dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #8

Entry tags:

!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 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.]

Hey, don't worry. Just hang on.

[He focuses on the blank spot of wall in front of them, just for a moment, and in the space between the blink of an eye, they're inside. Snapped from one place to the next with hardly a moment to breathe in between. The building's empty, bit musty inside, but abandoned means they're not likely to be ambushed.

Sans is puffing a little bit with the effort of carrying someone along in one of his shortcuts, but he still manages to keep up that grin.]

Told ya.

...huh.

[Is that what it's like when Bloody Mary teleports between locations? It's interesting, at least. He smells the air, glad that the traces of poison in the air are finally gone in favour of must and staleness. This whole city reminds him of the cavern surrounding the Witching Well.]

You should probably take five. You look dead tired.

[The pun escapes before he can help himself, and he busies himself with getting a new cigarette out so he doesn't have to look Sans in the eye. Socket.]

Heh heh heh heh.

[Yeah, Sans is just gonna...fall back and lie on the floor for a bit. This is good. This is fine. He's done this plenty of times at home. Made the decision to cross the length a room for some reason or another and then just experienced a sudden moment of exhaustion and or apathy and, nope, he ends up stopping halfway.

He looks pretty content down there, to be honest.]

That was a good one.

[...well. As long as he's comfortable.]

I'm not bad at them. Though I've heard more jokes about huffing and puffing than I've had smokes.

[And given how he's on his third in ten minutes, that should say something.

He puts one hand in his pocket as he moves around the room. It looked almost like a lounge, half collapsed from lack of use. He gives what could have been a low table a wipe, but the dust doesn't even shift, instead grating his palm.

He stands up and looks around again.]

What is this place?

Not a clue.

[He can't hear any more squishing noises of undead abominations, so he's good to assume that this means they're safe for now. For a certain value of the word "safe". That value being two decimal points away from zero.]

Didn't see a way in so I, uh, took a shortcut. Should buy us some time.

[The air's thick with dust, but it's prrrrobably the regular kind, right? Probably not the powdered remains of deceased monsters. Probably.

Otherwise he'd feel weird lying in this stuff. But he doesn't. So.]

[It's going to be thick with smoke soon as well with how quickly Bibgy's burning his cig down. He moves over to a wall to examine a grime-encrusted window.]

You aren't the first person I've met who can do that.

[He wipes down it with a finger, and it clear to reveal a shock of stained glass, obscenely colourful in the gloom.]

You're a lot more agreeable than Mary, though.

[Sans's eyesockets drifted shut for a moment there, but one of them cracks open lazily.]

Mary. Huh. Doesn't ring a bell.

[Kinda interested in who else might have that particular talent, he won't lie. But getting up is overrated.]

She some kinda monster too?

Yeah. You could say that.

[He moves back over to Sans and leans against the wall.]

Not like us, though; fucking psychopath suits her better. She made a sport out of killing humans, worked as a killer for hire.

Wow. Sounds like a major problem.

[Isn't it nice that other people had to take care of that one. Isn't it nice that people who aren't Sans were responsible for that.]

Wasn't married the idea of murder, was she?

[heh heh heh heh...

Seeing that kinda thing happen enough sorta desensitizes you to it after a while. Easy to crack a joke and a grin. Easier to pretend it's not his problem.]

Well, she seemed to enjoy the taste of it.

[Bigby that's not going to work if he doesn't know you literally bit her to pieces. But his puns are infectious.]

She's not a problem anymore, at least.

[...taste. Not a problem. Huh. He files that little comment away, though he doesn't dispense any witty commentary to accompany it. That indicates Bigby must've been the one to deal with the "problem," in kind of a, shall he say, hands-on manner?

But heck, that's just a hunch. He could be wrong about that hunch, but he kind of doubts it. Perks of being more astute than people give you credit for.]

That's what happens when you end up away from home.

[Another long drag as he thinks the sentence over.]

Something like that.

[And he exhales slowly. After a few seconds he looks back down at Sans. It's very disconcerting seeing his eye sockets shut like that.]

I'm starting to think we might have different definitions of the word 'monster'. You used it pretty casually. [Not to mention 'too'.]

Hey, sure. You never seen a skeleton before?

[C'mon, he's pretty sure this qualifies as Grade-A monster material.]

Might wanna watch out. I hear we're pretty common.

[Hey, that got a genuine laugh out of him. Or at least an amused huff of smoke.]

Can't say I've seen one walking around without the rest of the person attached to it. That'd be cause for concern where I'm from.

[Scooooore. See, everybody loves jokes. Best way to get a new buddy to loosen up some.

But onto the more serious bit: actually answering Bigby's little query.]

Back home, "monster" means anyone who isn't human.

[Including, you guessed it - yours truly.]

Huh. Keeps it simple, at least.

[He drops his spent cigarette on the side Sans isn't, and grinds it underfoot.]

I'm known as a Fable back home. Or I am to other Fables. It's kind of a small circle.

[Really likes his smokes, doesn't he? Hey, Sans doesn't judge. Not until he has to, anyway.]

Fable. Isn't that a story, or something?

[Sans knows perfectly well what a fable is, in theory. But how much is Bigby willing to tell him?]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject