graveyardsmash | TEST DRIVE : MAY 2016 EDITIOIN

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test drive

TEST DRIVE : MAY 2016 EDITIOIN

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 MAY 20ST 12:01AM EST.
There is an Enable Me / App this Plz to see what some people are offering or would love to play.
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, and already SOME 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."

Then there's the people who aren't happy to see you at all. Glares and silent, judging stares if you're lucky. Torches and pitchforks attempting to drive you out of the town if you're not. You may need a friend to help you.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The first monster he sees probably doesn't look very familiar at first glance. The first monster he sees is a mess, a Frankenstein-esque mishmash of things, dark hair and light, human and spider, skin and fur and claws and teeth. He's attempting to drown himself in a heavy black coat, but it doesn't do much anymore to hide the fact that there are too many arms under there, or that some of them are misshapen and strangely elongated.]

[The look on his face: that might be familiar. A certain haughty peevishness at being addressed so rudely, a disinclination to obey. When he turns, there's some clear intent to be scathing, just for a moment, before he recognizes Polnareff — and then his eyes go wide.]

[That look, too, Polnareff will know. That old fear, an uncertainty about what is real and what is not, the most childish look Giorno Giovanna ever wears. It looks younger, somehow, under the shock of black in his bangs.]

P— P—

[He covers his mouth with one hand, one of the more normal ones. It occurs to him too late that he's not covering the right part of himself; the mouth is the least offensive, these days. His eyes shine in the darkness, two with tears, the rest with silver.]

[Hasn't he done enough already? Hasn't he been through enough?]

[He wants to scream.]

[It takes him just a moment too long to recognize him. Just a few seconds of mild horror at the spiderish creature before him, with too many arms and eyes, moving in a terrifying too-quick way that makes Polnareff's heart pound -- but oh. Oh, because he knows that expression. How could he not? He's lost count of how many times has that look been directed at him these past two months. So many funerals, so many little details that a fifteen year old ought not to have to deal with-- Don Giovanna is nothing but put together and precise in his rulings, but it's Polnareff who gets to see the boy underneath.]

Giorno--

[Who did this to you? But even as he thinks it, he swallows the question down-- he will not make him feel worse about his appearance. He's crying, and god, Polnareff can't blame him-- who wouldn't cry, mutilated so drastically? Polnareff reaches a hand, a silent entreaty for his boss to come closer.]

[It doesn't matter that he doesn't say it. It hangs in the air between them all the same, heavy and ragged-edged, and it's not — it's not, he supposes, bad, because he is still himself even like this, but it's been months since he really thought about how wrong he looks. The coat quickly became habit, something to put newcomers at ease, and nothing they said could touch him.]

[But just the way Polnareff looks at him now, like he's been broken somehow, is agony.]

[The stupid thing is that that's not even why he's upset. Not really. He wants Polnareff to be safe, he wants everyone to be safe but Polnareff especially, and here he won't be. There's no chance. Sooner than later, Polnareff will suffer.]

Please.

[He shakes his head, his lips parted in words he can't quite figure out how to form.]

I'm — you need to go. You need to go, get out of here!

[No one can. But it's all he wants. Turn around and stay safe. Be anywhere else but here.]

[There are murmurs around them, and a few people give Giorno a bit of a dirty glance-- but they're irrelevant. Everyone is irrelevant right now, save for the boy in front of him.]

Right now I can't even get up off this bench.

[He'd asked. It had been a long journey from where he'd been deposited to where he sits now, and he'd asked all the more relevant questions on the way. How can I get home, how can I get back, there's got to be a ship leaving port, I need to get to Italy, there's someone waiting for me--]

Giorno, come here.

[Right. Right, he can't . . . he can't get up. Okay. Polnareff is here. Polnareff is here, and needs his help. Polnareff is here and guiding him, that's what's happening, just like at home, just like normal. What was normal, for a little while.]

[God, it's pathetic how grateful, how relieved he is. Selfish. Disgusting. He scrubs his hands over his face and exhales sharply.]

. . . Perdonami.

[He crosses the space between them, holds out his hands, the most normal ones. There's an impossible shyness around him now, borne not of grief but shame. But if Polnareff is real, he wants to know. He wants to see for himself.]

Heh . . . buon giorno, Polnareff.

[They'll have to speak about Giorno's mutilations. He'll have to know each one, learn them and learn Giorno's newfound weaknesses and strengths. But for now, at least, he can ignore them-- and so there's no hesitation in the way he takes Giorno's hands, nor in the way he smiles up at him.]

I have several complaints to take to the management, Giorno. You'll have to help me write them up, hm?

[God. He's never — missed anyone like this. Not like this. He misses Bruno and Narancia and even Abbacchio, sometimes especially Abbacchio on the days when he's feeling least charitable, but he knows he'll never see them again. But Polnareff, he missed like suddenly gravity shot sideways and left was up. It's too much, too disorienting, to see him here again.]

[His breathing hitches in half a sob before he smothers it and manages a watery smile.]

Of course I will. Anything for you, always.

How — has anyone hurt you?

No. --well, they tried to bury me in pamphlets, and they didn't provide a wheelchair, but. I'll live.

[He has to be bright and cheerful right now. That's his role: something bright that Giorno can focus on until he gets himself together. Polnareff will ask him a thousand questions in a few hours, and they'll plan, they'll strategize, Polnareff will learn everything about what Giorno has been up to--

But for now, he runs his thumbs over the back of Giorno's hands and smiles up at him.]

Are you running things all over the peninsula?

[On some level he knows what this is. What Polnareff's doing. He knows, he does, and he's grateful for it and annoyed by it all at once. But this is the job of a consigliere, the most thankless job there is: to be the reason and the guidance behind the passion.]

[He hates himself for thinking that everything will be all right, now that Polnareff is here. On many levels it's obviously not true. But on some levels, it really is.]

[He squeezes Polnareff's hands and exhales again, his breathing beginning to even out.]

Ah, soon, soon. These things take time, even for me. I have fingers in a few pies.

[#spiderhumor]

My Gold Experience is gone. [He almost bites his lip, then stops himself, fangs tripping back into his mouth.] There are other . . . former users here with no Stands. It's a bit lonely.

. . . I mean that I missed you. That's what I mean.

[Chariot isn't here, of course, but Chariot hasn't been around for two months now. His presence is an aching gap, one Polnareff is always somewhat aware of-- but he hadn't thought it would extend to everyone. He inhales sharply at that admission-- and despite himself, his eyes dart up to those fangs, too large and too sharp, before he glances down again.]

Then I'm glad I'm here.

[He glances around, then shoves aside some of the literature pushed on him, clearly a space for Giorno to sit.]

Especially if . . .

[How to say this.]

It's terrifying, not having your Stand.

[His eyes shift to one side, then the other; he's not quite willing to look at Polnareff directly for the moment. It's too . . . too many things. Shame is in there, but it's not the only things. Grief. There's so much grief.]

Terrifying.

[A low murmur, and then he sits next to Polnareff, his back straight, posture perfect. He folds all of his hands in his lap, very careful not to touch at all.]

. . . Bad things happen here. People hurt. I can't help them.

[Which is all he needs to say, he's sure. From that, Polnareff will understand, because in that, the urge to protect, they are very, very similar.]

[With the next question, he looks even more fiercely at the ground.]

Are you afraid of me?

No.

[There's such a thing as answering too quickly, but this isn't that. Polnareff says it firmly, and adds:]

I'm . . . afraid for you. I'm upset this happened to you, that I wasn't around for any of it. But I could never be afraid of you, Giorno, no matter what. You're still you.

[He won't say he isn't put off by the other man's appearance, because he is. Seeing extra eyes where there ought to be none, the extra arms, just as slender and well-formed as the rest of Giorno-- it's disturbing. It makes his stomach roll.

--but he sees that perfect posture. He notices the way they're carefully not touching. And he knows what that means, because he's gotten to know Giorno pretty damn well. And he can tell that this is still his Giorno-- because if he's hurting because he can't protect people, then he's still him.]

. . . All right.

[All right. All right, well . . . if Polnareff is saying that, then it must be true. And he realizes a moment later that thinking it isn't enough, so he pushes it out through his lips.]

I trust you.

[Immediately he feels better, having said it. Instantly. Someone to trust, without question. How he's missed having this. He doesn't need many, but he needs more than none. Doesn't he? Isn't that what Bruno taught him?]

[He reaches for Polnareff's hand again, needing to have that touch, that safety. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until it came back to him.]

[He threads their fingers together, his eyes closing for a moment. He's allowed a moment-- just a few seconds, sitting here in silence, trying to absorb everything that's happened, that's going to happen.]

When will the changes come?

[He's not stupid, and he's sure not the exception to whatever rules this place runs on.]

Soon.

[He closes his eyes, too. It's easy to take his cues from Polnareff. He feels less bristly like this, not necessarily sure-footed but as though the ground has become just a little more solid.]

[After a moment, he breathes out and nods, as if confirming his own statement.]

The next time the fog comes, that's when it will start. And it will hurt.

I won't leave your side.

I know you won't.

[Soon, but not so soon Giorno thinks he has to know the ins and outs of this place right away. Maybe a week, then, and he can deal with it in a week. In a week, he'll be more grounded.

He exhales slowly and tips his head over, glancing at Giorno.]

What do you need from me?

[Their eyes meet, and there's that vulnerability again. He feels so close to crumbling. This is weakness, isn't it? His lip trembles again.]

I need . . .

[So much, he needs so much, and Polnareff is only a part of that, but such an important part.]

I need you to help me figure out who I can trust.

All right.

[He doesn't let go of Giorno's hand, not yet. Not while his mouth is still trembling and he looks so vulnerable. But he's slowly switching into business mode, his mind working.]

Anyone in particular I ought to pay attention to?

[Honestly, he doesn't want to say. That is, some of them don't mean much, but some of them — he squeezes Polnareff's hand and steels himself. Shame, shame, shame. He wishes he could get away from it.]

There's a town. Sanctuary. I have a position there, with the police. The sheriff is named Beatrice. There's someone else, Eikichi — he has something like a Stand, but he calls it a Persona. They're the ones I want to know about, first and foremost. There's a boy named Togashi, but he's nothing to worry about.

[Okay. A good start. Keep going. Keep going.]

There's— [He clears his throat.] An individual named Diego. Brando. I don't know what the relation is. I haven't approached him. Not without a better plan than just asking. And.

[Okay, all right, just—]

Jotaro Kujo.

[Those other names are easy, and he memorizes them, writes them down on a little list. Diego Brando is interesting, and potentially worrying, but not so much so that he thinks he has to involve himself right this second. But--]

Jotaro.

[He says the name carefully, and Giorno will feel how his grip has gone tight; the rigid way he's holding himself.]

My Jotaro?

[As if there's two Jotaro Kujos. As if maybe there's some mistake here, some fact that he's not grasping that renders this Jotaro irrelevant. It's so stupid to ask, but he does anyway, because he has to hear it from Giorno's mouth.]

Oh, Polnareff.

[His voice is quiet. His hand hurts, being squeezed like this, but he bears it and squeezes back, and then lifts Polnareff's hand to kiss the back of it, an impulsive gesture of fellowship and sorrow. He won't apologize, not out loud, because it isn't his fault. But he is sorry all the same.]

Yours. He's young. But I do think he's yours.

Have you talked to him?

[He isn't crying. But his heart hurts, aching in a way that it hasn't for a long time. Jotaro, who has been through too much already, who does not deserve this place, these mutilations, any more than Giorno does.

Polnareff exhales unsteadily, his head tipping back to stare at the sky. It's been two months since he's seen Jotaro. He spoke to him not a week ago, teasing him about Jolyne, but he hasn't had the chance to be face-to-face with him since he truly dove into his job as Giorno's consigliere.]

I have. A few times.

[If he let himself, his vision could swim at that, too. Everything about Jotaro could. But it's his turn to be strong, he knows. They can do this, the two of them, shift and switch, holding each other up when it's needed. They're good at that.]

[He presses his face to Polnareff's shoulder, so as not to look at him. So as to give him more space. To protect him.]

He's hurting. He . . . it just happened. You know. With him, with Dio.

He doesn't trust me. And I haven't, mm, told him. Even still. I'm not sure he trusts anyone.

No, he wouldn't.

[His wife, maybe, was the first person he'd trusted after Egypt-- and that had been years down the line.]

He trusts me. And so he'll trust you.

[As if that's Giorno's biggest concern. But it's easier to frame it that way-- like it's business, like it's just another task to be taken care of. Jotaro's here, take care of him, make sure he and Giorno know they can lean on each other.]

How long have you been here?

[It's not the biggest concern. Truthfully, the biggest concern is for his own safety. Silly, maybe, at least for now when his strength and power is so much greater than Jotaro's. But the fact remains that Jotaro killed his father. It was just, it was right.]

[It still makes Giorno afraid. It's pure cursed luck that Jotaro hasn't seen him for what he is, that the bizarre amalgamation of his features, the Haruno of him, conceals the Giorno and the Dio underneath. Trust you — he would, quite genuinely, settle for not being hunted. He's had enough of that.]

[No more funerals.]

All right, [he murmurs, and gazes out at the people walking by, occasionally stopping to gawk.] As long as . . . someone helps him. Someone ought to help him.

It's been about four months now. It doesn't feel that long. Everything feels like it's happening so fast.

TEST DRIVE : MAY 2016 EDITIOIN

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