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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AH- [He doesn't stop him. He doesn't stop him, partly because he's in the middle of asking a question, and partly because he's still reeling over the potential of...whatever this is.

He almost hopes it's a different name. It would somehow make more sense, after all, if some future child of Dio's appeared here and he had to deal with it. Given the events of the past, it wouldn't be as if they knew who Dio was in that case.

But no. The water washes dirt from the boy's face, the bottle half crushed in their hands. And as the filth pours away it's like looking into a faded memory from the past, rippling through the ocean itself to haunt him.

'Dio Brando'.]

My god.... [he manages, his voice barely a whisper as he voices his shock. It feels as if his heart has stopped. It doesn't feel possible. It shouldn't be possible, he had thought-

Regardless of what he had though, how could one from his past appear here, without changing a thing? How could it...]

Dio, [he speaks, willing his voice not to waver.] Dio- I'm going to ask only a few questions, [Jonathan begins carefully.] We can't be certain how long everyone was buried- speaking to one another will help to make certain you're alright...but it will also confirm if we might recognize where the other is from, [He adds.] Those who come here, come from various locations and moments of time.

For example...I came from England, in the 1800s. Perhaps it's similar in your case?

[It probably is and that's just his luck isn't it.]

[Perhaps for the better, Dio is too preoccupied with his eyeballs to worry about this man's quiet muttering. If he's speaking so softly, then his words are clearly nothing important enough for Dio to bother with them.

He throws his head forward to shake off the water dripping from his face, rapidly blinking several times to clear his eyes completely of their grit. His legs finally start to come into focus with the ground below him. He starts dusting off his arms, ears perking as he's addressed by name.

Had he washed up on the beach like people usually do, Dio might have interrupted the man with some sort of snappy or irritated comment about how absurd this all sounds. These are different circumstances, however, and so he simply listens, his throat refusing to release the words he'd like to grumble. 'Coming from various locations and moments of time'? What on earth does that mean? Is this man insinuating time travel of all things!?

Speaking of, now that his eyes are working again, he can finally get a look at his apparent saviour. True to his assumptions, the man before him is massive, incredibly tall and exceptionally-built. He is dressed warmly, and it's upon this observation that Dio realises just how cold he is. A towel will be so so nice.

He's being asked a question again, and as stupid as the premise is, it's also not a difficult question to answer. He is, after all, in agreement, so a slow nod is what he delivers.

This huge man's face, despite his build, is very soft and warm, and he seems to handle everything he touches with a delicacy he's never seen before. His eyes, even, encapsulate a kindness carved out of countless atrocities Dio could never know. Part of him feels sickened by such a naïve look, but part of him knows better.

Part of him, though, feels like they're kind of familiar. It makes his gut hurt.]

[He didn't offer an answer- but, Jonathan notes, he did not refuse either. This is Dio- at least it seems to be in any case, and as such he can't say he expected any different.

That he isn't being met with snippy scepticism is frankly a blessing- but then perhaps that's the shock of being hauled out of the earth in the middle of autumn. A towel is here now, and Jonathan passes it over- there's no way he'll be allowed to do it for the boy, not while he's conscious enough to snatch the water bottle in impatience, but he does at least keep an eye on him. Just in case. Just in case there's anything residual, any relapse into choking shock from the 'grave'.

....

It feels so very wrong, to have had to pull Dio from the soil now.

The towel is thick, soft, and practically a blanket. It'll serve the boy well.

Jonathan asks his questions.] I first want to ask what the date is, as best you remember- down to the year, if you please. If you like, you can even ask me a question in exchange each time, just to make it fair, [he chuckles, hoping he doesn't regret it.]

[The second he realises a towel is being offered to him, Dio takes it eagerly and pats his face dry. He's never felt a thing so soft in his life, perhaps aside from the fine towels of the Joestar estate. Those, truly, were the most comfortable of objects in the entire manor, especially when freshly-laundered. This one isn't radiating with warmth like such, but it's still rather large, especially on him. Were they expecting adults, perhaps?

He certainly won't complain. When he's no longer soaked from the water, he covers himself with it, burying his face in the ends so that only his piercing eyes peek out from it. Just feeling the heat of his breath blow back against his nose relieves him of some of the chill.

He keeps his attention focused on the man in front of him, observing his features carefully. He's being asked more questions-- and oh, he can ask questions as well? His throat doesn't much want to do that, but information is incredibly valuable...

The date, the year... It was 18...]

...80... [he rasps from beneath his blanket.] ...1880...

[He pauses, gazing at the ground for a moment as he thinks. The way this man is talking about the date makes it sound like...] ...year... The date now...

[1880. He suspected, yet he feels his heart stop all the same.

....the answer. Right.] The year here...is odd. Ryslig does not seem to follow the same calendar when it comes to established year. [And indeed,the number he gives is...off. Significantly. However-]

Others here have likened things to the 1950s, in regard to technological advancement, [he explains, voice feeling thick in his throat.] ...with what I have seen...I would believe them.

...was it autumn there?

[...he doubts it.]

[Indeed, whatever continent this Ryslig place is located on, it seems to be a place devoid of outside contact. He had never considered witnessing a place using a different calendar from England's, and the items he sees others passing around don't appear to be especially primitive... And the 1950s? That's not too shy of a century in the future! Everything becomes more and more confusing the more he hears! Will something happen to the world that will alter the perception of time of the masses? Why is he here? How was he brought here? Did he really just appear like this stranger, who is apparently also from some point in the 1800s, suggests?

(This stranger who, the longer he stares upon him, feels less and less like a stranger at all.)

'Was it autumn there?' At home? He shakes his head.] ...summer... Warm, fair season...

...you're here... how long...? How...?

[It's two questions, but he can hardly fault the boy. Dip always struck him as curious, even if for the purposes of protecting his own goals and self.

And in Ryslig, answers were vital.]

Not even a month, [he answers honestly, and he cannot help but think of what could have occurred if it were longer. Might he have sported furry ears, or feathered wings? Would he have been a terror, rather than a help?

The thought makes him realize that he'll have to explain that as well and he shamefully finds himself hoping to put it off as long as possible.

The...'How' though...] I imagine in a manner not unlike yourself. I closed my eyes... [Died, his thoughts hiss, and he resists the urge to rub his throat.] ...And I woke in a place far unlike where I was before.

A museum, oddly. [Perhaps Dio can assume he was nearly killed there too.

Perhaps it will make it 'fair'.]

[If it's any relief, Dio certainly won't ask about it anytime soon, not until he's bombarded with the usual arrival fanfare in one of the other towns. He doesn't have the imagination to consider such fantastical occurrences as monstrous transformation without prompting, after all.

With testimonial evidence, however, denying impossible events becomes increasingly difficult. It appears more and more that he really was just whisked away out of nowhere. Both of them were. How curious. He wants to inquire if that kind of arrival is common among others, for it seems like his appearance here was expected, but questions are a valuable and limited resource here.

Where was he the last he recalls? In front of the incinerator, yes, preparing to toss Danny's box into it. And somewhere along the way, he tripped forward into...

His eyes narrow, but there is the smallest tinge of fear there. That's where his memory stops. Why? Mysterious as an arrival may be, they couldn't have just disappeared in a moment's notice, right?

He dislikes this implication. He hates it.

Maybe he won't ask something else yet. He focuses back on the man before him.]

I was... [Dio frowns.] ...by a furnace... Incinerator... Burning something... Tripped...

[And he watches. He watches Jonathan's face carefully, watches his hands, his lips, his eyes for any reaction to justify his gross suspicions. If this land is rife with such bizarre happenings, and if his fate on that day was really as terrible as he fears, then perhaps this man before him could also be...]

[It's a lot to bargain. A lot to confess, with or without a throat coated in soil for that matter.

When Dio was 12, Danny the dog was burned alive.

That much, he knows. He remembers it clearly, coming home from a day of wandering about and dodging crows to a small handful of sad faces, a trembling and apologetic butler explaining a gross error that was pinned upon a burglar who stole nothing.

He remembers even saying the boy's name under his breath, as if he knew.

There had never been proof. For years perhaps he had even tried to believe the story given.

Confusion is what is initially in his eyes. Confusion...and then understanding. Shock.

Perhaps even a spark of anger that is immediately drowned with despair, the wound torn freshly open from that day.

And what does he say to that. What does he...] ...You suspect that you perished then, [he croaks, unable to meet the other's gaze for a moment. Dio is scared. He can tell because Dio doesn't make these risks and bargains until he is. And he can't tell what he would feel if he looked at that boy's face as a result. Well placed anger?

Or despair?

...or something else, cloaked in the understanding that he will never so much as see the Dio he remembers again.] ...I cannot say I would fault you for the theory.

[But Dio didn't die.

Only the dog.]

[That understanding. That shock. That anger. That is what Dio is looking for, and when he receives it, he's momentarily rendered speechless by the emotions boiling up in his own chest. He knows exactly who this man is.

This knowledge infuriates him, his jaw clenching enough to show teeth beneath his towel. The few questions he was asked were so specific and unhelpful and delivered with such a tone that makes it so clear now. This man knew, he knew who Dio was from the very start. Was he being played for a fool? Is this all funny somehow? He was buried alive, and this is the time for childish games!?

His hands tremble under the cloth. The anguish on the man's face is so plain for all to see, and yet he still has the nerve to play nice like he cares. How dare he insult Dio in such a way and still throw him false pity.

He wants to hear that confession himself, though. He takes time clearing his throat.

And when he finally speaks, his eyes are burning again, filled with hate, but hate does not rest alone in those amber irises. It isn't the sole reason for the quivering of his fingers.]

Are you Jonathan Joestar?

[He feels, frankly, lost. He knew the answers to the questions, but his desire for it to be anything but demanded he ask. He knew Dio was smart, Dio was spiteful, he knew Dio, then and then years later, but he had to ask because it was a distraction from everything else and from there the ball was in Dio's court.

Even when it wasn't supposed to be.

He's 'guessed', but Jonathan wonders if Dio, like himself, already 'knew' from the start.

Jonathan doesn't yet catch the reason for Dio's quiet trembles, at least not the full reason- of course he would be angry. He hated wasting time, at least his own time, just like he hated so many other things and here Jonathan is again, getting nostalgic for the worst possible things to hold that emotion for, and at the worst possible time.

...

It's not fair. To either of them, though he feels it's less fair for the boy if anything.] ...I am, [He answers, looking to Dio once again.] ...I...

[...

He should know. Perhaps not how, but he should know.]

I died in the early winter of 1889, and awoke here, [Jonathan confesses. And then with a shaking breath that far betrays the resolution and stability he so typically exudes, he continues.] ...This is how I know that you did not die.

[He deserves to know that. He only hopes that Dio finds a little comfort in that.

(He knows, after all, that he will not find gratitude and he is tired of hoping for a Dio that ever will)]

[Dio's glowering stare only intensifies as Jonathan shares the knowledge of his death and Dio's lack thereof; and while knowledge is always a currency of value to Dio, absolutely nothing about this makes him feel any "better," whatever that means. Jonathan was able to guess Dio's assumption about an untimely death effortlessly, but he certainly didn't seem like he was going to outright deny that anytime soon. Would he have said something about it had he not been asked for his identity? Would he have just let him wonder for the rest of his days?]

...JoJoooohhh.....

[There's no comfort in this, not even in knowing that Jonathan had kicked the bucket at such a ripe age. His goal up to now hadn't been to kill the bastard, otherwise he already would've done it; knowing Jonathan dies nine years from 'now' isn't even helpful without knowing what the next nine years look like. It all just serves to piss Dio off even more.

He huffs and slides off of his seat to the side, beginning to walk away from Jonathan and the rest of the search party.] ...you're... just as intolerable... even at this age...

[Would he have had comfort, knowing that the Dio of this age hadn't yet decided he was disposable? Unnecessary? It's frankly upsetting enough to think about whether or not his father was always someone 'in the way', and he has wondered, more than once, how long Dio plotted to bring about the man's end. It was by the same method that Dio's own father passed after all.

If the plan had been 'newly formed'...wouldn't he have done something else? Even that is a painful thought to consider, and he strives to push it from mind as best he can. Instead he closes his eyes- god, that tone with that nickname strikes all the wrong memories of familiarity- and in that time Dio is standing up and walking off.] Ah-

Dio, you likely shouldn't be walking around just yet- [He starts, but the protest dies at the edge of his tongue. Instead he sighs (and he's honestly already so tired of fighting with Dio again, even if it's just verbal intensity, even if it's with a younger shadow of the past), standing up to follow.]

...I suppose that is what I feared you would say, [Jonathan admits quietly.] ...Dio. If you do not want my help, I shall not force it on you- but it would be a comfort at the least, to know that you at least take it from someone else in that case.

I've barely told you of the nature of this place. I cannot in good conscience, leave you to discover that on your own.

[....He sounds so concerned.

~~and he outpaces the boy easily in order to give him those words...~~]

[The longer this conversation continues, the more livid Dio becomes. Jonathan's gentle cooing is nauseating at best and degrading at worst, and of course it's at worst because this is Dio, and his pride has been wounded enough as it is. He's being spoken to like he's a child who can't take care of himself (and really it's the latter part that matters most here). He hates it, hates it. If only he'd gotten that window during their last fight to drive his pocketknife into Jonathan's gut; maybe he wouldn't be regarded so carelessly now.

A good amount of Jonathan's words fall on deaf ears, but not because Dio has started tuning him out. Rather, when the man huffs in exasperation and stands to follow, Dio bolts. He doesn't really even think about it, his mind occupied with vitriolic hisses over Jonathan's numerous offences. He doesn't want help, doesn't need help especially from JoJo! And part of him knows that taking off into this unknown forest in this kind of weather with nothing but a towel for warmth will spell out his true demise. There is a chance, yes, that he can navigate his way back somewhere, but that chance is so slim. Be reasonable, part of his conscience begs.

His legs carry him on their own, however. That sigh of a patience run thin sparked new, forgotten energy in him.

It doesn't last. It can never last.

It had rained recently, he thinks. It would explain the dampness of the soil and the scent of the air, especially as his face crashes back down into it when his foot snags on something (a root? a patch of mud?). He thinks he slides a little when he plummets. He can't be sure, though, because his throat is burning and he has to wheeze for breath once more.

What an ungraceful end.]

[Annnnnnd he's running.] Dio! Wait-!

[Bugger.

He doesn't know much about Lager Woods. What he does know isn't great- at the best of times the woods is a maze. There are man-eating plants (Which, according to rumor even talk), various wild animals that are without a doubt responsible for hiking disappearances, and that's nothing next to the few members of the monster population who do feel it worth the while to hunt after new arrivals.

He would hope that they have the decency at least to not target a child, but given that they're targetting and eating people who have literally just awoken from falling to another world, that's not a very likely matter.

And then there's the Fog. Not the fog around them, the thick, heavy haze that descends in regular intervals and is supposedly going to bring some sort of 'change' with it. He's been dreading that as it is, particularly with it here now, but that at least is somewhat normal.

The 'Forest Fog'. The patch fog, they called it. It brings nightmares- paranoia, hallucination, and other things, things that speak of fairy tales to scare children but even a mere month in this place leads him to suspect that it's no fairy tale.

And dammit he doesn't want Dio to fall prey to that. Or anything else, at this point. It just feels...

...

Jonathan takes off after the boy the minute he realizes he's running off, following the sound of small footsteps with relative ease. He catches up quickly- just in time to catch sight of him tripping to the ground through the wisps of fog, his sense of urgency only somewhat softened.] Dio!

[At least it's just a trip, after all. He moves to offer a hand as he comes close.] Please. I know...I know we're not friends, certainly not from your perspective, but I am trying to help!

[...he really wishes the other would believe him, honestly.]

[Jonathan's voice, admittedly, never strayed too far from Dio's ears even after he ran. He could hear his name being called as clear as day, and if he hadn't gotten a head start, he surely would've been outpaced in no time. It's as Dio is beginning to pick himself up off the ground that he hears the calls more clearly. Tired calls, frustrated calls; they aren't angry, no, surely not, and yet it's so so easy to hear them as such. They're upon him in an instant.

It's like he's on the floor by his father's bed all over again, shattered glass at his side as he's approached. Something about the medicine he bought, should've bought more beer, yelling, it's too loud, the hand comes down and he throws his own arm up to block the strike, pulling his face away because a hit from this monster of a man will surely break bones--

It's quiet.

The wind is blowing. The trees are rustling. The crows are cawing. It's quiet.

He is cold. He's being spoken to. He lifts his head toward the sound.

Jonathan Joestar has extended a hand to him. 'Help.'

I am trying to Help.]

[Jonathan finds himself just as frozen, and for entirely different reasons. He had held his hand out for it to be grabbed- hopeful that it would be grabbed, perhaps even expecting to have his hand slapped away (how very like when they first met, it would have been, how very...)

Dio's reaction is the sort that doesn't make sense.

It's a block for what isn't there. It's a pull from what isn't there, the space between them too much, too far for it to ever be effective-

...

Unless he had closed that distance, he realizes quietly, and his first thought of course is that of course Dio would presume that. With how they fought, how they argued, but Jonathan finds that somehow those thoughts and feelings fall flat. There is something off about it all, something he cannot put words to as he looks down.

...He looks so small from where he stands, even half bent and stooped as he is to offer his hand to begin with.

Jonathan's hand is still there as he finally speaks.]

Dio? [he cautiously asks, and part of him hopes that his hand is swatted away, if only for proof that it is, in fact, still that same boy.] ...Let's leave these woods.

...There's nothing here for anyone. [Nothing here for them, nothing at all.

Only nightmares.]

[Dio stares at that hand for a long time. He mulls over the things he thought he heard, thought he saw, and with every blink of his eyes he feels as if the fog wafting around them is seeping into his ears. Everything becomes more and more unsettling the longer he sits here.

He doesn't take Jonathan's hand, of course. He stands up without it, staring into the woods toward the way they both came. He refuses to meet his eyes, chest rising and falling with wheezy breaths. What happened just now was wrong, a gross reminder of a life he abandoned for something greater. Something that, now, is apparently gone along with it.

He'd like to just forget about all of this, really. He'd like both of them to forget. Weakness is so unsightly on him. He won't say Jonathan isn't right, though. This place is starting to get to him in a way he abhors.]

...I want a drink.

[Leaving would be delightful right about now, even with JoJo in-tow. He has a lot to think about after a long, hot bath.]

[He never does lower the hand. But Dio's saying...Something, and that at least is a comfort when it comes to the question of if he's at lest somewhat alright. Alright enough to get out of here, get some help, get...somewhere.

Stay alive.

If he doesn't want him around that's fine, he tells himself, and part of him thinks it's a rather horrible thing to think and even accept but the other part is well aware of the fact that were he here alone it would simply grow too awkward to be around the boy for any extended period of time.

Dio killed him.

And this was not that Dio, but he would not be able to look at him without remembering that fact.

(And if he couldn't do that, he knew for certain Speedwagon wouldn't either, and Speedwagon would not likely take it so calmly.)

A drink, then.] I believe they have hot cocoa out there, actually, [He offers, and only once Dio is upright and moving and at least obviously ready to walk, will he stand more properly upward and lower that offered hand to his side.

...

It would have been strange, he thinks, if the hand had been taken.] ...Coffee as well, but...I suspect that wouldn't be to your taste.

[It wasn't to his either, actually, and he would readily admit that when he arrived in this place himself it was a cup of cocoa that he took when offered.] ...Shall we?

[Maybe someone can even find a place where Dio can have that long hot bath, too.]

[Maybe one of these days, Dio will learn of the things his older self will accomplish. Maybe he'll learn of his numerous crimes when he inevitably encounters Speedwagon. Perhaps someone else, even, will tell those tales. He is, after all, responsible for so much with time.

For now, however, he is sweetly oblivious to any notion that the discomfort in the air would come from anything beyond their mutual feud, and frankly Dio himself is feeling it rather strongly himself as well. This moment got... weirdly sentimental in an incredibly unflattering way at the end there. He doesn't like it. Please let it stop.

Maybe it's that awkwardness that yanks a sputtering laugh from Dio's throat when Jonathan brings up coffee.] So you think...! [he snorts in a flash of half-amusement, half-offence as if Jonathan would know anything so specific about him.

...he'll absolutely be getting some cocoa when JoJo's back is turned.

Silence hangs between the two once more as the mood settles into something more neutral. Voices in the distance become clearer, and Dio suspects he can see the outer perimeter of the rescue party's setup through the fog. Perhaps they've found more people.

He spares Jonathan a brief glance when the quiet is finally broken again, but in the end he simply closes his eyes and shrugs as he shoves his scraped hands in his pockets. He doesn't want to respond to something so buddy-buddy-sounding, the very thought of it turning his stomach.

But, they shall.]

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TEST DRIVE MEME: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

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CW: referenced animal cruelty

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i keep forgetting my best sad icon has tears on it, ah, heck,

lmaoooooo

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cw implied child abuse

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