Ryslig Helpers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ryslighelpers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
graveyardsmash2020-10-08 08:06 am
ryslighelpers) wrote in graveyardsmash2020-10-08 08:06 am
Entry tags:
TDM: 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.
no subject
[This seems to be of more immediate interest to him than the offer itself, though he stubs out his cigarette and winds the tattered scarf around his neck more tightly, signaling he's ready to go. The questions won't stop circling and adding to themselves. A process with which he is familiar. And while he isn't quite the quivering naif any longer, he is certainly not what anyone would recognize as himself yet. Not with this neon showgirl of a tour guide. Harley.
The potential was growing exponentially. This place, these people, if she was telling the truth, more or less.]
Harley. [He smiled, making far less effort to hide his growing excitement.] I do adore a front row seat.
no subject
[She gives it about a block before she can't take it anymore. They ain't going in any particular direction; just walking. Harley's looking for circumstances, not a particular place; though she's dressed for another kind of hunting altogether. High leather boots and short shorts under a crop top and a long jacket show off her thighs, one pink and synthetic, the other blue and mechanical. It's out of place amongst the 50s attire of the people they pass, but here and there others are dressed like she it.]
Yeah, there's a few. Djavulenstad's where I live- basically run by organized crime. But nice criminals, for the most part. They got a code and everything. That's the big one; there are a couple other smaller- villages, I guess- but they're mostly just locals, so they hardly matter. But Bavan here is The City. I'm still up here at least once a week.
Okay, now, spill; who are you?
no subject
It's ridiculous on its face; it all screams of a bad dream or an expensive practical joke, even now. And he'll allow for those possibilities, but they're slipping further away with each new bit he adds to the roil of thoughts he's coping with now.
Fuck the Holmes boys. He hasn't felt this alive in years. He keeps pace with her, allowing a raised eyebrow and a glance at her question.]
Jim. I did say. [It fits, though. He asks what he's meant to.] Am I supposed to be someone?
cw; casual discussion of murder
No, you ain't some average Joe. You know you're a wolf, not a sheep. And unless I miss my guess, you've killed people before.
[It ain't that big a stretch. There aren't many other types of people comfortable with being told they'll have to start killing on the regular.]
So come on, give me the scoop. We're all friends here. Mobster? [Leaning back, she gives him another look over.] You're built like a thief, maybe a tech guy, not some knuckle-dragging enforcer- but then I don't know how they do things, across the pond.
cw; casual discussion of murder
Now, Harley, you can tell me you've a great wall of fog that turns people into robots and angels, or you can tell me we're all friends here, but you can't have both. [His smile slides into a smirk, but it's careful to stay warm.]
Your definition of somebody, then- I suppose I can't deny it. Having a casual acquaintance with the criminal. But I'd much rather hear your best guess. [He tilts his head.] When you have one beyond short.
no subject
Anyway, you know what I meant. You're clearly a smarty-party; and you all big-eyed and frightened in the shelter. [Grinning, she nudges at him with her elbow.] Now I'm leaning more towards a long con grifter; you got a sense of performance, but an eye for subtlety. Uncommon skills to see together.
All right then, you're on. And if you felt like guessing for me, you know, I wouldn't say no.
cw; violence, murder
The man had had no idea what he was really talking about until he'd had his tongue ripped out with a rusty pair of pliers while Jim watched, but he'd had a point. Closer to twenty five, the searching look he gave Harley, eyes warm and interested, voice just a touch more musical.]
I have all sorts of guesses for you. I look forward to making each and every one count.
[And that, really, was her answer.]
Basically that from here on out
[This was a trio of men staggering toward them, moderately to heavily inebriated; probably partway through a pub crawl. Their suit jackets are long gone, shirtsleeves rolled up to their elbow, and they talk quietly to one another, bumping shoulders and having a grand old time. There's a double-take from the first one to see them, eyes going to Harley's lite-brite fiber optic pigtails; but they're too close now to be able to turn and run.
And there's an alley just a few feet away. Exactly what she was looking for.
Harley unwinds her arm from Jim's, steps quickening as the mens' falter; and she reaches to wrap metal fingers around one of the men's throats, lifting him off the ground by it.] Run. [Is her cheerful advice to his friends, and she tosses her victim into the alley like he weighs no more than a loaf of bread.
There are a lot of issues with having your body replaced by machinery one piece at a time. But this part is actually pretty great; and Harley's eyes are already lit up with anticipation, advancing on her victim as he struggles to his feet.]
Everybody needs something, like I said. [This is over her shoulder, to Jim.] You being a smart cookie and all- want to take a guess at what I'm going to take from this poor shmuck?
no subject
Competence was so rare, no matter the field; real talent was a gem not to be passed over.
He's almost as interested in the men who scatter. Terrified, sure, but not exactly surprised. Townies, Harley called them. He wondered if anyone called them what they actually are. But he's turned back to Harley and her squirming 'meal' before their footfalls have faded.]
Liquid promotes rust, and it isn't "souls". [Jim leans against the wall, stance easy, but he's clearly focused. Watching the man for now, but it's her he needs to see do... whatever it is she's about to do. To see precisely how certain he can be that this is anything.]
Do the locals come with outlets, here?
no subject
[The man has his back to them, and is stumbling away; his voice is hoarse as he shouts for help. This time, Harley doesn't chase him; she only reaches her arm out in his direction. With a flick of her wrist, one of the patchwork metal pieces in her wrist clicks open, and two cables, red and black, shoot out of her arm, whipping toward her victim. He's only a few feet out of reach; she has more than enough cable to wrap them both around his neck, checking his forward progress.
The man stumbles, nearly falling; but Harley's hand clenches into a fist, and the cables flex, lifting his feet entirely off the ground. the ends arch like snakes poised to strike; and in the moment, the wickedly pointed ends of each can be seen. They snick open like a blooming flower, revealing a sharp inner needle. There's a snap, sparks shooting out of the ends of the needles, which bury themselves in either side of the man's throat.
He clenches immediately; every muscle locking into place, before the spasms start. Her pigtails lift off her shoulders, the strands drifting through the air like she's underwater; and Harley's eyes go wide, her mouth open and soft, as the energy starts draining out of him, sucked up by her cables to be stored in whatever power brick she has on the inside. It's exactly the rush one would think it is; not just the vibrating, buzzing electricity of the moment, but feeling someone's freaking life force pouring into you, charging you up, getting you going.
There's nothing else like it.]