graveyardsmash | TEST DRIVE MEME: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

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TEST DRIVE MEME: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

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 is making all the cuts and scrapes on your skin 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 on the more informative end of the scale. 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 readers saying they're lies, or pointing out good "jokes."

Then there are 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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That's a relief. The last thing Regulus needs, or wants, is someone who does know him - certainly if they're a Potter. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and takes the proffered hand. His hand is as white as his face - not merely pale, but a dead white, without any trace of colour - and cold, and there is a strange kind of insubstantiability to it, as though Harry's fingers sink a fraction into the skin.

"You wouldn't," he says, after a moment. It's probably true. He's still not entirely sure this isn't James - he never knew the older man very well, and hasn't seen him in some time; it's not out of the question that the scar has come with age, or that Regulus misremembered the colour of his eyes. Even if it is James, though... Sirius was never exactly proud of his little brother, and wouldn't have introduced them, and for his part, Regulus had made a concerted effort to stay well away and watch from a distance. Anyway, he isn't about to give his name to a wizard who doesn't already know it, particularly not one who's likely to only know of him as one of the Death Eaters.

He clears his throat, and gives Harry's hand a firm shake. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Welcome to Ryslig."

As they shake hands, Harry's flickers through surprise, confusion, and then settles into something not quite wistful. Oh, this makes sense then.

"Thank you. I, ah, funny thing. I'd expected it to be a train station again, but a beach works well enough, I suppose. Do you think that it's always somewhere with an edge? Moving things, changing things." He looks around, trying to get his bearings, and then away from this man and out over the sea. "The last time, when I got back, I'd tried to find a couple books that might've explained it all, but whatever I read was all nonsense or too metaphysical for me to really get my head around it."

"I'm not really fond of sand in my socks, so there's no point in waiting. Where to from here? And what shall I call you?"

"The... last time?" There are many things Regulus might have expected - and, since recognition set in, most of them aren't good - but this was decidedly not one of them. He blinks slowly, his head tilting just a little. "You haven't been here before, have you?"

It seems unlikely. It seems like something Draco would have told him - not to mention, something She would have told him. So far as he knows, the only wizards that have ever been in Ryslig are himself and the Malfoys. But unlikely doesn't mean impossible, and there's a great deal he doesn't know about Ryslig.

And, for that matter, there's a certain benefit on focusing on that, instead of on what Potter can call him that won't give this fragile deception away.

"Not exactly here, no, but I've..." Harry worries at his lower lip and frowns. It was easier when Dumbledore had come to meet him, but wherever he's moved on to probably wouldn't let him back out again.

"I've been between before. Dying, that is, the place between and living and whatever comes after." He pauses and really looks at his companion. He's frightening, but doesn't seem to wish Harry any harm and hasn't made for his own wand. Did he make a mistake? Is this odd, insubstantial man alive?

Regulus is quiet for a long moment, and then, to his own surprise, he laughs. It's not much of a laugh - more of a breath, really, short and quickly cut off - but it's undeniably a laugh nonetheless. "Oh. Oh, I..." Sober again, almost at once, as if the laugh had never happened. "I didn't realise. I'm sorry."

It's too familiar, all of this. It makes him think of drowning and waking up from drowning, of black water and cold hands and thinking this had to be what came after. He doesn't have much of a sense of humour himself, but at times like this, he can't help but think that the Fog God certainly does.

"It's a little more complicated," he says at last, once he's taken a moment to formulate a more helpful response. "You may very well be dead. I was, when I arrived. But this isn't what you think it is. It isn't between, and it isn't beyond. It's just... somewhere else." He sighs, and looks over his shoulder, back the way he came. The wisest thing to do might be to leave, to let things take their course and not risk being found out, at least not until he's had a chance to get the measure of the man in front of him. It worked with Draco for a time, after all. He could just... leave, and watch from a distance, and...

He already knows he won't. He sighs again, resigned, and beckons the other man with him.

"Come with me. I have a café in town. We can talk a little more comfortably there."

"That would be lovely. Thank you." Ducking his head, there's no denying that a faint blush colours his cheeks. He's not put out by being wrong, but he still feels wrong-footed and unsure how to move on. Harry is aware that he doesn't know this man's name, but he doesn't think it best to ask again. Not yet. He'd be a hypocrite to begrudge anyone their moments of anonymity.

"If there's cafés and tea and all that, this can't be that difficult to adjust to." It's likely that he's saying this as much for himself as for Regulus. "Ryslig, you said?"

"Yes. Ah... that's the name of the peninsula we're on. If the world has a name, or had one, I'm afraid I don't know it." Regulus notes the blush, and elects to ignore it. It seems like the polite thing to do.

Turning on his heel, he starts back towards Bavan, checking over his shoulder to make sure Potter is following him. "It isn't a place that entirely fits with the world we know. I imagine that's why our magic doesn't work here, although She hasn't seen fit to confirm or deny that."

Without any other option at hand, Harry follows along beside Regulus and listens as he speaks. It's something of a relief to know that his lack of magic isn't something he'd done wrong - if it's everyone, that's not good, but it's also not quite so bad.

"Not our world, not between or beyond, but sideways? Enough of home that we can understand it, but not everything lines up?" He mulls it over and wishes that Hermione and Ron were here; she'd understand it and he'd make it easier to know what to do next. "And who's 'she'?"

"Something like that." Regulus nods, glancing out over the glimmering sea that stretches out into the distance. "I suppose... I've been thinking of it as a kind of nexus. A place in contact with not only our world, but others as well. There are people here whose worlds aren't any more like ours than this one is. And from all kinds of times and places, as well." At that, his eyes slide askance to Potter, thoughtful. There's definitely some time disjoint between them, at least.

"She brings us here. The Fog God. She... changes us, makes us into other shapes. Makes us stronger in some ways, weaker in others." He hadn't meant to launch into this fully until they're back at the cafe, but since it's come up, he isn't going to demur. "There was a war, you see. Long ago, before any of us were brought here. It destroyed most of this world, beyond the peninsula. She wants to restore it, with us."

"There's always a war." More resigned than jaded, it slips out before he's able to catch it. It helps to put this new, strange thing into context. He'd been living with the Dursleys before he knew better and the wizarding world took him for their battles, and now, he's been taken by another strange land to deal with the aftermath of their war.

"I suppose I ought not complain. I, well, I wouldn't say I was done with my role in Britain, but this isn't the worst outcome." He already misses his friends, his life there, and would go back in a heartbeat, but if they're literally in a crossroads on another planet (or plane of reality or whatever he doubts it'll be as simple as a portkey. "I am going to guess there's no easy way back?"

There's always a war. That strikes home rather more than Regulus would like, and he lets out a long, slightly shaky breath, looking away. It's a moment more before he responds, and by then, Potter has made it a little easier on him, moving the subject along.

"If there's a way back at all, nobody has found it yet." His mouth twists briefly, in an approximation of a smile. "I can't say I've been trying, myself. I don't know about your role in Britain, but as far as I'm concerned, mine's over with, and better for it."

Bavan is in sight now, on the horizon, the lights growing brighter as they draw towards it. Regulus rubs the dim glow on his forearm - it's become something of a nervous tic, since his transformation - and sighs. "I'm afraid you aren't wrong, though. There's always a war. You ought to be warned of that now."

"Thank you, again, for the warning and your kindness." Harry opens his mouth to say something further. Maybe along the lines of how he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't fighting, but he ~~lacks that level of self-awareness at this point~~ is distracted by the lights of Bavan.

"I want to know your name and your role, I do, but I'm not going to press. If you want, I can just give you a ridiculous name like 'Sherbet Lemon' and call you Bertie." If he had been unknown to everyone in this strange world, would he have given his true name? Or would he have invented a fantastic life led before his arrival? He could've been a Richard that worked as a, hmm, not a bricklayer, but maybe he would've said he was a teacher or worked in a shop?

He looks over, notes the mark again, but pointedly does not address it. Instead, he looks at his own hand and resigns himself to being himself - no lies.

"Ugh." Regulus prides himself on keeping his emotions off his face, but his disgust at the idea is transparent. Bertie is almost worse than Sherbet Lemon. "I'd really rather not. Why don't you just call me..."

He glances sidelong at Potter again, and his thumb presses hard against the glowing mark on his arm, the phantom itch of it.

"Mr Black," he says, at last. It's not much of an alias. A Potter will undoubtedly know the House of Black, and nobody's likely to mistake him for Sirius - they may have looked alike as children, but between Sirius' rebellion and Regulus' determination to not turn out like his wild brother, that resemblance is long gone. Still, somehow it's easier to maintain at least a veneer of plausible deniability. "You may as well call me Mr Black."

Watching Potter sidelong as he says it, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he waits to see whether there will be a reaction.

No, not Sirius. And unlikely to be Orion. (Harry can't imagine that he'd be as welcoming to a Potter in a strange land.) Either he's some mysterious future-Black, unlikely given that the line is dead, or Regulus.

"Ah, we're family then. Sirius was my godfather." He could let the issue lie, but that's never really been one of Harry's better qualities. Mr Black has a name now and it would be polite not to push. Still, if there's a chance, he might as well try. "Last I saw him, Kreacher was well. We didn't always get on at first, but we've learned to respect each other. Or, well, I respect him. I'm not entirely clear if he likes me or not, but neither he nor the house have been actively trying to poison me lately, so that's a plus."

It feels, all at once, as though Regulus has been holding his breath since he first saw the other man on the beach - and as though, finally, he can let it go. He wouldn't relax just at the comment about Sirius, even though it means he can let go of the fear that this is James, even though it means that Harry knows who he is and hasn't immediately jumped on the defensive. That alone wouldn't be enough.

It's the last part that makes all the tension momentarily drop out of him, makes him break into one of the rare smiles that actually reaches his eyes. He looks, as it happens, a lot more like Sirius when he smiles.

"He's all right?" He almost laughs, his relief is so great. "Merlin, I've been worried since I got here. Draco said something about it, but..." But vague comments about what might have been going on in Draco's time haven't set his mind at ease nearly as much as this. Maybe it's because there's a ring of truth in how Harry talks about it, an honesty that doesn't make Regulus think that he's saying it just for the sake of politeness.

"He's very much all right. I just saw him a few days ago when I was last at home between jobs." Harry looks at Mr Black and his own smile gets that little bit brighter and easier. This isn't an ideal situation, no, but it's far from the worst he's been in. "You mentioned Draco. Is he here too? He'll likely lord it over me that he arrived first and knows the lay of the land, but I don't mind so much."

A pause. "Don't tell him that I'd find his complaining somewhat reassuring. It's like a door that squeaks, but it's the door you know."

Regulus' smile fades at that, and he looks away. "He was here." The emphasis is subtle, but clear enough, as is his momentary pang of grief. Draco might not have been someone he knew back in their own world, but he was family, and - perhaps even more importantly than that - he was someone Regulus had actually liked. It's been some months now, but his absence still stings, the one wedge between Regulus and his god. "Sometimes, people here... don't stay. The Fog God says it's not something She can help, but..."

But it still stings.

"I'm sorry." He clears his throat, and straightens his back a little. "This is a lot to take in. I ought to have waited until you at least had somewhere to sit down."

Harry lightly touches Regulus' elbow, not much but it's a physical gesture of support. He may not know him well, but he can appreciate the loss of a friend. "We didn't really care for each other as much as we could've, but I am sorry."

"I can't promise that I won't have a proper bout of midnight terror as it sinks in, but I can listen and walk." Or he can be quiet as they make their way up and off the beach. Wrinkling up his nose, Harry tries to run his fingers through his tangle of curls and get them into some semblance of order. There's going to be sand and bits of twigs in everything.

From the way Regulus tenses momentarily at the touch, it's clear he isn't entirely comfortable with it, but from the little nod he gives Harry, it's also clear that he does understand and appreciate the sentiment. He doesn't say anything more for a couple of moments, looking over at Harry as they walk.

"I have a bathtub in my flat," he says, a little uncertainly, at last. "You may as well use it. It's rather a waste of space, otherwise." One of the fringe benefits of being selectively incorporeal, it turns out, is that bathing isn't particularly necessary - or, actually, particularly easy. "And I imagine you'll need somewhere to stay tonight."

"I'd appreciate that. I can sleep more or less anywhere, but a flat surface and a roof goes a long way." Since becoming an Auror, he's sat through some profoundly dull stakeouts and honed his napping skills. Truly, he may never be quite as good as Ron, but it's not a contest.

"I don't really seem to have anything much to trade except news from Britain, and I don't know how much use that is." Mulling it over, Harry realizes that he might as well go back to what he'd been good at in the past. "I can clean and I can mostly cook a few things. Nothing exceptional, but I can do eggs and the like?"

"I don't eat a great deal." Not since he changed, anyway - and not of the kind of food he particularly wants to bring up to Harry just now. "I wouldn't say no to cleaning - I've done my best, but it really isn't as easy as Kreacher made it look - or to news from home. But... Well, you may as well consider it a favour." He clears his throat, lowering his voice unconsciously. "If what Draco told me is true, I think I owe you at least that much."

He appears to consider something for a moment, then nods, and smiles - taut again, and controlled, but a smile nonetheless. "Besides, as you said, we're family. Though I'm sure hearing me say that would give Sirius an embolism."

"Then it's a deal." While Harry tends to be a private person, that's only because so many people seem confident that they know the 'real' him. Black doesn't seem interested in presuming all that much. With the truth and news as payment, he wonders how best to put the deal between them. Why not treat the arrangement like veritaserum? "And you're welcome to ask about anything or everything, but I do reserve the right to say no. I won't lie, but I might not be willing to answer."

"Oh, I'm sure, but given that I'm the last of it, at least in my, er, timeline?" Is that the word? It sounds a bit sci-fi. "I think I'm allowed to call us kin."

He knew Sirius was dead in Draco's time, and so presumably in Harry's. He knew it, and had known it for almost two years at this point - and yet, in those two years, he must have allowed himself to forget it, because hearing the last of it, knowing what it means, still feels like a kick in the chest. He flinches slightly, and the edges of his ink-dark cloak tremble like smoke.

With an effort, he manages to school his features back into steadiness, and even twitches the corners of his mouth up in a tiny smile. "I suppose it could have been left in worse hands." Mine, for example. The thought isn't a new one, but the bitterness of it never fails to sting: the knowledge that the death of the Black line is on him, after all those centuries. "You don't mind cats, do you?"

They're getting close enough to Bavan, and to his café, for him to realise he hasn't actually asked.

"I don't know if Teddy will take it up once he's old enough, but I've left everything to him. Andromeda's grandson, if Draco mentioned him?" Harry had done his best by his godchild, but he never really felt like he knew how to be a proper parent. Not yet. "I'm rather fond of him, even if he's in the stage where he's still perpetually a bit soggy and often sticky. I don't know how he does it, but I think he exudes jam."

Toddlers. What can you do, right?

"And I don't mind cats at all. Never really had a problem with any sort of animal; although I'm not overly fond of rats in large numbers."

Regulus stops walking for a moment, looking at Harry fixedly and rather strangely. At last, quietly, he says "I'm not sure I even knew Andromeda had a child. Let alone a grandchild. I..." He frowns, passing a hand over his face, and looks away. "Draco and I didn't talk about it much. Not after I first arrived."

And now, he can't help but feel guilty for that. Perhaps it's a mark of how he's changed since arriving here, but he feels a deep and uncomfortable shame at the realisation that he never even wondered about Andromeda, in all of the introspection and all the consideration he's given to his life back home. When she was blasted off the tapestry, in a very real sense, she ceased to exist to him. That...

He still struggles with some of what he's been told is wrong. But that, now that he looks at it face-on, is definitely wrong.

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