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

You stupid...yare yare, thirteen years and you're still the same guy as ever.

[HE'S NOT CRYING, YOU'RE CRYING. NO ONE'S CRYING BUT THERE'S FIGURATIVE CRYING.

There is also not-figurative flying, and this time the launch is less like a rocket and more like a bird taking flight, smoother and less aggressive but with the same secure hold.

Polnareff sounded happy. Even with the screaming and the shock, there was delight in it. That's all he wants, is to make him feel that again. That's all he wants — just to make someone happy, and see it, and feel the emotion that comes with it.]

Next you'll want me to go pick up a girl so you can flirt with her while I cart your ass around.

Well, yeah, if you're offering--

[He still clings to Jotaro, his fingers knotted in his shirt, because no matter how sure he is that Jotaro won't let him fall, it's still terrifying. But it's terrifying in a good way, like peering off the edge of a tall building-- his stomach swoops and drops, but it's all right, because there's something wonderfully secure about Jotaro's arms.]

This is amazing! Ahh, Christ, look at that--

[And he's happy, he really is. A little squirmy, maybe, as he twists to glance around, but: happy.]

Tell me you do this all the time.

Feh.

[That was probably directed at the part about the girl; he tilts his wings and sends them into a long slow turn, making a wide circle around that same area so Polnareff can keep looking at the sights that are catching his eye, if he so desires.

...Presumably because Jotaro naturally assumes that he is not one of those aforementioned sights. Though he certainly might be.]

It doesn't go away. The wings and shit, so. ...It makes some things easier, but other things aren't.

[...]

I can't go out in the sun, Polnareff.

[That puts a bit of a damper on things, doesn't it? And-- well. It's been thirteen years for him, but if Jotaro is still seventeen, it's only been a few months for him. Any similarity to Dio, no matter how small, can't sit well in his mind.]

Yeah, well-- who likes the sun anyway?

[Fuck the sun. It's a shitty ball of gas and it was a shitty stand.]

All the best clubs are open at night, so now you've got no excuse not to come dancing with me.

[And he offers him half a grin, inviting him in on the joke-- go on, make fun of him, tease him about dancing and picking up girls and stupid European nightclubs, because it's easier to do that than focus on the fact that things are changing again.]

[His kneejerk reaction is, of course, to fixate on the issue of Polnareff's legs. And he almost does, too; the words make it right to the tip of his tongue, and it's all too tempting to let them free — you can't, I've got every excuse, don't say that, are you just an idiot.

But then he slowly realizes that it's just Polnareff doing it again. Polnareff saying it's all right, I'm all right, in a different way with different words. Like he's going to keep saying it and saying it until he can get Jotaro to believe it.

And he doesn't, not really, but he wants to.]

You...couldn't get girls when you were at full height. How the hell do you think you're going to get any when you're half a meter shorter?

[...That was terrible. Petty, rude. Insensitive. A cheap shot.

He catches himself holding his breath, subconsciously praying Polnareff will catch what he meant.]

[--but it's perfect. Because it's Jotaro, and it's so fucking rude, and Polnareff barks out a laugh before he realizes it. Because then it makes the issue of his legs seem like it's nothing at all-- like it's just another thing, like it's normal.]

Get fucked, you bastard-- just because you're not scoring here doesn't mean you get to take it out on me. You're lucky I don't just leave you for some girl right now, with an attitude like that.

You're not leaving me right now because we're two hundred meters in the air, dumbass.

[...Oh. Oh, it turned out okay. How incomprehensible — something should've gone wrong, and it turned out okay.

This is what hope feels like, isn't it.]

And cut the stupid flirting shit. You're twice my age now, it's even dirtier than usual.

I'm allowed to flirt. You don't stop being able to flirt once you hit twenty-five, Jotaro, sorry to break it to you.

[Not all of us get married, he might tease, but Jotaro might actually drop him, and he had a good point: two hundred meters in the air. So, instead:]

Thirty-three-- I've got so much to teach you about life, my young teenage friend.

Not with a teenager, you filthy old man.

[Says the guy all of about four weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, but you know.]

Why are you in Italy? I thought you were going back to France.

Ahh, well-- I did, actually.

[Are they going to have this conversation midair? Why not. At least he's comfortable. Polnareff's mind begins working very quickly, though, because while he's game to tell Jotaro just about everything about the future, perhaps not right this second.

At the same time, though, he can't just blow him off with some shitty answer like because I liked the girls and the cuisine. Jotaro deserves better than that.]

For a few years. But there was nothing for me there, not really-- and there were some things I needed to take care of. A man, actually. A crime lord named Diavolo, who was making life hell for just about everyone across Europe. It took me years to track him down, to figure out how to stop him-- which eventually lead me to staying in Italy.

[A beat, and then, a little more softly:]

You were with me, for most of it. We spent a lot of time in Europe together-- [And then he huffs a laugh, soft and genuine.] --we had the shittiest car, this old boxy piece of crap that hardly had any breaks-- and you were still in college, so half the time you were rattling off all these stupid ocean facts to me because you were coming up on some midterm-- I know more about the ocean than I ever wanted to, now, thanks to you.

[He's glad about the details, the little inconsequential ones. They're the sort of thing he tends to forget to offer up himself, when he tells stories — he'll be too blunt, or get fixated on the wrong thing, or condense everything down to its bare bones and forget the details that make it seem less like an ultimatum and more like an experience.

Polnareff doesn't forget the details. He puts in the things that make it believable, the way he laughs about their terrible deathtrap car and the notion of him studying textbooks while they traveled, of normal things like midterms in a tempestuous ocean of a supernatural life.

Despite himself, his grip tightens. This time it's possessive, moreso than secure.]

Did I finish? College. Did we get him? What do you do, now, in Italy? Do you —

[He pauses, unable to help himself.]

...Do you have kids? Or...something?

You finish college-- hell, you get a doctorate, I have to ask for Doctor Kujo when I call you at your office. And we get him, Diavolo. [We is subjective, but it doesn't matter.] I work in-- hah, well, I'll tell you that in a moment. But kids--

[He smiles over at him-- and now, maybe, Jotaro will be able to feel the age difference between them. Polnareff certainly does. Thirty-three, and he thinks of Giorno-- not when he's in Don Giovanna mode, but when he's Giorno, young and unsure and aching to protect the world.]

No kids. Not yet. But I have a . . . someone important to me. He's not my son, but . . . I think of him that way, sometimes. I think he thinks of me the same way-- he never had a real father, not a proper one, so-- we work well together, he and I.

You let me get a doctorate? ...What the hell, Polnareff...

[It's different, hearing it from Polnareff than it is from a stranger. Strangers say you're this, you're that, you're such and such way, but Polnareff knows him already, and he knows Polnareff. Polnareff always knows who he is. This is no exception.]

...I'm glad. That you have someone. You ought to have someone. So...good.

Yeah.

[He is glad, actually, and his face softens to think of it. He probably won't ever get married, not now-- trapped in a turtle, what woman would ever want him?-- but at the very least, he has a son.

But enough about him-- he'd rather make Jotaro happy. So:]

A marine biologist, you know, not just any doctor. You get really intimate with starfish-- and of course I'm the one who has to listen when you talk about them. Once a week, on the phone, calling long-distance-- I swear to god, I heard more about it than your advisor.

Don't make it sound like I'm fucking a starfish, you bastard.

[Amazing, how easy it is to fall back into shit-talking like a familiar habit, like an old friend. Polnareff is thirteen years distant from him and he's turned half into a monster and yet this, this, it stayed the same.]

...It's fine now. You know that, right? Those guys down there — this Diablo guy, whoever — nobody's going to touch you, not here. Not anymore. I've, I'll, I can...I can...I'll figure it out.

[Oh, Jotaro. Polnareff thinks that without any real condescension-- just sympathy and heartache, mixed into an awful blend that makes him lean against the other man a little more.]

You don't have to.

[He says it quietly, as he looks out into the night. If he met Jotaro's eyes, it might be too much-- and this isn't a conversation they ought to have midair, maybe, but it has to be said now, while it's all out in the open.]

Not for me. Not here. I'm thirteen years older than you-- I think that means I'm the one who gets to figure things out and protect everyone for once.

You don't even know what I can do.

[Well, no. He does, sort of — the wings, the talons, he can see those. The others he hasn't.

But he's so caught up in considering that, the things at his disposal that he can use to keep Polnareff safe, that he barely even notices the part about how he doesn't have to, and shouldn't have to either.]

And I can't let anything happen to you.

That's not your responsibility.

[He says it firmly-- and now he turns to look at Jotaro, his gaze firm.]

You aren't in charge of keeping me safe and sound-- don't insult me like that, Jotaro, you know better.

[He understands it, of course-- he feels the same way about Giorno, about Jotaro himself, about Mista and Mr Joestar and everyone he's ever known. But that's not how it works, not for any of them, and the sooner Jotaro understands that, the better.]

Don't be an asshole about this. It wasn't an insult when you did it for me.

[But thirteen years is a long time. It's not raw and recent, still a fresh wound of only a few months ago. Thirteen years is a long, long time to move on and leave it in the past.

Or so he assumes. What does he know about leaving things in the past, anyway.]

You really expect me to just sit back and do nothing?

I expect you to treat me like your equal-- not someone you need to keep away from danger.

[And then--]

I lost my legs and my eye because of my own stupidity. I fell into a trap, and it cost me. And maybe if I'd stayed indoors, stayed out of danger, it wouldn't have happened-- but that's not who I am. That's not my lot in life-- and it's not yours. It never was.

It's one thing to look after each other in battle, to protect me from someone trying to attack. But it's another to look at someone and say: I won't let anything happen to you.

You're supposed to understand!

[But then he stops, immediate and silent, like he's been slapped — or perhaps, more accurately, like he's just startled himself stunned with that outburst, which it turns out that he has. The look on his face certainly reflects it: a flash of alarm chased by wide eyes and a tremor at the corners of his mouth, and all of a sudden he doesn't want to be flying anymore.

But he's holding tight, too tight, as they descend. He's caught in a juxtaposition then, of fear and guilt — that so long as they're in the air, he's coercing Polnareff to rely on him on some level, yet if he doesn't keep holding on, then Polnareff might be all too happy to get away from him.

It's irrational. He knows it's wrong, and stupid, and wholly irrational. But all of a sudden he's panicked and scared and awful, and it probably says something positive that Polnareff is the only one who's yet managed to dig all of that out of him from how deep he'd buried it inside, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to contend with once it's out.

So they descend, careful and slow, and he finds a place to sit and he puts Polnareff down next to him, side by side, where he can huddle more than sit and lean if he likes and pull his knees up and wish vaguely that the fog would part and let sunlight roll over him and just turn him to stone for a long, long while.]

...

I didn't...

[He swallows hard.]

If you want me to go just say it and I'll go.

[No. Stupid. That wasn't even what he meant, why is that what came out? Why would Polnareff ever tell him something like that, why would he even entertain for a second the notion that he would? Why?]

...No, I'm...

[He's. What? A mess? Fucked up? Wrong?]

...sorry.

[It's good they land. It doesn't mean they have to part-- the moment they settle in, Polnareff leans heavily against Jotaro, one arm wrapping tight around his shoulders. It's not enough, but nothing will be right now.

And what, he thinks, what has happened that Jotaro thinks he'll want him gone? It couldn't be farther from the truth-- Polnareff fully intends to stay by Jotaro's side until the other shoves him away. And yet there's something that makes Jotaro think Polnareff will leave him.]

It's okay.

[He didn't need the apology, really, but it's easier to accept it. Polnareff tugs him in a little closer, grip tight.]

I'm the one who didn't die.

[Just like Mista is with Giorno. He's cheating, a little, because he has thirteen years of interactions with Jotaro; he knows a few notes of this song, if not the entire melody.]

Right? And-- seeing me like this, it's terrifying, because I look like maybe I could have died. Like-- like something happens over the next thirteen years and maybe you weren't there.

[He exhales roughly.]

The truth is, Jotaro, you're the only reason I even survived that. You found me-- he cut off my legs and threw me into the ocean, and I would have died there if you hadn't been looking for me. You found me and you took care of me-- you even got me these.

[He lifts one leg, shaking a metal foot-- they are functional, because it was the SPW Foundation that fitted him. They're just not particularly good.]

[It would be easy, he realizes as Polnareff hugs him tight and he clings tight right back even more emphatically with his scaly clawed hands than Polnareff's small pink human ones, it would be easy to only hear the failure in what Polnareff tells him. To his ears, there is a failure there, a kneejerk one: Polnareff got hurt, he cut off my legs and threw me into the ocean, and if he weren't a failure he would've prevented that. That much is simple. That much is obvious.

(There's another part, too, a lesser part, that whispers why does this happen to everyone close to me, is it me, but that comes fleeting and miserable and doesn't linger long.)

What's all but impossible, though, is digging past that to catch hold of what Polnareff wants him to hear. He knows that it's there, knows exactly the words. It's just three of them — don't blame yourself. That's what all the rest of it really adds up to, the not your fault and not your responsibility and you're the reason I survived and don't insult me. That's what it all comes down to.

Because it doesn't have to be his fault for him to blame himself.

It's Dio's fault that his friends died, Dio's hand that threw knives and ruptured organs. But he blames himself, even now. Maybe he does it because he's going to be miserable either way, and at least if he's blaming himself then he knows why he's miserable.

It would be all but impossible, he thinks, to break that tendency. It feels impossible, the notion that he might actually be able to stop feeling like this.]

...I just don't want to lose you, too. Not you too.

[They've done a lot of impossible things together on their adventures, him and Polnareff.]

I know.

[But here's the advantage to being from the future-- it's like fortune telling, but even better, because it's an absolute guarantee.]

At least-- I can tell you for certain that you won't, not for the next thirteen years.

[After that-- who knows, after that. Things have settled at home, but if there's one thing he's learned, it's that nothing says settled for long. But at least for now, things are all right. Calm, even.]

And that I'm going to do my damnedest here to stay as close to you as I can, for as long as I can.

[Because that soft confession-- if you want me to go-- is ringing in his ears.]

S'almost as old as I am. Almost. Practically a whole 'nother lifetime.

[And if he were feeling better, he'd tack on something like "to be stuck with an ass like you", but it seems that he's retreated from his willingness to poke at Polnareff, at least for the moment. Surely it'll come back, sooner or later — but probably not while he's twisting to bury his face against Polnareff, seeking out the comfort of warmth and of not having to look at anything but true darkness for a little while.

He's quite warm, himself. He always is, and most people who touch him enjoy the sensation. There's fire inside him — a different kind of fire than that of his forefathers, but a fire nevertheless.]

Did we lose my mom? I don't know. I came here before I ever found out. In — when I'm from, I mean, did we...what happened to my mom?

TEST DRIVE : MAY 2016 EDITIOIN

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