TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

[ryslighelpers]

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.

Comments

[bleeditout]

[ Even with all his struggling, the man does not relent at all, if anything the only thing Misha achieved was to make it worse for himself. He's tugged along more firmly this time, and the fingers gripping on the collar of his shirt just make him panic more. ]

Fuck off, let go of me!

[ He continues thrashing about uselessly, glaring at a woman who passes them by as she hurries along without saying a word. They're getting closer to the building now, and the man is carefully backing him against the wall, making it so that he can't run even if he wanted to. ]

Out of here? With you? You're out of your mind, I'm not going anywhere with you– [ his voice cracks as he continues his attempts to escape. ] I'm like you, [ he spits it out ] you can't do anything to me, you won't get anything from it. This place made me different but I'm still not a human. You can't do this, get off of me.

[ Desperately he hopes the man will understand what he's trying to say; demons don't eat other demons, they just don't. He has to let him go. ]

[fateschosen]

[For all the struggling and talk, he isn't putting up much of a fight. Diavolo, for a second, considers muffling the boy's constant noise with his hand - just long enough for him to be heard - but the sharp ache in his palm dissuades him. One thing in his disjointed speech stands out: "this place". It seems he is new. And he insists he is not human, but there he flails, all skin and hair, without a single monstrous feature to distinguish him from the rest.

That realization fills Diavolo's stomach with ice. The dread sets in fast - there's no telling who else may have arrived. He pushes the boy along further still, into the shade despite the creeping sense of dread, out of sight.]

Quiet. I'm not going to hurt you. [He insists, but his grip doesn't slacken and he only presses forward so that he can speak even more softly.] You need to tell me what you're running from. I... I need to know. [He takes another sideways glance at the street, wishing, not for the first time, that his appearance wasn't so flashy compared to the masses. There's nowhere to blend in out here.]

[bleeditout]

[ The man is crowding him now, pushing him into the shadows; but he says he's not going to hurt him. Misha finds that hard to believe, yet nothing this man has done has been actively antagonistic towards him – all he's really done is get them off the street, and he didn't even retaliate when Misha bit him. ]

You– You're not? [ he swallows, the motion made awkward by his collar against his throat. He realises how stupid his next statement is going to sound. ] You're not going to kill me or– or eat me or anything?

[ It sounds like he doesn't quite believe this man's claims of meaning him no harm, but if he wants any chance at getting out of here then he just needs to do as he's told. ]

I don't know… There were people – humans – and they were shoving stuff at me. Someone grabbed at me, so I just ran.

[fateschosen]

I am not going to eat you.

[Diavolo's grasp on the boy's collar loosens to near-nothing. The implication remains clear: someone else might find him an appealing meal. But that matter is out of his hands entirely.]

I prefer not to draw unnecessary attention in public. I am not some starved and feral animal. And, besides, I prefer more... aged souls. I find there's more substance to them.

[He says it softly, as though it's meant to be a reassurance. His grip is barely a touch now, only truly keeping him cornered by size and presence. Diavolo lets out a shaky exhale.]

Though you seem like you've been through quite an ordeal. Someone grabbed you. A human? Not – not an insect, not a monster, with claws and fangs or – or vines or... just a human?

[The darting of his eyes has ceased. He stares directly at the boy now, barely breathing as he awaits the response.]

[bleeditout]

[ As soon as the grip on his collar loosens enough, Misha pulls right away from him. Granted he can't go anywhere, not really. His singular escape is still blocked by this man. Sure, he says he's not going to eat him, but it feels like there's an unspoken 'yet' with the way he talks about drawing unnecessary attention. ]

They were humans,

[ The words come out with a frustrated edge to their tone whilst the man is still talking. He's insulted at the insinuation he can't tell the difference between humans and demons. Not that the man pays any attention to Misha's words though, because he's still prattling on. Talking about insects and monsters with claws and fangs – like they themselves don't fit that description. He leans back further, to get a better look at this man's hands and he glares when he sees blunted nails. ]

… You don't have claws.

[ His voice is quiet, eyes focusing on the man's nails in confusion. This isn't right, something is wrong here. What the hell is this guy? ]

[fateschosen]

[And now the boy is confused – which makes sense, considering he is seemingly a new arrival. Diavolo slackens his grip entirely and allows him a closer look at his nails. They're short, uneven from nervous picking, and covered in chipped polish. Someone had done this for him once, he recalls. The woman who called herself a "guide" had showed him her claws, her poisonous spines – every weapon she had, patiently explained to him when he was a trembling bundle of nerves curled on the ground.

It was no great reassurance. But it was something soothing, the act of having all the strengths of a frightening stranger laid bare for him like that. And – and the last thing he needs is another enemy. Not when the ones he already has are too great. Not when this former-human, new and untransformed, could go and tell others what he'd witnessed. Not when circumstance could guide him straight to those Diavolo despises most, not when he has given no reason to be trusted. He could be forging an enemy himself with his actions. Maybe it's already too late.

He doesn't want to step away, lest the boy flee out of sight in the space created, never to be seen again, but he does pull back, breaking the stare that is stressful enough for him. There's no telling how it makes the other feel when being grabbed was enough to set him off. If it was him pulled aside by a monster twice his size... he'd be out of his mind with fear.]

My kind are not nearly as animalistic as some of the others. [He starts slowly, finding it hard to speak. But he swallows, and continues.] No claws. No fangs. Just – just the horns, and the wings, and the tail. Everything else I have is – is magic. Light, and lightning. [And woefully unpracticed and unrefined, but as reassuring as that may be to hear, it isn't something he'll readily admit.] I – I won't touch you. I can... stay further away, if that's what you want.

[Is that what she'd told him? It seemed to spring up so naturally from her. But for him, the words are strained and so very difficult to find.]

[bleeditout]

[ Misha doesn't understand what brought on the sudden shift in this man's posture, or the way he holds his hands out. Even if he doesn't back away from Misha, not entirely, he does move enough to give him some breathing room. He doesn't understand what the intentions are – whether they're to lull him into some false sense of security or if they're genuine, if he's trying to be reassuring. ]

Your kind. What do you mean?

[ If the words sound accusatory, it's unintentional. Though Misha is used to conversations about my kind this and your kind that – narrow divisions between their kind, lines drawn in the sand, sides taken. He's always hated it. How is he supposed to just pick a side when you walk down the middle, when neither side wants or accepts you. ]

If you're not a demon then what the hell are you? I've never… [ Though he seems calmer now he has more space; he's still pulling away from the man, leaning himself further back into the wall. A clear indication of Do. Not. Touch. ] I've never seen anyone like you before.

[fateschosen]

"Nephilim" are what we're called. I... I've only met one other like me.

[And that, it seems, was only a temporary thing. Every time they met, he was something different.

Diavolo sees the signs of defensiveness, of this boy wanting to curl in on himself, secure and away. His every action speaks loud and clear, and Diavolo tries to ease his posture into something less towering. But still, he doesn't budge.]

Others have called me an "angel" ... and, I suppose, the superficial similarities to mythology do exist. The wings, the halo, the eyes... but the tenuous connection dies out there. I serve no gods. This wasn't my original ... existence. I was brought here, and by the powers that exist here, I was fashioned into this.

[He slowly stretches his wings out, just slightly, posturing - not with intent to threaten. His eyes dart over the boy's face again, just for a fraction of a second.]

And you, I suspect, will soon be made into something new as well.

[bleeditout]

Nephilim…

[ he mumbles more to himself than to this so-called angel.

What a laughable concept, that this man is no demon but rather an angel. That he says there are others like him, yet unlike him. When he moves slowly, stretches out his wings; Misha's eyes flicker over them in a panic, pressing himself once more against the wall. This Nephilim says he won't hurt him, but this display is sending him mixed messages, reads like a clear indication of threat. ]

What do you mean– Who brought you here? Why would I be made into something different?

[ Keep him talking. That's all he can do, just keep him talking until he can make a run for it. ]