dankmemes | test drive meme # 38

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!test drive

test drive meme # 38

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?]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ ooc: kate's story deals with depression and sttempted suicide, but i will avoid that by default ]

• fear

[ The medicine, the stress, and her artwork mix up and make her dreams more vivid than ever. That's what Kate believes is happening when she sees a massive unicorn stamping a hoof angrily. At least it's not looking at her, right? ]

Wake up... wake up.

[ That usually works. But it's not working now. ]

Wake up, wake up...

[ No. Oh no. Oooooh no. Kate gets up, nervous, hugging her elbows close to herself like it'll make her disappear. ]

Wakeupwakeupwakeup...

• tranquility

[ Well... she may be on another planet, but that doesn't mean God isn't real. Kate is alive and has hope of getting home, so she will take this opportunity to be thankful.

She's very relaxed as she samplws the buffet, smiling and greeting anyone she crosses paths with. She'll make small talk-- how are you doing today, what's your favorite holiday food, what's your favorite holiday -- things like that.

When she sits to eat, she bows her head, puts her hands together, and prays. ]

— friendship is magic;

( He finds himself in a place he doesn't recognise, blinking away the disorientation and reaching for his swords. Still there, but this isn't the sign of a summoning. There's no human staring at the spot where he appears, eyes wide and hopeful.

And, most importantly of all, he doesn't normally wake up flat on his ass when he gets summoned.

Ergo, there's one conclusion to be drawn from this, and that's— )

Bloody Mary... ( The cold chill of a malevolent Soul, surely. It wouldn't be the first time Bloody Mary attempted some hare-brained scheme to get his hands on Steak. But then, Steak would expect him to be standing there, all too ready to begin chatting.

And he isn't.

Steak pauses, and blinks, and looks around again. Not a summoning. And Bloody Mary is nowhere to be found. And none of this scene looks at all familiar. Except that animal exhaling loudly in his general direction.

A horse? Perhaps he could just use it to make his way out of this arena and back to where he's meant to be.

Or perhaps it could attempt to gore him, instead. Steak jumps back, a light barrier forming around him as he reaches for his swords, drawing both of them and glowering at the horned beast.

Very well, he'll deal with this obstacle, but when he spies the indistinct shape of a person out of the corner of his eye, he quickly shouts — )

Stay behind me!

( He'll deal with this threat. That is, after all, his duty. )

— remember me;

( Steak is not a Soul who sits idle, or who allows himself to give into despair. Food Souls live long existences, and he has roamed Tierra for countless years, both with and without Attendants. As long as there are things to fight and people to fight for, he will find something to do.

And Hadriel offers that in spades. He quickly becomes a regular face at the guard HQ and their training grounds, spending hours working on his considerable combat skills, or patrolling the islands in search of any monsters which threaten the peace here. The evenings are often spent at the Speakeasy, where a quiet glass of alcohol and some company doesn't go amiss.

Though, should you brush into him during any of this, you might just find yourself transported to a strange world with many interesting Food Souls. )

( OOC: gonna offer a few options for memories here!
1. First meeting his old Master Attendant
2. First meeting Red Wine
3. When his Master Attendant first confesses his love to his fiancée.
4. Confronting Bloody Mary. )

ONE

[Look, he is in awe of this majestic muscular beast, okay? Broken-toothed gaping sweaty awe, as the unicorn paws the ground with a hoof and charges him. Fortunately, at least half of ARquiusprite has some sense of self-preservation even in the face of such grandeur, zipping his muscular ghost-tailed floating body to the side at the last second.]

There's no need for such hijinks. Clearly you are a beast of the most exquisite elegance.

[Okay, he's no ~~horse~~ unicorn whisperer, delivering his lines in a firm tone. And he can't help beaming despite the unicorn's attempted stabbing. This is actually going to go terribly despite his best intentions. Or possibly worst intentions, depending on your opinion.]

Why, look at those rippling, gleaming haunches. Listen. Perhaps, dare I suggest it, we should touch each others muscles. I command it. I mean, if you're down. But why would you not want to? When we are both perfect bodacious beefy specimens.

[He floats a bit closer, holding his hands out a little. The unicorn snorts and shakes his head with a whinny. Please for the love of god stop him before he gets speared.]

TWO

[It usually behooves ARquiusprite to implore anyone and everyone to touch his buff bod and marvel at its musculature. On the other hand, he might also have some bad and shameful memories on both halves of his pre-sprite selves. As you can imagine, he's sweating even more copiously than usual under this kind of strain.]

Hi. Look. I can understand that of course you would want to rest your delicate digits upon this incredible hunk of man-meat. But perhaps now is not the best of times, given the circumstances.

THREE

[Who knows how this sweaty frickup got in here? Floating really help in stealthily coming up behind people like a huge creeper.]

I see we've accumulated all the necessities of a seasonal chumly get-together. While I'm sure all of you are planning to sit around and air something approaching familial grievances under the auspices of a little light banter, I have one important question.

Where is the gosh d*mn milk?

[ FEAR ]

Kohaku is... hopelessly lost. Just where is this place? They don't recognize anything, either. Oh, well, they'll just try to summon a wind spirit to guide them back to Shuuichiro. Easy as pie, right? They'll be home in no time.

But just as Kohaku is casting the spell, something comes nearby, and it's something Kohaku has never seen before - a unicorn? At the very least, it's pretty, and piques Kohaku's curiousity.

"Hello..." Kohaku gently hovers closer. Maybe they can be friends?

Kohaku offers a smile and reaches out to pet it.

"My name's Koha--" Annnnnd.... apparently that wasn't a good idea. Because now it seems to be mad.

Kohaku screams and flies away as fast as their wings can carry them. A flurry of robes and wings to escape from an enraged beast of war as they cry.

Please help them. They don't know what happened.

[ TRANQUILITY ]

Kohaku is having a hard time being here. Mostly because there's meat and other dead organisms every where they look. They look pale and ready to vomit at any given time.

They can be found carefully avoiding certain tables.

Oh, wait! Is that milk over there?! They'll have some of that please! Except, that Kohaku is so eager to get some that they knock some over into you, too.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so, so sorry!"

[ NIGHTFALL ]

Somebody didn't find a particularly good hiding spot. Somewhere, behind a building, sobbing can be heard. If you dare to investigate, you'll find a tiny little angel crying.

With a sniffle, they look up at you.

"Do you know Shuuichiro? I can't find him anywhere."

Nevermind that they have no idea where they are. They're not worried about going home. They're worried about Shuuichiro.

"You see, I have to grant his wish. I can't do that if I'm not with him."

Edited 2018-11-20 22:09 (UTC)

OH! Yes, of course!

[Kohaku dives behind him instantly. Maybe this monster works for a demon? They don't know. But this person is promising to protect them, so... It should be okay right? Err... right?]

Uhm... what are you going to do to it?

[There's a definite timid uncertainty in Kohaku's voice. Steak doesn't plan to hurt it, does he?]

[Marian has been eyeballing the food skeptically, but food is food, when it comes to this place, so eventually hunger wins out and she settles down with a plate of potato and vegetables. Yet at the sight of the girl next to her praying, she audibly and scornfully snorts.]

Unbelievable.

Confusion

[This is weird. Bumping into someone had been an accident as she marveled at the weird structures and items, but the effects were immediate-visions swirling around, thoughts that weren't her own pressing into her mind and the invasive feeling that something of hers was shared as well. Not great.

And so, she continues on her way, mindful of the people around her. Anyone who gets within arms length gets a helpful little warning.]

Hey, might wanna be careful-

[She presses a couple fingers to her temple.]

I think this place is trying to make us part time psychics or something. Have you been seeing weird things too?

Tranquility

Check this out. It's sooooo good-here!

[And guess what? Your character now has a heaping spoonful of stuffing on their plate or, if they didn't have a plate, are now in possession of one.]

Did you see the cranberry sauce? Oh, wait a sec. I'll grab you some of that-don't move a muscle!

[ A. Remember Me ]

[ It has been two days, fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes since the girl named Chuck discovered that physical contact has a way of sharing memories with people. While such things have a way of sharing the sad as well as the happy times, Chuck has decided that she wants to try and make the best of a confusing situation.

Which is why today she is walking up to people with the sunniest disposition she can manage while carrying a sign that reads "Good Memory Hugs". ]

Hi there! I have this theory about this whole memory thing that's happening right now. I think that maybe if you're feeling good the memories will be good, too! And what feels better than a hug, honestly?

[ And in her opinion, the people around here are in desperate need of a hug. Those who take Chuck up on her offer of a Good Memory Hug will find themselves receiving one of several positive ones from her.

A. A memory of Chuck on her birthday as a child, dressed up with her neighbor Ned. Both of them are dressed in monster costumes as they godzilla stomp destruction upon a city of toys
B. Chuck is laying in a dark box and has been laying there patiently for some time when suddenly the lid is lifted off and she is staring up at her childhood sweetheart, Ned as he rescues her.
C. Chuck and Ned are on the roof of their apartment building, surrounded by beehives that are most certainly illegal within city limits as she talks about rogue urban beekeeping and the possibility of planting flowers on neighboring rooftops. ]

[ B. Pass the Turkey ]

[ The girl named Chuck has always had a soft spot in her heart for the holidays. All of the holidays, in fact. Given the excuse Chuck would throw a party for Arbor Day, complete with recycled paper decorations and some properly themed seasonal treats. So on this of all days, she might have gotten a bit... carried away. Maybe it was the influence of a certain pie maker in her life but Chuck arrives to the celebration with multiple pies in tow. All of them carefully crafted and with love baked into every crust.

She helps herself to a plate of food that is mostly desserts and plants herself down next to whoever seems like they're most in need of the company. ]

Have you decided what you're thankful for this year? There's so much to appreciate, really.

[2A: Remember Me]

[ Marian doesn't like people to get too close to her at the best of times, but the extremity of her caution has slipped over time, as her anxiety over the idea that someone might try to take her device has gone down. But accidents can happen, and perhaps your hands brush when reaching for something...

((option i))

Someone who you thought was a friend and colleague is yelling at you.

"I can't take this anymore! Why do you keep lying to me! This is all your fault and you knew it from the start. So what is it? Some twisted, out of control plot to make everyone else just as miserable as you? Some psychopathic turn to outright murder the people that people in your life care more about than *you* and whatever bullshit you're up to? Jealousy? Or just some sick twistedness that's infected you? ... I know... I know, I can hear it too, but I won't let it get to me!"

You weren't lying, just not completely sure, and you're not sure how to respond. Something is horribly wrong here. This isn't like Ella, and you could swear there's the faintest whispering coming from the shadows. You try to reason with her, but not for long before fleeing the room, out into the snow and broken landscape. She doesn't follow.

((option ii))

It's dark, so dark that there's nothing at all to see except inky blackness and cold. Cold so deep that it hurts, stops your breath flat. Something crunches underfoot, like snow or sand, but there's no proper sound. In this blackness, senses seem distorted somehow; the cold hurts your hearing, the crunch hurts your eyes.

Within that darkness, you can feel the faintest, faintest glow of a perfect circle in the... sky? The barest shade of lighter black on black, illuminating a landscape of black, darker and darker pillars reaching up, vanishing into a black sky of absolute nothingness. No other stars are left to shine, no movement or heat is left in this vast empty universe.

You can't even breathe. There's no proper time, only the cosmic stasis of a vast and ancient entity unwilling to let death come, its massive black tendrils stretched out across its universe in search of even the tiniest fragment of energy to sustain it.

You want to scream, but you can't.

[2B: ...or not]

[Still, once she clues in to that happening, rest assured that on top of her usual turtleneck she's wearing gloves and a coat. Marian always feels cold anyway, adding an extra layer of protection isn't a problem.

Of course, this means it's back to the usual -- approach any closer than a couple meters and she backs off a step, frowning.]

Just what do you think you're doing?

[3: Pass on the Turkey]

[Marian has eaten meat since first arriving in Hadriel, out of necessity a few times, but would really rather not. Despite all her protests about the 'parasites', everyone has to eat, and if they're offering something at least approaching reasonable vegetables, that's better than anything from a can or monster meat. She sighs, sitting down with a plate of potato and veg, glaring morosely at the plate as if it is personally responsible for this entire situation and her life in this city.]

[The look that she gets from Marian is the most deadpan, not hugs allowed flat and unimpressed stare you can imagine. Marian might also be bundled up like it's -40C, between the gloves, coat and hat, and is clearly not up for any close contact.]

Surely you can't be serious.

[ This is not Kate's first time at the whole being thought of as weird for praying before meals thing. A good portion of her classmates make mean remarks about her devotion where she can hear them, but Kate just lets them be. Her relationship with God is important to her, and ultimately their derision doesn't matter.

So she finishes praying, then opens her eyes and shoots a smile at the woman who spoke. ]

I dunno, I think this whole place is a lot more unbelievable... but it's real, right?

[ She's not pushy or sassy, just sincere and gentle. Kate is a believer, but aggressive proselitising isn't her style. She'd rather let her actions speak for her. ]

[ Oh fuck off, you undead-looking hag, at least you can eat this food to begin with. Rita can too, technically, but she won't taste it.

Being a zombie sucks, in case you didn't know.

But since this isn't exactly public knowledge, Rita doesn't say any of that. Just stays where she is (there's about one chair's space between them) and nodding as she glances up from her glass of mediocre wine. ]

Not appetizing?

[ Who knows, this lady has the coloring for a zombie. You never know. And if not, that question won't out Rita. ]

[ Chuck is completely immune to deadpan, unimpressed looks due to being overexposed to them thanks to Emerson Cod. So when Marian stares at her Chuck continues to smile as brightly as the sun, not put off in the slightest by things. She's on a mission to prove she's right. ]

Oh, I'm very serious. And if hugs aren't your thing, which sounds ridiculous because hugs should be everyone's thing, I'm also open to handshakes, high-fives and fist bumps.

[That friendly enough nod gets nothing but a flat stare in return.]

I'm not precisely thrilled to be fed by the graces of our lovely parasitic hosts, if that's what you mean.

[Marian practically stabs her plate with her fork, the poor boiled potato getting the worst of her snappish hostility. Taking a bite, there's a moment pause while she chews -- she's not so crass as to speak with her mouth full -- and before her deadpan response comes out.]

Yes, unfortunately. Think before you give thanks for anything around here, though.

I'm not simply referring to the hugs, [although just look at her face, this is clearly not someone who's into hugs] but this entire 'good memories' invasive nonsense. It's absurd that anyone would willingly subject themselves to this malarkey.

Ooh, malarkey is a good word. Very nice choice. [ She is being totally sincere about that, too. ] I just want to test my theory and see if I can help brighten someone's day. And sharing memories seems like a great way to get to know someone, you know?

[This level of relentless cheerfulness reminds Marian of one of her old grad students, quite a few years ago now. Normally this would merit a deep sigh or eyeroll, but Hadriel being what it is, Marian can't help but be a bit snippy and sardonic.]

What would brighten my day is to know that people weren't meddling with dimensions not their own. But that's a little more difficult than engaging in sappy little geting-to-know-you exercises, isn't it?

Technically, Rey doesn't have to eat much. The resilience of her body in addition to her training would allow her to function at the most minimum sustenance and hydration.

That doesn't mean she is going to starve herself, though. Far from it. Rey just about gorges herself on food, because when you've spent so long not being able to taste shit, or everything you put in your mouth tastes like shit already, you learn to appreciate the little things.

Like this nice, fresh springroll that she's stuffing in her mouth. Marian isn't the only one who, for the most part, avoids meat in this place, though her reasons are more specific and go way back. You can never tell which god is providing for them, and might slip in something extra to turn people into monsters. Because that sure as hell did happen before.

Fuck.

Rey stops chewing when she catches sight of one of their former local sourpusses at the table. Funny, it seems to be a time for familiar faces again these days. But if anyone would be pissed about being back, it'd probably be this gal right here.

Quiet, she leans over at the plate Marian is staring at, as if inspecting for something questionable.

"You going to eat that?" Rey asks, back to chewing and talking with her mouth full like the classless heathen she is.

[Confusion.]

[If anyone brushes up against Lena, they will catch a glimpse of the moon's surface before Lena pulls away from them with a startled look. Whatever Lena saw, she definitely looks startled and a little uncomfortable.]

Hey uh... did you see something weird, just now?

[Tranquility]

[Food is good. But even though a turkey isn't a duck, there's still a cooked bird-shaped thing sitting out on a table full of other dishes.]

... Okay, now that's messed up.

confusion

[ Casual contact isn't something that happens easily, with Agent Maine. He doesn't gesticulate haphazardly or move without direction. His body language is purposeful and closed-off; he's more likely to be seen with his arms folded or his hands curled into fists at his side than to appear relaxed. Even in gatherings, he stands removed from others, deliberately placing himself on the fringes of groups.

No, casual contact isn't something that happens easily. But somehow, skin has touched skin — a handshake? a brush to his bare arm? accidentally running into the seven-foot-tall wall of muscle that is a stationary Maine? — and the memories are flowing.

Many of Maine's memories are tinted shades of red — filled with blood, violence, and rage. A training session utilizing live ammunition; a skyscraper crumbling around him; a high-speed car chase that ends with nine bullets in Maine's neck. Rarer are moments of camaraderie, either with fellow Freelancers or with other soldiers, when he was younger and not yet "Agent Maine."

Whatever memory it may be, it's too late to stop it — even as Maine immediately pulls away from the contact. ]

( ooc: lmk which memory you choose, and i'll write it up in my reply to you! alternatively, i'm down with maine being the recipient of memory-exchange /o/ )

tranquility

[ Someone should probably inform Maine that this is a time for sharing. Because, from the looks of it, he's trying to devour everything.

Whether he could or not is a topic for debate. Maine is a massive man, after all: seven feet tall, four hundred pounds of muscle, and built like he could throw a car. (Spoiler alert: he can.) Left to his own devices, he might be able to scarf down a whole table's worth of food. It might be worth watching to find out ... but then there'd be nothing left for anyone else.

Try to slow the big guy down? Sit back and stare? Or attempt to get him to pass the potatoes? ]

wildcard

( ooc: got another idea? toss something my way and we'll see what we can do. :) as a note: maine is mute and communicates through growls, grunts, and body language. if i don't give you enough to work with in a tag, please let me know so i can adjust! ♥ )

[ Maine's arrival was a shock, but a welcome one, and even though Tucker and Epsilon were uneasy Wash and Carolina's wishes won the day -- the hulking man moved into Bluehaus (which is now only half blue really) and they've all been learning to navigate such an assortment of people in one space.

Wash is actually more likely now to engage in casual contact than he was for a long stretch there. These days he's more like he was in Freelancer, in that sense. He doesn't skitter back when someone reaches out, not anymore. Living in close quarters with people he cared about, then making more friends and starting a relationship here, and finally being forced out of armor and to touch one another for events... he's warmed to it, adjusted to it. So without being aware something is happening currently, he doesn't really register how close he gets when he pads into the kitchen this morning and beelines for the coffeemaker. He's never shied away from Maine anyway.

And so their arms brush when he reaches up to open the cupboard, and then the kitchen fades to memory.

--

Wash is standing beside a line of recruits trying to shoot cones off a concrete barrier set up downrange. The first three all hit their targets, the fourth misses several times.

"Lieutenant Palomo! Explain to me how, in light of your recent promotion, you've somehow managed to become worse at target practice!"

The soldier replies, speaking a little too quickly as if he's intimidated. "Uh, because the newly added pressure of my rank makes me second guess my actions more frequently in hopes I won't let down my fellow peers."

Wash starts out still yelling, trying to keep up the act, "Why don't--" but then mellows quickly. "Oh. Um. I mean that's... understandable, Lieutenant."

"Also, I've been trying to make a smiley face for like nine minutes." And when Wash glances back at the wall, this seems to be true. "Nailed it."

Wash sighs, and someone wails his name from behind him. "...now what?"

It's a man in orange armor, sounding urgent. "Where's Kimball?"

"Ohhhhh. Captain Grif. How nice of you to join us, we missed you at practice this morning."

"Yeah. That's probably because I wasn't there." And it doesn't sound like he cares.

"So you weren't. Which is why everyone is going to give me three laps around the training facility." The Lieutenants start complaining about how unfair it is, but Wash just orders them again. "Get moving."

"You're punishing them?" Grif doesn't understand either.

"Remedial training. Disciplining the group for the actions of a single soldier leads to social pressures that typically result in the hasty correction of undesirable behavior. Classic military strategy."

Palomo shouts from his run, "Thanks a lot, fuckface!"

"So," Wash continues, "Are you ready to begin today's training?"

"Uh... no?"

"Alright, then. Let's make it four laps!" Again, the troops groan.

"How're you feeling now?" Wash asks Grif.

"I feel like this military's fucking weird."

"Five laps!!" More groaning, but Grif seems delighted.

"Man! This is the best punishment ever!"

The memory fades out on their conversation, something something Kimball something, and Grif's back retreating while the recruits collapse into a pile.

--

Maine got the better end of this swap -- what Wash is seeing is significantly more upsetting than a fumbled attempt at playing drill sergeant. ]

• FEAR

Knock Out has been shrunk down from his normal height to a mere ('mere') 12 feet, but after one of the nasty beasties decided to take a swipe at him, he produced his subspaced energon prod and tried to electrocute it - to mixed results. It did temporarily stun it, but only long enough for the medic to assume victory and be rewarded with a stampeding unicorn in his direction. Thus observers may be treated to Knock Out flailing around as he flees. When he doesn't seem to be able to put enough distance between himself and the unicorn, he throws himself into vehicle mode and a red sports car goes tearing off across the ground, heedless of if anything or anyone who might be in his way. ]

Not the finish, not the finish!

• TRANQUILITY

[ Knock Out is less than impressed with the Thanksgiving spread, if only because he can't eat any of it (even if the mere thought of ingesting organic matter like that wasn't tank-churning enough of an idea). No, he's happy enough to sip at his cube of high-grade energon that fortuitously showed up at the same time, enough to convince him that at least one of these gods had a brain in their deific cranials. Owing to his larger size, he's plunked outside near the step, and is giving running snarky commentary on anyone who shows up for the meal. ]

Better hurry, they've almost eaten all of it. Oh, you got dressed in the dark, didn't you? That's unfortunate.

[ Perhaps Maine would appreciate the changes in Wash's behavior more if he'd glimpsed how bad his friend got. If he'd seen Wash filled with anger and distrust, cold and closed off, he'd know how very far Wash has come. As it is, Wash's return to being comfortable around others is simply ... normal, to Maine.

A good thing, too. Weird enough that both Wash and Carolina are so much older.

While he's not been oblivious to the misgivings of some of his new housemates, Maine hasn't really given a fuck what they think. His team wants him in this house; therefore, he's staying in the house. It's that simple. The close quarters haven't bothered him much — he's dealt with closer on ships — though he does claim a bit more space than necessary when dealing with those he doesn't consider teammates.

Maybe it's a dick move. But he never claimed to be nice.

When a sleepy Wash heads straight for the coffeemaker that Maine is standing beside, the big man isn't bothered by the close proximity. Indeed, he tilts his head to better see what Wash is reaching for—

And then they touch.

--

He's reloading the Brute Shot when he sees it. A red dot on the back of Carolina's head. She's giving him an order — "protect the briefcase" — but he barely hears it. He twists to locate the sniper. Spots them on the back of a flatbed. And there's no time. No time to do anything but lunge in between the sniper and Carolina.

BAM.

The bullet hits him in the chest, piercing his armor, and he crumples like a fucking rag doll. Slumps over the windshield, unable to breathe. Distantly, he hears Carolina say his name. He can't respond. Can't do anything. Can't even fucking get back up.

He has to breathe before he can get up.

It can't take more than a few seconds. But for Maine, it drags on. The pain in his chest; the ringing in his ears; Carolina and York shouting; and finally, finally, he manages to draw in a breath.

Get up.

He tries. Carolina's on the hood of the Warthog, fighting the enemy. Maine tries to push himself upright. Someone steps on his back, shoving him down. Sending a fresh wave of pain through him. They take the briefcase. Carolina keeps fighting; Maine keeps fighting to breathe.

Then someone hits Carolina hard enough to send her flying past him — nearly over the hood of the fucking Warthog — and he has to get the fuck up.

York swerves, throwing both Carolina and her opponent onto a flatbed. Swerves again to avoid an oil drum. Maine's upright, air burning in his lungs and adrenaline screaming through his veins, eyes on Carolina. She's outnumbered. York shouts a warning; Maine ducks to avoid that fucking sniper. Another swerve; a collision; the sniper's behind them, coming up fast with a fucking jetpack.

One hit is all it takes. One swing that makes his chest burn, but it does the job. The sniper hits the guardrail with a sickening crack. Maine doesn't look at the body disappearing behind them. He turns back to the fight.

And a moment later, he joins it. Launches himself from the Warthog onto the flatbed. Rolls and comes up swinging, snarling, and...

He picked the wrong opponent. She's too fast for him. Knocks him away with a series of blows that he's not prepared to take. His back hits something— no. Someone.

Carolina.

For a second, they stand back-to-back, each facing an enemy. For a second, they're still. Carolina's mag lock disengages; Maine's engages in turn. Taking the briefcase without a word.

They don't need words.

And they spin. Change opponents. Carolina takes on the fast one; Maine takes on the sleeveless heavy-hitter. His back is still to Carolina, his focus solely on beating the enemy. With a fucking bullet in his chest, they're evenly matched — but Maine thinks he can win.

He doesn't see the gun until it's in the man's hand. And that hand is swinging up. Aiming under his chin.

BAM.

His vision goes white. He's on his back. He's trying to get up. The enemy steps on the bullet hole in his chest. He can't move. Can't do anything but watch the muzzle flash — one two three four five six seven eight — as the enemy unloads the entire clip directly into his neck.

Carolina's agonized scream seems to go on forever. A moment that stretches on and on and on, and it's pain and blood and he's choking on it. Choking on his blood. Fighting the blackness that threatens to overtake his vision.

He shouldn't be able to get up.

He does it anyway.

The Brute Shot is in his hands. He's slumped over. Trying to aim. Fighting. Still fighting.

Another bullet throws off his aim. The grenade blows out one of the truck's tires. It screeches and skids, sending them all flying through the air, and he's falling...

--

It takes a moment for Maine to pull away. He's frozen in place, watching a memory that isn't his flash before his eyes. It's Wash. Wash giving orders, no less. Trying to whip soldiers into shape. Having his fucking work cut out for him.

Not a distressing memory, in and of itself. But it's in Maine's head. And he has no fucking idea what's going on.

So he jerks back with a startled grunt, dark eyes wide and confused and locked on Wash. ]

[ Maine pulls away but Wash is still frozen where he is, one hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter with white-knuckled fingers, the other flying to his throat. The pain was unbearable, but the fear -- not even for himself (for Maine, he was Maine) but for his friends -- that was worse. The thought that he couldn't keep going, couldn't get back up and keep fighting, and someone else would be gone.

Wash has only ever heard about that fight. He wasn't there. He didn't see. He certainly never felt it, and he finally turns his head to look up at Maine, distraught.

Without his helmet, Wash tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. It's why he became so clipped, so cold, never took his armor off around anyone who might have noticed his eyes. He's good at secrets but he's a shitty liar -- he can't hide. And he doesn't want to hide from Maine, as horrified as he is that Hadriel stuck somebody in his head again. And god only knows what Maine might have seen. ]

It's okay -- it just. This place does this kind of thing, and it likes to show people me at my worst. [ His voice is hoarse, like his throat really was injured. It wasn't. He clears it stubbornly and finally drops his hand. ] The past is past, whatever you saw.

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test drive meme # 38

Kate Marsh | Life Is Strange

steak; food fantasy

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Kohaku | Wish/CLAMP Universe

Friendship is Magic

tranquility!

Iris Amicitia | Final Fantasy XV

Chuck | Pushing Daisies

Marian Tenebris | Original Character

A, I'm so sorry about her

lmfao i love it

3

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3.

Lena De Spell | Ducktales

agent maine | red vs. blue

car chase --> bullets please!

Knock Out • Transformers Prime

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