graveyardsmash | TEST DRIVE MEME: MAY/JUNE

TDM: MAY/JUNE

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Javert halts abruptly at the damp hand on his arm. Slowly, very slowly, his head tilts toward the hand. He turns even further to stare sharply at Roman with a disgusted pinch of his lip.

Perhaps from behind, the tall, darkly-clothed individual looks fully human, like no one beyond the realm of Just Another Person, if an uncannily tall and rigid example. Up close shows off the incongruences: preternatural pallid-gray flesh, dull red eyes, fangs protruding over his bulging lower lip, silence rather than the steady, faint sighs of inhales and exhales. His icy stare drops with piercing intention back to the hand on his arm.]

The laundress, to start, [he says pointedly.] There are plenty about.

[ Honestly, he's a little taken aback by the way the guy looks. But only a little. It's hard to be completely aghast by red eyes and fangs when there are people running around Gotham dressed as bats. He blinks, retracts his hand, and then shakes his head. ]

The what?

[ Laundress? Is that a lady? Or a weird ass name for a laundromat? Roman Sionis doesn't go to laundromats. ]

What is that? A person or a place? Or what?

[Javert uselessly flicks at the damp spot left behind on his coat. What a dour creature he is, eyes shining inscrutably. His gaze burrows itself on Roman's face and lingers there longer than should be decent.]

A laundress. Laundromat. Woman-who-launders. Or else one of the clothing shops in the city, but you shall need more coin for that.

[He taps his cane against the instep of his boot.]

You don't know me, [Javert murmurs. The face of this man is familiar, but not his manner of speaking, state of dress, or living flesh. This is not Aunamee, the vampire tells himself decisively.] Who are you?

[ There's no way in hell he's going to a laundromat. If he needs money, fine. He'll find a couple easy marks, kill them, and take their money. But he's not going to a public laundromat. That's at least as unsanitary as taking the bus.

And as for washer-women, maybe Mr. Little House on the Fucking Prairie goes for that sort of thing but Roman's not trusting his Tom Ford to some woman with a washboard and metal tub. ]

Of course I don't know you. I've never seen you before in my life.

[ And if the guy doesn't recognize Roman, that means he's never been to Gotham. Which tells him precisely nothing useful. ]

Roman Sionis. [ He'd offer his hand but he isn't wearing his gloves. ] Who are you? Where the fuck am I?

[Absolutely not Aunamee. Not even remotely close to Aunamee. Javert folds his arms across his chest and turns around, laying the full brunt of his statuesque mien on that unsettlingly familiar face. Slowly his eyes drag a searing trail down to Roman's neck, and further down still to the exposed 'v' neckline of his breast. He ruminates there with a deepening grimace, appears to nod sharply, and straightens.]

Follow me. The bath-house will set you on the right path.

[Because that makes perfect sense in the current context. He jerks his head toward the road at his back and starts to lead Roman off. He won't wait for the affirmative.]

[ This has got to be the strangest fucking thing that's ever happened to him. Wake up soaking wet in an unfamiliar place after a near death experience and get hit on by the first guy he asks for help. Guy's not bad looking; close to Roman's age and with enough of a hard edge that Roman thinks he might not be the most morally upstanding sort. And he sure isn't subtle.

That heated look. The blatant invitation to a bathhouse.

Normally, Roman would flirt a little and ultimately say no. Or Victor would materialize out of the shadows and he'd say no and they'd kill the guy together. But Victor isn't here and Roman's starting to suspect that he might be dreaming. So really, what the hell?

Roman quickly catches up to the guy and falls in beside him. ]

So, what do you like? Your absolute favorite thing to do. What is it?

[Javert does not give Roman an inch of what he is thinking, his face an unreadable grimace hewn from granite. Without owing him the courtesy of a glance, he draws a business card out of his pocket and gruffly flicks it Roman's way. The card reads:]

Inspector Javert Juno Steel Investigations City of Bavan [Address] [Phone Number] Ntwrk 246.01.094.30

I work. [He presses his lips together, stifling the curve of a smirk.] Well. When I am not bleeding men dry at my feet, that is.

[ Deftly catching the card, Roman glances over it. Standard run of the mill business card, really, though his attention snags on the word inspector. A cop? Has he actually managed to find a cop already?

There's no way this Inspector Javert knows who he really is or what he's done. If there were, he would have cottoned on the moment Roman gave his name. Among a certain crowd, Roman Sionis is synonymous with Black Mask.

Instead of shying away, Roman grins at him. ]

All work and no play makes for a very boring life. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun. I myself enjoy similar hobbies. Although I have to admit, it's not every day I meet a member of law enforcement who shares my interests.

Not law enforcement.

[Javert's eyes flash inscrutably, a bit of fang shining wetly over his lower lip. There is a pregnant pause, where Javert plunges his gaze deeply into this frivolous dunce's eyes. His irises flicker like a candle-flame, and he considers humoring the desire to urge the fellow into silence for the rest of their walk. Apparently he thinks better of it in the face of a future monster, because the glow dims and he resumes his brisk stride, having paused just long enough to apply emphasis to his interjection. His sharp tone brightens with levity.]

But it is a decent guess. That was my last life.

[He clasps his hands at the small of his back. It is with a disconcertingly casual air that he asks,]

How many men have you bled at your feet, then?

[ Touchy. Javert must've been fired in his last life. It happens to the Gotham variety so often that Roman has no trouble imagining it. His superiors found out that he was dirty, got off on killing perps instead of bringing them in maybe, and canned him. No wonder he's bitter. ]

That depends. How many have I done personally? [ Christ, he doesn't know. Roman shrugs. ] Couple dozen maybe.

[ He pictures Victor's body, covered in hash mark scars. ]

Lot more have been done for me. How many have you done?

[Javert grins coldly.]

Enough to have my fill. A man must eat.

[39, by Javert's count, and oh, has he been counting. He has a page in his notebook dedicated to his tally, a reminder of all the wreckage he has reaped with his two clawed hands. If he is honest with himself, the numbers are starting to lose their meaning; but it is good to record-keep, and he has always been a fastidious, thorough sort of creature.

At least he knows exactly the sort of man he is speaking to: this is one who is precisely where he belongs, in a pit full of blood and violence. Now to see if he shall keep his knives trained on humans, or turn them against monsters and disturb the good order of Ryslig.]

You won't be squeamish. A history of violence is an advantage in this miserable town.

TEST DRIVE MEME: MAY/JUNE

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