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

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?]

Right. They're like cautionary stories. Fairy tales, urban legends, all those sorts of things. They're all based on us.

[Without the need for a smoke for at least another few minutes, his hands go in his pockets.]

And I'm the big bad wolf.

[Wait. Seriously? Sans eyes his big bad friend as though expecting a punchline.

When none comes, he shrugs - which is harder than you'd think when you're lying on the floor. Somehow he manages it.]

That's hilarious.

[Mostly because he's just realized Bigby's name itself is a pun and that is kind of magical.]

[He raises an eyebrow at Sans's response, but mostly just grimaces slightly as he looks away again.]

You'd be the first to think so.

[If it's not anger being directed at him, it's hate. And if not that, fear. Amusement is a bit novel.]

Hey, monsters get a bad rap sometimes. I don't judge.

[I mean, look at him. He's literally made of bones. Even once he cracks an icebreaking joke or two, people usually still look at him funny. There's no hiding the fact that he is a walking, talking skeleton. Not to mention the fact that his entire race got unceremoniously exiled to the Underground.]

[Yeah, well, unlike most monsters his reputation is actually true. Murderous bastard who's lost track of his kill count. Compared to Bigby, Sans is practically a saint.]

Fables do. [More a grumble to himself than an actual response. He knows he deserves it.] It's my job to try not to.

Hence the Sheriff title?

[Sounds like work. Protecting your reputation. Sans gave up on that...gosh, how long ago?

Eh. Time is an illusion, anyway.]

Pretty much.

[Let's just gloss over how terrible he is at anger management and jumping to snap decisions.

He pushes off the wall to go back to the window. Maybe he can see the monsters through it.]

What about you? Did you have anything like that underground?

Edited 2016-04-25 05:45 (UTC)

Who, us? Nah. We monsters are pretty chill.

[The joke doesn't work if Bigby hasn't seen Snowdin. Ah, well. It's the thought that counts.]

Every now and then we'd get a human down there.

[The lights in his eyes waver a little bit. Humans never lasted very long Underground, with one exception. One...very complicated exception.]

Must've been exciting.

[He wipes more grime from the window (and then onto his pants) to try and see out, but it's still fogged up. Evidently the other side is just as bad.]

Oh, yeah. Real exciting.

[Sans...Sans doesn't want to get up. Getting up means effort, and effort means mustering all his magic molecules into giving a damn. But he can't just lie down here forever, so he manages to work himself into a sitting position. There we go. Baby steps.]

So exciting that none of them ever came back out.

[He certainly recognises that defeated tone of voice, and when he looks back the slumped skeleton is a vaguely unsettling sight, especially with the grin looking so empty. It's obvious he touched on something personal.]

Sorry. Didn't mean to dig up bad memories for you.

Nah.

["Nah" as in he didn't dig up any bad memories, or "nah" as in he's fine? Sans is shooting for both, personally. The problem with smiling all the time is that people sometimes get good at reading into the subtle facial nuances. Even bone can be fallible sometimes.

He gets up. Whoof. He's had worse. Ha ha ha.]

It's no biggie.

Hmm.

[He'll leave off the rest of the questions he has for now. He may be a blunt asshole but he doesn't want to intentionally push someone into that when they're being decent. So instead he moves away from the window.]

Doesn't sound like they're outside anymore. I can get us out if you wanna save your energy. [Because Sans seems to have a severe shortage.]

That'd be pretty great, I won't lie.

[Look at this guy. He takes laziness from a habit to an art form. Expending this much effort at any given time is gonna take its toll.]

Don't think they can smell us, can they?

[Well...Bigby, maybe. Sans has no idea how they'd sniff out a skeleton. Maybe it's the jacket. The jacket's got a pretty singular smell, ketchup and relish and char and a general unwashed scent.]

I can. Dunno if they've got a better nose than me. But it looked like they were drawn more to sound, anyway.

[Which means this plan wasn't gonna be fun. He picks up a nearby stool with some difficulty - another item welded by age to the ground, that needed a concentrated effort to free - and weighs it in his hands.]

So we're gonna have to move fast.

Fast isn't really my forte.

[The fastest he can move is when he's taking one of his patented shortcuts. Which means he might need to stand and fight. Sigh.

He really doesn't like to do that. But maybe he's done enough sitting on the sidelines for now. People like him can never take it easy, can they.]

[He glances over at Sans to give him a careful look-over.]

...you don't look too heavy. If you don't mind being carried.

[He does a gentle practice swing with the stool. Smashing a window is never fun, but at least it's not his back being used for it this time. Thanks, Woody.]

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