TEST DRIVE MEME

[ryslighelpers]

TEST DRIVE MEME: MARCH

Welcome to the Ryslig Test Drive Meme! Below are a few prompts to get you started, but you may make up any prompt you desire! Please take a look at the navigation page for rules, setting information, and links to reserves and apps. Have fun!

SCENARIO ONE

You wake up on the beach thoroughly drenched with your mouth full of sand. The salt water causes various cuts and scrapes on your skin to sting and the sand isn't helping. The air is slightly humid, ruining any feeling of refreshment you might have gotten from your dip in the ocean. There are lights in the distance but the unfriendly scent of gunpowder fills the air. If you're lucky, you're alone. If not, you might find yourself staring up into a pair of monstrous eyes or down the barrel of a local's shotgun.

SCENARIO TWO

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 THREE

"Seek us out," the voice whispers in your head, and before you have time to question it you've found yourself in someplace entirely alien. Maybe it's the Fog God's ghostly town of Dyster, where exultant followers dance around bonfires and sing their praises to the skies above. Maybe it's the Fourth God's arcade, with small robots wheeling about amidst the lights and colors of old pinball machines. Only one thing is certain: you are not alone, in this sacred place.

SCENARIO FOUR

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.

Comments

Katurian Katurian | The Pillowman

[goryteller]

scenario 1;

[Once upon a time, there was a young man who was being interrogated by the police for something he certainly didn't do -- or at least, something he didn't remember doing -- and during that long, terrible interrogation (that involved far more torture than questions, a ratio the man really didn't appreciate), he closed his eyes and prayed. Please take me away from this, please take me away --

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the sand.

Katurian Katurian, a small man with dusty blond hair and enough bruises to fill a canvas board, chokes and gasps on the shore. The salt water makes his wounds feel larger, wider, as though the cuts and abrasions were encircling his body like eels.

When he looks up from the ground after a particularly harsh cough, he sees a figure in the distance.

Immediately, he shoots his arms up in surrender.]

I'm s-so sorry, I d-didn't mean to -- I didn't mean to run away, I didn't put myself here, someone must have taken me, someone fucking took me, and I shouldn't be sorry for that, that's not my fault, none of this is my fault!

[It's a little hard to tell if his primary emotion is anger or terror. He isn't sure either.]

wildcard;

[Hit me!]

[girl_at_the_window]

[Susan blinks, and hurries over to him, concern creasing her brow.]

Hey, hey! I ain't gonna hurt you. It's alright. You'll be fine.

Can you walk? [With those wounds, it doesn't seem like a given.]

[goryteller]

[A girl.

Not the police, he thinks, unconsciously releasing the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Not a danger.

It is a peculiar situation, nonetheless, waking up on a beach to a young girl after blacking out in the middle of a police interrogation. He wonders if this is some sort of hallucinatory landscape, like a place an ancient monk mind find himself after a particularly vigorous meditation session. As the girl approaches him, he notices something... off about her. Make-up, perhaps? A sickness that primarily manifests in her neck and her thin, thin arms?

He stares at her for a long beat. Longer than necessary.]

Yes?

[It doesn't sound certain -- more like he's fishing for the right answer.]

Who are you?

[girl_at_the_window]

Oh, shit, right. [She grimaces, and the wings laid flat against her back flutter a little in place. They fidget when she's embarrassed, she's starting to learn.] I'm Susan, but I guess that don't mean much to you.

This is Ryslig. Figure you're probably wonderin', right?

[goryteller]

[Ryslig. It sounds -- he doesn't know. Scandinavian? He tries to picture maps from his school days. The soft river blues, the grey city centers. It wouldn't be out of the question that he was knocked out and thrown in the ocean a couple of towns over. Maybe Ryslig is one of those small, forgotten villages just a little while up the shore. It would explain why he hasn't heard about it.

Then he notices her wings. Her more ... monstrous qualities.

He crawls backwards, his knees drawing lines in the sand. His heart pounds in his throat, rolling up and down his esophagus like the tide ebbing behind him.]

W-What is --

[The words barely come out. They're made of breaths -- not syllables. He tries again.]

Is this hell?

[girl_at_the_window]

[She sighs, putting one hand on her hip. She's sympathetic, of course, but some questions just get asked way too much around here.]

It ain't hell. And I already told you I ain't gonna hurt you, so relax, will you?

Come on. We oughtta get you off the beach and dried off, you'll catch your death.

[goryteller]

[The confidence with which she says those words -- it ain't hell -- throws him off guard. Same with I ain't gonna hurt you.

He doesn't argue. He doesn't fret. Instead, he slowly makes his way up to his feet, wincing at the way his bruises fight against his muscles. Katurian has always been very good at following instructions. Maybe it has something to do with growing up in a totalitarian dictatorship. (Or maybe, he thinks, it has something to do with having really shitty parents.)]

It isn't make up. Is it? Because --

[He gestured around his throat.]

-- that isn't something you can easily fake. Which either means you're not human, or I've lost my fucking mind.

[Those last words have an unmistakable note of hysteria to them.]

[girl_at_the_window]

[She sighs again, but makes an effort to gentle both her expression and her voice - and, after a moment's thought, to close her neck-mouth a little more firmly.]

It's the first. Or, anyroad, I guess I ain't human now. You ain't goin' mad. Might feel like it a while, is all.

[goryteller]

A while?

[Yet another spark of hysteria. He looks behind him, half expecting to find a door that will lead him back to the interrogation chamber.]

I can't -- I can't afford to be here for a while! I n-need to get back to my brother. I need to get back to him. Is there a bus I can take? I don't think I have much money, but I --

[He starts to rummage through his pockets. It's an absurd thought, thinking that he can just get on a bus and go home when he's face to face with a grotesque mythical creature. It's even more absurd that he thinks anything in his sopping wet pockets would've survived in the ocean.

It doesn't stop him from trying. Katurian has a funny way of going all "automatic" in a crisis.]

[girl_at_the_window]

I'm sorry.

There ain't no way back.

[She does sound sorry, too. She might not want to go back, but that doesn't mean she can't understand that he does, that he's clearly got unfinished business.]

[goryteller]

[His slacks are so wet that it's nearly impossible to slip his fingers into the pockets. He gives up with a harsh sigh, frustrated and angry, like maybe it's his trousers' fault he's in this situation.]

That doesn't make any sense.

[But then it clicks. 'Not hell' doesn't mean 'not the afterlife' or 'not purgatory.' It doesn't mean he's still on Earth.]

Where is "Ryslig?"

1

[ufufufufu]

[ I'm going to pick up a shell and give it to -- someone.

Mitsuhide says as he walks along the beach dragging a stick behind him. He pokes at the ground looking for something shiny, something that glitters. His head lifts as he hears the choking sounds of someone. His head tilts more as he can hear the way pain wraps around the cough. Not like someone coming up out of the waters, no, it's like someone -- ah, there's the scent of blood.

The words that follow bring pause. His tail gives a little wag in greeting. A new monster. Soon to be monster. The man has all his pieces where they should be -- and where they soon won't be. Mitsuhide starts his giggling at his own joke. He opens his mouth like he might share it, but the sound of the words is pained and so he pauses. ]

No? No. I suppose not. No one's fault. Not really. Even she isn't at fault? [ The Fog Witch that whispers into the ears of those he loves -- well, some of the ears. He doesn't like her much. His tail gives another flick before he smiles. Wide and overly excited. ] You're certainly bleeding a lot. Less than I've bleed. Ah, that is the work of dedicated hands.

I feel a sense of jealousy. Just a little.

[goryteller]

[Dedicated hands is right. Mixed in with all of the usual cuts and scrapes shared by the newcomers, Katurian's body is covered with numerous wounds that are a little too regular, a little too controlled. Red welts. Tiny cuts. Square-shaped burns. Only the bruises look clumsy (although bruises somehow always look clumsy), their fresh purple glow speckled along his face and his abdomen.

Upon seeing (and hearing) MItsuhide, Katurian starts to lower his hands, thinks better of it, and then raises them again. From what he can tell, the man in front of him is wearing an elaborate costume made out of dead animal fur and perhaps a handful of prosthetics. Maybe it's something ceremonial? The way the stranger speaks isn't quite right either, his sentences broken and slurred like a flooded river. Sometimes Katurian's brother speaks this way. When he's agitated.]

Are you with the police?

[It's a stupid question, but it's the only one he can think of. He thinks about lowering his hands so that he can start getting himself off the ground, but -- no. He can't afford to take any chances.]

I-Is it all right that I'm here? I don't -- I'm not so sure about the other things you're saying. I don't think I understand.

[ufufufufu]

[ He pokes the stand some more, making small circles. His eyes widen before he crouches down to start digging until he pulls up a shell. Turning it over in his hands, like examining a precious jewel, he smiles with too much teeth. The smell of blood off of the new arrival is intoxicating. The sight of how much love and attention that he has been given is exhilarating. He's very happy that he has come out to see the shells on the beach. ]

No. No, not at all. They locked me up once in a cell. It was dull. Not like the fun that you experienced. Not at all like that. [ He pushes himself up, brushing the sand that clings to his fur, before swaying over toward the man. It is like someone grabs onto one of his arm and pulls a little to forcibly as Mitsuhide walks. Not like a drunken gait but certainly not like his spine does what his mind wants. ]

It's all right. I certainly see nothing wrong with your existence. You may come to think that it's not right that you are here. But those are your feelings. [ With the shell held between index and thumb, he holds it out to him. ] Here you are.

[goryteller]

[Katurian takes the shell without thinking. It's the sort of automatic response that a father might have, or perhaps a particularly attentive teacher. Oh, now that's very interesting. What have you there? He hasn't seen a shell before, now that he thinks about it. Not outside of a museum.

He knows what Michal would say if he saw this man dressed up like a mangled deer: "Why do you walk all funny?" "What's wrong with you?" Katurian, on the other hand, knows better than to prod at another person's eccentricities. He bites down on his lower lip, suppressing the urge.]

I haven't been having fun. Actually.

[Again, there's something definitively paternal about the way Katurian conducts himself. You are wrong, and that is okay because I will teach you why you're wrong.]

I've been having an absolute terrible time these last few hours. I feel like if I had all my skin slough off, that would be all right, that'd be fine, because at least I wouldn't need to feel my skin. Do you understand? I feel like if someone were to ask me if I wanted to go into a controlled coma, I wouldn't put up much a fuss because at least it would be a break.

[ufufufufu]

[ His head tilts a little too much as his eyes gloss over at he starts to explain. It's a glossy look not of someone not paying attention but trying to understand and failing. His smile turns lopsided in an apologetic manner before he starts to giggle. ]

If you go to sleep, someone will miss you. But those injuries got a lot of salt water into them. They smell of violence and love. [ His nose wiggles as he draws in close to sniff the air around him. ] I am Mitsuhide, yes, Mitsuhide. I greatly apologize that you are not enjoying what is happening.

But ... you can feel it within the skin, right? The emotions that they're filling you with? [ Lifting his hands, he wiggles them -- fingers flexing in time with each waving hand gesture -- over his chest. ] You've done something, did you? How many? How many? The modern world ... the modern word does that to people who have a list of bodies, don't they?

[goryteller]

[Katurian is very familiar with that glassy-eyed look, so much so that he ignores the first few sentences in Mitsuhide's reply in an attempt to find a better, more understandable way to convey his pain. Should he say something about how even the idea of standing up makes him wince? Should he simply say that dullness is preferable to pain?

By the time Katurian returns to the present, the strange man is talking about skin, apologies, his name. Mee-su-hee-day. Katurian practices each syllable silently, his jaw working automatically. It's not a language he recognizes, Japanese. All he knows is that it sounds foreign. Far away.

What the man says next drains all the color from his face.]

No, no, no.

[He shakes his head and waves his hands, as though his movements could dampen down the stranger's words. You did something. List of bodies.]

It's a mistake. Or -- not a mistake, but a --

[He struggles for the words.]

-- a misunderstanding? A misunderstanding. They think I've hurt people, but I haven't done anything. [Hesitation.] Or at least, I think they think that. They might just be looking for an excuse to get rid of me, for all I know.

[He inhales, trying to get his voice to slow down. When he speaks again, his words are more regular. Controlled.]

That's why I need to know what I'm doing here. You're a prisoner too, you said?

[ufufufufu]

[ There is that tilt of his head -- a dog hearing a funny sound and attempting to hear it better. His ears give a little flick as his eyebrows come together. He looks back down in the sand about where his stick is. Not quite like he's grown bored of the conversation but -- oh, he leans down to find another shell and turns it over in his hand.

Brushing off the sand on it, he squints at the color and shape. Rubbing his thumb along the side, it looks like it has a few cracks but still quite good. Holding it out to him, Mitsuhide continues thinking on what to say.

There is nothing else that he can give the person. If he were to embrace him or pat his head, he thinks that might hurt with all those injures. And the stranger took the first shell he gave, so another shell will be just as good to convey how sorry he is about how he isn't enjoying everything. ]

I was a prisoner, but I killed a lot of people. Unlike you. I thought that my lord wanted me to spread the blood of the innocent around. I thought that was what he was telling me to do so that I could see him once more. But unfortunately, that isn't what he was saying at all. In fact, he was saying nothing to me. I just got it into my head that he was saying things that he wasn't saying. [ Mitsuhide makes a "meh" gesture with his both hands. Like that is something that happens all the time. Because it is something that happens all the time. ]

Why do they want to get rid of you? If they wanted to get rid of you, there are much kinder ways to do it. It looks more like they want to punish you first for something... for a misunderstanding. It doesn't look like they're going to be understanding about it at all. No, not at all. [ A giggle. ] Humans are really dedicated to their causes, aren't they?

[goryteller]

[Another shell. Another offering. Again, Katurian takes the gift without hesitation, but this time, it's not a mindless decision -- it's an appreciative one. He knows that the shell isn't supposed to be a trinket. It's an apology, a comfort, a connection. It's the sort of thing that makes him feel all warm inside, like he's just downed a cup of hot cocoa. It's too soft, too kind to be a feeling he ever gets from writing.

It also softens the whole casual admission of mass murder.

Katurian nods and swallows, doing his best to keep his facial expression positive, yet neutral. He's not sure if he believes him. After all, delusions can be all-encompassing, can't they? The strange man doesn't necessarily need to have killed people to believe he's killed people, much like how hearing voices doesn't mean that your "lord" is communicating with you over a long distance.]

They wanted me to sign a confession. [He frowns, recognizing that he may need to elaborate.] You know, um, a piece of paper that says that everything they're doing is okay, that they've caught the right person for the right crime. You can't execute someone if they don't say they're guilty. [Execute. Even saying that word makes his throat dry.] It's bureaucratic bullshit so that they can sleep better at night, or -- or fill out less paperwork or something.

[He thinks about questioning the implication that Mitsuhide is not human, but decides against it. He's clearly unstable -- mass-murderer or not -- and Katurian doesn't want to be the one to wake a sleepwalker. He bites his lip.]

Thank you for the shells. They're beautiful. [Another pause, another hesitation.] My name is Katurian, by the way. Do you mind helping me up?

[ufufufufu]

I've never signed anything like that before. [ The modern world continues to be a magnificently confusing place. ] If I admit what I have done to a large group of people, isn't that enough? Do I really have to write it down? [ But he supposes that if this person is not willing to write down what he's "done," the people cannot feel like they've done what is "right." His tail gives another flick. That's really confusing to him. No one is right in these sort of things, right? No, not at all. So a person just needs to live with what they've done. On both sides.

Crouching down, he rests his elbows on his legs and holds his head as he looks him over. ]

That sounds really complicated. [ His ears fan out as they start flapping at the compliment. This is the sort of compliment that he can accept -- saying that the item he gave is beautiful or worth having rather than thanking him in particular. Yes, yes, Katurian would have found the shells all on his own, probably! ] You're most welcome to them.

[ A pause as he looks over his claws. They've gotten a little long. He frowns a little as grabbing onto someone is tough that way, isn't it? Even though Shootie asked him not to and to go to someone who could properly trim them, he can't really leave this person like this while he does it, right? Right. Reaching, he grabs onto his claws -- cutting deep into his hand before snapping-ripping them off. It gouges the inside of his palm and almost cuts his fingers off but at least one hand is free to help.

He reaches out to grab onto Katurian's arm to carefully haul him up. ] Upsie daisies, as they say!

[peccatore]

[Well, Marco certainly understands being in a bit of a panic upon arrival, but this is... unusual. The poor man must have been in a terrible spot before coming here.

He approaches him cautiously, with his hands raised.]

Hey, it... it's okay. Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you. You're... You're elsewhere now--

[Wait.]

... I know you.

[goryteller]

[Meanwhile, Katurian -- or at least this iteration of Katurian -- doesn't recognize Marco. He squints at him nonetheless, kicking at his memories like they're piles of paper weighed down by their own heaviness.

On the other hand, forging through his memories is vastly preferable to thinking that Marco is a detective here to finish the job. The kindness and concern in Marco's voice is enough to relax his shoulders and quell his fight or flight instinct, even as his mind races in an attempt to decipher the face in front of him.]

I'm afraid I don't recognize you. It must be your costume.

[God knows he's not prepared to accept that Marco is a fish monster. He sniffles, the salt water stinging his sinuses.]

I'm -- sure that's my fault. I'm terrible with faces.

[peccatore]

[It takes Marco a moment to realise that maybe it wasn't the best idea to open with that, especially considering how out-of-sorts the poor man looks.]

No, no, it's... Don't worry. You probably just don't remember being here before. That happens.

[goryteller]

[Bit by bit, Katurian starts the painful process of standing up. Under any other circumstance, he would elect to stay on the ground for a little bit longer -- you know, to bask in his misery. The salt water stings his cuts and scrapes, however, and the prospect of more pain is enough to keep him from wallowing in his current state for too long.]

From childhood, you mean?

[He pauses to look at the waves, the grey skies, the faint mountains in the distance.]

I'd think I would remember visiting the ocean.

[He inhales through his teeth, swallowing a grimace before restarting the whole "standing up" process.]

Are you sure you don't have me mixed up with someone else?

[peccatore]

No-- No, that's not really... Mm. [He's gonna have to slow down a lot, isn't he?... Also oh dear he really ought to help him up. Marco holds out a metallic hand.]

What I mean is you've been... Well, some version of you has been here before, in this peninsula. You're a writer, right?