dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #10

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!test drive

Test Drive Meme #10

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 June 24th, and apps are open July 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: UNBEARABLE
[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 several bereskarn, from the Dragon Age video game series.

While they were once normal bears, these hideous creatures have been corrupted by the Blight into something terrible. They are larger than normal bears and have bone spikes jutting out through their skin, which leaves them with constantly bleeding wounds. They are easily enraged, and will attack fiercely if agitated. Have fun!]

SCENARIO TWO: CLAMOROUS CAVES
[Wow, it sure is weirdly foggy out, considering there's no weather in Hadriel. The sun's dim, the light's strange, and hey - is that an air raid siren? Oh shit.

Welcome to Silent Hill, Hadriel edition. When the siren sounds, the city changes into a twisted, darker version of itself, teeming with monsters and looking like something straight out of your nightmares. And if you're really unlucky, there might be a monster lurking in there just for you, your own personal demon ready to hunt you down. Let's hope you can stay alive until the city changes back!

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

R A G E

SCENARIO THREE: NO FLAMES PLZ
[This morning you woke up to a letter on your doorstep, addressed to you. Curious, since there's no mail delivery in Hadriel. Upon opening it, you discovered a carefully written letter containing a brutal takedown of something that means a lot to you. Something you really care about

Maybe they're trashing your favorite sports team. Maybe they're calling your hometown a trash pit full of hipsters. Maybe they're saying your boyfriend has weird hair. Or maybe it's worse than that - maybe they're saying that everything you've been working for is a complete waste of time, and you're an idiot for trying. Whatever it is, it's calculated just right to piss you off, and piss you off real bad. And hey. That letter's signed.

Maybe somebody will come by and talk you down - or maybe the person who comes by is the one who's name is on that letter, even if it might not quite be in their handwriting. What're you gonna do? Fight them? Lay an elaborate trap? Try not to let it get to you and talk it out like adults? Yeah right. Time for a reckoning.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

silent hill;

[ There is everything wrong about this place, and how it warps like a serpent, melting from a cave to something else entirely, leaving Jean disoriented and caught off-guard. The piercing sound of the alarms are unnerving, as is the sudden awareness of being cut off from her teammates and friends -- she's always been able to reach out to them, tapping on a delicate network of thought processes, each one a familiar signature to her questing mind; but now the web is gone, with only a stark emptiness to take its place, together with unfamiliar minds and thoughts on the periphery. She's all alone in a world that belongs in the recesses of her worst nightmares, peeling away all sense of normalcy to reveal the immense, raw wound of terror and fury -- and she chokes on it, the hatred that permeates every iota of this dimension and threatens to make her sick.

En Sabah Nur's last words disappear in the face of this latest horror, and she knows a different kind of fear -- one that doesn't come from within, but from the lurching, faceless creature that heads towards her, moving in ways that should be humanly impossible. It spits, and a lamp post corrodes, and the next inky black spit misses her by mere meters.

Jean flees in a heartbeat, using her power to fling an overturned car at it to buy herself time; especially when more seem to crawl out of the woodwork. She has to go, she has to find a way out and back to the others -- even if the battle is over there's still much to be done, so much more to be rebuilt, and she cannot die here. Her mind brushes up against someone else's as she sprints towards a set of buildings, and she hears inhuman cry-shrieks, the potent, acrid stench of burning ash scorching her throat and lungs. Be brave, be brave. She has to be brave; even if she's looked into the face of something worse than death.

Jean doesn't stop as she grabs a stranger's arm (human, she knows this much in her frantic drive to survive whatever this has become), sprinting towards the nearest safe place, and in her haste she forgets to speak aloud, her words ringing in their head: Come with me! ]

wildcard;
[ Anything goes! ]

Edited 2016-06-23 16:19 (UTC)

[There's a hand on his arm and a voice in his head, and he recoils from it, stares at the girl with eyes as wild as a trapped animal, and takes a few steps back away from her.

There's a monster on his shoulder, a cruel, disgusting, twisted, tentacled thing that's wrapped itself around his shoulders and back, buried itself under his skin. It hisses at her, as though she's encroached on his territory, which, in a way, she has.]

Don't... don't do that.

[ Jean stares at the thing on his shoulder, wide-eyed. It's a new, grotesque parasite that's locked itself onto him, and somehow it looks like he hasn't noticed. The face on it is unsettling, and James looks at her like a trapped animal, wide and green and more lost than he's ever been.

She knows, Of course she does, the years that he's endured, the memories he's only just getting back, warped by this thing on his shoulder, drawing whatever it can from him. It takes her a few moments to grasp the entirety of this, the fact that he deserves better after all that he's endured, the pain and the isolation, the awful way he had been taken and used for other ends, manipulated and exploited -- a victim of circumstances.

Jean is apologetic, and she steps forward, refusing to be afraid of the creature that hisses at her. She has to save him; she must. ]

I'm sorry. [ She says quietly, meeting his eyes. ] My name is Jean. Jean Grey. I'm a student at Professor X's School for the Gifted. [ Things she wouldn't tell anyone, things she would have never spoken out loud; but Jean needs him to believe that she won't hurt him, and she has to show him that he has nothing to fear from her. The same cannot be said for the hellish parasite. ] Let me help you.

[That she's a student means nothing to him, offers no comfort, provides no additional suspicion. He's not... afraid, exactly, not of her, but of what the monster might make him do to her.

He takes another step back.]

You should stay away from me.

[He and the monster are one and the same. Even without the monster on his shoulder, he'd still be a monster.

There's no helping him.]

[ Monsters are relative. Jean's very sure she's one, too, and in an entirely different way from what this man is. His thoughts hurt, the fragments of horrific memory that flicker in his mind and slip away is proof of the kind of evil one person can do to the other. Truth be told, in the face of all that, she's not sure if the parasite that's clamped itself to him is the worst thing compared to all the others. ]

It's fine. [ She takes a step forward, meeting his eyes. He doesn't have to be afraid for her. Jean might have something big, something powerful growing and taking root inside of her; life and death and fire, but she's learning how to control it, to not to afraid. The face snarls at her, all wild instinct and blind greed, the overwhelming desire to consume the man it's clamped onto. ]

I can take that away from you. Will you let me?

I...

[Truth be told, he wants it gone. He wants to be free of it. What's stopping him is the knowledge that even with it gone he won't be free. It won't change who he is. What he is. What he's become. And more than that, he doesn't want to hurt her, and he knows it will make him if she gets closer.

It snarls and speaks. The Soldier is mine! You cannot take me from him! He is my creation, my perfect weapon!

He flinches and looks at her desperately.]

Are you sure?

[He won't let her close if there's no possibility of success.]

He's not your anything.

[ She tells it fiercely, scowling. This twisted mirror of a nightmare that's latched itself onto this man is nothing resembling a human being, an unwelcome creature living off what's left of this man. She sympathizes, tries hard not to look too deeply at the horror that he's had to endure for far too long. His desperation makes her heart ache for him, her desire to protect spurring her onward with a strength she would never again underestimate.

And so she reaches out, her mind closing around the thing, and pulls. ]

I'm sorry, [ She says quietly to Bucky. ] this is going to hurt.

It always does.

[He says it with a tiny, wry smile, which disappears so quickly when the creature wraps its tentacles around his neck and starts to squeeze.

No. He's mine. Kill me, and you kill him.

The soldier chokes and his legs get weak, and he falls to his knees.

It hurts. Of course it hurts. There's a searing, tearing pain at his shoulder, his back, in his brain, and of course, the monster is doing its hardest to suffocate him at the same time.]

[ I'm sorry, she whispers apologetically in his mind, and when he falls to his knees she goes with him, her hands cupping his face as she works. Hold on, listen to my voice. Stay with me.

This stranger who is barely himself anymore, a man with chunks of what he was still missing, used as a weapon for so long. The threat the parasite makes falls on deaf ears when she begins to take it apart, reaching out to scatter and destroy the particles that had formed it. She will help him. She must; his suffering is horrific, overwhelming, and to allow the thing to continue sapping Bucky's life force is to watch the man endure an excruciating, slow death.

Jean has the stronger will, forcing herself into its mind, overpowering it as she watches it shatter and disintegrate. Physically, its grip loosens on Bucky until it falls away altogether, the body disappearing into dust. ]

[This place doesn't much care if you've got something important to do back home. Steve knows he has that waiting for him too. His battle hasn't even started yet, and he's anxious to get to it and make something of himself. (He knows but he doesn't know, because other people here might know the Steve Rogers that is also Captain America, but only his future self could tell him not to be in such a hurry.)

He can't die here, he won't, even if his actions sometimes seem to spit in the face of any self-preservation. Why else would he be out here with a knife and a shield against these things.

But then he's grabbed by a girl, and Steve would be a lot more shocked by the voice in his head if he hadn't been here for months already, hadn't met people like Wanda and others who can do all sorts of things.]

This way! [He tries to steer them both in the direction of an alley.] If we can make it to one of the temples, we'll be safe. I know a shortcut!

[ There's responsibility that lies heavy on those narrow shoulders, the heart of him that makes him seem bigger than he is. Steve is bold as a lion, courageous even in the face of such horrors, as is the powerful instinct to survive that she picks up on immediately. Steve, his name is, and the knife and shield that he wields seem almost too big for him -- but Jean understands his intent, the brightness of his fighting spirit, how he would never go down without a fight.

It's an admirable thing, and she lets him steer them both towards the alley, knowing that he's certain of the way there. Still, she casts a barrier around them as they run, following after as one of the temples come into view. ] We're close!

[Alleys used to spell big trouble for him, though much of it was trouble of his own making. But when running or staying silent are you only other alternatives, there are no alternatives.

Steve's made it a point to learn the city as much as he can, what connects to what, what is a little more as the crow flies. He's not fast, and he gets winded easy, and everything that he can do to his advantage helps.

So he gets her to the temple, tuckered out and breathless. But she's safe. He did the only thing that really matters to him.]

You okay?

[ She can see the map of it in his head, when he connects one road to another quickly enough to ensure them safe passage -- and for that she's grateful. So when he's exhausted and breathless from the run, she's quickly concerned, shutting the doors behind them (for better or worse).

His sense of duty is a compelling, powerful thing, as is his stubborn adherence to doing the right thing, as opposed to what is easy. Steve is honorable, as kind as he is tenacious, and she hovers near, quietly worried. ] I'm fine. Are you? Can I help?

-Fine.

[It's the only word he can manage. Steve's nearly heaving, his face flushed from the run. But he straightens up and pushes those sweaty bangs to the side.]

As long as you stay here, you'll be safe.

[Steve ran to get her here, beyond the reach of the things outside. And now that she is, he's already preparing to go back out there.]

I don't need to stay safe if there are other people out there.

[ She's skimmed his thoughts, aware of what he plans to do -- and Jean catches a hold of his hand, unwilling to let him go out there by himself. ]

Where are you planning to go?

[Steve stops abruptly, glancing down at her hand clutching his. She's young and scared and seemingly unarmed, and Steve wants her to stay here where she's out of harm's way. But there are people who'd want the same for him. Steve reminds himself of that.]

Someone might've gotten trapped in one of the stores. I thought I'd circle back around them just once more.

I'm coming with you.

[ Not that she doesn't think he can handle it, mainly -- it's just that two are better than one, and she's not about to hide here when there are people who will need their help. How can she do any less, when he's taking it all upon himself? She musters a small smile, and squeezes his hand before starting to head out of the temple. ]

Let's go, Steve.

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prespangled - 2016-07-07 00:10 (UTC) - Expand

[ Fear clogs every cranny. Wanda's lost only because she's looking for those in the fog, turned around again and again. Never any point trusting her eyes: it'll darken when there's nothing there. She tracks the screams, fingers splayed, streaks of red along them. She is afraid, true. She is angrier. ]

[ Jean collides, and it's not so much someone running past her as much as it is being abruptly caught in a current. Alayne? The thought is gone before it fully forms. This girl feels like fire. ]

Not that way —

[ Dead end! ]

[ She says a name that Jean doesn't know, a fragment of it wiped too quickly before more of it coalesces, and suddenly she understands, knows that she's speaking to someone who's like her. She thinks of a sea of red, of pieces of other thoughts and chaos, and power like nothing she's ever seen before, so much like her own.

Jean finds a connection, the wave of knowing someone's so much like her (oh, the fear that's buried deep, the burden of one who's gifted above so many others that it becomes something of a curse), she is afraid and angry and Jean understands all of it; if she is fire then this other must surely be blood, and she course corrects immediately with her, moving swiftly down another path. She doesn't tell Wanda her name -- she already knows, the same way Jean instinctively picks up on hers.

There. The church. ]

[ It's not really a name. Wanda has left it without one; she calls it magic, and herself a witch the way only Natasha understands enough to call herself a widow. Jean's red is in flashes, blurred like smoke: something that is not looked at, not often. They twine together as two reaching across a chasm, the tendrils of her consciousness and Jean's, holding strong. ]

[ Terror is absent when they head for the church. Instead, she watches an inexplicable joy bloom. The slow spread of wings, a freefall off a cliff. Not alone. There's still a jagged wreck in Wanda that knows the feeling of bullets through a human body and screams for Pietro, and she's not alone. The two live side by side. ]

[ They crouch behind one of the fallen pews and listen for the creature. They can take it together, but only if you want, she says, a little shaken, squeezing Jean's hand lightly. Every breath of life since that mortar has been given over to fighting, and hiding here brings something vile and bitter-tasting to the back of her throat. ]

[ Not alone. Wanda feels jagged, and Jean doesn't need to pry too deeply to know that death is a constant companion, that it's taken away the other half of her soul, the ones she'd loved. Jean reaches back and takes hold, and the joy of finding another just like her is a soaring feeling that she's only ever dreamed of; the same kind of thing grows inside of them, the same kind of something that is not looked at, not often.

She thinks of bullets in a human body and knows it's not her own -- hers is fire and death, dancing in the stars, destruction and life that blossoms in the ashes; her own isolation, how afraid she had been of herself, plagued by voices and secrets and so much pain. And here, now, it feels like she finally has kindred.

They can take the creature together, and Jean squeezes her hand back, sensing the bitterness laced in her thoughts, the trauma of hiding for what is to come. No more hiding, no more fear. They are stronger than what had shaped them, and her thoughts are resolute. Together, they could take on any horror this town can throw at them. Behind them, an immense, sickeningly horrific faceless creature crawls in on massive arms, gaping maw and reeking of rotting meat and death. It is bred from the twisted bowels of nightmares, knitted together with hellish intent; and it roars, searching for them.

Jean grimaces, but refuses to let her terror take hold. She sends an image, then another. She can hold that massive thing down as much as she's able to, and they can come together to destroy it. ]

[ No more hiding. They stand as one being, take a breath, together. Anger is her oldest bedfellow, even before Pietro took to sleeping between her and the door; it solidifies to resolution. Scarlet fills the room between them and it, serpentine around the creature's limbs. Her fingers shake with the fine control. Every weak point, touched feather-light. This is her part of the job. Ready. It rings, clear as a bell. Do it now. Together. ]

[ Her anger can move mountains, Jean realizes. The church is filled with scarlet, spreading out like veins as she keeps the beast in check. It only just registers what's happening, and it roars, shaking the church to its foundations, breaking the overturned pews as it fights against Wanda's hold.

Jean, burning with raw power just barely controlled, creates a barrier to pin its powerful arms down, augmenting Wanda's hold with her own, strengthening it -- it's the first time she's done something like this with another, and the rush is overwhelming, pushing fear to the back of her mind. The surge of energy from Wanda's magic is exhilarating, pushing her onwards as she rises to join the other woman, cosmic fire burning at her consciousness, roaring to be released once again.

Jean resists this time -- this nightmare is no En Sabah Nur (and a part of her still fears what she can do), and she keeps the power locked away as she curls her fingers into a fist, Wanda's feather-light touches over every weak point augmented, applied with crushing force. Where Wanda's is more refined, Jean's is less so; but it complements Wanda's mastery with a strength of will that Jean will never again underestimate.

The enormous monster eventually crumples, cracking underneath the onslaught, and Jean pushes onward with Wanda, forcing past the monster's incredible strength, that wild, twisted need to kill, to destroy. ]

[ Mercy is for the young. Wanda's mouth hardens to a line as the creature shrieks, trapped in the twin hold of two telekinetics. Destruction was the first thing she learnt to do -- or perhaps, that Strucker intended she learn, but she volunteered and understands the price of that knowledge. To break apart is easier than to build, and she's not Jean. She's not life and fire. ]

[ It crumples, some green acidic liquid comes out and dissolves the stone. Wanda lowers her hands, exhales a breath she didn't realise she was holding. ]

[ And then she laughs, silvery. ]

I think I like you.

[ When it's all over, Jean exhales -- she has never felt such incredible, coursing power through another person, an unfamiliar name coming to the fore. She doesn't know who Strucker is, but she understands enough from the swirl of her thoughts, her own presence a gentle, curious one. They are kindred, she thinks, and Jean cannot help but be immediately drawn to that silver laughter in the wake of unimaginable horror.

She smiles then, taking a deep breath (careful not to take too deep ones, because the stench from the dead thing is acrid) and unable to hide her fascination with the other woman. Wanda is scarlet and destruction and change, and the first person aside from the professor that she truly doesn't need to hide from. ]

I like you, too. [ She says without thinking, her eyes bright. ] That was incredible. You were out here protecting people?

Test Drive Meme #10

jean grey | x-men: apocalypse (no spoilers)

aaaaw yiss (she's welcome to read his mind as much or as little as you want)

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silent hill.

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