graveyardsmash | TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

Entry tags:

test drive

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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 in a dark ditch, the sky cloudy overhead. Dirt cakes into your cuts and scrapes. The air is clammy and damp, and it smells like rain.

You’re in a grave. And when you sit up to inspect the tombstone marking your spot, it has your name on it. Maybe the graves next to you have the names of familiar friends, family, acquaintances. Not all of them are open like yours are. RIP.

There’s a light dancing in the distance, and you hear the jingle-jangle of heavy keys, or worse still, the gravekeeper’s massive pitchfork or shovel. If you're lucky, you can sneak out beyond his notice, and get out alone. If not - you might find yourself on the wrong end of a shovel’s swing, or worse yet, tripping headfirst in front of a pair of monstrous eyes.

SCENARIO TWO

You've stumbled your way out of the graveyard, and you're promptly besieged by the overwhelming sights and sounds of the city. Cars honk at you to get out of the street, and strangers try not to look in your direction for too long. They see your dirty clothes and scraped faces, and pretend to busy themselves with something else. Rarely, a look of pity is cast your way.

But some people try to reach out. Enterprising citizens and those that hope to curry favor with the newcomers pass out new clothes and bundles of food, asking if you have a place to stay the night, wondering about the details of the world you came from. Some are even handing out pamphlets which vary in how helpful they are--"What To Expect When You're Expecting (To Turn Into A Monster)", "Wolpertinger: Fact or Fiction?", "100% ACCURATE MONSTER QUIZ ASSESSMENT: GUARANTEED TO PREDICT YOUR MONSTER!", and "Ryslig Law In A Nutshell".

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? Does it fit you, or does it feel incongruous with your nature? Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah, of course.

[Hythlodaeus takes the arm opposite, aiding Faramir in dragging the brute towards the stone. A soft grunt escapes him as he shoves the man, a bit inelegantly, to rest up against it.]

Well, if we had the questionable luck to survive the elements here, I should think that his large stature should afford him the same fate.

[If "survive" was even the right word.]

Oh, please. It was a joint effort that culminated in such excitement. Very well, I will graciously accept your relief of debts.

[He smiles warmly, taking stock of himself in response to Faramir's question. He was filthy as anything, a few scrapes from scuttling across the ground and behind graves, but nothing dire.]

Fit as a fiddle, it seems. A very unkempt fiddle, to be sure. If you are in similar standing, shall we continue? I believe this will be of great use.

[He stoops down to pick up the still-glowing lantern, dropped by the felled gravekeeper. Its handle creaked with rust as it was lifted, but the light shone true.]

Armed and illuminated, the weary wanderers press on.

[Unfortunately, Jean has sniffed out something to be suspicious about, which means that Kim is never going to rest again—but first, he has to iron out some more personally relevant details than Kitsuragi's strange behavior. He taps ash off his cigarette, trying to retain the information he's been given. This is what he's good at: processing, connections, putting pieces into a manageable whole. It's easy to see in times like these why he was so drawn to investigative work.]

So, let me get this straight: we left Martinaise at the same time—in the same vehicle, even—but you got to this place two months sooner? To be perfectly clear, it's been no time for me. I got in the motor carriage and woke up here.

[Jean looks pensive at that, the combination of topics not settling well in his gut.]

So he still doesn't remember anything, then?

[It's probably not helping that a small crowd has also started to gather around them, some of the people watching muttering things about death wishes and such mostly aimed at the guy making a fuss. If this was a more modern time someone would totally have a phone out to film this.

The fussy local does take note of the crow and he huffs, and without another word leaves. Well okay, he does grumble something about stupid monsters under his breath, but Blues isn't going to say anything about that or bother the guy anymore. In fact Blues is going to try to give the, now bloody, handkerchief back to Little Mermaid with a;]

Thanks, prince or no you didn't have to help. [Because Blues is kind of used to being the one doing the helping.]

Seventies?

[Vicquemare manages to not look alarmed at the prospect, even when the idea takes hold of his mind almost instantly. On one hand, it's almost a relief to learn that the world persists even twenty years into the future. On the other, the idea of this kind of time-manipulation makes him a little nauseated. He puts it in the back of his brain to percolate while he deals with other matters. He's good at compartmentalizing like that.]

Whatever. More importantly, that's not how it's supposed to work. I'm from Revachol—Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare. Cops are fairly inextricable from the government: they're supposed to be an arm of authority.

[He resists the urge to ask about imminent nuclear apocalypse.]

[Poor guy, Beat's own entry into Ryslig was a lot less in a grave but he still recalls the rotting decaying moose that spoke of death and doom. Covered in wounds is similar. The poor man is going to have a time. He's brought out of his distracted thoughts to Hyth asking his question, looking around as he walks, and ponders.]

Hmmm.... Yes an' no. It ain't as advanced as the place I was from. [Oops his speech is slipping.] The buildings are similar but also not? It's hard to explain. We got similar back home but the styles are diff.

[He stares thoughtfully out at the buildings as they pass, people doing their best to give the two a wide berth. Some because oh no monster. Others because geezus he's a slime wtf and oh my tall.]

It's more 'in the past' fer me. Like if I was flippin' through a book of photos from the 30s or 40s [close, 50s!] and fell in. But the style is also like somethin' from another part of the world, I think. So I ain't totally lost but it's also a lil' on the wow I miss my phone. [He tilts his head towards Hythlodaeus, glancing upwards at him.] What was yer world like?

You're trying to go easy on me?

[Jean grits his teeth in his approximation of a smile, trying to take deep enough breaths to calm down and mostly failing due to the prevailing feeling of pressure on his chest. He still feels half buried. There's too much going on, and he has none of the information he wants, largely because he doesn't know what he wants, and he's lost months of his life, and—

Oh, he's going to have a panic attack. That's what this is.

It's inconvenient as all hell. He has better shit to be doing, but here he is, trying not to wheeze himself to death in the middle of a graveyard. He awkwardly drops to a squat, hands on the back of his neck, focusing in on the part of him that wants to be productive. He would very much like to be normal, here. He hates not being the normal one.]

Fuck you.

[After a few moments, he silently, plaintively reaches up for a cigarette.]

[He could probably lift himself out if he stopped pressing the cloth to his face, but he also got the impression that Misha would very, very much not like him to do that. Instead he offers out his free arm, standing up properly to confirm the grave is very much a little too high for him to scramble out easily.]

Sure. Should... Probably get moving. Just in case.

[Biochemistry. Another strange word; another reminder, even as it is explained, that he is an alien in this place - as though such a reminder could be needed, with everything around them. Faramir does his best to put aside the melancholy that thought brings, and to focus on the point in hand.]

Then we have our "support group", or at least the beginnings of it. [His smile is a little thin, and not at all happy; still, there is warmth in it. Alien or no, it is a relief not to be entirely alone.] Nor can we be wholly without allies; for it seems to me that in such a place, there are many people who would be best served by combatting this change.

Perhaps there is hope in that, even now.

I'm surprised you would accept, too. I thought you hated me!

[There's something pointed in his tone, even as it dissolves rather quickly with another bubble of indolent laughter.

Still, there's an honesty there that does find its way to Komaeda's smiling expression. It softens his eyes and warms his cheeks a bit, as the thought that he might be wrong edges into his mind. For once, he would probably be okay with that.]

Listen, Hinata-kun... how familiar are you with the multiverse theory?

[It's clear Beat is trying very hard to speak in a way that Hythlodaeus will understand. It's endearing, really, that he would go to such lengths. However, it was also sort of necessary, as when Beat really got into his drawl, he was nigh incomprehensible.]

Ah, so this is something of a historical village from your world? Alas, nothing in history has presented itself as such from the star which I hail.

[For the first time, Hythlodaeus looks a bit melancholy, eyesight dropping down to drift along the pavement as they walked. For a time, only the sound of his soft leather shoes and Beat's slimy footsteps could be heard.]

My star... our star. Regrettably, I currently do not know the state of it.

[He sighs, crossing his arms apprehensively.]

Etheirys was its name. Unparalleled in its beauty, everything in brilliant harmony, as was our duty to facilitate. The capital of Amaurot was the home of great minds and mages. The archive of all mankind's knowledge, his triumphs, and the lessons of his missteps. A tirelessly crafted perfection, it was.

[He trailed off, clearly enraptured not by his own words, but by the memory of his home. Nothing he said could begin to do it justice. The smile returned to his face, and he looked again at Beat.]

Would that you could one day visit. Full glad would I be to tour you the bustling streets, watched over by the buildings and spires eternally reaching for the heavens. Architectural bliss, the pride of my people! I would show you the Bureau of the Architect, the office of which I have the honor of presiding over as Chief.

[With a hand to his heart, he's genuine in his offer. Perhaps one day he would be able to guide Beat around his city the way Beat is guiding him here.]

Ah, I'm afraid I may have ran away with your question...

[Spike can tell from the sound of Norman's footsteps that he's slower, though, and finds himself wishing he'd not lost his gun— every, every gun on his person, actually— in the church before he'd found his way here. He knows nothing about Norman, doesn't know if he'll regret making sure this guy leaves here just as alive as he is— but he does know that Norman helped him not get smacked in the head with a shovel.

So Spike stops short, ducking behind a grave to pick something up, and to obscure himself from the groundskeeper. This leaves the man's focus on Norman, and gives Spike enough time to line up a good shot. A few paces more, and Spike stands, letting loose the rock he's picked up, mentally thanking everything and nothing that he wasn't shot in the shoulder of his throwing arm.

Spike's aim is truer, as it's had to be to get him out of trouble since he was a child. It strikes the groundskeeper in the neck, knocking him to his knees and leaving him shocked, clutching his neck and screaming obscenities. With the shovel dropped, it should give Norman a few more paces grace before the groundskeeper is back on his feet.

Spike steps out from behind the grave again, gesturing for Norman to get going past him.]

Go, go, go!

[Spike just starts nodding, looking down at the ground and biting his lip for just a moment.]

Ah.

Okay, yeah.

[He must be dreaming. That must be it. That, or dead.

Or a pre-death dream? That must be what it is.]

Right. So, what's the—

[He spins his finger in a circle as if to gesture at... everything around him. His face still looks kind of hollow, but he's a little tired of yelling in surprise at this point.]

What's the deal?

[His eyes snap open, wary. But whoever he is - he doesn't seem like a threat. Why would he be? Aaron's in a grave. That's where he's meant to be, right?]

Best place to sleep. [A terrible retort.] Where else are you meant to go when you're dead?

[But he sits up nonetheless. Almost tentatively he reaches up to touch his own face, feeling along the scabbed over cut with a wince.]

[The way Hythlodaeus speaks about his world. It's... interesting. He sounds almost like a Composer; someone invested in not just the well-being of the world itself, but the well-being of the living creatures as well. Everything in harmony, as he said. He can't help but smile at the obvious love for it. For this Etheirys. Like Josh's love for Shibuya.

The offer to show him around makes him blink and he offers a wide smile in return, looking like he has the best idea in the world.]

You might be able to! It won't be 'xactly accurate, an' some details might be lost, but we have a Museum here that alters itself whenever someone new comes in, an' it offers a peek into that persons world. I can show you it after we getchu cleaned up, if you like!

[It might be good or it might be bad, depending on Hythlodaeus' reaction to it. Thinking back to his earlier thoughts, he gives Hythlodaeus a thoughtful look.]

Gotta ask, yo. You considered a God at yer place?

Well... [Where to begin?] The deal, I suppose... is simply that you are here now. For whatever reason, there is a force in this place that removes us from our own worlds and deposits us here, which... does come with a few—side effects, shall we say. For instance... I was as human as you are when I first arrived, but now I am what is called a Faerie.

[She punctuates that with a demonstrative flutter of her wings and a radiant smile, as if recalling the transformation fondly.]

You are bound to transform as well... But you needn't worry about that now. It tends to take time. For now, you should focus simply on getting yourself settled.

Believe me, officer, [he says, a noticeable tone of weariness entering his voice,] it is as much a mystery to me as it is you. Perhaps it is some sort of displacement forced upon by traveling through the Pale. Or, perhaps this is all just some sort of elaborate fantasy created by our collective consciousness minutes before our deaths.

[Maybe they all just crashed in the car on the way to the precinct and have been suffering from hypothermia in the cold, dark sea while these images flash through their minds. Frankly, Kim would find it preferable to what he's going through right now.

When Jean broaches the subject of Detective Du Bois, Kim's posture seems to stiffen slightly. His voice lowers, and a sense of earnest concern can be felt in his words.]

No. I haven't been trying to push the detective too much to recall his memories, but...it seems whatever scraps remain will take their time to resurface. If they plan to resurface, at all. [A pause.] The Harrier Du Bois you once knew might never reappear.

[He shakes his head. As he does so, he doesn't seem to notice his scarf slipping again. The tusks protruding from his lower jaw can be seen, unmistakably there and glinting in the dim illumination from the streetlamps.]

Edited 2022-01-23 03:08 (UTC)

[Enraptured by Beat's description of the museum, Hythlodaeus' lilac eyes practically sparkle in wonder. It's not new technology to him to have an environment change at will, but in this place, he'd take any semblance of magic he could get.]

I would be quite interested to learn the inner workings of such a construct! What's more, what pride it would bring to be able to give you a glimpse of Amaurot! Perhaps you could show me your home, as well?

[He was excited both about the logistics of the museum and using it for themselves. Such animated conversation made the walk easier to bear. Hythlodaeus had made day trips to far-off places such as Elpis, so he was used to walking long distances to survey, but anything further than a trek to Beat's apartment would usually call for the use of an aetheryte were he back home.]

[At the question, he blinks, speechless for a moment, then laughs.]

A god, oh, heavens no! Haha! Pray do not lavish on me such an honorable role. Being Chief is well enough for someone of my paltry ability.

No, my people are simply stewards, nothing more. Imparted with the ability to create, 'tis our responsibility only to keep balance. Though our power is great, gods wield far greater.

What makes you ask such a question?

1. What A Welcome.
[Dirt falls on Bruno's face, waking him up. He sputters and flails, and once he realises he's in a grave he panics. Scrambling, he clambers up even as more earth falls into the hole, slipping and clawing until he is on solid ground, panting and wheezing. He stays there for several moments, labouring to catch his breath.

He doesn't catch it all the way, though, as he ducks down to look into the rapidly filling hole and something whooshes over his head. He looks back and gets a glimpse of a huge figure winding up to take another swing at him with a shovel. He yelps and scrambles, scurrying out of the way, and runs.

You see a scruffy little fellow running for his life--he looks back, not noticing you're in front of him....]

2. Downtown....
['Oi, get outta the road!'

The voice snaps Bruno back into some kind of awareness and he skitters onto the sidewalk, panting. This is about as far, in every sense of the word, one could get from the Encanto.

'Hey, friend, you look like you could use something to eat.' 'Here's something a little warmer.' 'You're gonna need to know what's going on, my friend....' With his arms full of things people have been handing him, Bruno stumbles slightly, making his way toward an alley. He pauses, the terror clear on his face.]

What... where am I... [He pauses as some piece of glossy literature or other slides into his view and he squints at it.] Ryslig? What's a Ryslig?

[He spots someone else as dirt-covered as he is.]

Hey... hey, what's going on?

3. The Rat Man He Was Always Meant To Be
[Bruno doesn't look too healthy on a good day. But now he's looking like death warmed over. Albeit death warmed over with sharp claws, giant ears, and oversized incisors. Fur pokes out from the sleeves of his shirt.

He's sat on a bench, struggling with his sandals that are too tight, but looks up when you approach and offers a wan smile.]

Hola. Hope you don't mind if I sit here for a moment....

[~~Slow down there Souda he'll probably disappoint you soon enough--~~]

A convergence point...? [That seems a little more sci-fi than actual theory, but he supposed something like that was possible? If multiple worlds theory was true, and people from universes that weren't even Earth were here...]

I guess when you put it like that, anything's possible... [He sighs.] And it means a whole world that doesn't hate us for what we did back home, so... that's probably good, right?

H-yeah, honestly? That part's pretty cool, not gonna lie.

[ . . . ]

But, uh, you're still gonna end up turning into a monster like me. And a lot of stuff's gonna try to kill us, anyway.

[ . . .

Souda starts scratching his neck.]

It's, uh. It's been a long year.

Huh. Is that right? A faerie.

[Spike simply stares at her for a few moments, looking her up and down, before biting the inside of his cheek and wincing. Yeah, that's pain. He's not exactly dreaming. or maybe he is dreaming, and is simply feeling the pain? Hm. Confusing.

But whatever he's seeing is in front of him, dream or not.]

I'm. Gonna turn into the same thing you are?

[Of course, he's still operating on her being some kind of alien regardless— that's all he can make sense of, for now.]

I'd like to think there is, yeah. Science is, at its core, a thing about hope, you know. Looking for answers. New solutions.

[he's not sure how he lost sight of that, when he let survivalism and mistrust and desperation to hold on to control overtake his values. but now he's got all the time in the world to reflect, between whatever else is due to happen to him here. Norman nods a few times, clearly reminding himself as much as he's speaking to Faramir.]

I feel like we should find a bar. So I can buy you a drink, and we can raise them together. To hope.

[Spike doesn't have to tell him twice. Now that the groundskeeper knows for sure that they're there, he doesn't have to try to be stealthy. Norman puts as much speed into his legs as he can - he's got a bit of a limp from landing rough on one knee back in New York, but he manages, heading for the cemetary gate. his boots churn up loose soil in places, and as his heart starts to pound and the adrenaline kicks in, he's a little more sure in his stride. still not as fast as he used to be, but at least he's not fumbling on the edges of graves anymore, or noticing the pain as much.]

C'mon-! We can make this...!

[it's not far, now, he thinks, not bothering to look over his shoulder. he just has to trust that the other man is coming, listen for his footsteps behind, and keep his eyes forward to make sure he knows where he's going. the biggest factor now, he thinks, is if they have enough of a lead on the groundskeeper to beat him out of there to safety ... and if he'll stop once they reach the gates or not]

I guess... maybe we were both wrong about that?

[He couldn't forget how frustrating it had been dealing with Komaeda in the simulation, but maybe the memories from before the island helped... make it make more sense to him. Or maybe he was just smarter? Or maybe, if he had learned what they had all been before the end... he probably wouldn't have dealt with it any better?

Nevertheless, he smiles, a bit more sure of his words.] Well, I don't hate you, okay? So let's both just stop worrying about it.

[With that, he shifts his weight on his feet, and moves on to thinking about the next thought.]

...It's the idea that there's an infinite amount of alternate universes out there, right?

[For a split second, something wells up in Komaeda. Something nostalgic in a way that's both comforting and not. His stomach flutters, but it's not for any warm hopes that Hinata might feel similarly to him; instead, it's the rush of recognizing what good luck this all is—to not be hated—and with it, follows the dread that slides across his shoulders and clenches around his spine. Komaeda feels his shoulders tense, even if his smile is unmoving. He's talentless, he reminds himself, he doesn't have to worry about bad luck anymore.

But, he has to tell Hinata that eventually, too.]

Right... and here I remembered you saying the library was boring! [He laughs sharply,] but what if I told you that this place is sort of like a middle ground?

A place where multiple universes could converge, or even the same universe, from different points in time.

[He pauses, but starts walking—leading the way, confident that Hinata will follow.]

What would you make of that?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 18 of 32

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Bruno Madrigal | Encanto

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject