dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #8

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!test drive

Test Drive Meme #8

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 April 24th, and apps are open May 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: DEAD FLESH BUFFET
[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 lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect chance to swarm around you and chow down. This time, the Door has brought in a group of rotfiends, from the video game The Witcher.

These unpleasant-looking creatures are necrophages, meaning they feed on the flesh of the dead, and if that flesh is in short supply they are happy to add to it. Normally found in groups, they are fast and difficult to corner. What's more, when on the verge of death, they have an annoying tendency to explode into a flammable cloud of poisonous toxins. You left your torch at home, right?]

R A G E
SCENARIO TWO: MMM WHATCHA SAY
[There you were, just walking along the street, minding your own business like a good underground hell-city citizen, when all of a sudden you saw someone. It was like love at first sight - if by 'love' you mean 'deep burning hatred'. You've never wanted to kill someone so much, and why? Well, you're not really sure, but there's probably a reason! You'll just have to figure it out. Or not. Who needs a reason for murder, anyway?

Or maybe you're the one someone else has targeted. Maybe you know they're after you and you're desperately trying to watch your back. Why do they hate you? You don't even know them. Or maybe you do, maybe they're your best friend. Either way, this is a super awkward situation, and someone might end up dead. Hopefully not you!

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

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: SCRATCH OFF
[This morning, you received a scratch ticket in the mail (who knew Hadriel even had mail?), addressed to you. The instructions are clear enough - scratch off three matching icons, and you win a prize! Sure, okay. But here's the grand prize: a one-way ticket home.

Unfortunately, try as you might, you aren't gonna win that one, but keep hoping! And hey, just think of all the other GREAT PRIZES you could win: an inflatable duck, a plastic ring to give your sweetheart, an empty can of Red Bull, a cell phone charm shaped like a strange green creature with a boner.

So what if you didn't win that ticket home? You got something almost as good: a shitty prize! Thanks, Hope!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He's not getting an apology for it.]

'Sensitive' isn't one of my strong points.

[He looks over Sans (very very easily, since he doesn't even reach Bigby's shoulder) at the monsters lurking in the short distance.]

I'm gonna guess those aren't your friends.

Who, them?

[Yep, he doesn't even need to look back. He can't manage more than short little spurts of distance, and these things are closing in quicker and quicker. Maybe if they find out there's no flesh to his bones they'll leave him alone.

Hah. That's a joke.]

Nah. They're just dying to meet me.

[W i n k.]

[The pun just gets a dry look. He steps around Sans to stand between him and the monsters, and as he walks something... changes. He seems slightly taller, for one, and much scruffier. When he looks back down at Sans, his eyes are a much richer shade of gold than the brown they had been moments before.]

Well, I'd hate to keep them waiting.

[He's poised and ready, but then a thought occurs and he glances over his shoulder again.]

You, ah... might wanna hold your breath.

[Ah...ha. Yeah, alright, more to him than meets the eye, someone might say. The sweat's cresting near one of his temples again, both in anticipation for the incipient conflict and at his new acquaintance's...changes, but Sans manages a little chuckle.]

Hey, don't worry about it. I don't have lungs.

[He starts edging back. He knows an incoming fight when he sees one.]

[Oh good, he doesn't have to tell him to move too. He likes the smart ones.

He turns back to the nearest rotfiend, and steps forward. It only takes a single swing to sink his claws into its side, all but bissects it as he slices up towards its shoulder and then kick it powerfully back when it starts spasming. The resulting explosion still makes him stumble back towards Sans, very narrowly not falling over, but at least it's not a fireball this time, and he recovers quickly to see - and smell - the grisly result of the chain reaction, and as he turns away again he reaches into a pocket for his packet of cigarettes, already looking like a normal human again.]

[Sans shuts his eyesockets to keep from being pelted with the resultant mess. Whoof - however bad his new friend smells, this reek has gotta be a thousand times worse.

Nice that this guy can handle himself. Stepping in isn't one of Sans's favored activities, and he's drained enough as it is.]

Neat trick.

[The response is all rote at this point. Nonplussed, endlessly-exhausted Sans. The easiest enemy. Just a helpless skeleton trying to get by.]

Guess you really claw-bbered 'em, huh?

[Wow you need to stop. He taps the packet on his free hand and plucks the popped cigarette out.]

It's what I do: be the biggest and baddest.

[Sans might be a skeleton but Bigby can still smell his exhaustion, somehow. This was one hell of a stranger to meet. They couldn't be a Fable, surely? He'll offer a smoke as a sign of goodwill, at least.]

[Sans waves the offer aside. He appreciates the thought, but nah. Can you imagine a skeleton smoking without lungs? It might be good for a scare, all that smoke just pouring out from between his ribs. Heh.]

'S a good thing you were here. Been running from those things for a while now.

[And now that they're both not about to die, they can get down to pleasantries. Like introductions.]

[Pack away, lighter out. He takes a deep breath before he responds.]

I've found more than my fair share of them, I think. [He exhales the smoke away from Sans, and uses the cigarette to gesture to his shirt.] Found out they're flammable the hard way.

[The cigarette goes back, and he smokes like he has a vendetta, drawing hard enough to turn almost half of it to ash. But he still turns to Sans again and offers a light smile.]

Sheriff Bigby.

Sans. Sans the skeleton.

[Pretty self-explanatory. Self-explsansatory. Eh, that one's a reach. Man, a whoopee cushion would be great right about now. Pity he didn't have one in his pocket when he showed up. What he did have was a couple packets of ketchup that he hasn't had the heart to squeeze out yet.]

You know, I hear that stuff could be dangerous. Guess I never figured how much.

[Heh. That one was a rib.]

I wouldn't know. Normally I'm the most dangerous thing in the room.

[Another puff.]

Can't say for sure here, though. I might have competition.

[Dangerous, huh? That little display was enough to prove as much, but it's nice to get confirmation. Better keep an eyesocket on this one. He's not going after people without any reason, sure, but the cruelest intentions are hidden in the nicest of packages. Sans learned that lesson too well, and too harshly.

But his grin is a permanent fixture, and it doesn't fade.]

Heh, yeah. Never had any of those back home.

[He's getting very curious about this little skeleton.]

Yeah. Me neither.

[His cigarette is very close to done, but he gets one last draw in.]

So this isn't your town either, then.

Nah. Was underground, though, kinda like this one.

[He takes the moment to lean back against the wall for support and let his nonexistent heartrate get itself back under control. Catch his breath, if he had any. Funny how he still gets pretty tired regardless.

He dashes his sleeve over his bony brow, wiping away the droplets of sweat there.]

I end up here one day, and those things are on my tailbone.

[He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the smoking remains. Those things. Ex-things, now.]

[Well he's nodding politely at the responses. Any intel he can get on anyone is certainly useful, makes his work easier in the long run.]

Well, it's good to know our stories match.

[But there's one major distraction here, and he keeps watching Sans even as he drops his spent cigarette to butt out.]

Can't say I've ever seen a skeleton sweat before, though.

Guess you can't always believe what you see.

[He winks one of his eyesockets in a manner that might be unsettling to someone who's never seen a stiff, bony ridge close down over the empty socket.

He needs a pick-me-up. He digs around in his pocket for a minute, then eventually extricates one of his precious packets of ketchup. He rips it open, and without any fanfare, squeezes the entirety of it into his mouth.]

[And he just... keeps staring. One hand digs out his cigarettes again on autopilot, and it's not until he taps a new one out that he finally looks away to focus on it instead.]

Don't I know that much.

[Glamours... what a fucking pain. After he lights his new cig, he starts pacing away, looking at the mess of monster crap again.]

We should probably keep moving. Those things didn't seem too smart, but you don't have to be to notice noises like that.

[He crumples up the packet and drops it back into his pocket. Chances are he'll regret wasting that later, but it's worth it for the comedic value of this guy...just staring. Nothing like it.

Besides, the smell is way better than the mingling stench of burnt fur and smoldering viscera.]

Sounds like work.

[But hey, it means they get to live, so it's probably worth it.

Sans doesn't need to glance over his shoulder. He hears the slavering noises of another couple approaching new friends.]

Speaking of which.

[He sighs wearily at the sound of more monsters.] Shit.

[He'd like to try and conserve his energy, or at least his cigarettes, but the copious enemies seems to want to make his life hell.]

Hold on a sec.

[He crushes his still-fresh cigarette underfoot and turns around, striding purposefully past Sans looking even hairier than before. He's not going to waste time slicing the rotfiend open, instead walking up to the nearest one and simply kicking it hard enough to cave its chest in and send it flying backwards at speed. He turns away from the resulting chain reaction and walks back past Sans.]

Try and keep up.

[Because he's not waiting for more of them to catch up.]

[All right, or they could do that. The little pinpricks in Sans's eyesockets shrink for a moment in alarm as Bigby straight-up charges the rotfiend and creates a concave incident where there was once a chest cavity. Tough guy. He'd best not get on his bad side.

Oh boy. He eyes the area surrounding Bigby, trying to predict where he might end up. He sucks in a breath, shuts his eyes, and takes a quick shortcut. Skips through the patches of antispace like it's nothing. And then he's back.

Bigby will find Sans waiting for him on the other side, hands in pockets, nonchalant as ever but for the thick beads of sweat rolling down his brow.]

No problem.

[Seeing Sans ahead of him makes him pause, and he very almost does a double take as he frowns in confusion. Instead, he focuses on noticing the fresh smell of sweat coming from the skeleton, and the sweat condensing on his skull.]

...you sure? It looks like it might be.

[It's also very eerily reminiscent of Bloody Mary, but at this point he's fairly certain that Sans couldn't possibly know that.]

Don't sweat it.

[He chuckles like the joke is absolutely hilarious, and then the beady little lights in his eyes abruptly shrink into minute pinpricks.]

I'd watch your six.

['Cause a couple of those rotfiends are starting to recover, and they are not looking pleased about it.]

[He mostly just grumbles as he glances over his shoulder to check on them.]

We should find cover. We don't know how many of those there are.

[Like, he can fight them all, but he really doesn't want to. He looks up at the building next to them, suspicious more than curious. Does it even have an entrance?]

[He doesn't see any door, but a building that's hard to enter means it'll be hard to break into. Alrighty, then. Time to pull himself together for one last time.

The squat little skeleton holds out a bony hand to the Sheriff.]

You want in? I know a shortcut.

[Come on, buddy, don't leave him hanging.]

[Have another long, suspicious look. Sans is reminding him very uncomfortably of a number of assholes he's seen in only the recent past: but at the same time, he hasn't tried anything. Yet.

There's still a moment's hesitation before he takes Sans' hand in a firm grip.]

I'm trusting you. [A warning, but not an outright threat. Don't make him regret this. He wants to like you.]

/o/

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