken) questions about this place, but no doubt about her own words as well. It opens a whole can of worms, although she's not ready to speak about what happens- it hasn't happened to him yet, and what Carolina wouldn't give to keep it from happening. One of many things in her long list.]

Freelancer doesn't exist anymore. It's been disbanded.

[Piece may still exist, tech, gear, weapons, armor, but they're slowly but surely being removed. Some, too little too late, and others have paid the price for it, but she'll make certain that she'll track down any lead, any hint or whisper, of anything related to what they were involved with.]

[bloodbathing]

[ The scars Carolina bears, both from injury and time, are notably missing in Maine's face. He looks older than his years, of course. Always has — first due to his size and later due to the life he's led. But there's no evidence of injuries sustained when his visor cracked on impact after falling from the highway. No dark marks under his eyes or hints of fatigue from sleepless nights with Sigma smoldering in his thoughts. No signs of pain from headaches; no distance in his gaze as he slowly stopped caring about those around him. Were it not for the wounds at his throat, Maine may well look the same as he did the day he was recruited to Project Freelancer.

But Project Freelancer, Carolina tells him, is gone. Disbanded. And again, Maine looks startled. It explains why she hasn't seen him in a while, but the questions it raises are enormous.

The Project is important. It could be the key to winning the war. Why wouldn't it exist? What the fuck could shut it down?

Unless...

Maine turns from Carolina, quickly scanning the table. Predictably, there's no convenient pen and pad of paper nearby. But he needs to ask, and so he improvises. Reaches out to dip a finger in the gravy, then writes a word on the tablecloth: ]

War?

[ Is it over? Did they win? ]

[uptightness]

[It is a breath of fresh air, that realization, even though she knows what path lays ahead for him, for all of them. There are nights when she does wonder what might have been, had Sigma been hers, if the AI would have been able to twist her so, and in truth, she can't firmly say that no, she wouldn't have let him get in to her head. She's been a powerhouse in her own way, but also her own worst enemy.

There is no easy answer to any of it, to explaining why it fell, at least not without hashing every single detail. There is no one defining moment that can be looked back upon, unless one wants to go way back, to the death of her mother that broke her father. Otherwise, it had been little chinks here and there, cracks and fissures etching across the surface, small and tiny, unnoticed, until the foundation had come tumbling apart.

Carolina finds her eyes shifting to the note, hesitating. It won't be what he thinks, if she can hazard a guess as to where he is going with it, but without giving so much away, without telling of his own descent in to darkness. Her tongue darts across her lips, mouth feeling dry, and it's akin to navigating across a splintering pane of glass.]

The Great War ended about five years ago.

[Not that Carolina had had any role in that. She'd been... Well, it depended who you asked. Most thought dead, and it was what she had wanted them to think as she had striven to make sense of everything that had happened up to the ship crashing and having her AI torn from her body.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Unaware of the conflict in Carolina's mind, Maine watches her carefully. Waits with bated breath for her answer. He sees her hesitation — eyes darting away; taking a moment to wet her lips — and wonders at its source. Maybe the war is still ongoing. Maybe it's taken a turn and become even worse.

Then Carolina answers, and it's like something cold and hot hits him at the same time. He hears himself inhale sharply. Stares at her in naked astonishment as the words penetrate.

The war is over. The war has been over.

Holy fucking shit.

Whatever questions Maine had — about Carolina's hesitation; about the Project; about how long it's been since she's seen him — vanish in an instant. It doesn't matter. It's irrelevant. The war is over. What else could matter?

Slowly, a smile breaks over his face. It's not a simple quirk of his lips or flash of amusement. He straight-up beams at her, broad and open. The war is over, and they won. Had to have. It was a war against their own extermination; if humanity survived, they won.

Several impulses shoot through the giant man at once: to shout out; to throw something; to pull Carolina into a hug. The last is insane enough to focus him, and he settles for scooping up the nearest beverage (was it his? it is now) to raise it in a quick toast. ]

[uptightness]

[That conflict is over. It doesn't mean that more haven't risen in it's like. Like the hydra, it seems that with each conflict that is stopped, two more arise in its place. It's not like everything has just settled and stopped, that the world has turned to sunshine and lollipops. Heck, Carolina wouldn't actually know what to do with herself if that was the case. Even in retirement, with training, she hadn't quite gotten to the Grif level of being able to do nothing all day.

But they did win, at the cost that they won at. Now, at least at the moment, it's back to human against human, conflicts across the galaxy, to innocents paying the prices as they always seem to. Yet, she can't blame him for his reaction, as even if she is a soldier, Carolina has had enough with war. She'll fight for what she believes in, but she is still a fighter, even if the word honourable may well be placed before her.

Freelancer hadn't ended due to any choice of its own. More likely than not, if given the opportunity, they would have continued it. They hadn't been given that chance though, and Carolina would ensure that that empire would remain in rubble. It just meant having to deal with the aftermath, which may well take her to her dying breath. That's her penance, and she's fine with that, less fine with others passing due to their fuck ups.

It is only a small tip of her head that she gives after a moment to his raised glass.]

To endings.

[Nothing sweet about it, but rather just bitter. They'd torn each other apart like rabid dogs, not even understanding as they ripped at each other, what was happening. Of course, it had ended, and that in and of itself is something to breath a little easier over. That, at least, had been taken care of for the time being. What the future held, not even Carolina could say.]