dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #7

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!test drive

Test Drive Meme #7

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...]

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SCENARIO ONE

[ Malia has been fending off giant rodents all day. At first, she only fought them for self-defense, but now that she's pissed off, it's because they're annoying. She stalks the streets, on high alert for even the slightest sound or whiff of another creature. Just come out and die already, she wants to shout, but she's too good of hunter (and far too laser-focused) to compromise the situation like that.

She hears something. Footsteps, behind her. It's hard to tell what kind of creature they belong to, since the rodents are so much bigger than she's used to. It could be a dog, a rodent, a person; no matter what it is, she's too geared up to chance not attacking them.

Picture this. Malia: teenage girl with superhuman strength. You: innocent bystander, minding your own business, trying not to get mauled by anything. As you approach her, she whirls around and punches you right in the face. (Or attempts to, anyway—she has superhuman speed going for her, too, but maybe your catlike reflexes kick in. If she does manage to hit, it's going to hurt.) ]

SCENARIO THREE

[ That carnival booth sure does go up in flames, but not until after she's kicked the shit out of it in frustration. She turns away from the flames—they're someone else's problem now, sucks to suck—and approaches another booth. Oh, what's that? You're also at that one, desperate for the prize inside? Well, it has something Malia wants, too. She not-so-gently shoves anyone in her way aside. Even if they were there first. Even if they're in the middle of playing. ]

Go away.

[ She's not even really mean about it. Just... super matter-of-fact. Go away now, thanks. ]

[Fear]
She isn't sure exactly where she is, anymore. It had looked bright enough on the other side of the door, but once she'd stepped through the light had changed. Now there was still light, but there were also a million shadows cast at strange angles, and she swore there was something in there staring back at her...

Without warning, something slams into her from the left, squealing, and only reflex gets an arm between her throat and a pair of large, snapping teeth as she crashes to the ground without a word, wrestling with the creature.

[Hope]
When Alice finds the mirror, she's equal parts curious and cautious. It clearly doesn't belong here. Some magical relic, maybe. There's definitely a compulsion on it, and even though she knows it's probably a horrible idea, she picks it up. The next hour is spent sitting in a dark corner of an empty, half-ruined hut, staring silently at whatever the glass shows. Her face is expressionless, or maybe full of too many emotions to categorize. It doesn't change as she suddenly smashes the mirror to the ground, shattering it, and methodically grinding the shards into dust with bleeding hands until there's nothing big enough to reflect left.

Afterwards, she makes a point of approaching anyone with a mirror, intense and demanding. "You. Let me see that." It isn't a voice that says please so much as it does or else.

[Rage]
She's been standing here for two hours now playing this stupid game. It shouldn't have taken this long. She should have had her prize. She's been sure she's won at least a dozen times now, only every time she looks at the board, it seems the points have changed. Only sheer stubbornness has kept her going this long. It's probably rigged. All carnival games are, she knows that. Only it's just she can't turn away, blue eyes fixed on a candle burning with a flame the same exact shade...

It isn't until the points change again, almost visibly this time, that she stops. The game resets, but this time, she finally opens her mouth to speak. Spitting something that sounds a little like Russian with weirder vowels, she gestures sharply, and the entire booth bursts into flames.

If anyone catches her in the act, all she does is glare their direction. Just try and say something about it.

SCENARIO ONE (HOW UNUSUAL)
[It's never good to be covered in blood, a mingling of his own and the blood of others, but right now it's even more unfortunate. The Door has plucked Mitsuhide straight from battle and that has made him an instant target for these... things. Giant rats? Whatever the case, the moment he'd found himself in this place the samurai had been attacked by one of the snarling things and saved only by his swift reflexes. Now there is more blood on his sword, on his armour, and a dead creature at his feet.]

[It would be easy to go into shock, but living in a wartorn country has ensured his survival instincts are very honed indeed, and it is these that take charge right now. There could be more of these things out there, he could still be in danger... otherscould be in danger. Perhaps some of his men have been dragged along with him, or those of Lord Motochika. Or Lord Motochika himself.]

[Putting his sword away was going to be out of the question for a while, it seemed. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Mitsuhide steels himself and starts to walk, every sense on high alert. He is tired on so many levels but that doesn't mean it's safe to approach from him any side that isn't his front; if you attempt to do so he will whirl around straight into a defensive position and glare with an expression of pure steel, ready to strike at the slightest sign of danger. Approach from the front, and he will greet with a wary nod and a simple:]

Who are you?

[Until he's sure it's relatively safe there isn't going to be time for unnecessary conversation, and considering the blood all over him, well... that 'shadow' close by is quickly going to get closer...]

SCENARIO ONE: MIRROR, MIRROR
[This magic doesn't reassure Mitsuhide; the wonderous vision it shows does not lift him in any way.]

[Finding the mirror in a moment of quiet had been strange, but no less strange than his general circumstances right now. Glancing in it, however, and finding something other than his pale and tired face? Yeah, it was probably now topping the list of odd things. What Mitsuhide sees is a peaceful Japan; content people working their fields, walking through towns, taking care of duties that do not require tough choices or the forceful approach of a sword-bearing hand. Himself in casual clothes, long hair loose, looking peaceful if not completely unhaunted, and Lord Motochika beside him hale and whole. It was what they had been fighting for... Mitsuhide's dream come true. But...]

[He's staring into the surface with an obviously distressed expression, grip on the mirror way too tight. This had always been a possibility, hadn't it? A distant one, perhaps, but possible nonetheless. So why does his heart feel so heavy? Mitsuhide knows the answer, really.]

This is...

[He bites his lip, drops the mirror. Sinks to the floor and drags a hand down his face. The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Anyone who sees or overhears this scene might be able to get the end of it out of him, but it's no certainty. Mitsuhide looks completely out of it, almost ready to break.]

Edited 2016-03-21 22:45 (UTC)

A: GIANT RATS

[ Since he woke, Damen has come aware of several things. The first is that he still wears his armour; his breastplate, sandals, and armoured skirt, and his scarlet cape held in place with the lion pin. The golden cuff remains on his left wrist. Unlike the last time he woke somewhere strange, he hasn't been stripped. The second is that he still holds his sword, a heavy and reassuring weight in his hand.

The third is that he is inside a large arena, and he has no memory of how he came to be here. That part has happened before, and he takes it no more kindly than he did then.

The fourth is that there are three overlarge, angry rats baring their teeth at him. Three against one. No doubt they think these odds are in their favour. They have never seen Damianos of Akielos before. Every ounce of his rage at finding himself here is taken out on those animals. His roar is a battlecry that he only partially hears, and it loses itself in the sound of his sword crashing against giant rodent teeth. Damen moves like a demon, his body towering at well over six feet of pure muscle. He's aware of teeth coming at his arm, claws at his thighs. He hacks his way through them, leaving a trail of blood, gore, and pieces of rat in his wake.

All things considered, he's not happy to be here. Now Damen is the hunter, chasing down every rat monster he can find. He'll help you if you need it; otherwise, you may want to get out of his way. ]

B: HOPE

[ It takes him a long time to calm down. Even when the initial haze of battle leaves him, there's still murder in Damen's dark eyes. By now he's looking for someone to explain. Someone in charge. He's been taken from his men, and he wants to know why.

He almost walks on the mirror. It's a good thing he doesn't, since it would have splintered at once under his weight, but it glints as sure as gold on the cave floor, and that catches his eye. He scoops it up, inspecting it as though he intends to throw it away as soon as he looks.

It stays in his hand. Inside the mirror is the interior of a palace he knows too well; huge columns, a dais that holds two thrones instead of one, and Damen is there. He sits on a throne in the hall of his fathers, and beside him is a beautiful creature, all dressed in blue, with golden hair and a face that's as cold as it is lovely. Laurent, enthroned with him in Ios. Damen feels himself flush, and he closes the mirror in his fist. When the shock of the moment passes, he finds himself looking again. His default reaction is anger, of course. ]

How dare they. How could they know?

[ He doesn't even realise he's spoken aloud. Damen cleaves to his frustration as something familiar and useful, because the pleasure that image gives him certainly isn't. Some part of him already feels undone, just because of a mirror he found on the floor. Now he's not even particular about finding a leader. He finds whoever is closest, anyone, any innocent passerby, and he holds the mirror up, shaking it in their eyeline. ]

Who did this? Tell me where to find them, I won't leave this unchallenged!

C: RAGE

[ Its the laurel wreath. If it hadn't been sitting there, taunting him with its presence, Damen would have walked right past these games. At least, that is what he tells himself. It's the crown that should sit atop his head, as it had crowned his father. Just as there is one just like it right now, falsely crowning Kastor in his stead. He will not leave it there to be won by a child at a festival.

That's what he'd thought half an hour ago. Since then, he's already seen one wreath go up in flames when his fist smashed a new hole into the centre of one booth. Now he stares at the second offering, seething at the thought of it. They are playing games with him. He knows it, and does not want to let them, but Damen has never been good at holding his temper. He stares at the booth instead, at the board that wants him to fire darts and score points. He has yet to miss a single shot, and it still refuses him. He fights against his own frustration, but in the end, he picks up the darts again. ]

You won't beat me so easily.

[ He's determined to keep his anger in check. We'll see how long that lasts. ]

[Though killing the animals wasn't without some joy, at the end of it Suien has places to be and a plan to see through, and he cannot play games with the local wildlife. That means he has to figure out where he's gotten himself stuck, and how best to get out.

Which means talking to someone. His favorite.

He spots the girl in the middle of the road, and decides to send a doppelganger up to her. A construction of smoke and chakra, nothing physical, but still capable of speech. Just in case.

The doppelganger wears Suien's face, even twisting into annoyance as the blow lands, before puffing away in a cloud of smoke.

A safe distance across the street, Suien steps out from the shadows and claps. Sarcastically.]

Well done. Who taught you manners, girl?

[ O N E ]

[Suien, for his part, is incredibly annoyed by the whole situation and speeding toward real, bloody rage with every animal he slaughters. At first there was some novelty in slicing them into bits - the thrill of something different, the simple physical joy of combat - but then it went sour and now it's boring. Killing brainless animals loses its charm quickly, and he has places to be. A plan to implement. He cannot be here.

Except, of course, that he is, and he can’t seem to find the way back.

Wonderful.

He kicks the latest animal in the head. There’s blood all the way up his arms, going tacky on his coat. And if he’s twitching a little bit, well.

Maybe don’t sneak up on the guy. Unless you feel like getting stabbed. Then, by all means.]

[ T H R E E ]

[Stupid machine! Suien gives the thing a final kick, snarling at the smoking wreck of it. Wonderful, he’s killed a machine. The damn thing was taunting him, though how the Hero’s Water got here in the first place, he has no idea. Probably Shibuki’s fault somehow. It’s easy to blame things on the brat because it is, more often than not, somehow Shibuki’s fault after all.

Suien glares down at his coat. He’s torn it, and his hands are bleeding. Wonderful.]

( fear.)

[ This is bullshit. In about a thousand ways to Sunday, but that's not exactly a surprising new facet of Dean's existence. No, it's really just another day in the life, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. He was annoyed the second he set foot in that arena, the second he showed up here out of nowhere and now? Now he's just getting monumentally pissed - kicking the damn rats in the head only seemed to accomplish so much, but he has no qualms about resorting to increasingly violent measures. Blade stuffed inside his jacket? Check. Blade rammed through rats skull? Double Check.

It probably takes him longer than it should to figure out he can up and leave but when he does, he doesn't have it much better walking the streets. Not like he's making any friends either, not after duking it out with the rats hopped up on steroids.

Meandering is the name of the game, considering he has no damn clue where he's going, but apparently the rats do. To the extent that they keep finding exceptionally good hiding spaces compared to their size - even more problematically, they just keep existing. There's more of them, coming out of the woodworks and Dean would really just like to not be here right now. Nor does he want to go waving around his blade in new, dank public places but what else is he supposed to do? Apart from shouting, maybe. There is that option. ]

I swear, if one more of you little shitheads pops outta nowhere, there is going to be so much hell to pay.

( rage.)

[ Carnival booths are really only sort of super cool. Which is to say, not super cool at all. Especially when the prize they're offering is something he ain't gonna get. Being shouted at from a distance, offered the chance to show off his marksman skills, is all just a little ridiculous enough to have Dean standing there, eyeing the booth like a man bereft. Denied of... amusement, really. He doesn't think this is funny, not even a little bit, and he's keeping his distance to a finely tuned degree.

If the prize entailed going back home maybe he'd be throwing himself into it, but as it stands, Dean just manages to look more and more unimpressed. He has nothing to prove, nothing to win, and even less to offer. He'd almost prefer the rats to this level of absurdity. ]

You could not possibly pay me enough.

[ Okay, maybe that's somewhat of a lie. He could be tempted with the right sum of cash, but even then- the ticket he'd earn is not one back home. That's not what's on the table and so he's not playing, preparing himself to turn and walk away, only to glimpse over his shoulder and... see another one. Fantastic. Wonderful. Excuse him if he lets go of an unbearable groan of protest. What has life become. ]

Souji's barely had time to breathe, much less adjust to the change in setting. This isn't his ship, and it doesn't feel like Liminal Space, either. Another Jaunt? He doesn't know; he was with the Fleet so long, he'd started to doubt whether he was still under the Trumps' influence.

It's not important at the moment - what is important is that there's a woman who's just been attacked by something large and dangerous. He sees her go down and in an instant he's racing to her side, electricity already sparking from his fingertips.

"Miss! Please try to hold still!" It won't do any good if he zaps her instead of the creature.

[When Motochika discovers Mitsuhide on the floor drowning in some private sorrow, he doesn't think twice about dropping all that he holds -- a collection of scavenged supplies, some necessities, some luxuries, some curios -- as he hurries straight for his friend. He descends to his knees before Mitsuhide, trapping the mirror under one hand while he places his other on Mitsuhide's leg. A mixture of worry and determination fill his expression.]

What's the matter, Mitsuhide?

[He urges. His eyes roam over Mitsuhide intently, seeking out all outpourings of distress.]

{ TWO }

[ the clatter draws his attention to the ground, staring down into the mirror that seems to have inexplicably fallen there. not only should it probably have broken, but it also should show his reflection, last he checked into what mirrors did. lord knew he had enough of them in his house. but instead of his own smug mug he instead sees... what ultron could have been. what ultron should have been. protection and safety for the world. it's unnerving, like something out of george orwell's 1984. this isn't what he wanted -- he's not big brother. he's just a man in a tin can.

hearing footsteps, tony starts, peeling his eyes away from the images dancing along the looking glass to take in what's coming up the path. he feels strangely abashed, though he's certain it's only a trick. another cruel deceit in a long line of so many. ] Hark, who goes there? [ an oldy but goody. ]

{ THREE }

[ tony stark, in another life, in a different time, was a gambling man. that man died in afghanistan, but he is lured in by the flashing lights like a moth drawn to a flame anyway. he hangs back and watches others lose. the house always wins. it makes his heart beat faster, breath catching oddly in his throat. there's nothing he wants but to get out of here, and surely this place wouldn't offer him that.

eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him and he steps up to the booth, surveying its every surface with a keen eye. they think they know him -- everyone does so it should stop taking him by surprise, he supposes. he throws a perfect round of darts without a goal in mind. next thing you know he's three games in and has no idea which way is up. his stomach is rumbling and his lips are chapped, but he's playing desperately, like a man possessed. someone save him from himself? or at least bring him a snack :( ]

[ Taken from post-game. ]

Scenario One
[ The streets were a flood of disgusting disease-infested creatures. Back 'home', these suckers got pretty damn fat, but... never would Fiona have imagined them giving a skag a run for their money. She's not stealthy in her movements, her feet pounding the ground in a poor attempt to outrun the five she has chasing her. Her heavy steps were drowned out with the scurrying and squeaks behind her. She's past a few storefront shops, hooking a left down an opening of brick walls. ]

I'm seriously getting chased by rats.... s-seriously?! Is there anything else more impressive out there that can kill me instead?!

[ She's absolutely livid, gasping for breath as her sprint slows, considerably.

Man, how did she go from some weird outer space adventure to this? The mighty had fallen. In some damp, dreary cave - besides the weird housing, it reminded her of Hollow Point. It had the same look-over-your-shoulder feel. The shadows painted a worse picture than when she arrived with the beast that dragged her here. It was foreign, but Fiona knew how to keep her cool. Well, cool enough until her signature hat flew off as she begins to climb over a wall blocking her way. ]

Aw shit!

[ She's half straddled over the wall, now faced with a tough choice.

Hat or no hat.

Please someone help her before she does something stupid and waste the little ammo she has in her pistol? ]

Scenario Three
[ This... this is more her liking. The slot machines in the bars at Hollow Point were definitely a highlight of her nights out. Sure... she may have conned them a few times with false money, but she won fair and square by even showing her face around town. The carnival booths gain her attention - the various lights and sounds stimulating her senses like she's some child. It may have been all subconscious though, because Fiona was b-lining to a particular game with a panicked look on her face. One booth in particular had caught her attention - one piece of the Gortys core. There's no way it could really be it... right? Despite logic telling her not to trust anything here - Fiona gives in. God damn it, does she give in.

The first ten games went by like the snap of a finger. The prize wasn't won and she's left with a sore arm from playing whack a mole... god damn it. She's tapped out and a bit desperate, looking around for anyone. With a roam of her hands down her jacket, she tries to calm herself, keeping it cool despite her gritting teeth showing another story. She's friggin' pissed! Not only does Fiona have zero time for this, but this could be the first chance she has of seeing a familiar face.

Well, cute ass robot face. ]

Hey, s'cuse me. Can I talk to you for a minute?

[ Fiona was ready to unleash her superpower: talking to people until they're 100% confused. ]

HOPE

[This place is strange enough—dark, dank, dead—without even considering the feeling that there’s someone, somewhere, looking, lurking. The feeling of being a toy, being a plaything, played for pleasure is a hard one to shake and not one that exists to be enjoyed.

And still, as strange as that is—as strange as the walls of the cave and the buildings that shouldn’t be there, the mirror is what draws his attention. It’s as out of place as he is, so the boy crouches next to it, careful not to touch for the moment. He doesn’t bother to brush the stringy blonde hair out of his eyes for a better look, and his rather large hat obscures most of his face.]

It’s..too strange. Strange things for strange places. Dark and light and loud and quiet. What do the whispers say?

[He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s speaking out loud—or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care who hears. It doesn’t make much sense, regardless, and he continues in that soft—if monotone—voice.]

It’s like a picture of a picture but backwards. Signs and symbols…good things, but…not real. Do we make them real? They could be.

[He pauses for a moment and almost looks like he might be listening to something, but ultimately shakes his head.]

Maybe. It might be too much.

Edited 2016-03-22 01:27 (UTC)

[There's a cut on the back of Suien's hand from where he shattered the mirror to dust. It stings a bit, nicked him around the thumb where the glove doesn't quite cover. He'll live. Part of him wants to sit on the ground, thread chakra through the shards, and remake the mirror again. Maybe not to break it this time, but to look for a moment longer. Just a moment, and he could see himself standing next to his sister in the aftermath of a glorious slaughter, blood on their hands and laughter on their faces, Roko screaming her victory to the sky and Suien standing at her side. It didn't matter who they'd fought - he hadn't noticed one way or another - but they were together and it was good.

Except, of course, that Roko is lost to him and that mirror showed him nothing but a lie. Which is why it had to be broken, of course.

Sorren grits his teeth, tensing at the voice. He turns his head slowly.] What?

As he gets closer, he might see that she's maybe not in as much danger as it might seem. The creature is nearly as big as she is, true, but it seems to be biting at a cushion of air around her forearm, instead of the arm itself. Her teeth are bared in a scowl--or maybe that's a smile--as she struggles under the weight of it, and she doesn't spare him a glance as he approaches, only rolls over so the thing is directly between her and the approaching hero.

FEAR

[ Of course, nothing was so simple in Laurent's life. Several steps closer towards his uncle, and now a world away.

It takes him longer than he'll care to admit to anyone to realize this is no ploy of his uncle's. In fairness, he wouldn't put anything past his uncle anymore. Were it within his abilities, he surely would have arranged the hell Laurent now found himself in. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as simple as that.

Starting with the rats. Rats my be understating them, though. They're as large as dogs and just as rabid as one might be. If Laurent is still thrown from his abrupt arrival, he doesn't let it show as he draws his sword. One of the creatures makes a noise at him and he easily points his blade at the three that threaten to circle him. Carefully, he keeps the nearest wall of a shop building to his back. He won't allow himself to be taken so easily. ]

Well? [ He challenges the rats. ] Let's begin.

[ Without a second's hesitation, he lunges forth and spears the first one through his mouth with the end of the blade. Another lunges at him, and he carefully dances out of reach, swinging his blade so as to use the body of the speared ROUS to bludgeon the other. As the other ROUS goes down, the one on his sword slides off. The third sees it's chance to finally try to take his back. ]

HOPE

[ Laurent has no hope. He has goals. He has ambitions. They will be his reality, because to imagine anything else would be to allow room for failure. He will not allow that sort of room. Hope is wasted on him.

Or so he'd have the world believe.

The mirror knows otherwise. When he finds it, he thinks to move it from his seat and simply set it aside. Yet as he turns it over, something in the mirror catches his eye. Instead of resisting the temptation, he holds it up to examine it closer.

The vision before him could have been pulled straight from the dreams Laurent doesn't dare to let himself have. His eyes narrow as he sees the image of his kingdom, with him sitting at the throne. He wears the crown his father had worn before him. The crown meant for his brother. Except he doesn't just bear it, he somehow deserves it. It shows in the respect the people around him give. People dressed in the usual, laced style of Vere. And among the crowd are the more sparsely dressed Akielons. There's no hatred among the people. Only respect and peace that comes from two countries united.

It's clearer why, too. Next to Laurent stands a broader, darker man, with a commanding presence and a crown of his own. Damianos.

Laurent grips the mirror tightly and turns to the nearest person, his voice cold as ice. ]

Who created this? [ He asks in a tone that expects to be answered. ]

[ at this point, after so many people from thedas showing up in the cave, cullen is really not surprised to see cole here. nor is he surprised that the mirror is puzzling to him. void, it's puzzling to cullen, and he's had months to get used to the gods' antics. ]

They are Hope's creations. [ cullen crouches down next to cole and gives the mirror a disdainful look. ] Meant to inspire emotion in us that he can feed off of.

[ not unlike a spirit or a demon, that. and just one of many reasons why cullen really, really hates hadriel. like, a lot.

but there are other things to focus on right now. such as-- ] Did you just arrive?

[The shock of who is speaking to him is more than the shock that he's been seen, at least, and he stands up to turn and look at Cullen in confusion for a few breaths. Most of what he's said doesn't make any sense, but then, most of anything other people said didn't really make sense on a good day anyway. But... "Hope's creations?"]

Maybe. I don't remember. Did I? [He probably had just gotten there, if Cullen was asking. He isn't the Nightingale, but he sees more than others, too.]

It's...too loud to listen, but too soft to hear.

[ If she hadn't actually wanted to punch a human before, she does now. ]

Who taught you that? [ she counters, frowning. That's cheating. Her frown deepens before she speaks again, getting a little more irritated. ] And don't call me 'girl.'

[ She doesn't bother giving him another name to call her by, though. Instead, she walks closer, sizing him up in an almost predatory way. Malia doesn't actually intend to do anything, at least not now, but it's instinct. ]

If you don't have anything to say, I'm gonna go kill some more of these rat things.

[ Oh.

Oh.

Like fucking hell she doesn't recognize that language. That verbage. Those shapes to those words. That sharp and concise lilt that boxed a spell in. That controlled it and turned it into tool and not an extension of ones self.

Like fucking hell she doesn't recognize Brakebills magic when she hears it.

She wanders over to the girl that's twisting her hands into shapes that are sharp but organized. Where Julia is all jagged edges, this girl is the very definition of poised control. The spitting image of what an exemplary Brakebills student can do.

Who the fuck is this? ]

You're wasting your time. [ Does she seem amused? This may be the first time she's smiled since she got here. ]

[Suien frowns at her. What he did was a child's trick, barely worth noting. But he recognizes the way she sizes him up, a predator's sharp eyes and twisting hands. A dangerous child. What fun. He doesn't back down, meets her gaze and returns it coolly. She's strong and quick, something snapping just under her skin. Like chakra, but different somehow. It makes his skin itch.] What are you?

[Demon, he thinks. A minor one. He can feel it now that she's closer, power just under the surface, bright and sharp. It makes him want to summon a blade from the air and put it through her chest just in case.

He doesn't. Not yet.]

[ Hawke's just out here stabbing shit, because stabbing shit is what Hawke does best. It's easy to go out and pounce on giant rodents when you have no self-preservation instinct. He doesn't stab the R.O.U.S. chasing Fiona because it's chasing Fiona, but it's a bonus. Makes him look very heroic — or maybe just slightly crazy, since by the time all is said and done, he's gotten blood everywhere. He clearly doesn't know what a clean kill looks like, or maybe he just likes the drama of blood splatters.

Either way, there's a civilian casualty. It's Fiona's hat. He crouches down and picks it up, entirely ignoring her for a moment as he inspects it. Oh, yeah, that's going to be a bitch to wash out. Looking up at her: ]

—You know, I think it looks better this way. Very... rugged. Very bloody chic.

[ Hawke doesn't actually hand it back just yet. It is kind of a cool hat. ]

[ Malia freezes, suddenly less confident than she had been. No one should be able to tell she's different. It's not like she shifted right in front of him. What is it about her that he's reading? It makes her feel somewhat violated. She raises an eyebrow and narrows her eyes. ]

What are you?

[ Countering a question with the same question. It isn't a very clever idea, but Malia has never claimed to be clever. All she cares about is making it clear that she isn't intimidated by him; she isn't some prey to be easily scared away. She's a hunter, not the hunted. The fact that she's never seen an ability like his before worries her slightly, but that only puts her more on the offense. (The best defense is a good offense, she figures. The best defense is probably actually a good defense, but she's never been very good at that.) ]

( it's almost funny, if he thinks about it, the things the gods see fit to throw at them every time they make a decision to do so. giant birds, wind chimes made out of bone, wendigos – or, in the case of when he'd first shown up here, gifts beneath a gleaming christmas tree that could either be exactly what one wanted, or the farthest thing from it, depending on which had been opened.

for sam, he doesn't know what could have been in the other box, because the one he'd opened had contained the amulet dean had thrown away years back, his faith gone and his will waning. he still has it, because of course he does, and it stays on his person at all times.

now, he's meandering about himself, peering at the booths and doing his best to ignore the cat-calls of the carnies when he catches sight of something familiar out of the corner of his eye. it's been months, and he's not entirely sure it isn't the product of a weary and restless mind playing a trick on him, but there's something in him that won't let him believe that he could mistake that stance for anything else than what it is –

or that voice, for that matter. and that has sam's throat tightening, going bone-dry, because he can't let himself hope. not after months of nothing and more nothing, of waiting and wishing and hoping that one day he'll wake up and not be alone.

he approaches slowly, still fairly convinced that it's just his imagination, but his brother's name comes out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, voice catching just a little bit on the single syllable. )

… Dean?

It wasn't a trick question. [ tony assures him with a half shrug. the guy is bleeding but it's a cut on his hand, like, it's probably not worth bringing up. god this place is weird. ] Sorry if I stumped you with that one, though. We could go simpler like. Hey, hello. How're you doing? What great weather in the creepy forest clearing, today, am I right?

[ he could keep going. ]

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! ]

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Test Drive Meme #7

malia tate | teen wolf

Alice : The Magicians (books) : OTA

Mitsuhide Akechi | Samurai Warriors

Damen | The Captive Prince

one

Suien | Naruto

Dean Winchester | Supernatural

fear.

mirror, mirror;

tony snark from that superhero shit ★

Fiona ( tales from the borderlands )

Cole | Dragon Age: Inquisition

two

Re: fear.

laurent ( captive prince )

loud screeching!! for a variety of reasons one of which is i remember you from ages ago!!!

OH HI HELLO CULLEN~ And lol I HOPE IT'S GOOD REMEMBERING

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rage.

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one c:

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well hello there. i choose the second thing.

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agent washington | red vs. blue