JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME

[rysligmods]

TEST DRIVE

Welcome to Ryslig's test drive meme! If you're considering apping here, this is where you can try your characters out in the game's setting. A few things to note:

• You can only app ONE character per round so choose wisely.
• We now have a Quick Game Facts that simplifies the basic information about the game. Good if you want to see what the game is at a glance!
• Ryslig's FAQ is located here, so please take a look if you have questions.


• The Reserve date is 01/29.
• Test drive meme threads can be used for your roleplay sample!
• Players with characters already in the game can earn up to a maximum of 6 coins by replying to potential character threads! You cannot use this to go over the bonus 20 coins per month total, but you can use it to reach that coin total. Same rules as normal bonuses apply.

Sample scenarios:

SCENARIO ONE: So you've just arrived, fresh out of the hospital, and already the natives are trying to get on your good side. Offers of food, shelter and other luxuries in return for hoping you don't eat them. They even have some helpful pamphlets to share with you. "How To Deal With Changes", "Alternatives to Human Flesh", "What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster)" are all great pamphlets. There's even some detailing certain monsters, and the changes they go through. Some of these seem to have been passed down from one monster to the next.

Among these however, are some... not so helpful ones. "Bunnyipyips And You", "Axe Thief Axehounds," and "So you're becoming a Fur Bearing Trout" among others. Sometimes they have marks on them from previous people who had them saying they are lies, or pointing out good "jokes."

SCENARIO TWO: You've become hopelessly lost in Lager Woods. Paths don't seem to lead where you remember them leading, and you feel as if you're going around in circles. Childlike giggling can be heard from no direction in particular. Suddenly, you stumble upon another character, who seems to be just as lost as you! Perhaps you can find a way out together. Or maybe they want you for lunch...

SCENARIO THREE: The time has come and you've found yourself becoming a monster. Is the change instant, or gradual? Are you familiar enough with monsters to know what's happening, or is it a complete shock? NOTE: Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.

SCENARIO FOUR:The claws, the fangs, the pangs of hunger - horrible as they all are, it's manageable given enough time and perseverance. Local monster hunters, though, not so much.

Maybe it started with a few wayward glances on the outskirts of town, critical stares and disapproving whispers, or just the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever it was, deserved or entirely unprovoked, you're being hunted: a handful of aggressive, well-armed humans doggedly chase your trail throughout city streets and out into the open, and if you're not careful (if you don't find help soon) you might wind up as the next trophy kill claim on one of those hunter's walls.

Comments

Fiddleford McGucket | Gravity Falls | Post-Portal Mid-Breakdown Flavor

[terribibble]

THREE; Merperson

(Part A)

[So far Ryslig has been merciful on Fiddleford McGucket. He knows what he is -- merperson is an easy one to spot, particularly when you have Ford Pines and his handy dandy compendium to reference. So far all he's had to force himself to get used to are webbed fingers and toes, closely-packed dull brown scales that look almost like skin from a distance, and a whole mess of fins.

Of course his idea of getting used to them has been steadfastly ignoring them. It's the best he can do when he can't erase his knowledge of them and this whole awful place entirely.

Today, though, it seems like he's going to have to acknowledge what's happening to him whether he likes it or not. There's been a pain in his neck since this morning and it's only grown worse the more he's tried to pretend it's not there. It's not until the late evening when he feels something hot and wet trickling down his skin that he gives in and checks his reflection the window of a shop.

Tears have opened on both sides his neck. They form two swooping lines on each side from which blood is leaking in a thick steady trickle. That familiar swell of panic rises within him and bubbles up out of his throat as a shaky:]

Lord have mercy.

(Part B)

[About half an hour later he can be found a little ways down an alley with his head and shoulders fully submerged in a rain barrel. Faint unhappy gurgling sounds occasionally waft up from the water. Do you approach?]

FOUR; Gargoyle

[He's been running for what feels like forever and the sounds of following footsteps and shouting hasn't dimmed at all. Granted he'd probably be doing better at getting away if he didn't keep tripping over his own feet and his own be-damned incredibly long tail, but the point is, if this chase just keeps going in circles then eventually someone's going to get tired and it's probably going to be the noodly scientist and not the hardened monster hunters.

What other choice does he have but to go up? He spreads his wings, gives a few uncertain flaps, and then lifts off the sidewalk -- only to smack directly into a building. Incredibly enough, that was his plan. He scuttles up the side using his claws to keep a hold on the wood and stone and raps desperately on the first window he finds that's lit before even properly looking inside. He's too busy looking back over his shoulder at the approaching torchlight.]

Open up! Please!

WILDCARD

[Hit me up here or on plurk at mister_inkwell if you have any questions! Otherwise just toss me whatever starter you like.]

4

[aretaic]

[The room is lit, yes, but not well. But there's enough light for his sharp gargoyle eyes to see someone looking back at him... and not moving to help right away. But after glancing down to see the torches the occupant moves and-

-yep, the window sure is open]

[terribibble]

[Instantly he scrambles through, holding his wings tight to his back to make sure they fit.]

Oh sweet baby Jesus thank you!

[He's been a gargoyle long enough that even some of his movements have become lizardlike, and never is that so apparent than in the awkward whip-like way he scrambles into the room. His tail has barely whipped through the window before he's on his feet and moving to slam it shut again. It's not until that's done that he realizes said tail has swung in a wide arc and probably knocked something in the room over. Whoops.]

[aretaic]

[He hit SOMETHING, but there's no crash, just a dull 'thump', like it hit something soft.

And sticky.

A lot of foot falls, and now that he's in the room it's clear what let him in: a very very big spidertaur. The room is covered in webbing]

Don't thank me yet.

[terribibble]

[Aw hell. Why is tonight the worst?

Okay. So every night since he's arrived in Ryslig has arguably been 'the worst', but this one is really doing its best to be the worst worst.

Fiddleford presses his back up against the window, which he's now starting to regret is closed quite as firmly as it is. Instinctively his hands draw up against his chest and worry at themselves.]

Ah -- hah. I know it's an imposition an' all but I'll be out from underfoot soon as they've gone by.

[Ahaha. Get it. Underfoot. Because there's eight of them attached to that big spider body.]

3 - b

[ghostwriting]

[does he dare? answer: sure, why not. he can stand watching this...whatever it is (let's call it an unusually interesting sight and leave it at that) for all of ten seconds before he feels obligated to do something instead of just staring at the poor guy's back with a look of pure is-this-what-I-think-it-is slack jawed disbelief.

so, with all the grace and tact of a steamroller, he reaches out and firmly taps two fingers on Ford's back, clearing his throat.]

Do you...need a glass? [it comes out lamely and rather unsympathetically, like he doesn't know if this is a joke or something he has to take seriously. maybe it's both. that can be a thing, right?]

[terribibble]

[The moment he feels the taps to his back Fiddleford drags his head up above the water with a ragged gasp. He doesn't let go of the sides of the barrel but he does turn to look at this guy -- this guy who, thank god, looks pretty normal -- with wide, terrified eyes. He turns so fast in fact that he probably whips a good deal of water from his floppy bangs and right into this guy's face. Sorry, guy.]

Don't think I could fit my head in a glass.

[The gills on the sides of his neck, no longer bleeding but still red and raw to look at, flap for a moment before his body realizes it's above the water and needs to start using his lungs again.]

[ghostwriting]

[apology not accepted, sir. to his credit, Stine takes it like a champ, not even flinching when a pretty decent amount of water hits him square in the face. all he does is close his eyes and draw his lips into a tight line, reaching calmly for his wet glasses with one hand to draw them off his face and wipe the dripping lenses off with the edge of his sleeve.]

Maybe a goldfish bowl. [and then, a little crossly:] A big one.

[he puts his glasses back on, opens his eyes, and— yikes. Stine's expression as he takes in the ragged slits on Fiddleford's neck speaks for itself, though he doesn't draw back or comment on them just yet. tactless as he can be, even he knows an awful, awful problem when he sees one.]

[terribibble]

[Yeah, they're... they're not great. The water's done quite a bit toward making them feel better, but he could still probably do with some painkillers once he manages to drag himself back to the clinic.]

Or some sort of portable water supply, like a diver's air tank only for goin' out of the water instead of in.

[His face lights up a little at the thought. That's something he might actually be able to make if he put some work into it and managed to get the materials together...

He stands up fully and pushes his still-damp bangs out of his face, then removes his glasses to wipe those on a dry part of his sleeve.]

FOUR

[fairlycapable]

[GOODNEWS. The window has opened. It's opened wide, and Yuuri has even stepped aside!

Bad news.

This is a very cramped apartment and until Fidds looks up, there's going to either be nothing but leg, or nothing at all.

That or a couch, depending on where he flapped in.

The window is quickly closed--but my is it dark in there! And did something long and string-like just brush over your head?? Good thing Gargoyles have night vision or this would probably be a lot more terrifying.]

...And who are you?

[This question somehow seems late.]

[terribibble]

[It's not exactly easy to do the usual 'hello what's your name' introduction in this sort of situation, and he probably wouldn't have tried even if the thought that occurred to him. He scurries inside, realizes he's almost scurried under those long long legs, does a quick sharp turn and winds up scuttling up onto the back of the couch.

Shut up. Perching is both an instinctual and surprisingly comfortable thing for him now. And hey, from up here their eyes are almost level.]

Fididdle--

[No, damn it, not now. He stops, runs his tongue over his fangs, takes a moment to calm his thumping heart and get some breath back in his lungs. It doesn't work all that well (he still looks like he might jump out of his scaly skin at any moment) but at least he makes the effort.]

Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGucket. 'Scuse me, my tongue trips on itself sometimes.

[fairlycapable]

aHH-! [The woman stumbles some as Fiddleford scurries in, only barely regaining her balance as she looks over.]

....

[........................Well if you're comfortable there.

She watched her housemate try to graze on the lawn, so perching on a couch is the least of potential irritations right now.] 'McGucket'?

[It is going to take her own tongue some time, with these various western names-!!] Yuuri Wakasa, [She introduces, bowing slightly.] ...Are you alright?

[terribibble]

[That's alright, it's going to take his tongue just as much time to work itself around all these various non-western names. Probably a little more considering his problem with both remembering words and saying them right.]

I'll be better when those hunters have passed by, Miss Wakasa.

[Well. He managed to get it right once.

His eyes flick nervously to the window. There's firelight flickering up through it and glancing across the ceiling, but it's moving and that means they haven't paused below. He might actually be alright in here.]

3B heck yea

[peccatore]

[Is it just a coincidence that he's happened upon this sight, or are his ears frighteningly attuned to the sounds of gurgling? Maybe it's best not to know.

Either way, he doubts this guy is trying to drown himself - especially with all the fins, now that he has a closer look - and surely this is better than a slow, agonizing death by Critical Dryness, but still... he should do something.]

Er, hello? Do you need help?... We're not too far from the pools, you know! I could take you there!

heck ye merbuddies

[terribibble]

[Oh, no. He might have contemplated drowning himself when he first showed up but that was short-lived and he's quite gotten over it by now. He drags himself up and out of the water, gives his head a few shakes to get some of it out of his hair, and turns to look at --

Oh god is that a flesh coat. He blinks, hoping it'll go away, but it doesn't. Yep. That's a flesh coat, why is that a flesh coat, what kind of world is this where flesh coats are allowed to happen? All of his fins, round and stubby as they are, flare up. This includes the one on his back, which flumps against his coat and makes a weird sort of tent there.]

Ah hell.

[Naw man, fuck this, he's going back in the barrel. Splooshes outtie.]

[peccatore]

[See, he's gotten some reactions from the natives. Usually a little less blatantly scared than that, since Bavan is pretty welcoming, all in all. Getting this from a fellow fish, though? That's harsh.]

... [He opens his mouth and closes it again without having said anything. Okay. Let's try that again.]

You know. I'm a merman too! [At least he... thinks that was a man? He barely got to look at his face.] I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I just want to help!

[terribibble]

[There's an uncertain gurgle from the barrel and then, with great resignation, Fiddleford pulls his head out of the water again. He shakes out his floppy bangs and removes his glasses to wipe them dry, but when he puts them back on it becomes clear that he's determined to look at everything but Marco. Look, fleshcoat-guy, if he's going to talk to you he can't look at your fleshcoat. Them's the breaks.]

Apologies, I'm just a little... discombobulated lately.

[And doesn't he look it, fidgety and dripping wet as he is.]

Y'said somethin' about pools?

Four!

[lookaturkey]

[Rather than being the one inside the building Fiddleford knocked upon, Bill had been minding his own business -- exploring while he was still human himself and free to be out and about without the threat of being hunted down. He was about to leave the area but the sounds of someone obviously about to face impending doom was actually quite exciting, so naturally he had to check it out.

He approaches Fiddleford quietly, initially hanging back just to get a good view of the show but he actually recognized that gargoyle! And doesn't that make it all a little more interesting?]

Boy, how time flies -- backwards, that is! [Never mind the fact that there is most definitely a group of ruthless hunters coming over the horizon, Bill isn't too worried about getting hurt.]

Forget looking ten years younger, I think it's more like thirty!

[terribibble]

[He knows that voice. He knows it and he associates it with bright yellow eyes and insane laughter and Ford-Not-Ford and the beginning of everything that ever went wrong in his life. Not that he can remember that beginning, precisely, but it was bad enough for him to erase and the surrounding events that he does remember aren't too great either.

He forgets all about the window. He forgets all about the oncoming mob. He forgets to keep his claws dug firmly into the stone of the building, and he forgets as he's falling that he has wings that might have prevented that hard slam into the concrete. That's fine. The moment his back hits the ground he's back up off it and scrambling to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain in a delicate wing that may very well be snapped now.]

You -- what d'you mean?

[His eyes cast around for the source of the voice before settling on -- is that what the owner of that voice really looks like? Huh.]

rain barrel hell

[hexadic]

[ Unhappy gurgling sounds from a barrel? Oh noooo...

Ford is running a brief errand, having abandoned the clinic for a little while and closing up shop until he returns. Something about having to collect leaves from a Nymph downtown for whatever new experimental treatment he's coming up with for Trolls with eczema.

The sentient rain barrel catches his attention and he stops only to backtrack a few steps and peer into it. ]

McGucket, what are you doing in here? You know there is a wash tub at the clinic you can use. This is... Uncivilized.

[terribibble]

[Graduating from just sticking his head in to climbing into the barrel wholesale had seemed like a good idea at the time, alright. His clothes probably needed a wash anyway considering all the nervous sweating he's been doing since he showed up.

When he hears a familiar voice he reluctantly uncurls from the fetal position he's adopted and places his hands on the edges so he can pull his head out. Just his face, though, because he needs to keep his gills submerged. They flap softly, just visible beneath the surface of the water.]

I'd be usin' it if I knew how to switch to breathin' air again long enough to go anywhere.

[He still isn't sure how he feels about Ford, exactly. Of course the vast majority of him -- the majority that wants to believe the best in everyone -- is glad to have his friend back in any capacity. The rest of him is kind of cross. 'Uncivilized' his webbed foot.]

[hexadic]

Well maybe if you paid attention to how long you can stay on unfiltered oxygen, you wouldn't have this problem.

[ Look, when your friend is also representing your taste in people, you gotta step it up. ] From what I have observed, some can go several hours without it. It just takes conditioning.

[ Easy for him to say. He can breathe air whenever he damn well pleases. He's not reaching into that barrel though. Water is starting to feel icky. ] Do you feel well enough to walk back to the clinic? I can't carry that thing.

3B. Fairy GodGrunkle Is Here

[kolus]

[ Stan had been nothing but proud of his horns. Paired with the extra set of arms he'd spawned he was shaping up to be a pretty impressive monster. Harder skin, keener senses. He'd even started to tap into some magic. There was just one problem: he couldn't control his size. Every now and then he found himself knocked down a few pegs. Down to two inches to be exact. Mabel had lent him some of her dolls clothes to keep in the case of such event, and he appreciated the gesture, however, he could not say he cared much for her choice of wardrobe for him.

Wings growing tired and the coin pouch in his hold doing little favours, the fae veers down a quite alley hoping to find a moment's rest. He lands on a barrel, dropping his loot on the lid before falling back onto it like a beanbag chair. It never occurs to him that there may be something in the barrel next him. Not until he hears a hollow bubbling...

Peering over the edge of the open barrel, Stan looks down into the water. It's hard to see through the veil of shadows but he thinks he sees someone in there. There's only one way to be sure.

Grabbing a near rock, he drops it into the barrel. ]

[ooc: Stan's changes relate to a rhinoceros beetle. Doll clothes can be anything from a poncho to a dress depending how srs you'd like to keep this. ]

oh thank goodness fairy godgrunkle where WERE you the barn dance is tonight

[terribibble]

[You know why they always tell you not to rap on the glass of fishtanks? Because the fish don't like it. Having rocks tossed into their hidey-holes is much the same, particularly when one is a catfish and one has already become quite prone to being territorial and particular about their burrows. Barrels. You know.

The point is, the rock clonks him right on the head. It's not a particularly big rock and it doesn't particularly hurt but he's still not expecting it and it's that more than anything that makes him flip his everloving shit. The barrel wobbles, sloshes, and then a thin form erupts from the water with approximately none of the grace of a breaching whale.

At first he can't see anyone in the alley at all. No one to either side, no one above -- did he imagine that rock? Is he starting to have solid hallucinations? The feeling of panic the rock knocked into him starts to really ramp up into something --

And then he notices a bright spot of pink a little down and to his left and it's shoved aside by curiosity.]

What in the-- what the heck kind of junebug are you?

[A not-hallucinatory junebug, he hopes. He leans over, adjusting his glasses on his nose with one webbed hand.]

you can't go in that dirty old rain barrel

[kolus]

[ He moves away from the barrel, whatever stirs inside rising to the surface with no shortage of water. It drenches the fae, earning him a wet and heavy dress for his efforts. Now he smells like fish water, just perfect. ] Oh, come on! Seriously?

[ Stan's wringing out the fabric when the merman spots him, his neck cranking back beyond comfort to look up at McGills. ] When was the last you saw a june bug, fish stick? I'm a faerie. An magical being feared by even the bravest monsters! What are you supposed to be, some guppy livin' it up in a barrel?