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

Washington | Red vs Blue

[hardwearing]

i. we're all dead here

Wash is one of those who saw his death coming.

Of course, that doesn't mean much -- he's had dozens of close calls over the years, needs both hands to count the times he should have died and somehow didn't. Each time it's a little harder to get back up but he always does, death doesn't seem to want him even when he's looking for it. He's also woken up in a different world thinking it was hell once before, but this feels different. This isn't "well I guess I'm dead" it's "holy shit I know I'm dead," and maybe it's just that the shock of it hasn't worn off yet but he has absolutely no idea how to feel about it. He's really more worried at the moment about what happened to the people he'd been fighting with, but that way lies madness. First things first, figuring out this place. Who knows, maybe he's wrong again?

It's incredibly dark here, something his HUD isn't compensating for, for some reason, so he has his helmet tucked under his arm and his lantern in hand as he stares into the bonfire numbly. He sticks out like a sore thumb in this town -- if it can even be called that -- encased in futuristic metal combat armor, an assault rifle on his back. His armor is badly damaged, as something ripped right through the chest plate... now that he sees it in better light Wash isn't sure it's salvageable, something else he doesn't know how to feel about. That gets shoved to the backburner as well, to be dealt with later.

A pattern is emerging. Realization, distress, repression, rinse and repeat. Place your bets on how long it'll take to hit critical mass on his existential crisis, because the longer he stands there the harder it becomes to not think about it. And he's been standing here for awhile now, the downward spiral of his thoughts becoming apparent in his expression.

Three... two...

ii. there's not enough room at the inn

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd gotten to the inn sooner, Wash tells himself. There just aren't enough rooms for everyone, so even if he'd gotten there first he wouldn't have a space to himself and honestly he's fine with that. He's been sharing living quarters for most of his adult life. What he does mind is that being one of the last ones to the inn means he has to go around asking people whether or not they'd mind his presence rather than the other way around. It's awkward. He's awkward, and there are things about him that will make him annoying to live with and he really doesn't want to navigate that kind of discussion right now... but if he doesn't he'll wind up camping in the woods and he's not convinced this place isn't dangerous yet so.

Time to knock on some doors. He's still in torn up power armor because he's got nowhere to stash it if he took it off, weapons strapped everywhere, but at least his face doesn't look like a threat. His discomfort with this scenario is evident in his expression, and he doesn't quite meet the eyes of whoever opens the door.

"Hi. Um... is there a free bed in here?"

iii. washington

Long shot incoming:
Did anyone show up with a tool kit? Not like in the shop here, I need precision stuff preferably for electronics.
I'm willing to bargain to borrow one.

UN: helsing

[kungfuey]

Closest thing I've got is a Swiss Army Knife

[ Or ya know. A lot of other knives. Sharp objects in general, really. ]

[hardwearing]

What's on it? If it's a model with screwdriver and pliers that's still useful, they'd be small enough.

[ He also has knives... so many knives, but none with tools on them. ]

[kungfuey]

Guess it's your lucky day.

[ They should compare arsenals some time. ]

What do you need the tools for?

[hardwearing]

[ Maybe it's just his inclination to paranoia, but Wash isn't comfortable discussing this on the network. He doesn't even know if he'll need his armor here, but it's kind of like a safety blanket to him and even though it's unlikely anyone's going to try and kill him (more? again? is that possible?) he feels vulnerable admitting it's wrecked. Hmm. HMM. ]

Something I showed up with. It was damaged by the thing that killed me.

[ BE MORE VAGUE, WASH ]

[kungfuey]

[ She used to be the most paranoid person you'd meet. Then she died.

Also helps they're not talking about her. ]

Thing, huh. I hear things can do some serious damage.

[ Not a person. Not an animal. Not a damn bus. Thing as a word to describe something that delivers a death sentence sorta piques the interest of a person like Scarlett. ]

[hardwearing]

[ It's tricky, since technically the 'thing' was a member of a sapient alien race and normally Wash would consider aliens people like everybody else but... the Null were different. They didn't want to be people, they wanted to be machines and that's a difficult concept for Wash, who's known so many machines that wanted to be people. So 'thing' it is. ]

It did.
I'd rather show than tell, if you want to know.

Re: Washington | Red vs Blue

[powersouls]

[Tifa can't really think about being dead. Not yet, anyway. She can't think about what happened to Barret or Cloud or the others, either, because she's not sure if she'll be able to keep going. She's sitting on the mattress, toying with the materia in her gloves more out of something to do than any real need, and it's obvious from a glance that she's feeling out of her depth.

When Wash enters, her head snaps up, and for a split second she smiles automatically. Then she registers his armor, and her expression closes off instantly. They might not have power armor exactly like that back home, but it's obvious enough that he's some kind of soldier, and Tifa can't really fight the instinctive distrust.]

There's only one bed in most of the rooms on this floor.

[And there are far more people than rooms, but Tifa isn't going to point that out.]

[hardwearing]

[ For a moment, the woman seems friendly, and Wash thinks this might not be so bad. But then she actually sees him and her expression closes off like a door slamming in his face... not with fear but clear distrust, and Wash shifts his weight awkwardly. Takes a step back to be polite, thinking maybe he shouldn't have come inside. ]

Oh.

[ Smooth as ever, Wash. He should just leave her alone and keep looking, she obviously wouldn't want him here. ]

I'd take the floor, but... I'll find somewhere else. Sorry to bother you.

[powersouls]

[Well that... is a much more awkward response than she'd expected, and suddenly Tifa finds her natural politeness warring with her bias. She hesitates for a second, then decides to feel him out a little.]

Where did you get armor like that?

[hardwearing]

[ Wash had already begun to turn to leave, and Tifa's question catches him by surprise. He glances over his shoulder at her and then turns back, tapping the logo on his chest plate just above a vicious tear in the metal. ]

UNSC Marines. But I'm not with them anymore.

[ There's a beat while he realizes... ]

...I guess none of us are with anyone, anymore.

[powersouls]

[Tifa tucks her hair behind her ear, a slightly uncomfortable, fidgeting motion.]

What do you mean, you aren't with them anymore?

2

[callada]

There's a delay between the knock and the response, longer than might be expected. Rosinante hadn't wanted to be disturbed. He needs time to think, to process everything that just happened in the last day of life, and the comfort of silence is welcome. It extends through the room, deafening him to anything that might happen outside it. People are talking, moving furniture, coming to and fro - probably. He doesn't want to hear it right now.

But the pattern of light beneath the door changes, and he's perceptive. Someone is standing there. Someone walked up and hasn't moved. He waits. Maybe they'll just leave. They probably would, too, but then he sighs and gets up, because he's not rude, just tired and overwhelmed.

So he crosses the space and snaps his fingers to lift the silence, then opens the door. He's too tall, Wash might find. Just barely clears the ceiling when standing, but he's leaning down a little so his face can be visible beneath the door frame, and stands back a step to make it easier yet. The room behind him is actually fairly tidy now - a desk a chair, two mattresses across the floor at an angle, with a pillow leaned up against the wall and a mess of a feather coat spread out like a blanket. And Rosinante himself is cleaned up, now, no blood, no makeup, but he hasn't found spare clothes yet, so he still has to make do with the clothing he died in, which has more blood than ink showing.

He peers down at the other man with a quizzical frown. What is that armor? Looks like something out of one of the kid's comics, all high-tech fantasy. "A free bed? Hm, place is starting to fill up, isn't it. Let's see. If you can find a bed and drag it in here, I guess there's space."

But he does sound reluctant. Rooming with a stranger? He's not particular about personal space; he's slept in common rooms on hammocks a good portion of his life. Maybe he was just optimistic he wouldn't have to, for once.

[hardwearing]

Funny that Rosinante wants time to process -- Wash is doing everything he can to avoid processing this, unwilling to think about what his death might mean for his people, to wonder about their fates. He doesn't even know how he feels about being dead in the first place, his thoughts and feelings right now a tangled mess that he just can't handle picking apart. It'll catch up to him, of course. All they have here is time, and he can't repress it indefinitely, but as long as there's a task at hand he's sure going to try and focus on that instead. Right now, it's room-hunting.

The guy who opens the door is tall enough that Wash actually has to tilt his head to look up at him, impressive even considering his usual company. His clothes are also positively covered in blood, indicating a brutal death. Wash wonders what caused it, of course, but it's probably not polite to ask in this situation. He bites back the instinctive 'what the hell happened to you?' and reaches up to rake an armored hand through his messy hair.

"There probably aren't enough of those either. I'd be fine on the floor, though... I've had worse." He doesn't sleep much -- or well -- anyway. But it doesn't sound like the stranger particularly wants to share. Will anyone? Maybe if he introduces himself it'd help. "I'm Wash."

[callada]

"Rosinante," he replies. "You never know with the beds. When I got in here there was a whole pile of chairs and an extra desk. Almost looked like someone had built a fort out of the furniture."

Which is... not really comforting, given their eerie surroundings, but he'd just moved on and shoved the stuff out of the room. Someone else must have found it all by now - what he hadn't tripped on and broken, anyway.

"I know what you mean about making do with worse, though. And I suppose I do have two." Which he's laid sideways so that he can have something wide enough for his shoulders and back. His legs will still stick off the far side. One mattress doesn't do him a lot of good when they're made for someone two thirds his size, but the most comfortable bed he got in the last six months was a grassy hillside, or the dinghy when it wasn't raining. At least here he's got a roof over his head. Practically luxury.

[hardwearing]

"That's... kind of weird. Not just because chairs would make a terrible fort, but if there used to be people here where did they go? We're already dead." His impressions of the afterlife so far don't quite fit together. Why are things like this? Have they always been, or is this a new place? Who created it? Wash's brow furrows. "Maybe this isn't somewhere anyone's meant to stay. Like... what's it called? Purgatory?"

He peers around the very tall stranger to see the two mattresses, then looks back at him and shakes his head. There's still room on the floor.

"Looks like you'd need both. If you'd let me crash I'm really fine without one. And I'd appreciate it... I don't know if it rains here yet but I'd rather not find out by waking up in a puddle. Doesn't have to be forever."

[callada]

"Got it, suit yourself," he says as he shrugs, gestures to the floor, then backs away to plop himself back down on his two mattresses, though he's sitting up for now. Makes sense for the guy to find a spot to sleep temporarily and figure the rest out later. It's his plan too.

"I talked to one person who's been here longer than we have. On the... tablet, I guess it's called. He said there were lots of people here before us, but they died. All kinds of reasons, one at a time."

He is dying to know about that armor, but one thing at a time. Still, look at it! Even beat up, it looks intense. Pretty cool, actually, like the guy's a walking siege weapon.

@HelpMePlz

[primordialerebus]

I have... 3 pairs of sunglasses? I can try and ask around though!:D

[Try was the imperative word considering how intimidating everyone was... but you know.]

[hardwearing]

I'd appreciate it, thank you.

[ A moment later: ]

Can I ask why you'd want sunglasses somewhere there's already barely any light?

[primordialerebus]

[Oh shit she revealed too much. It was supposed to be funny!!]

I have a condition that makes my eyes like super sensitive to light.

[That works right? Medical conditions are serious business.]

[hardwearing]

That sounds hard to manage.
Does it at least make it any easier for you to see around here?

[primordialerebus]

Yeah dude it sucks.

And I mean. It sure isn't making it any worse at this point. You get used to it.

[Like hell she's used to it but she's gotta sell the image. The Dream TM.]

i

[itsaname]

Unlike the heavily armored stranger, Shadow doesn't look particularly distressed by the situation. He, too, saw his death coming. He was able to choose his fate. He asked for nothing; he received this. Where another person might feel angry or betrayed, Shadow doesn't feel much of anything. Nothing but numb. That, at least, is not unusual.

The big man has been sitting on one of the benches surrounding the bonfire for some time now. He's been silent and still, gray eyes staring into the flames without really seeing them. Eventually, the reflection of fire-on-metal draws his gaze, and he sees a man in strange armor who looks like he's about to have a breakdown.

Shadow is out of practice in comforting others. It's not something that happens in prison, and the limited time he's spent outside hasn't offered him many opportunities to relearn. But he thinks of the last time he saw a grown man break down. He thinks of blue eyes and a pale face streaked with dirt and tears. He thinks of the man's corpse telling him, "You killed me, Shadow."

"Hey." The word is out before Shadow thinks of anything to follow it with, leaving an awkward pause before he follows it with, "That's some interesting armor."

It's not the best way to break the ice, but it's better than nothing.

[hardwearing]

Numb sounds nice to Wash, right about now. Not that he's ever been great at it... he's such a reactive person that it's really more about control, but he's out of practice at that. It's all that time he spent relearning how to connect to people only to have it ripped away that's doing him in now, and he knows what he's like if he shuts down. The people who cared about him wouldn't want that. He's pretty sure he doesn't want it either, just to stop feeling like this and thinking about them at all is just making it worse. He can feel himself slipping, staring into the fire wondering what the hell he's supposed to do now and coming up with nothing, the most terrifying thing that's crossed his mind so far.

Why couldn't death have just been nothingness? Being completely alone with no direction or sense of self may well be his own personal hell, and he's upset enough he's forgotten that it doesn't have to be that way. There are other people wandering around, he could talk to someone, but right now it's just him and this fire -- until someone speaks.

The 'hey' snaps him out of his downward spiral, but Wash isn't sure the stranger is talking to him until the guy mentions his armor. And he's the only one around wearing anything like it. He takes a slow steadying breath and turns to reply, but as he looks upon the other man he realizes he doesn't know what to say. Socializing is difficult for him at the best of times, but he has to say something. Anything, to fend off the impending collapse.

"Could use a new coat of paint," he jokes weakly, glancing down at the ragged tear across his chestplate. "Except I'm not sure if I can repair it myself."

[itsaname]

(( continued here! ))