graveyardsmash | TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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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.

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[ on one hand, no one here beyond whatever that thing had been in the graveyard appears to have any sort of weapon or blood vengeance, and that's a great thing. on the other hand, there's - this. operative word being hand(s), because when Nancy's eyes settle on his, she goes a little green around the gills. in spite of that, there's a spark strikes inside of her, or maybe her brain just decides that she can block out her current problem by trying to get to the bottom of this unfortunate creature. ]

What the hell happened to you?

[ as if she isn't the one covered in grave mud. ]

Yeah. Nice arm, pal. Real scary.

[The weirdo in the clown costume's lying in the bottom of his grave, curling into as tight a ball as his gangly frame will allow in the cramped space. The throwing up of the arm had been a surprise, particularly when Aaron had mostly approached to see if there was someone else who needed pulling out of the earth. The teenager crouches on the edge of the grave, face split open, blood slowly dripping from the mostly clotted wound.]

You want pulling up or am I leavin' you to whatever put us in the damn holes?

[ as much as she'd like to gnash her own teeth and continue to be uselessly furious - a familiar feeling, altogether welcome, she realizes, in comparison to the creeping numbness from the last monster superhell she'd been in - Nancy grasps onto the waning fury in the mood and reels it back in.

taking a breath is a good idea. he's right. and he's already given her a piece of information that she can work with, which helps to distract her from the panic. ]

Where is 'here?'

[ maybe if she'd stopped to do more than ungratefully snatch offered clothes from the few people who'd seemed to take pity on her predicament, she might already have a better understanding of what, exactly, was going on in this place. but you can't expect those kinds of things from Nancy just yet.

she takes another couple of breaths, but they don't help the more pressing question. reaching behind her, she snatches the pamphlet from her back pocket and brandishes at him. ]

What's all this bullshit about monsters?

[It is the fucking fifties.]

Might be the fifties for you, pops but it's the seventies for everyone else. Nearly the eighties.

[Death to disco, long live new wave.

Aaron's had his face stitched at least, and the locals have been eager to press an unbloodied shirt on the teenager so he at least passes for somewhat respectable.]

'International oversight in matters of the law'? Jesus, where are you from? Cops handle the law, and the Government are in charge of them.

[Kind of. He's simplifying a hell of a lot.]

[Spike hears Lusamine before he sees her, and responds before he even thinks about it.]

Well excuse me, m'am, for not being more acquainted with the idea of people falling apart into—

[It's only this far into his retort that Spike looks up and properly perceives the woman speaking to him, and he immediately grows pale. Wide eyed and slack jawed, he finishes his thought in a much lower voice.]

—para— parasites...

[Spike blinks, squints, rubs his eyes; but no, he's not seeing things, this woman simply is... bug-like. He can't hardly deal with it— he's seeing aliens. There's aliens?? What other explanation could there be? Spike mutters, still not really answering Lusamine's question—]

Jeez, what was in that drink?

[His eyes widen when the man points at his horns. He couldn't say he hadn't thought about ripping out the gems, but it'd become pointless when they'd started to spread faster than he could even look to find pliers.]

...Okay.

[One thing at a time, now.]

Hardware's like... Tools. Nails. Paint. Stuff for fixing shit. They... Should sell a saw?

[Or even just give you one given you're... A monster, really.]

...Mightn't they just come back? The fog here's supposed to heal shit, apparently.

[The gravedigger's still stood there, sides heaving as he breathes, furious. Aaron keeps the shovel trained on him, ready to swing if he tries to lunge for either him or the girl. He hasn't had to hit a literal person with a shovel before, but he's not exactly going to hesitate now.]

...No, [look, honesty!] but it ain't anything can be dealt with now.

[He jerks his head at the path.]

Might want to put distance between this asshole and ourselves.

[Aaron trusts adults very little, and the monstrous ones even less. However - the fact Lusamine is keeping her distance is greatly appreciated. Too many people get too close.]

...Nothing is really... 'Satisfying'. [Waldgeists and the gnawing hunger, am I right?] Nothing I'm... Prepared to go for at the moment, at least.

[He's dodging the question. Eating people scares him too much. Taking a life - no. He's fucked up enough.

...Safe to say he hasn't been warned about the berserk thing.]

[ And immediately, Abner feels like a fucking idiot. ]
[ One eye cracks open, face still contorted into a shameless cringe in preparation for--something much worse than a pissy teenager. Truth be told, he's a little relieved, but the feeling doesn't last long after Aaron mentions whatever's responsible for their current predicament. ]

I thought-- [ He cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head. No point in embarrassing himself further, was there? ] Never mind. I, I've got it.
[ He can at least drag himself out of his own power; being pulled out by somebody else would just be insult to injury at this point, especially given...Aaron. Great job, Polka-Dots, you needed a kid to save your ass--eugh. Abner still hesitates for a moment, taking the time to look around to ensure they're actually in the clear before he starts pulling himself out. His suit's going to be an absolute mess after this, but whatever. ]

You think it's stuck around...?
[ If so, that's going to be a huge problem. Abner didn't exactly have a lot of backup weaponry on hand, and he can't say for certain if the blood-smeared kid in front of him was carrying much, either. ]

[ Hm. Maybe he was faster than Aaron--that might work if things got messy. ]

[If he weren't already on the ashen side, he'd be going there now. As far as Aaron was concerned - it was June. Early June. A Wednesday. The Pope's just gone to Poland. The Supersonics just won the NBA.

Had he lost three months to him?]

...Something's fucked. It was June.

[Drip.]

It - it should stop. Right?

[When he hesitantly lifts a hand away the cut does bleed more. But it also looks blatantly like something sharp's been slashed through his face, tearing his lip and narrowly missing his eye.]

[Lusamine is unbothered by his staring, offering him a patient smile not unlike the one she'd given the parasite.]

Ah... I see now. You've only just arrived, haven't you? [And he truly looks like he's been through the wringer already. She glances around for a moment, soon gesturing to a nearby bench with a motion of her hand. The nails of that hand are long and sharp, gleaming gold.] Why don't you sit down for a moment?

[Hythlodaeus. A strange sort of name, one that does not altogether match against any language of Faramir's acquaintance - but why even be surprised, at this point? Nothing here matches against his past experience. Even the writing on the graves is strange.]

[He inclines his head, not quite a bow but a polite acknowledgement of the introduction.]

Faramir. And the pleasure is mine.

I hope it is not too intrusive to ask, but where do you come from? Your name has a strange and foreign ring.

We all must eat, dear... Whether we feel prepared for it or not.

[Lusamine herself had felt prepared from the very beginning, entirely willing to do whatever it took to satisfy her new instincts—but her tone now remains gentle and patient, as if she understands his hesitation.]

What you're doing now... I'm afraid it is much like eating junk food—hardly nutritious or healthy for you. What you need is a proper meal...

[After a moment longer of watching him, noting the terribly painful-looking state of him, she attempts a question.]

Does it frighten you? The thought of hunting?

[He is quiet for a moment, his expression softening. At last, he lowers himself to one knee, the better to bring himself to her eyeline - he's well over a foot taller than her, so under the circumstances, it feels appropriate - and meets her gaze, sincerity clear in his grey eyes.]

When I awoke, I found myself among such graves. I saw upon them names that I knew: my father's, and my mother's, my comrades', and last of all my brother Boromir's.

But Boromir has no grave. His body was carried upon the Anduin to the Sea, and never claimed by the cold earth; and this I know, for I saw it with my own eyes, that he could not have come here alive or dead.

[His hand comes to rest against her shoulder; he has not looked away from her eyes for a moment.]

Do you understand what I am telling you? A name on a stone is only a name. A cruel trick played by whatever darkness drew us hence. Grieve not for the sake of carven stones.

[The real benefit to being a big pink dragon is that for the most part, Souda actually does look kind of intimidating. It can really come in handy when folks are of the mind to be dicks about monsters, but today folks are very... unhappy. Despite the fog making it actually possible for the gargoyle to get around, the general unrest is making Souda uncomfortable.

He isn't expecting to be pulled to the side and as such, when he's tugged back, he's much easier to pull than he maybe should be at the weight and stature he's at. But he hops back into the alley, beckoned by a familiar voice.]

Hey, what's the big Ide—

[Souda is suddenly face to face with Hajime! And that... well, the last time he saw Hajime it was actually some kind of weird gross construct that was melding with Komaeda. So excuse him for looking surprised when he exclaims—]

Bro?! Is that you?!

[Granted, he is not taking into account that he doesn't look much like himself right now. Bright gold eyes stare at Hajime over a set of crocodilian teeth.]

You are not the first to accuse me of it.

[His father's words are still a barb that digs against the raw wound of his heart. Ever you desire to appear as a king of old; yet in dark hours, gentleness may be repaid with death. Perhaps there is truth in that; in what for so many years Denethor has reminded him of. Perhaps to cling to poetry and ancient ways is denial; perhaps there is only the darkness and madness of wild things.]

[Perhaps. Perhaps it does not matter.]

If that is my choice, then it is one I will make, even so. For there can be no hope of light and honour if we resign ourselves so readily to the dark.

I have seen men who are beasts. I will not join them.

As many things are.

In any case, I should think that light may yet be valued more highly than arms. We must hope not to find ourselves in a pinch.

[He sighs, and reaches up to raise the hood of his cloak as the rain begins to fall harder. Not that it makes much difference, cold and wet as he already is.]

Which way, lady?

[Lady, huh? This guy really did fall right out of a LARP event. That, or he’s exceptionally old-fashioned.]

Hm… I’m not sure going back the way I came would be the greatest choice, though I pretty much just chose a random direction to go in. Ugh, if I had a compass I could at least know where north is, and without the sun I can’t exactly try the old stick-in-the-ground trick.

[She made a small sound of annoyance when the rain picked up, looking up at the sky as though to say ‘why?’ before pulling the lantern closer, holding a protective hand over the top of it to hopefully prevent any water from leaking inside and extinguishing the flame. She was also beginning to regret not wearing something with longer sleeves, the cold droplets causing goosebumps on her arms, shoulders and neck.]

Edited 2022-01-16 21:08 (UTC)

[This time he wraps his arms around her tightly, and that break in her voice brings tender tears to his eyes--suddenly all he wants to do is hold her until her soul is in one piece, again.]

Hey, no... don't blame yourself. I'm okay. We're a long way from home, kid, and we have to be careful, now. Sometimes that means getting ourselves on the high ground so that we can pull others up with us, y'know?

[He's sure the others have gotten out, too. They have to have escaped.]

[She blinked at the name he gave, briefly remembering the traditional dish she once had in Italy during a weekend trip with her parents, surprised to see a person sharing a name with a dish. Then again, so does (did?) Caesar. She was about to ask Like the lamb roast?, but thought better of it since he undoubtedly had heard it all before, and she decided not to be an ass about it. Yet.]

[Now that she was standing she realised just how tall was, shocked to find herself having to take three steps for every one he took, which had her practically jogging to keep up. Even when he did slow down to accommodate her shorter legs, she still ended up in a really weird half-power walk. At least she was getting her cardio in.]

So… What is this place? I don’t remember hearing about anywhere like this in geography, let alone a place where people turn into, well, monsters. And you said people arrive here, you mean they crawl out of graves like I did? Or, uh… parasite shenanigans like you apparently did?

[She noted some of the nasty looks they got by some of the locals they passed, though quickly realised most of them were towards Abbacchio (though she still got her fair share) for some reason. Was it because of the claws? The horns? If all new people really turned into monsters wouldn’t the locals be more used to them, if there were really so many that there were pamphlets all around the place?]

[She still took the chance to stick her tongue out at the people who sent them particularly dirty looks though.]

Fuin?

[It isn't quite right, not quite the word she said - but it is the way he hears it at first, and it seems to him deeply inauspicious. Fuin: darkness, shadow, night. The near-certain knowledge that fuin is not what she said cannot wholly keep it from seeming to him an ill portent.]

[As much an ill portent as the description, which - innocent as it is on its face - sends another shiver of dread through him. Of old, there were such magics, and among the Elves perhaps they linger; but it is not Elvish magic that comes to mind in this misty and ruinous place of death. It is, then, a reminder of how lost he is; another thing to place him off balance.]

[He clears his throat.]

Then we are from different homes indeed, for I cannot think that such a thing would go unmentioned in all the annals of the Wise. And yet, I know not how it can be.

[She tries to hold back sniffling, and wipes at her eyes.]

Yeah... we're gonna be okay. I'm sure everyone else would've gotten out...

I'm glad you're safe.

Well, I did just crawl out of my own grave.

[Which was a horrible experience. 0/10 wouldn't recommend.]

I'm not a monster. I don't know what he was talking about.

It's... just a trick?

[Her eyes water a bit, but she's not sure if it's from relief or just thinking about all the graves with her family's names on them.]

They're not really all dead?

[He frowns, and turns away for a moment, running a hand over the wet, mossy surface of a gravestone; pushes his hood back once more to feel the wind's kiss against his weathered cheek; straightens, at last, to look back at her.]

Unless I miss my guess, northwards is the way you came. Though if so, we are nearer some northerly coast than I have ever been. The air has a salt tang.

Do you need my cloak? You look cold.

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TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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