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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.

Threaded | Flat

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!

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."

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.]

II

[ The cuts and scrapes she'd found all over her when she'd woken up here have begun to close, the pain fading to a dull soreness, but she looks pale, tired, and scared. Abigail sits on a bench with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, given to her by a local trying to get on her good side, and thumbs through the pamphlets with a mixture of wariness and morbid curiosity. The information in most of them seems surreal and bizarre - she can't help but laugh a little at the rather adorable image that the word 'bunnyipyips' conjures up in her mind as she reads it - but as she reads the title of the next pamphlet the amusement disappears from her face entirely, replaced by nausea. "Alternatives to human flesh." This had to be some sick joke. ]

You've got to be kidding me.

III - Dyster

[ Seek us out, the voices had whispered, and before she could question it, Abigail found herself doing just that. She didn't remember how she'd gotten here, she was just here, wandering through empty streets and peering into houses that looked long abandoned, books still opened and tables set for dinner, but no signs of life at all. ]

Hello? Is anyone there?

⚫) SCENARIO ONE
[A long time ago, this was like the place that he found his true home with. Costa Rica. The long sandy beaches with their gorgeous sunsets, bright sunsets that would show every color as the light hit the horizon.]

[Today he finds himself coughing up a handful of sand, spittling it up onto the beach as he props himself up on his own lone, remaining arm. Handicapped and abandoned with no crutch and no help, transplanted into a new place. Either easy prey, or someone that needs some help.]

[Kaz's left leg is cut short from mid-calf down. Similarly his right arm is chopped at the start of his bicep. Two stumps that are currently causing him a great deal of strife as he pulls himself along through the sand towards higher shore, away from the water. Funny that the beach has suddenly become a place of peril rather than one of fond nostalgia. If one's sense of humor leans towards the perverse, anyway.]

[Despite the unsettling truth having been revealed to him, the disconnect of having realized that Venom Snake not only wasn't Big Boss, but only cared about him because he was a Medic in some former life, he finds himself calling out for help in the vague hope it would be him that came and got him.]

Boss? Anybody there?

⚫) SCENARIO FOUR
[He's been warned of the change, what other people had gone through, but Miller never expected to experience it himself.]

[A bright blond creature prowls the woods, pale haired and showy in the night. Kaz might admire stealth, but his werewolf form stands out brilliantly. His padded feet move quietly across the ground, his muzzle snuffling into leaves and branches. And the hunger- the hunger he can't drive from his mind.]

[But this is his first change, something uncertain and baffling and honestly a little frightening. Warnings or not, this isn't his body and he doesn't feel right in it. And he's just desperately looking for prey. Any prey.]

[It's four limbs he's moving on, too. Not his stunted two. Something he's not even fully noticed yet because his body is so disorienting at the moment, not only uneven but an entirely alien and horrifying entity in its own right. He can't even consider how he'll feel later, if the hunger ebbs and he's back in a body that's more flesh than fur. Right now all he can consider is the lingering desire to sink his teeth into an actual person, a defiant human being, as the werewolf moves between trees.]

⚫) OPEN
[Wildcard. Hit me with anything.]

Edited 2017-09-09 10:48 (UTC)

I. Butter's arrival was sadly typical. A man in scrubs washed up on the beach, damp, dripping and spluttering. As soon as he pulled himself to his feet he started frantically trying to clean his glasses by rubbing them on his wet shirt. Replacing them didn't do much good. Between wet glasses and the foggy day, he'd be lucky to tell the monsters from the humans. The smell of gunpowder has him on edge though. He looks ready to duck or dodge at the slightest provocation.

II. Butters takes a pamphlet. Then another one, then another, seemingly eager for all the new information he can get, though after a quick glance at the contents he heaves a frustrated sigh and looks up at the sky.

"Fur bearing... Fine, fine, that's just fine." For all he knows that might be a real thing, but it doesn't seem very important.

The "What to Expect" Pamphlet gets more scrutiny. He takes a deep and not at all shaky breath. Sitting down seems like a good option. Just finding a bench somewhere out of the way, plopping down and putting his head in his hands for a while while taking more deep breaths.

"It feels like iron...no fairy could...but if I'm imagining it..." He pinches himself. Then the prickling hairs on the back of his neck make him look up and realize he's muttering.

scenerio two

( The setting is different from anything Noctis has ever known. Coming from a more advanced city, the older houses and strange dress stand out. The night-themed prince walked among the people, earning glances for his dress, but he can also tell they know he doesn't belong. He draws too much attention, something he's accustomed to in his home city, but not in strange locations.

When they begin to approach him, he accepts their gifts with slight but hidden confusion. The prince isn't the most socially inadept, and the foreign land only further confuses his senses. )

Huh? Is this supposed to be for daemons?

( Why are they passing these out casually? Noctis does try to ask -- 'hey, what is this supposed to mean?', but they all continue to look at him with knowing eyes, only Noctis doesn't know the same secret they seem to want to share with him without actually acknowledging it out loud. )

scenerio four -- gargoyle

( The pain is horrific. It blinds Noctis in a way that has nothing to do with his vision. So much blood pours from his broken skin that his shirt clings to his body, and he has trouble deciding where the wounds had really appeared. There are no potions, no chance to use healing magic, and the result is horribly, horribly painful. If it had started in the small house he'd taken for a residence, he could have more time to think, but the first of the spikes burst through his flesh and the cloth of his shirt in the crowded city of Bavan, bringing him to his feet in an instant as the other changes begin to twist his skin and bones. Enough people had warned him of the changes that Noctis has no reason to question what is happening, but knowing the reason for his agony does little to decrease the intensity. )

[One]

_{[After everything, seeing the ocean was the last thing Bertolt had expected, but there it was.

After coming to with his face in the sand, Bertolt had opted to stay by the beach, bare knees drawn up to his chest and one arm looped around them, his free hand resting against the side of his head. His memory was fuzzy, but he doesn't remember the ocean being so cold, but part of it has to be from the fact that his sleeves are missing near the shoulders and his pants have been torn at the thigh. He doesn't want to think about the circumstances that resulted in looking like this, but Bertolt can't erase the image from his mind. The heat, the fear, and the crushing pressure against his head -- and now he's here, in a strange and unfamiliar land.

Alone.

Or so he thinks, because despite how much Bertolt tries to ignore it, he can't shake the feeling that he's being watched.]}

[Four]

_{[Hearing about what was supposed to happen to Bertolt had been one thing, and seeing other 'monsters' was too, but to actually have it happen? That was another basket of something else entirely.

Fortunately he seems to have escaped relatively unscathed, but there was no way to deny that he was turning into something. It had started with his fingernails tapering off into sharp claws that no matter what Bertolt did, they never stayed dull for long. Next, small patches of what looked like scales started to appear under and around his eyes, and even down the sides of his neck. Then came the hunger he had heard so much about, but that in itself had been easy enough to ignore.

Though this time, Bertolt can be found outside of a shop in Bavan, his mouth open as far as he can get it while he gingerly pokes at the sharp points of his canines in a mirror. At least, up until the mirror shatters, eliciting a sharp yelp of surprise as he nicks his finger on one of his teeth.]}

Ow--!

[Wildcard!]

_{[Come at me!]}

Edited 2017-09-13 17:51 (UTC)

ｏｎｅ :

{ To be honest, the pain wasn’t what roused him. On all fours, Kel’Thuzad spat mouthful after mouthful of sand back onto the shore below, heaving in choking breaths as much as he could handle in-between. His shoulders trembled and his eyes must have looked wider than gold pieces as he stared at his hands-his clammy, fleshy hands. As he tasted the salt and dirt, as he felt the necessity to breathe. Oh, if he still dreamed, he’d have thought it a nightmare but that was the problem: how long had it been since he had slept?

Kel’Thuzad brought up one of his hands to push back his sodden gray hair-greatly to check that it was, in fact, there-before a wet, shuddering laugh escaped him. }

Oh, gracious. No good, no good at all.

{ A hundred thoughts crossed his mind very much at once. A curse? A slip between realms? Something… weird with his phylactery? Regardless, this was no good at all. He felt heavy, winded, and distinctly unsure how to use his legs after not having had a pair for so long. He’d have taken his time considering his situation and remembering how to stand-if not for the crunch of (what he assumed were) shoes on the sand nearby. When they stopped, he made his assumptions and did his best to sound as collected and poised as he could manage.

Only to wince at how ragged, shaken, and old he sounded. }

I’d keep my distance, stranger. Unless you care to explain what has happened to me.

ｔｈｒｅｅ :

{ To be frank, the feeling of this Dyster place was pretty lovely.

He had such a soft spot for cults, after all.

Plenty spooky,with nightfall bringing the sort of dusky grey that orange fires just cut right through, air nice and thick with cold atmosphere, it was damn near nostalgic. Kel’Thuzad tugged his cloak all the tighter around him, absently wishing he had a good bovine skull to wear for the occasion: it might just be in-style here, right? But it’d distract from his sneakiness (probably).

Devoid of cow craniums, he slipped between desolate buildings to continue his snooping. For the sheer number of said buildings, he couldn’t help but think the place was a bit empty. Not that he was complaining, it added spectacularly to the feel. Specifically that he’d let his guard down too far and, consequently, he might just be being watched. What a delightful thought, it would just be a shame if it weren’t true.

The very moment he thought it, he found he would absolutely not be disappointed. Someone, it seemed, had been keeping an eye on him after all. Caution to the wind, Kel’Thuzad it most appropriate to appoach the stranger. What’s the worst that could happen? He could die? How rich. }

Pardon me, pardon me, but are you a local? I have so many questions.

ｗｉｌｄｃａｒｄ:

Approach, Interloper.

Edited 2017-09-15 00:16 (UTC)

2

There's a blue woman reading - or rather, glaring - at the pamphlets in her metal hand. She's already recovered, for a set value of recovery; the prosthetics that still work have only the barest amount of functionality, while the rest of her enhancements are useless, unwanted ornaments on her body.

She seethes at the thought, and while she can't crush a person's throat anymore, she can at least crush the papers she's holding. It's not long before she marches towards someone, anyone, and points a finger in their direction.

"You."

Yes, you. Nebula steps forward and jabs a finger at one of the crumpled pamphlets in her hand, and says, "Explain this... fur fish to me."

i.

S-step back!

[A shrill voice yells out, with a shotgun he had obtained from a guard who's blood was splattered on his clothes. He's pointing the barrel at another guard with a pistol and a scowl that looks absolutely disgusted with this boy -- and the boy looks terrified to be holding that shotgun in the first place. In fact, he's so on edge that when the guard simply takes a step towards him he pulls the trigger, blasting the brains out of the guard in one bullet and sending more blood to stain his yellow shirt.

After that shot, he hears someone walk behind him and turns around, pointing the shotgun right at them.]

Y-y-you want some too, m..m-motherfucker?!

[He has no idea where he is and no idea how dangerous or safe the people here are so.. forgive him for being a little anxious.]

wildcard.

[ive been having writers block so just one prompt this time, sorry! feel free to think of your own though and ill follow suit!]

GET YOUR BEACH BODY READY

"Mlluuurrrgghhhh."

That was the sound of a man barfing up sand. Sand? Was he back in the desert again? But he'd made it to Washatog...unless he'd only dreamed that. It couldn't have been a dream. His arm sang with a dozen cuts from what he supposed was car window glass. He crawled, one pitiful movement after the other, fighting to force his knee under himself so he could sit up. And then he noticed something else.

"Whuh?" Maurice coughed and spat out a few more grains of sand before looking at his arm in wonder. His cast was gone! He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulder. No trace of the auto accident at all! Finally, Maurice noticed a third unusual thing.

A sound. A frantic, whooshing sound in his ears. His breath caught in his throat and he lifted a hand to gingerly press just below his ear. There it was. A wooshing and a pumping against his pruny fingers.

"Ah'm uh-lave again..." His voice sounded far away even to himself. "I'm alive again!" He shouted it as though that would keep this a fact and chase away any dream-popping pins. Maurice ran his fingers--his fingers! Not his claws! He ran his fingers through his hair to dislodge the grit and bits of seaweed and laughed and coughed and laughed to himself. He didn't know if the whole being-a-vampire was a dream or if this was a dream. He didn't know anything really save how he felt and he was going to hang onto that as long as he could.

TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE

"Awwww hell, aw dang, aw shit, aw NOOO!" This was the dismayed cry that came from the stoop of the trashy little apartment that had been hosting Maurice. The sun was setting and he had been planning on darting out to grab some groceries at the corner store for the small family he was staying with but life, it seemed, had other plans.

Maurice had fallen to one knee like a would-be groom and was frantically trying to force his boot to stay on his foot. He could already feel the deep thrumming pain of his bones changing beneath his skin. The ache slithered all the way up from his toes to his hip and tears prickled the corners of his eyes as he watched the leather of the boot bulge and start to split from the sheer force of the change.

"I just bought theeeeeeeese!"

A gross popping sound issued from the limb as his new foot burst free of its prison and unfurled four enormous zygodactyl talons. Dull green feathers forced themselves up through his skin like the worst case of acne he'd ever had and crept down his arms and up his neck.

He was oblivious to the curious faces plastered to the window of his once-shelter and in his agony missed the muffled order of "Honey, get the camera!"

[ 1 ]

[ He's used to sand. He's grown incredibly accustomed to it being both everywhere and in everything all at once, and waking up facedown in it is no real surprise. If there's one thing Pandora's gotten him used to, it's sand. The water's a nice change, though! Sure, it doesn't make the situation he's in all that much better, but it's at least something new. ]
[ Axton pushes himself up with a stifled grunt, swiping as much of the grit away from his face as he can. Despite his best efforts, there's still plenty of it in his hair, and that's something he knows full well is going to bother the hell out of him. He's done his best for the moment, though; while it's all too tempting to start preening properly, he'd be better off investigating his surroundings. ]

[ The breath of salt-tinged air he's treated to once he's finally clear of the ground is-- refreshing, sort of. It would be better if there wasn't sand in his mouth, but there's only so much he can do about it at the moment. Axton gets to his feet, grumbling quietly to himself as he works some of the stiffness out of his joints; clearly, he's been passed out on this beach for a while, although he doesn't remember how he even got here. That's not a new phenomenon, either, and it's not one he's going to lose much sleep over. As far as he can tell, he partied too hard at Moxxi's, and that probably explained the headache trying to pound its way through his skull. ]
[ After a few minutes, he can be found doing one of two things-- either vigorously dunking his head in the waves to get all of that sand off, or wandering around as though he knows exactly where he is. He's entirely sure he's never been to this beach before in his life, but hey-- fake it 'til you make it. Fortunately for him, he's good at doing just that. ]

[ 2 ]

[ Somebody's taking the bribes of food rather well, judging from the fact that he's currently stuffing his face at an outdoor table. This particular newcomer's found himself seated opposite from a local who's brought him a heaping tray of barbecue, enthusiastically tearing apart the offering without even remotely considering the intentions behind it. The other man seems a little jumpy, but Axton's far too preoccupied with the meal in front of him to notice; he's chatting away all the same, poor manners be damned. He's a Vault Hunter-- who needs those? It's not like he's done much within the borders of civilization in a while, and he certainly doesn't appear to care regardless. ]

Y'said you cooked this, right? It's friggin' awesome. Way better than MREs, lemme tell you.
[ The sharp, toothy grin he flashes would've been better without the sauce smeared on his face, he figures all too late. He does notice the way the local shivers a little, and his expression shifts to confusion before he remembers the contents of the pamphlets on the table beside him. Axton understands the worry in a vague sort of way-- he gets why somebody would be nervous if what he'd oh-so-briefly read about happened frequently, but there's no way he's going to contribute to that sort of thing, right? Why the hell would he when there was shit like these ribs to be had, anyway? ]
Hey, hey, don't worry! I'm totally not gonna eat your family or...whatever. Don't even know who the hell they are, if that's what you're all worked up about. [ His companion doesn't seem as convinced, and Axton swipes his mouth clean with the next in a line of many napkins, propping his elbows up on the edge of the table afterward. ] Just-- Just look at me. Look at this handsome face, here. Do I look like I'd go for your throat? Be honest.
[ There's a somewhat timid shake of the head in response, and he leans forward to pat the man's shoulder reassuringly. Rather than recognizing the traditional boundaries of personal space, Axton simply leaves his hand there, raising a questioning eyebrow when the uncomfortable fidgeting starts. That's something he has to talk his way through, then-- ]
See? Everything's fine! [ His tone's cheery and casual, expression tailored to match; while he sounds like he's talking about something as general as the weather, the fact that he's still staring down (as well as touching) his local 'friend' seems to not be going over all that well.] But, like-- about your recipe for this sauce, though? I'm gonna need that. [ He nods, giving the local another pat. ] Totally gonna have to get that off you before we're done here, bro.

[ Not that he ever really cooks, but there's people out there he can pay to do that for him, and that's what matters. Still, he does seem to be unnerving this poor man far more than intended-- maybe it'd be a good idea to split them up before Axton manages to make it much worse. ]

[ wildcard ]

[[ got something else in mind? hmu @

protectobot or just go for it here!! ]]

Threaded | Flat

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy | Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Mycroft Holmes | BBC Sherlock

Inga | UN-GO

Lymle Lemuri Phi | Star Ocean: The Last Hope

Maxine "Max" Caulfield | Life is Strange

Shelly de Killer | Ace Attorney

Emmy | Harrow County

Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones

Randall Flagg | The Dark Tower

Abigail Hobbs | Hannibal

Kazuhira Miller | Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain