Test Drive Meme #7

[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 March 25th, and apps are open April 1st.

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: HOW UNUSUAL
[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.

Watch out as you explore the streets of Hadriel, because you're not alone, and there's always something on the rooftops watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to separate you from your group and tear you into pieces. This time, the Door has brought in a few Rodents Of Unusual Size, from the film/book Princess Bride.

These large creatures are about the size of a large dog and can be stoked into a frenzy once they smell blood. They typically hide in the shadows and wait for an opportune moment to leap out of the dark and strike at you. Though they can sometimes look like overlarge puppets, take no doubt that these monsters are very much alive, and they love the taste of flesh.]

H O P E
SCENARIO TWO: MIRROR, MIRROR
[While exploring, you might be surprised to come across a pristine mirror in this underground city. It could be lying in your path, it could have been dropped into your bag by a mysterious someone, or it could find you some other way, but it will be there. This is no ordinary mirror, however- upon looking inside of it, the glass will show you a vision of a future that you hope for more than anything.

Regardless of what you want, the mirror shows visions that you believe are possible so that you can adequately hope for it- whether or not they actually are isn't really anyone's concern. Feel free to hide in a corner and stare for hours, throw it away, or try to peek at as many other mirrors as you want- we won't stop you!

This is a mini version of our Hopeful Future event this month!]


R A G E

SCENARIO THREE: PAY 2 WIN
[How cool are carnival booths? Super cool, right? And luckily, the grand prize in this one is something you've always wanted. It could be a briefcase of enough money to make all your troubles go away, that sacred amulet you've been questing after, or something a little less concrete- the approval of someone you want to like you, a curse upon someone you don't like, general freedom... the choices are endless.

And all you have to do to win it is play a game or two.

Something strange seems to be happening, though. Each time you finish a round of the game, the prize requirements just get a little higher, just stretch a little more out of reach. Play again, we're sure you'll get it this time! No? Well, you've definitely got it next time.

Get fed up and smash the booth for the prize? Well buddy, now you're disqualified, and tampering with the booth sets that thing you want most up in flames. Sorry, bud. Better luck next time! And look, there's another booth right behind you...]

Comments

agent washington | red vs. blue

[blameful]

FEAR

[ wash deserves a lot of the shit he's been dealt.

he deserved prison — not for what he did to the director and his fucking program, but for what he did to the alpha. the unnecessary destruction of a broken entity hadn't been wash's best idea, and he also deserved the crushing guilt that came after, the flood of what ifs and i'm sorrys that everyone was too dead to hear. he deserved the way everything shook apart with the meta. he'd known from the beginning, when hargrove assigned them together, that maine wasn't maine, and that he couldn't pretend for long.

he still pretended, and the meta still turned on him, and he deserved that, too. old habits die hard. what a fucking sucker.

but he hadn't deserved the forgiveness of the sim soldiers, or this bullshit. wash is so unbelievably over unseen forces constantly toying with his life, and he doesn't know if he believes that these gods are actually gods, but he does know that whoever they are they're probably complete assholes. definitely assholes, first for dragging him here and second for dumping him in a dilapidated coliseum with a sea of faces he doesn't recognize.

despite protests from strangers, and despite very much not knowing where he's going, wash wastes no time breaking off from the rest of the arrival party and trekking into the city by himself, heavily armed and kind of pissed.

maybe you tailed him because he's a capable looking dude in a full-body titanium suit, or maybe you're just trying to mind your own business while traveling from point a to point b. either way, wash hears the shuffle-step of feet behind him, different from the four-legged patter of paws on stone: they're bipedal, probably human. he waits, listens, then when the shuffling draws closer, he reaches for his sidearm and turns, weapon drawn, finger off the trigger. ]

I can hear you.

[ that's one way to make friends. ]

RAGE

[ fortunately what wash really wants isn't a physical item, so there's nothing in the booths beyond a few really sweet looking weapons (and maybe a badass cat figurine in a cape) to tempt him to madness.

he doesn't even mean to stick around and watch as every booth goes up in flames while a myriad of people scramble around in an impossible attempt to win their prizes, but. well. after his extremely busy day of slaying giant rats and scrubbing giant rat guts out of his armor, he's absolutely ready to laugh at other people's expense for a change.

or at least stand by and offer unwanted comments on their playstyle.

so if you've been struggling with your mounting rage for a while now, here wash is to make it worse by leaning against your booth, arms folded, judging every move you make that ends in failure. feel free to tell him to fuck off. he might even listen! ]

fear. also OHAI c:

[mainiac]

[If asked why he kept hanging around the arena when the next drop came, the Meta would deny there was anything purposeful in it, or at least anything past practicality. New arrivals meant new monsters, a new way to break things up. Something else to fight, something he could see that didn't send tendrils of things he'd made a point to keep under lock and key tracing their way through. He hated the Gods here, hated their games and their politics. Hated the way he couldn't restock from the stores without feeling guilty, hated the way every new thing had to be approached with a thousand times more caution because they might have a side effect of crippling fear or joy, could take away what intentions he'd had at a moment's notice. After so long as the Meta, so long with Sigma's whispers and badgering... The mission to retrieve Epsilon had been fine. Easy to keep his focus where it needed to be. This? Everything seemed constructed to wear him down.

Especially the damn mirrors, which was what pulled him back to begin with. Sure, he'd broken his the first chance he got, but that didn't mean the images didn't linger.

And then he catches sight of Wash after he's gotten inside the arena, and he can't quite decide if he wants to break something or say hi. Damn mirror.

So he follows him, mostly because it seemed like a good idea at the time, and when Wash finally calls him on it (he hasn't gotten his equipment back up and running yet, not like he could have stayed out of sight to save them both the headache), he stops and growls in something like a greeting.

Yeah, he knows how bad this is probably going to go, but he's a familiar face. Better to face this thing together, he figures, save himself the trouble of trying to get his point across with everybody else. At least he doesn't unholster the brute shot yet? He comes in peace. Or at least about as much peace as he ever does.]

HELLO FRIEND

[blameful]

[ well, shit.

the meta steps from the shadows and rumbles a low greeting, and wash's arm wavers where he holds his gun, fingers flexing around the grip. some part of him isn't surprised. of course, why wouldn't he be here, of all people? wash can't have a second's peace without guilt crawling in and foaming around his ankles to drag him down, down, to places he doesn't want to see anymore.

how many times has he stood across him like this, and how many times is he going to have to watch him die? maine died a long time ago, back in freelancer, back with with sigma, just another one of the director's many casualties. what's left of maine now is an empty shell, a living ghost, and no matter how many times he repeats that to himself, it's still hard and it still sucks, every single fucking time he has to look him in the face and remember.

( this isn't real, that's not his friend, this isn't real, that's not his friend. )

fine. nowhere to go but forward. let's do this. ]

Meta.

[ surprisingly, there's no trace of anger in his voice. he sounds bitter but tired, eyes flitting from his helmet to his holstered bruteshot. they're not in an ideal area for a firefight. too open, no cover, and the meta may be big but he's faster than he looks; if he gets too close, there's jack shit wash can do to stop him from snapping his spine.

he needs distance, and so while he doesn't retreat, he does fall back a step, his free hand inching toward the rifle on his back. ]

HAAAAAI nice to see you again!

[mainiac]

[There's no reason to attack Wash, not right now, whether or not he sees it. Wash isn't in his way, isn't blocking him to anything, doesn't have anything he needs or wants. He may not be Maine anymore, but even empty shells can be lost when there's nobody to call the shots. When they're forced to feel against their will.

And there's Maketh to think of. Wash may not be a civilian, but the directive not to harm anybody unless it's necessary is something. Better than wandering around without an objective. He's not afraid of the consequences of acting against her, it's just not necessary right now.

Not until Wash reaches towards his rifle, anyway, and even then he still doesn't reach for his own weapon. Maybe it's arrogance that he won't need to, that he'll be able to take him out even if Wash draws first. Maybe it's a suspicion that he won't really pull on him, that ultimately sentiment and history will keep him from it.

More likely it's the surprise at seeing him, especially so soon after the mirror. He clenches a fist, the same one he sliced open when he shattered it in his frustration over what it showed. He wants to ask if he finished it, if it's all over. If that's why he's here. But there aren't any words for that, and now's not really the time to ask anyway, not when Wash's trigger finger's clearly still itchy over recent history. Instead he raises his hands up, making a show that he's not going to attack him right now.

He's got nothing here. No fragments, no power, no leads on either, just him and armor that's not running at 100%. No reason to go after Wash.]

you too!

[blameful]

[ so that's how this is going to go, then. the meta doesn't threaten, loom ominously, or otherwise stalk forward to ruin what little is left of wash's life to ruin, not even when he spots him reaching for his rifle. he pauses for that reason alone, fingers itching for the weight of a heavier gun, and swallows around the tightness in his throat to look him over.

his armor doesn't appear undamaged, but he's most likely without an ai. he wouldn't attack him if he had nothing to lose or protect because he's resourceful, good at getting what he wants, good at using people to his benefit, and wash should kill him just because they've been down this road before (and before and before and before).

but guess what: wash is resourceful, too. ]

You make one wrong move, I will kill you.

[ an empty threat. they both know that's not how the situation will unravel if shit goes south. he says it more for his own benefit than for meta's, lifting his gun away but not holstering it as he falls one experimental step forward. ]

How long have you been here?

\o/

[mainiac]

[The Meta knows it could bite him in the ass, not dealing with the potential problem now. Because Wash is a liability. Sooner or later sentiment will run out, won't be enough to carry them, and he'll have to do something about it for good.

But Sigma's gone, and with it most of his taste for manipulation and schemes. Maine was never all that much a fan of them anyway, mind games were all Sigma, he'd just as soon approach the problem head-on. Now it's just that the voice co-ordinating the moves is gone.

He shrugs at the threat because he knows, today at least, it's only that. If Wash wanted him dead he would be, it's not pushed that far yet. Wash moves forward and he remains where he is, completely still. The picture of calm and nonthreatening, or at least as nonthreatening as he's capable of. Doesn't mean he's not watching, doesn't mean he's not ready if something changes. He growls in answer, relieved finally there's someone here who understands him without having to play the game. He hasn't been here long, maybe a month. Long enough to get settled in but short enough he's not complacent about it.]

[blameful]

[ back in freelancer, when maine had his throat shot to hell, relearning how to understand him had taken a lot of time and exhaustive effort. that effort paid off in the end, he supposes; he knows exactly what he means without maine having to speak a word, can easily decipher his growls and physical gestures into (sometimes incoherent) phrases.

the translation isn't always correct, though he's usually pretty damned close. ]

A month? [ a month without completely tearing the city apart or blowing shit up. that's impressive. good job, buddy. gold star.

he falls forward another step, still testing, still watching, and he can feel meta's eyes on him, too. this isn't a show of trust; wash won't trust him again, can't trust him, but he's a familiar face (helmet) and even now and here in a place completely cut off from their universe, he's still wash's goddamned responsibility.

no escaping that. ]

You haven't hurt anyone?

[ not that he particularly cares about faceless strangers, but if he's going to be aligning himself with the meta again, he needs to know where they stand and what he's stepping into. ]

sort of voicetesting, hi and Fear

[saw_it_first]

[So maybe she'd been following him since she'd caught sight of the familiar armor moving away through the crowd or maybe she'd escaped the mass earlier to explore herself.

Either way, she wasn't exactly hiding her presence as well as she could have been, and finally steps out of the shadows, although she keeps her distance.]

Didn't expect to see any familiar faces here.

ahhh ct!! hello :']

[blameful]

[ what the hell is wrong with this place?

first the meta, now ct. at least meta was only recently dead, but ct's been dead for longer than wash cares to remember, and it's for that reason that he doesn't lower his gun, even after she reveals herself to him. whoever brought him here has one fucked up sense of humor. ]

I didn't expect to see any dead faces, either, so I'd say we're pretty even.

[ not the nicest greeting, but wash is low on patience and done playing games. ]

Re: ahhh ct!! hello :']

[saw_it_first]

[Washington had at least been someone she'd liked in the project and the comment had her lips twisting slightly into a smile, even if it was hidden behind her helmet.

She exhales a breath, gaze dropping to the gun before returning to his faceplate.]

Going to shoot me now?

[blameful]

Not unless you plan on giving me a reason to.

[ really, connie. he's not uncivilized.

but the truth is that even if she's wearing ct's face (uh, armor), and even if she sounds like ct, wash doesn't trust this place nearly enough to lower his gun yet. for all he knows, this is a trick. these gods were dickish enough to bring him here, after all; why wouldn't they dig up old bones and even older ghosts just to fuck with him?

or maybe he's being a little narcissistic.

he scrutinizes her carefully, looks her up and down for any weapons she might have within a hand's reach, and then jerks his chin in the direction of the coliseum. it's barely more than a fuzzy shape against the dreary background, now. wash has been walking for a while. ]

You come in with the rest?

[saw_it_first]

[At least that's one less concern for the moment. CT listens for a moment before she lifts her hands, removing the helmet and settling it at her side.]

I woke up back there, yeah.

[Not the afterlife she'd been expecting, but then she hadn't really known what to expect. ]

[blameful]

[ that's absolutely not a face he ever expected to see again.

wash flinches when she removes her helmet, then grits his teeth and looks away. it's easier to pretend that this isn't actually happening when she's faceless, hidden behind the cool titanium of her armor, not living flesh and blood and so familiar that it burns to look at her. he doesn't want to think about dusty, closed-book history. he doesn't want to remember anything about before because before has come and gone and he's over it.

( he's not over it. )

rein it in, wash. ]

Fine. [ he draws a breath and drops his arm, holstering his sidearm at his thigh. ] Fine. Me too.

[ even with his magnum safely tucked away, he still doesn't close the distance between them. this is safer, staying where he is, with enough space between them that wash can bolt whenever he feels it necessary. ]

fear!

[infailtration]

[ It's been a long time since York's seen any of his old colleagues, but even in the crowd of the coliseum it's hard to miss folks in full body armor. Even harder not to follow them. York weaves his way out of the confused new arrivals and into the city, listening closely for which way Wash could have gone.

That's about the time he gets pounced by the first giant rat.

It's always something getting in his way.

When he fights it off, Wash is officially out of sight and probably hearing range... York curses under his breath and moves forward more cautiously now, in a side-shuffle, gun pointed down but at the ready in case another rat comes out of the shadows. If he was Wash, where would he go-- oh. Not far, then. ]

Hey, Wash. [ He hopes Wash will recognize his voice and not shoot when he pops his head around the corner. ] Long time no see.

[blameful]

[ when at first wash wheels around and nothing is there, he almost thinks he's hearing things. the shuffling of feet and soft clinking of armor just beyond a decrepit building proves him wrong as york pokes his head around the corner to cheerfully greet him, and for one brief second wash seriously considers shooting him just because.

instead he levels his gun a few degrees to york's left and fires at a rat slinking toward him from the shadows. it's a clean shot; the bullet passes through the rat's skull and ricochets off the ground on exit, splattering blood in every direction. ]

Watch your six.

[ don't want to lose another eye! ]

[infailtration]

[ York doesn't flinch at the shot, just slowly turns his head to look at the splattered creature. Eugh. And it was coming up on his bad side, like it knew. ]

Thanks... Damn rats. They've got a real infestation here, wherever here is.

[ Wash seems... different. Different than York remembers, anyway, and it hasn't been that long. He looks back at his friend and steps the rest of the way around the building. They should stick together until they figure out what's going on; who brought them here and what for. He just needs to keep it light, not bring up his leaving, and it'll all be fine. ]

You okay, man?

[blameful]

[ been better, is what he wants to say. been better and seeing ghosts everywhere and why the fuck are you here and how the fuck are you here — an endless supply of questions he both wants to ask and doesn't because not knowing is better, not knowing is just as good as forgetting.

but wash's problems aren't york's problems, and that's not a question york should be asking him, anyway. is he okay, as if wash wasn't the only survivor out of all of them. is he okay, like york isn't a goddamned dead man standing in front of him. is he okay? nope, not at all, especially not now, not after ct, not after maine, hasn't been near the realm of even slightly okay in years.

what matters most is that he's alive. and he's always alive. ]

That's my line. [ is what he says finally, his tone wry and edged with resigned exhaustion. he shifts his weight back onto his heels and drop his arm to dangle his gun at his side, fingers white-knuckling the grip where york can't see. ] How've you been, York?

[ aside from hella dead, he means. ]

[infailtration]

[ ...it won't all be fine, apparently. Maybe Wash is pissed at him? Even through the suit he can tell Wash is tense and there's nothing York can do to fix that if it's just about his leaving. York sighs quietly inside his helmet, letting his own weapon lower the rest of the way -- he'll still be ready in case there are more rats but the muzzle is now pointed towards the ground. He takes a few steps closer. ]

I'm as good as I can be. Still in one piece.

Any idea what you're doing here? [ He doesn't know how he wound up here, but maybe Wash is here on orders? That would actually be comforting, since it would mean there's a known extraction point. ]

[blameful]

[ wash has managed to hold his shit together impressively well for a man who's just run into a small army of his very, extremely dead friends, but york stepping closer sets him off. though the temptation to raise his gun again is overwhelming, he resists the urge and instead opts for falling back one step, then another.

if he's not real, threatening him will probably make things worse. and if he is real, well. purposefully pissing off york isn't a route he wants to take for numerous reasons. ]

Haven't got the slightest. I woke up here same as you. [ he sounds calm enough, but beneath his helmet he's watching york like a fucking hawk, tense and ready to move should he follow him forward. ]

Fear

[unflaggingly]

That's because I wasn't trying to hide, Wash.

[He's one of the few people she's seen that hasn't been complicated and Carolina exhales a breath before shifting her weight and crossing her arms.]

[blameful]

[ luckily for carolina, and much to wash's credit, he doesn't flinch when she makes herself known. he doesn't even hold her at gunpoint to interrogate her like he had with ct and maine, his arm dropping to his side to immediately holster his sidearm.

no melodrama or anxious freak outs, here. he's reached his quota for the day. ]

Sorry, boss. [ the nickname comes easily, even after all this time. carolina can't see his face under the helmet, but he's fixing her with one hell of a dead-eyed stare. dealing with the mental fallout of this place has been 100% more exhausting than dealing with the reds and blues, or even doc.

at least he sounds relatively affable. ]

I never took you for a skulker.

[unflaggingly]

I wasn't exactly skulking. [She'd been moving more or less like she normally did, even if she had been tailing him for a good ten or fifteen minutes.]

...Just me or does this place seem to like ghosts?

[blameful]

[ the question has him laughing — it's not exactly funny, but it kind of is in that this-is-his-worst-nightmare kind of way. ghosts, yup, lots of ghosts and she's one of them. ]

I've already got Maine, CT, and York on my scorecard. If I run into North or Wyoming, I'll hit dead Freelancer bingo.

[unflaggingly]

[The mention of CT is what has her attention since she's only come across Maine and York herself, and that?

She didn't want to talk about, even with Wash. Maybe if Church had been here, but he was absent and she missed having him right there with her.]

Yeah, I saw Maine and York. [Even voice, yes, even voice is good.]

...What did CT say?

[blameful]

[ the way everyone talks at wash as if it's only been three days versus three years since they last saw him is fucking surreal. he's a little more used to it, now, after the unexpected freelancer party, but it's so completely wrong that it edges on the bitter end of funny and wash has to swallow an abrupt laugh at her question.

probably not the time or the place for a giggle. ]

Not much. She was a little jumpy and kind of cranky, but I can't say I blame her.