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Test Drive Meme

TEST DRIVE MEME: SEPTEMBER

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 of the natives are trying to get on your good side with 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? Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.

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1

[ Scorpius has decided that he's had quite enough of being wet. Drenched really. Inside and out he discovers as he coughs up some lovely seawater upon staggering onto the beach. His school robes weigh a ton and threaten to tangle his legs up with every step. At the very least the seaweed he's covered in matches oh so nicely with the SLytherin green lining. House pride. Yeah. ]

Albus? If this is your idea of a joke it's not very-Oh.

[ Upon finally pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes he comes face to face with not his best friend but instead a surly looking man with a shotgun. A shotgun very close to his face. And he was quite certain it was a very dangerous thing as he'd read a few Muggle history books and guns were certainly not a Good Thing. Especially as his wand had recently been snapped and he hadn't yet gotten a chance to get a new one.

He eyes the weapon and nervously raises his hands. ]

Now, I sincerely apologize for trespassing on your lovely beach here, really quite scenic, not really sure how I GOT here but I promise I'll be leaving promptly if you'll just... lower your weapon.

[ The local does not, in fact, lower anything. ]

I'm really very sorry. And I've actually got to get back! To school. Somehow. You see I have detention I really need to be attending. Indefinitely. Really I don't know how it could possibly get any worse, I mean I'm sure it COULD, Positive really but I really don't want to test the imagination of the powers that be...

[ Help him. ]

2

[ Oh why are there so many people swarming him. He's really not used to all those. The few people with the hate-filled stares? Why yes! He has plenty of experience with that and is dutifully ignoring those looks like a pro. The people he concerned about are the ones pressuring him with pamphlets and booklets. He's got so many stuffed into his robes (because of course he can't refuse them he's far too polite) they probably equate to a small tree. ]

I really don't understand-look some of these are just wildly inaccurate! The proper name is Bunnyip. You've an extra yip in there, see? No just once... and they are definitely not found in arid areas. They like wet places like swamps. And this one?

[ He holds up the 'Alternatives to Human Flesh' pamphlet. ]

I'm really very certain I'm not the target demographic for this and I'm also certain there MUST be a vegan werewolf out there somewhere who's dying to get his claws on this...

[ He is now looking around desperately for a good escape route and is very seriously considering just making a run for it. AH a person! Someone! Who is not part of the crowd and is just walking by. Scorpius almost instinctively reaches out to grab their arm. ]

Yes! This is my very good friend whom I've been waiting for.

[ He turns and mouths 'I'm sorry' to the person he's assailed. ]

And we were going to do something. Something... important! Right now. Which is why I was waiting here. But I must thank you all for being so informative. Or trying to be.

Edited 2017-09-08 16:21 (UTC)

4a - Naga

"Blast," that idiotic fog was rolling in. Oh, he'd heard of what it meant, seen the brochures, seen the 'monsters' (which admittedly took him to a near-breakdown to accept them as reality), but he was worried more about being eaten himself than what was about to happen to him.

Clutching his umbrella, the tall, slim man scurried down the street as the air grew thicker, pointedly ignoring the itching that came on quite suddenly. Without much more warning, the itching reached a fever-pitch and he could not bear it any longer. "Damn--" He scrambled over to a bench (really, this was entirely too much physical activity for the day, he hated legwork) and sat down, muttering under his breath and untying his shoes, just a quick scratch, he probably used the wrong sort of soap--

--when he removed his sock, his foot sort of just...sank. Like it was boneless in his hands. That was--horrifying. And it was still terribly itchy, he couldn't help but scratch, but instead of skin there were dark, shiny green scales.

"No." That was just it, he refused this reality. No, he wasn't going to accept that his bloody foot was scaly and boneless.

Several minutes later, and a pained, recovering middle-aged man would be seen trying to drag a rather large bulk into an alleyway, several pieces of clothes shredded, and a very last-ditch attempt to recover any dignity he had left.

4b - Slime

Mycroft wasn't feeling well that afternoon, probably had a fever because he'd been sweating buckets and buckets, which did absolutely nothing for the three-piece suit he always wore, even in this ridiculous place.

Right now he decided the best thing to do was find the coldest air-condition he could find, which wasn't all that common as summer was winding down, but he'd managed to find a particularly chilly cafe. He didn't frequent cafes, but this was a downright emergency as he'd soaked right through his vest and jacket, people giving him funny looks as he entered, his umbrella tap-tapping as he walked inside and stood in line to order.

It was all very well and good, though he didn't notice how his right hand was now sinking and literally collecting inside his umbrella.

1
[ Inga doesn't really care that there is a hostile person glaring down at them. They have Bigger Problems.

Like patting themselves down with fluffy panda paw mittens, like they're looking for something. ]

Huh? Huh? Huh?

[ That goes on for a while, in various different tones of confusion. ]

2
[ Inga already is a monster... Because Inga is a demon. They are currently possessing a child's body, even, and they miss the taste of souls.

But Inga is bored so eh, let's play along. Speaking of playing though. ]

Okay! If you play with me! Let's play tag!

[There's the sound of a growl, and if Scorpius looks over he'll see a werebear. With a sniper rifle. Pointing it at the local. Because that's something you see every day.]

Put the damn gun down or you're dinner.

[The local suddenly seems to remember something very important that he has to do in a direction that isn't near Boone, and once he's gone the bear lowers the sniper rifle and approaches the boy. He holds a hand out to help him up.]

Great first impression you got there, huh.

one

[Waking up on a beach with a mouth full of sand, covered in scraps and cuts is a bit jarring. Especially when, previously, you were on a space ship. Or at least, Lymle is fairly certain she was on a space ship. She's not so sure now, looking at her surroundings. How can you get from something like that to somewhere like here? She's been wandering around for a while now, looking more and more concerned as she goes. She can't user her magic, she can't summon Cerberus, and she isn't seeing any of the crew anywhere...but that doesn't mean they can't be nearby.

It's at least easy to approach the locals, even if some of them aren't very fond of new arrivals. She looks barely over the age of six or seven, and even the coldest of hearts can have a hard time resisting a lost looking child. So maybe you're coming across some adult trying to begrudgingly explain things to her, or explain that he doesn't believe in aliens (in the traditional UFO sense).

Or maybe you're stopping because some small set of fingers grabbed onto your shirt or your pants and tugged at them to get you to stop.]

...I'm lost.

four Simulacrum

4a [Her first changes weren't very painful. Not at all, really. Just...weird. The little girl is sitting on a bench in Bavan, staring at her hands as they're held out in front of her, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. They're still hands, but her skin has somehow turned into metal, and she just can't figure out how. She thought they would be monsters? What kind of monster is made of metal? She bends her fingers, frowning a little at their new ball joints, and then glances back at the back of her wrist. Where one would normally wear a watch sits a neat little screen, with a series of small buttons along the side of it. She pulls it in, pressing some of the buttons, frowning more at the beeps that come from her wrist.]

Is this a doggie...?

[Anyone who were to look would see that yes, there is indeed a pixelated doggie on that screen. Her wrist is literally a Tamagotchi, which is weird for her because she has no idea what the hell a Tamagotchi even is.]

I don't get it.

4b [More changes came later in the week, and for most of the day Lymle has been holding her hands up over her ears. Or...over her ears and something that's covering them? It's clear she's holding on to more than just your average pair of human ears, but it's hard to tell exactly what is underneath those hands that she wants to hide so badly. It's only easy to get a peek when she takes one away to do something, like exchange money for food at a store, or fuss a little with her hair or clothes. Especially easy, however, when she clamors up onto a bench, since that requires both hands. Or...when she can't continue hiding them because she's asleep on said bench.

Though why would anyone hide a pair of cute, almost elfish looking ears?]

Edited 2017-09-08 20:02 (UTC)

[One]

[As Max pushes herself up into a sitting position, coughing and spitting out the feeling of sandy grit in her mouth, a weary part of her mind wonders if she'll ever be able to shake this feeling. It's not raining at all, so that's a good thing, but that feeling of being soaked to the skin, of the cold seeping into her very bones, was one she wanted to forget. She never really minded the chill before - growing up in the pacific northwest kind of makes you immune to that - but after the storm, after her powers, after what she had to do... the cold and the damp just. Did not mesh well with her anymore.]

Ugh, shit...

[She gets herself upright, legs crossed as she stares out at the ocean. It's unsettling, but there's no lighthouse looming in the distance, no chaotic storm just a few dozen miles offshore... so this is a one-up from her usual nightmares, yeah?]

Can't catch a break, can you Max? Figures... [She sighs, running a hand through her damp, salt-and-sand-crusted hair, and reluctantly pushes herself to her feet.] So what is it this time? Nightmare, or vision of a new crappy power trying to ruin my life?

[Three; Dyster]

[Max was never much of a religious girl. She wouldn't really call herself an atheist, but the whole "organized religion" thing never really caught her eye. Kate was always that kind of girl, and as much as she liked Kate, she couldn't really see herself getting into religion and worship like her friend does.

But... here she was in Dyster. When she first arrived, she wouldn't exactly say she hated the Fog God right off the bat. She'd been miserable in the now-safe Arcadia Bay, so what's a little more misery on top of that? But then she'd run into more new arrivals, saw all the new faces... and saw that Chloe was here too. Chloe was alive, safe (well as safe as you could be here), and... well. Max supposed she owed it to this weird god or one of her followers to speak up.

But Max is Max, and she hates speaking up, so she'll just... kind of stand awkwardly around in the middle of town, looking for someone who might know what they're doing. And she definitely sticks out; not quite human, but not in her full monster changes just yet. Nothing too extreme, but the curling horns on her head and the spread of sapphire-blue scales on her neck and some parts of her face are enough to set her apart.]

Okay... this is totally the place, right...?

[Four-ish]

[So Max had pretty much settled into her changes. There were still some aspects of her new gargoyle nature that she hasn't discovered or hasn't obtained yet, but the wings, the scales, the horns and the tail... they've all more or less grown in, so she has no reason to fear the incoming fog this time around. In fact, she's... kind of enjoying it? It's a little messed up, considering what other people are going through right now, but it isn't often that she can get away with going outside during normal hours.

And man, the fog... as creepy as it can be, it makes for some killer photo opportunities. So in the midst of the fog, of the humans hurrying on their way or boarding up their shops, or other monsters dealing with their changes, there's just... this gargoyle with a camera in her claws, snapping photos every so often. She's pretty into it too, taking her time lining up shots as the tip of her tail twitches back and forth. She's in her element now, and it's the perfect way to distract herself from what would normally be a pretty shitty day.]

One

[Well, this is somewhat alarming. Not only is he quite sure he last fell asleep nowhere near the ocean, but this looks nothing like California, either. What happened, then? Even assuming that somebody may have attacked him in his sleep (unlikely, but not an impossible concern, he supposes, especially since he's getting on in years), he would think whoever did such a thing would have the decency to encase his feet in cement.

His mustache bristles some stray grains of sand away. He'll walk along the beach, attempting to assess the situation...

And the first time he sees a monster, he's sure to do a double-take.]

Four (body horror cw, because liches; bonus eye horror)

[Dying and waking up again is one thing. Not a normal thing, by any means, and even with the warnings he heard throughout the month, he's found himself woefully unprepared for it. His absolute certainty that his heart has somehow taken up residence inside a seashell is bizarre, but somehow reassuring, too; he'll have to see what to do about it.

What bothers him more, despite his reluctance to admit it, is the process his body has undergone in the hours following his death. Accelerated decomposition, he supposes, if he had to put it in layman's terms. He may not be sure what happened to his organs aside from his heart, but they still feel quite whole - unlike, say, his limbs. His right hand has just finished detaching from his wrist, the last of his tendons snapping away.]

Yet, it won't fall. Not as inconvenient as it might be, I... [Wait. Hold on. The same thing is happening to his fingers.] Each individual phalanx...? [That just seems... unnecessary.

You might think it's odd he's acting so calm about this, but suddenly, his monocle pops out!

That's because his left eyeball has just fallen out.]

And this couldn't stay attached... why, exactly?

[It's far better to feel inconvenienced than scared.]

1.

She had dreamed of them before, beaches and waves and the feeling of sand between her fingers. Sometimes she'd even wake with the taste of salt-sea air on her tongue, a feeling made all the more peculiar by the knowledge that that the vague wisps of memory swimming around inside her head weren't her own.

But this - whatever this is - ain't a dream.

She knows this straight away when she wakes up choking, coughing up more water than she ever thought her lungs could hold. It's a horrible feeling, like drowning but worse and it's made none the easier by the harsh sting of grit in her eyes and mouth. She crawls her way out of the water, one arm dragging herself forward while the other scrubs across her eyes and mouth in an effort to clear away the sand.

She hacks and wheezes all the while, and it's not until she's finally caught her breath that she dares to open her eyes, which are red and weeping and altogether uncooperative.

She blinks hard, her eyes still stinging from the sand, and spits off to the side. Her mouth still feels gritty, but she's not about to go rinse it out with more salt water.

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust, and once they do she can scarcely believe what they see. She doesn't know what this place is, but she knows one thing for certain - it ain't Harrow.

2

It's strange, meeting one group of folks who are hospitable as can be then immediately running into another that mean to do her harm, but Emmy supposes she can't rightly complain. She's used to strange, and people turning on her besides. Still, she wishes she at least knew the reason these folks were looking to fix her head up on a pike.

"Listen here." She says carefully, her hands raised in a placating manner as though to calm a frightened animal rather than an angry mob.

"I don't know what all you think I've done but I'm telling you now, you don't want this to get ugly."

4

Oh sweet baby Jesus, it hurts. It hurts worse than any one thing she can remember, worse even than when Pa found her out in the woods and tried to -

No, no, she ain't gonna think about that, she ain't gonna think about things that are gonna make the pain she's in feel more strongly than it already does. Last thing she needs to do is add more fuel to that fire.

It takes an age for the whole mess to be done and over with, and once it is Emmy can't do much more than shake and wipe the sweat from off her forehead with the back of her hand.

"...Can't say I cared much for that at all."

There's not much logic to it.

[Aunamee is in a similar -- no, a worse -- state of decay, although you'd never know it. His skeletal body is hidden under a long, white robe, the clothing underneath it padded to make it look like his body is normal. Human. He wears a mask made from shards of shattered glass.

He offers a white-gloved hand. The smile is plain in his voice.]

Welcome to the peninsula.

[ Another gun! This is becoming increasingly alarming. Has he stumbled upon some sort of muggle warzone or something? Hopefully not. This gun is at least attached to someone who seems willing to help him out. A rather hairy... furry? someone. With peculiar ears... Come to think of it he had heard a growl. He assumed there was a dog nearby but...

Well let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. No telling when Mr. Shotgun decides to come back and maybe with friends.

He accepts his hand pulls himself up to his feet. ]

Well, it's certainly an impression of some sort. Thanks for encouraging that person they were needed elsewhere. Umm... and this may sound crazy but...

[ He frowns a little. How exactly is he going to ask where he is WITHOUT actually sounding crazy? ]

scenerio one

( The soft sounds of the waves breaking onto sand doesn't encourage consciousness. Instead, it's a sound that lulls a mind to sleep and creates an audio cacoon in which rest should come easily. Dany has heard the sound before, having occupied a harbor town or two. Since taking residence in Dragonstone, she can easily look out of her window and see the vast sea spread below her, a body of water that was once an obstacle and now stands as a testament to her power - the Dothraki had crossed for her. However, the sand isn't her usual bed, and she wakes before her slight weight can cause an indentation in the ground below her.

It isn't a quickened realization. Green eyes take time to look around and when she finally pushes herself up, sand has had time to tangle into her long silver hair. Once realization for her situation does hit, it's quick as if to make up for the time spent lost in confusion. Dany is a strong woman, a Queen by right, but the same thing that deposited her on the beach clung to her mind and slowed down her thought processes. )

What kind of game is this?

( The lack of answer disturbs her, but she can't allow her enemies to see fear or uncertainty. Instead, she turns, looking for some form of life. )

I won't play. Come out now.

scenerio two

Thank you, but this isn't what I need. I only need to know my location.

( Her words seem pointless as if she's speaking to caricatures of villagers rather than people themselves. Dany tries not to take the frustration of the situation out on the people, people who are likely not involved in the kidnapping of a Queen. Nonetheless, as they continue to ignore her, a deep seated something wishes to declare her title and demand answers, but her intelligence stills her tongue. This isn't a Dothraki tribe, the Unsullied, or any other people pledged to serve her, and Dany's dragons are nowhere to be seen.

Why are they giving the strange papers? After her questions remain unanswered, she finally turns to read it.)

Axe Thief Axehounds? Am I in the North? Do you know of Jon Snow?

( That seems to get the same reply as the others: none at all. )

scenerio three

(ooc: any that you would like to try would be more than welcome.)

one;

[Alive. He was alive. That was something, at least. There was something definitely wrong about this place - he was completely cut off from his magic, for one thing, which caused him no shortage of distress when he first crawled out of the water - but now that he had some time to pull himself together, he could at least look on the bright side. Mainly, that he wasn't dead.

Seeing someone in the distance, he called out to them.]

Hello! Yes, you! Be a pal and tell me what world this is.

[He doesn't seem phased by any potentially monstrous features the other person might have.]

two;

These are ridiculous. I love them.

[At least, he would if he were just watching it happen to other people and not about to go through it himself. But a fur-bearing trout? He couldn't help but laugh at that. Did some poor sap really end up like that?

He looks over his shoulder and sees a man glaring daggers at him. He leans in to the nearest monster (or fellow not-yet-monster new arrival) and whispers.]

Who pissed in his cornflakes this morning?

three (demon);

[Part of him thought that it wouldn't actually happen to him. Not that he wanted to remain a powerless, squishy human, but the fact that this world's magic worked as well on him as it did on anyone else was a bit disappointing. Nonetheless, he was prepared for this, and when the first shockwaves of pain shoot through him he remains surprisingly composed. It's just pain, after all.

He feels something split through his forehead, blood dripping down his face. His head is pounding, as if someone were yanking something right out of his skull. Once the pain subsides, he's left with a pair of curved, black horns coming out of his forehead.]

Anyone got a mirror?

[Several creatures had horns, but perhaps getting a look at them could help narrow it down a little.]

[Egon is busy sort of pushing past these new people, handing out compact, short versions of his still-in-progress monster guide. This one is much more serious, and much more information. It includes a foreword about the false information and how smart someone is for taking 'Spengler's Monster Guide'.]

[He offers one absently to Flagg and shrugs.]

I don't know. I believe they think they're helping.

Hm.

[He takes a look at Spengler's Monster Guide.]

Does this have one of those personality quizzes? I want to know what monster I'll get.

[He knows there's no personality quiz that determines anything. The thought just amuses him.]

Not for you.

[Cuthbert's tone is cold and dry, a stark contrast to his usual jovial intonations. Nothing can flip the switch in him like Broadcloak. Or whatever the hell name he's going by, Bert can't keep track of them. He only knows the wizard has many names, and is apparently the only wizard in his entire world. At least from what Roland's said.]

[It's fog time, changes coming in, so Bert is currently seven and a half feet tall and sporting a monstrous void mouth from which dozens upon dozens upon dozens of six inch fangs burst forth in all directions. Including right through the skin of his cheeks and lips. He's eerily gaunt, skin grayed and dead looking, and his single red eye seems to gleam. Not an ideal state in which to run into the wizard, all things considered, but at least he looks frightening.]

[He does rather wish his teeth weren't so blood stained. Even if the blood had come out of a bucket and not anyone alive.]

There's no guess in my mind as to what you are.

[He leans forward, pain coming to him once more, this time at his back. Something was growing beneath his skin near his shoulder-blades, and would soon burst out. Wings, if Bert's guess was correct.]

Cuthbert. How lovely you look. Red's a good color on you.

[Red because of his eye and the blood and Red because...well, he looks every bit a Red vampire right now. And with that comment, two webbed black wings exploded from his back, small and malformed at first but growing in size every second with sharp pops and cracks.]

You think this suits me, then?

Fuck you. I could tear you apart with my teeth, if I wanted to risk making myself sick by getting yer blood in my mouth.

[Mayhap not as easily, now that the wizard is changing. But he's in his fog form and the bastard is currently changing, he'll bet he's still stronger. And freshly fed even.]

[He does wish he had his eyepatch on, though.]

You've always been a filthy demon. Least now folks'll kennit when they lay eyes on ye.

[He stretches himself up to his full height, stretching his arms and extending his wing membranes to enhance the illusion of size. In his fog form, he's shirtless and barefoot, only wearing a pair of black denims and the rook skull Jade had made him along with his human teeth hanging from a leather cord around his neck.]

[The werebear stops in his tracks at that voice, his ears turning and flattening even as he turns his head. He's covered in brown fur and certainly looks more bear than were. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a button down. No hat, no guns; he has them but they mostly hang on the wall of the bedroom he shares with Bert.

He doesn't answer. He just walks toward the Man in Black. Because this? This is a lovely thing. Flagg's just arrived and, therefore, is human. He stops when he's within speaking distance. He might not be in striking distance, but he's faster than a human. So, to quote a meme, bitch he could be.]

As close to the Clearing as either of us are going to find.

What does what you are now say about what you've always been, then?

[His wings keep growing and growing until their full span is twice his height, and with one final snap they settle as they are, his torn skin beginning to mend itself around them. He'd changed shape plenty of times before, but only by his own will. This was someone else's magic forcing its will on him. These horns felt heavy on his head, the wings strange and awkward.

But it was nothing he couldn't get used to. All things considered, he was satisfied with what he was becoming. It was what so many people had seen him as over the years, it may be an enjoyable experience to become one for real. He turns to look back at his new wings.]

Huh. They match my outfit. [As in: all black.] Awful considerate of the Fog God to take my fashion sense into account.

[He doesn't recognize the body, but oh, he recognizes the voice.]

Dear Roland. [He hisses that name, like a snake ready to strike. But he's too weak to strike, right now.] I know a lot about the Clearing and what might happen there, but becoming a bear was never part of it. Interesting. I'm still regular old me, it looks like. I sure hope I came in with a handsome face; seems like I'll be stuck with the one I've got, for now.

[No magic, no shapeshifting. Sigh.]

It says that all gods enjoy making jokes at my expense. Even the ones here. Foggy's a bitch, this sort of thing is right up her alley.

[Ugh, why does the wizard get the cool back wings? Bert wanted those. Not that his own aren't perfectly nice wings he can use very well, but...]

[Gods, the impulse to go for the wizard's throat is strong. He's quick. So quick he can't be seen properly when he moves. It wouldn't be permanent, but it would be so, so satisfying. His prehensile, tubelike tongue darts out from between the gap in his terrible teeth, as though scenting the air. Or anticipating.]

[When he does move, in a dark blur, it's to leap up and grab the side of a building with his feet and one hand, to gain the height advantage.]

You would be a fan of hers.

Why'd she make a joke out of you and not me, I wonder?

[He has to laugh at the tongue. If a vampire from their world were to come here, they'd easily accept Bert as one of their own kind. He could appreciate the Fog God's sense of humor, even if he was bitter that she stole his magic from him.

...And as if on queue, he felt something, something within him, as if a switch has been flipped. He knew what it was, exactly what it was, and began to grin that awful ghastly grin of his.]

Ah, there it is.

[With a flick of his wrist a flame ignited, covering his left hand in fire. It wasn't the full extent of his magic, but it was magic just the same. Magic that may hopefully make hungry, angry vampires think twice about eating him.]

Because only one of us is ka mai.

[The eternal butt of the universe's jests. Even here, even now. All of the things Bert had wanted out of his monster form, he'd gotten. But only as a vampire. What a grand laugh for old Foggy!]

[It's instinct, when the wizard displays magic. Bert's form softens and blurs and stretches, growing insubstantial until there's only a dark grayish black mist hovering where he'd been hanging from the edge of the building. It's more out of fear that he's about to have a fireball launched at him, but in retrospect, it has to look rather impressive]

You aren't the only one with tricks, Broadcloak.

[Pity his ability to bend wills doesn't work on other monsters. It'd be a damn spot of fun, making the wizard his puppet for an hour...]

Lemme guess, you wanna know where you are and how you got here.

[It's exactly the situation Boone was in not long ago, only he was lucky enough to be sent down via lightning.]

The short of it is, you're in Ryslig and you were summoned by the Fog God. The long of it is... well, actually, that's pretty much it. The guy pointing the gun at you probably figured it'd be better to kill you now to protect the people he cares about. Actually, leaving might be a good idea. Before he comes back.

[He starts walking back the way he came, expecting Scorpius to follow.]

For now.

[He nods ever so slightly. In a month or so? Flagg will be something different. He can only hope that Flagg gets something deserving. Not a spider, no no no. Slime would be good.]

We all become what we truly are inside. You'll be human until you change. I'd spare you the change, but you'd only come back.

[The word 'spare' is spat, and clearly meant as anything but benevolent.]

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Test Drive Meme

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy | Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Mycroft Holmes | BBC Sherlock

Inga | UN-GO

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Lymle Lemuri Phi | Star Ocean: The Last Hope

Maxine "Max" Caulfield | Life is Strange

Shelly de Killer | Ace Attorney

Emmy | Harrow County

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Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones

Randall Flagg | The Dark Tower

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