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memesinthenight2019-06-14 11:39 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in memesinthenight2019-06-14 11:39 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME #1
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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M.K. | Into the Badlands
[Knowing exactly how he died, and why, and how utterly fitting a hell this is, the moment he steps off the ferry M.K. stops wrestling with how he can be dead but still alive, be alive but be missing the horrifically painful burns on one side of his body that had made him wish he was dead. It doesn't matter. The plan had gone wrong the moment his sword had sunk into the wrong person, and he was always prepared for it to end this way. (And of course it would end where it started, on a boat with someone else's blood on his hands. Everything comes full circle.)
Honestly, if the new world is going to have an ounce of the justice the old one lacked, his life for the cost of hers is a fair price and a way to start balancing those rusty scales.
At any rate, it's only a matter of time before the itch to know what's out there beyond the town boundary sets in. What does he possibly have to be scared of? Dying?
Fashioning a long branch into a torch, M.K.'s determination to get at the bonfire overrides any misgivings he has interacting with bird... people, or whatever Rastus is, and once he's talked (demanded) his way into a larger light source, he hefts the lit torch in one hand and his lantern in the other.
Beep beep, reckless youth coming through. He's absolutely making a beeline for the trees, fuck the afterlife police. Can curiosity still kill a cat if it's already dead?]
II.
[Surely no one can blame someone for scattered thoughts in a situation like this, can they? Needing time to re-calibrate, M.K. steals a quiet moment in one of the inn's rooms, using a mirror to look himself over as people's footsteps creak on the wooden floors above and below.
Seeing himself without his armor offers little by way of reassurance. The burn scars are inexplicably missing, replaced instead by a small scar over his heart, the cause still slick with his blood and resting in his hand when he'd woken up: a dagger, which he now idly twirls between his fingers. Holding the literal cause of his demise in his hand. There's something poetic in that.
Rest being the furthest thing from his mind, he eventually redresses once his inspection is complete and leaves the room to the next interested party, only... It's sometime much later that he stops, pats himself down, and realizes with a lurch he doesn't have all he went into that room with.
On his second visit, the doorknob doesn't turn so easily in his hand. Locked.
... Well, that's unfortunate.
He stares at the aged wood, looking the length of the door up and down. Breathes in. And then unceremoniously kicks it open, emitting a young man in leather scale armor that still bears the evidence of a violent death on it.
Hope... you weren't sleeping... or bathing... or testing that pooping theory. Or really, any of the above.
Don't worry, I'm not here for you.
[Somehow he's the one sounding put out.]
(2) i'm so sorry (this is ~auspex but i had to tag you again with someone else for fun!!)
when he so violently enters scene stage right, this is what he's greeted with: a woman twice his age, uniformed and visibly scarred, sitting elegantly cross-legged on the bed, whose only act is to raise an eyebrow at this... tantrum? overkill? — and a hardlight wall that's not directly to the face by virtue of her saintly (you heard it here first, folks) restraint. she is also definitely, definitely playing with whatever precious item he'd left here, tossing it back and forth between her hands perhaps, or if small enough twirling it between her fingers.
she doesn't hit youngsters for property damage. now, if he threatens her she may or may not decide to put him on the ground for it. discretion is the better part of soldiering. usually.
as to that wall... maybe 'hardlight' is inaccurate these days. usually, her constructs are a work of art. awash with livewire energy. blue sparks in a mottled, impenetrable surface of energy leashed and given solid form. now, her artistry is reduced to a translucent, muddy dishwater gray that emits nothing so much as the occasional dull spark. she'd almost prefer a blackwall than this parody of glory.
almost. )
I believe the term is 'excuse me, ma'am.'
( she says it cheerfully rather than correctively. he can try battering down the wall if he likes, it won't get him anywhere but to further amuse her. )
lmao, beautiful, more people to be insufferable at!!
The female warrior on the bed--and she is or was one, he can tell that straight off between the old battle scars and the total lack of startlement at his entrance--is second priority. He's scanning around for his first priority, trying to remember where he set down that--
The light from the combined glow of their two lanterns glints off the back of the golden compass as she turns it in her hands. There. His searching gaze rivets on the other item he'd had in his hand when he'd woken up. He's not even sure it's the exact same one Sunny owned, but like the Widow's dagger, there's a conflicting revulsion and compulsion to keep it with him, living reminders of the events that had brought him here.
He starts forward, ready to take it back, when a spark of ghostly grey light zips by in front of his eyes, sending him back a step. To the credit of Cressida, the surprise that parts his lips stays within the realm of confused wonder and doesn't grow into wide-eyed disbelief; strange and downright unearthly sights come with the territory of living with a witch. But this? This is new. Like the door before it, he looks the swimming lines of light up and down, though with a much different emotion fuelling the act.]
What the hell is this?
[Forget etiquette lessons. Is it... a barrier? Solid?
If it's dangerous, the only thing that might have stopped him from reaching up and touching it with his bare hand in that moment is her leaping up and shouting. Otherwise, the pads of his fingers go to touch the light, probing.]
she tolerates it with less patience but more aplomb tho
but. the wall doesn't shock him, at least, though there's a sensation that somewhat mirrors touching one of those little plasma globes, rather like electricity lurking just beyond the moisture barrier of the skin. she's not crass. if he'd punched it, she might've electrified the whole damn thing out of sheer drill sergeant spite. instead, she just leans back languidly against the wall, coming out of her cross-legged position just enough to effect a posture that suggests the control she wields in this particular situation. she moves with surety, no wasted movement, but utterly devoid of a dancer's grace. )
Energy construct. Made out of hard light, courtesy ( she jerks a thumb back towards her chest. her, obviously. ) Not a thing you want to trifle with, if you're the trifling sort, and you could be out there for the next century trying to break it to no avail. Now, do you want to go back out into the hallway and start this again from 'hello'? Or do I have to keep up the 'menacing, can kill you with my mind' spiel? You don't want to see me go much harder than this.
( that little compass gets flipped over into her palm. she makes a show of studying it intently, mostly because she's an asshole, and she kind of want to see how far he's going to take this. he's a baby, she's not going to actually hurt him, she's well beyond those days of flexing on people just because she can with actual intent to do harm, but. she can scare him a little. harmless fun. )
a classy lady through and through
Really? He looks past the shifting light to fix on her, brows pulling into a tight, militant line. The one thing missing in the look is fear.]
I don't care what you can do.
[The words carry just the right amount of resignation to ring true. Pain and punishment is nothing; if he walks away nursing either, it'll be because he stepped up to meet them rather than back down to a stranger's posturing. And he'll have that compass one way or another.]
We both know this room's not any more yours than it is mine. If those things downstairs-- [What do you even call those critters?] --have a problem, they can come find me.
But that's mine. [He points at the compass, which not a thing she should trifle with, either.] Hand it over.
[Hello.]
[ i ]
not that he wants to think about gotham. he squints at the blazing torch. puts his own lantern away before anyone sees the shape. greeting m.k. with a curious nod. ]
Hey, where are you going?
no subject
Out there. [In answer, he inclines his head toward the shadowed line of said trees.] See what else is out there. It can't be all forest.
[Besides, the ramshackle town is starting to feel too small already. Too many people just as lost and confused, filling the air with their pain. At least there's breathing room away from the bonfire.]
Find anything so far?
no subject
All forest.
[ not saying it to be a dick: it's the truth. he doesn't soften it up for this guy. this is a perimeter survey, or he'd have walked through the woods to see how far they go. every pocket dimension has limits. ]
Nothing moving in the trees, but I didn't find anything to scavenge.
no subject
[A fact-finding question, helping to add features and footnotes to the mental map he's building. He doesn't need the leg up, or at least he feels he doesn't, but if he has to be stuck here with these people, he might as well squeeze them for what information they may have. It's a smart move, when he still bears the aches and pains of a more foolish one.
A part of him has accepted he doesn't need to rush to get back anywhere, but having time to spare doesn't mean he has infinite energy to turn this place over. Everything is more difficult in the dark. It takes more patience to sit with the uneasiness of the unfamiliar and the unknown.]
no subject
Just out of sight of the village. [ much further. and he'd walked around. ] You want company?
[ special see in the dark powers or this guy knows his way through wilderness. dick would like to know. ]
no subject
Seemingly accepting the answer as is, he hums an inscrutably noncommittal note and begins to turn back around. That is, apparently, enough for him to call the conversation done.]
No. [And then, almost as a quick, tacked-on afterthought to complete the phrase:] Thanks.
[Hangers-on would just slow him down. He'll find out for himself.]