TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[inthenightmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME #1

Hello and welcome to the In the Night test drive meme for June! Thanks for your interest in our game! Reserves open on June 20, and applications open on June 22.

While you're here...

• Take a look at our rules and faq pages to familiarize yourself with the game.
  
• Note that we have a reserve/application cap of 20 apps per month (this has been waived for the first month!).
  
• TDM threads can become game canon if both players wish. If the situation isn't something that could happen in-game, you're free to chalk it up to some strange hallucination, a shared dream, or other mysterious circumstance.
  
• Note that this is not limited to new characters threading with characters already in-game. If current players wish to thread out the TDM prompts as canon events, they are welcome to do so.
  
• Though threads can become canon, they cannot count toward AC.
  
• If you plan to apply, please keep in mind that we do require at least one sample thread on the application to be from our TDM (though it doesn't need to be the current TDM).
  
• You're welcome to use the provided prompts or come up with something on your own, but we do ask that all threads take place in our game's setting.

Thank you again, and we hope you'll choose to join us!

log prompts

YOU'RE DEAD, JIM

You haven't been in Beacon long when you find yourself in Bonfire Square, staring into the flames and thinking about how you ended up here. Maybe it was an accident, a sudden freak thing that you never saw coming until you woke up on the ferry, or maybe it's a miracle you made it as long as you did. Maybe death was a relief. Maybe it was just your time. Whatever the case, you can't help but reflect on your final moments as you linger in the firelight.

But however you died, it's behind you now, and you're here, stuck in this little town with just a few buildings and a smattering of other people. You're going to be here a while, so you may as well get to know your neighbors, but... Would it be cathartic to commiserate about your deaths? Or is your time better spent stocking up at the general store? Then again, you've got plenty of time, so why not catch a drink or two (or three) at the Invincible? Pretend you're unaffected by your death, and, well. Fake it 'til you make it, perhaps.

Point is, you have options. You're dead, you died, and this is your "life" now. Better get used to it.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

Currently, there's only one place to live (technically speaking) in Beacon: the Invincible, a tavern and inn located in Bonfire Square. Luckily, the place has working amenities (minus light), and the forest spirits don't charge anything for your stay. Unfortunately, it seems there may not be enough rooms for everyone. Guess you'll have to get cozy!

Maybe you'll try to pick a roommate from around town or in the bar downstairs, or maybe you'll just walk into the first room you see and choose that way. Want a room all to yourself? Get ready to fend off any potential intruders. And the fun doesn't end there.

The Invincible's rooms aren't all created equal. Some may have had their furniture stolen or become a dumping ground for unwanted pieces, resulting in a single bed, five dressers, and other equally distressing situations. Will someone sleep on the floor? Will you nail two beds together to form bunk beds? Maybe you just want to make this room into something more like home— potentially to your roommate's chagrin. Whatever you decide, this is where you're staying for now, so you might as well get comfortable.

network prompts

HACKER VOICE: I'M IN

In order to use the network, you have to register a username. Er, at least, that's how it's supposed to work. For some reason, new users have recently been able to bypass that requirement, allowing them to post anonymously. Time to troll strangers on the magical internet!

Eventually though, you'll need a username in order to use the tablet's other functions, like the direct messaging system. So hey, why not take advantage of the ability to source opinions, and workshop your potential usernames on the network? Share ideas, get feedback, steal ideas, critique others, and figure out what you want everyone to call you.

TURN ON YOUR LOCATION

When you wake up, you're in the woods. An iron shackle complete with a chain leashes you to a tree, and the only light you have is your lantern. You've never seen this area of the woods before. You certainly didn't go to sleep here.

Hm.

But, all is not lost. You find your phone in your pocket, as well as a scrap of paper covered back to front in cryptic scribbles. Are these clues to your location? They must be. You also spot a key dangling from a branch, though it's hanging from a tree you'll never be able to reach from here. Perhaps someone on the network will be able to lend you a hand...

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Comments

Rosinante Donquixote | One Piece

[callada]

1. Log: Bonfire

Heat. Fire. The stark contrast, once it registers, is met with open eyes and an abrupt coughing fit that seems less productive than he had imagined. The snow and desolation are gone, and while he isn't alone, there is nobody else here he recognizes. Did he live? Did some of the islanders rescue him? He hadn't expected to live, he can't imagine his brother was that sloppy, but with the Marines closing in, perhaps he had run without confirming.

The blood on his shirt is dried, now, and a quick pat-down reveals he's not actually full of holes anymore, just to add to his confusion. Is this some sort of dream? Is this the afterlife? Because boy is it a little bit bleaker than the stories he'd heard as a kid, but it's no surprise that should all be lies. The pat-down reveals he still has his cigarettes and lighter on him at least, so he sits, lights the stick with shaky hands, and smokes.

Someone walks by, and he waves them over. "Excuse me. Where is this?" he'll ask, evidently oblivious to the slowly-growing flame caught on the shoulder of his feathered coat. Someone had a mishap with the lighter. Whoops. He's covered in old blood, his makeup is smudged, and at nearly ten feet tall, he might be looking down at you even while sitting. It happens.

2. Log: Roommates? Not likely.

Exploration comes after the explanation. Rosinante finds his way to the building that seems to be the only source of shelter. Like always, it seems to have been built with average-height folks in mind; but not like always, no matter how hard he looks, there's no section with taller ceilings and larger beds. Frustrated, still shaken from the events of the last few days in particular, he picks an empty room at the end of a hall and gets to work.

The sound of furniture being dragged echoes down the hall, and to anyone on the floor below, as he takes the six - who needs six?? - chairs out of the room and dumps them in the hallway, pulls the mattress off the bed frame and lugs the frame into another empty room, then steals that mattress to put alongside his so that he can lie diagonally across the small room. It's irritating, backbreaking work but he's stronger than he had expected a dead person should be able to be.

If all that noise hasn't caught your attention, the fall probably does. The doorframe is too low - an easy excuse - and he catches his forehead on it as he sets out to at least try and move the excess furniture out of the hallway so others can get to it if they need it. There's a jarring thunk, then another as he reels backward and hits the floor, and his sprawling limbs kick into the discarded chairs, sending them knocking against each other, and at least one broke completely, judging by that crack. Whoops.

Bonfire

[paletteswap]

The bonfire seems to be central to this place. After wandering around for a while, investigating the few small buildings and eyeing the birdlike creature tending the fire to ascertain if it was a threat, Kuai Liang returns to the bonfire to try and figure out what magic is keeping it lit. He'd noticed almost immediately that while it looked and felt like fire, the kindling didn't actually seem to be burning, there was no ash and the fire never diminished in size nor needed to be fed more to keep it going.

He's not particularly cold or hot, but the fire seems to provide some amount of comfort nonetheless.

"I'm not sure. But very much not what I expected after death." His voice is gruff but calm, he doesn't seem to be upset about being here, more curious. He nods almost politely to Rosinante's shoulder. "Your coat is on fire."

[callada]

Alarmed, his eyes widen as he turns his head abruptly to confirm that yes. Yes, he is on fire. Again. He whips a hand up to pat it out before it can spread, and clenches his jaw against the heat of melted keratin against his hand, feathers like molten protein. "Damn," he hisses, and looks at his palm. The fire is out, but it left a mark.

"For some reason I wasn't expecting that to hurt. You sure we're really dead?" It makes a sort of sense, for something that doesn't make sense at all.

[paletteswap]

"I shouldn't have survived what happened to me, no." Not that that's stopped him in the past. He's recovered from mortal injuries before, and even from bleeding out, being on fire, and left for dead for hours. So he supposes it's technically possible that he's alive and been transported to some strange realm, but as he rubs his side where he knows a blade had sliced him and finds no injury, he doesn't think that's likely.

"Unless we've been brought here and revived. But to what purpose?"

[callada]

"I... can't even imagine," he admits with a self-conscious chuckle. "Trying to find answers and so far all I run into are more questions. What kind of purpose is there for the dead?"

It all depends on what they can and can't do to interact with the living world, probably. Right now, he's assuming that's nothing. He can't even see more than a few hundred feet out from the fire, so how can there even be much of a world here or anywhere else? It's dark, and quiet, and for all he knows this is all there is now. Just a bunch of confused folks and a fire.

Except there's breeze, every now and then. Sounds don't echo like they're in a cave. The fire, and the lanterns beside them both, flicker as if there is movement to the air, and if this fire is real then there must be oxygen, but that's a huge if right now. He'll have to go exploring once he's gotten some answers.

[paletteswap]

"Slaves. As a power source. To be sacrificed." All things he'd witnessed firsthand. But this place didn't look particularly like a sorcerer's base of operation and no ruler had presented themselves. And if there was one thing he knew about sorcerers it was that they were absolutely not subtle about anything.

"But those are mere guesses. Without knowing more I couldn't fathom why we'd all be brought together and somewhat provided for." He turns to look into the absolute darkness of the forest, unable to see anything at all in the complete blackness. "Perhaps we're trapped between worlds."

[callada]

"It's a grim afterlife for us, then," he comments. "Nothing like paradise. I hope you're wrong about the rest of it, though. Not much need to sacrifice the dead."

It's oddly easy to remain detached. To talk about these things with bitter sarcasm, like one might comment on going to hell for imagined sins. Really, he has no idea what to expect now but acting like it's not real is the best he can come up with until he gets something else to work with.

"Have you talked to anyone else here yet? See if they have any ideas?"

[paletteswap]

"Souls can be used as a power source by those who know how to harness them." Though usually that came with a lot of green or purple swirling stuff and he hasn't seen any of that here. Merely... darkness.

"Only a few. Everyone seems to have died in their world and then shown up here. Nothing that tells me more about this place. The only commonality so far is that we all seem to have lanterns."

[callada]

"Saw the lantern. Saw this thing, too." He drums a finger on top of the little tablet on the ground beside him. "Whatever it is. Haven't really had a chance to look yet."

Though he takes the opportunity now to pick it up and look at the surface, then flips it over to look at the back. Sort of a nondescript thing, blank and smooth. Funny, though, it flaps open when he tilts it, and as he drapes it across his thigh he can see it unfolds and turns on.

"Huh. It's, uh..." Nothing quite like he's ever seen before. He's accustomed to writing with an ink and quill on paper; printing presses are rare outside the Marineford complex and only a few times has he seen any indication that even the government has anything more complicated than that, although he knows they must. It's just not widely accessible, and yet here he's been given something beyond any technology he knows how to compare to.

"It's asking for a username."

Bonfire

[featherknives]

Xayah's ears perk up when someone addresses her. She was too busy coming to terms that this particular death isn't the one she's going to come from unscathed. What appears to be feathered cloak is more than just ruffled, some patches miss a lot of feathers and she's trying to keep her face underneath the hood. Still... it won't do her any good if she just lurks around.

She stops and gives the man a long look and sighs, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"From the rumors I heard- the afterlife." She looks at the fire. "Not quite what I imagined..."

And not something she imagined she'll see so soon.

[callada]

"Yeah, I've been hearing something like that too. A little bleaker than I'd pictured," he responds, looking her way. Everyone's a little roughed up here, so it's no surprise she looks like she's been through a few things. It would be more a shock to see someone looking utterly pristine.

The scent of burning feathers and hair catches his nose and he swats out the flame growing next to his face. Damn, gotta be more careful with that lighter. He narrows his eyes at the sooty mark left on his palm, then sighs, exhaling smoke from the cigarette.

"Must be some people show up here, some people show up other places, right? Otherwise you'd think there would be a lot more people here." Or maybe the afterlife is just infinitely large and this bonfire is some tiny pocket of it. Who's to say, really.

[featherknives]

He's right. For a place that claims to be 'afterlife', this amount of people is incredibly low, considering that millions die every day. Are they passing on? Will she pass on too? Move forward? Something inside her tells her that it's too early. And who's she to fight her instincts...

Xayah usually doesn't deal with humans- hell, she kills them on spot back in her homelands (for a very good reason) but the sight of feathers and the fact that the man doesn't look like a normal human puts her at ease. Somewhat.

"True." She turns to stare at the fire. "And all this darkness is not what I expected..." Despite the fire, it feels cold.

[callada]

"Could be night's just really dark here," he suggests. Which he doesn't really believe, either, but nothing so far jumps out as being more or less believable than anything else. Maybe the sun will rise, maybe their settings will be illuminated. Maybe not.

"So what did you expect? What stories did they tell you back home?"

[featherknives]

She doesn't want to remember those stories. It hurts. She is supposed to be the rock, the unmovable one, the one that pushed forward through anything that came her way. For the sake of her people and everything they hold sacred.

"...Vastayans sing songs for the departed. To ensure their safe passage to the other side and spend eternity with the ancestors in happiness and joy."

She wonders if anyone is singing for her; she doesn't hear any songs.

"Place like this, it was never mentioned in our stories."

[callada]

The same sort of tale most cultures probably tell. A comforting one, so that the living can mourn the lost without feeling too upset by their departure. Not like the story he was told as a child, but similar to others he heard as he grew up. It's not like either side knew the answers anyway.

"I've never heard of the Vastayans. Is that the name of an island, or a race?" He looks over at her and can't quite tell which is more likely. She's humanoid, but the eyes and - ears, perhaps? - suggest she has ancestry beyond just human.

[featherknives]

It was what she knew and what she believed in, strongly. Her people, her tribe, nature, and magic they nourished never lied to her. She only had to listen and the path was there for her. Clear as a day.

The long feather cape on her back shifts to fold around her, glinting purple in the light of the fire as she sits down.

"Vastayans are my people; we live deep in the forests of Ionia, preserving magic and tales of the land as it existed in the beginning." She lets out a huff, trying to hide her deep disappointment, "As if anyone cares about that anymore." She died fighting for it...

2.

[cawdad]

Rastus has been lurking out in the hallway for some time, waiting patiently for this gentleman to finish doing whatever it is that he is doing. It looks like difficult work. Rastus would offer to help—that is the sort of thing people in this town tend to consider polite, after all—but he's sure he would just get in the way. He's not very capable of lifting things and he's frequently knocking things over due to his poor coordination, so. Waiting patiently is the thing to do.

He appears in the apartment after the loud crack of Rosinante crashing into the... everything. He doesn't offer a hand, but instead stands over Rosinante, peering at him with his head tilted to one side.

"You have been loud. Are you injured? Hello."

[callada]

"I'm - hello," he grunts, as he squints with discomfort at a chair leg digging into his back. "I'm fine."

The person standing over him is, what, a large bird? A bird-type zoan? Who knows. Nothing he's seen before, but nothing explicitly out of the ordinary either, so he's relatively unbothered by the beak and the feathers. He pushes himself to his knees, first, then manages to get to his feet in the midst of the mess and keeps his head ducked and shoulders hunched just a little as the ceiling is uncomfortably close. Yeah, he probably has been loud, which is not at all his preferred state of things, but using his powers while moving furniture would make it too obvious he has them in the first place. Why hide them in the first place? Habit, really. One he can drop now that he has escaped his brother's watchful eye.

There's some dark humor for the evening. Escape through execution - not a recommended tactic, but an effective one.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt you, I just had to do some rearranging. I think I'm about done, though."

Roommates? More like are you okay???

[primordialerebus]

Indeed, the fall is what catches her attention. She had just vacated her room after the umpteenth attempt to fall asleep without success (which was getting slightly concerning) when the collection of noises startles her into action. She runs around the corner to witness one of the tallest people she had ever met laying on the ground surrounded by some rough looking chairs. He otherwise seems okay though??? Still, best to be polite and make sure.

“Uh… hey. You okay dude?”

standing up is for other people

[callada]

"Yeah," comes the grunt from the middle of the mess. "I'm fine."

He's always fine. He's used to people always asking, too, usually the ones who haven't known him long - so that means everyone here and he tries to be patient, he really does, but it has been a very long time since he was plunged in the middle of so many new faces that he'll actually see regularly, rather than just passing by them on the street. It calls for being a little graceful, a little less callous, even if it's starting to get frustrating.

With a deep breath and some careful effort, he pushes himself onto his knees, then his feet, using the discarded bed frame as a prop. "You want any of this stuff? I don't really want to just leave it in the hallway."

Re: standing up is for other people

[primordialerebus]

She nods automatically, stopping herself when she realized he couldn’t see him. God she was a mess. She’d say it was the lack of sleep except she wasn’t even tired. Once again, concerning. Better distract herself with her favorite drug: helping others at the possible expense of herself.

“Uh. I’m good… You want any help moving all this? I swear it’s no trouble. I can’t sleep anyways. I was actually just about to go hang out in the main area until something happened.” She said with a slight shrug.

[callada]

"Sure, wouldn't hurt. The room I grabbed had too much furniture, like someone was making a nest in there."

Or a barricade. Or maybe it was just excess furniture storage, though from the sounds of lifting and dragging around the inn, his wasn't the only one in some strange state of disarray. Others had extra beds, or extra wardrobes. Somehow he got all the chairs.

"I dunno where we can put all this, though. Maybe just downstairs by the bar. Makes it easy to find if anyone wants some," he says with a shrug.

Now that he's standing, his current state of being will be more obvious to her as well - even given his attempt to clean off the blood and smudged makeup from his face, there are still traces of it here and there. And his clothes show ample sign of the one-sided gunfight that had put him here. New clothes will be next on the list, once he has somewhere to put them - if they even have any in his size.

[primordialerebus]

“Oh that’s a good idea! Bars always need more chair—“ She stopped moving towards him abruptly upon noticing the state he was in. Like that of a juggalo that was shot to death if she was being honest. Her face flashed with wariness for a moment before it smooths out again into concern. God don’t be judgmental Coraline. She hadn’t look much better when she arrived here. Who would have guessed that blood showed up super well on a white dress? God why were cults always so fucking dramatic.

“sssss… Do you like, need help getting cleaned up? I’m sure there’s something that will fit you in the general store. That’s where I got these duds.” She said with a small twirl, showing off her extremely unfashionable, but completely covered self.

[callada]

"Yeah, that was next on the list. Help me move this stuff, and then I'll go see what they have," he says with a nod. He's no real judge of fashion - she doesn't look like she just died, though, so hey, job well done as far as he's concerned. Will what they have fit him, though? Usually he'd assume any decent clothing store worth visiting would have a variety of sizes, but given that none of the rooms in this inn are large enough for him, maybe he'll be out of luck for clothing, too. And then what?

"Here-" and with that, he starts trying to untangle the chairs from each other and pass one her way so they can get them out of the middle of the hall. He can worry about clothes later.

[primordialerebus]

“Oh! Yeah! Duh.” She said nodding frantically, moving to grab the chair he passed to her. Huh, pretty light. With a shrug, she shifted so she was holding it in one hand, grabbing another chair with her free hand for efficiency’s sake. With objects in hand, she started to move down the hall towards the stairs.

“So like, where are you from? I’m from LA. It’s in the US… On Earth. If you know it.” Start broad Coraline. Start broad. Best not to assume the other would know exactly what she was talking about here.