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

Spike Spiegel | Netflix Cowboy Bebop

[antigravitygroove]

I. Six Feet Under

[Spike wakes all at once with the same amount of force one has when breaking the surface of water for a breath after what feels like hours of nearly drowning, a rush of brain-simulated voices calling his name, the sensation of crashing through glass, the image of someone beautiful with golden hair like a halo looking down at him from that shattered glass. It's all noise and overstimulation, and then suddenly, quiet.

He sits up straight, breathing in— and then immediately coughs when part of what he breathes in is loose dirt. Loose dirt? Why? Spike is indeed still drunk, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath, but he doesn't remember being so drunk that he'd fall into a fucking pit. On his hands and knees he crawls until he's standing, then hops to get a grip of the ledge, but as he starts to pull himself up and out of the dirt, he's overwhelmed by a number of sensations.

First of all: it's really cold. Far from Mars's ideal 72°F, Spike is sent a half-sobering chill down his spine. Second, there's mist, which isn't an entirely new experience but is again, a pretty rare occurrence for any terraformed colony. But the third and most foreign thing to Spike right now is the sound. It's so loud out here, the actual outside is loud. There's a buzzing that doesn't quite sound like a computer or a generator or neon lighting, something rhythmic and repetitive that Spike only recognizes from recording old friends used to play.

Is that... bugs? Is he on Earth, maybe?

Spike pulls himself out fully, taking in the scene around him, and after a quick rotation concludes that despite looking like it's out of an ancient movie, this is in fact a graveyard.]

...What the fuck?

[He's really not having a great time of it, and that doesn't improve when he hears the rush of wind coming off the swung shovel of the gravekeeper who's approached behind him. Spike catches the handle of the shovel, bending to avoid the impact, and stares behind him, affronted and confused by the sudden aggression. But as quick as he is on impulse, he's still in a fuck ton of pain from his recent escapades, and looks just about as good as he feels; now covered in grave dirt in addition to blood and cuts.]

Sir, I really don't want to do this right now.

[Complains Spike, but his aggressor is relentless. The gravekeeper tears the shovel away from Spike's aching hands, and takes another swing.]

Then get back in your grave for good!

[It might be easy to think Spike can't take this guy alone judging by how beaten and broken he looks— regardless... he'll probably eagerly accept a helping hand.]

II. Buggy

[There is nothing more that Spike wants to do than become a. drunk and b. imperceivable. He would like nothing more than to crawl back into that grave and be alone, but it's cold, and Spike would very much like to find some slightly warmer awning to be under. Perhaps hide out in a hotel bathroom.

But there's a few problems with that. First of all; this place looks like some kind of renaissance festival town to him; not an inch of proper technology in sight. Which means the bathrooms can't be all that good, he's assuming. Second of all, people will not leave him the fuck alone!]

Look, I'm telling you, I don't have any idea what's going on— I'm just trying to find a hotel.

[Spike asserts, squinting in ire at the brightness of the fog-cutting street lights over a constant stream of questions from the small group of people surrounding him. They don't give any particularly helpful answer, instead firmly confusing him with mentions of him being a brand new monster and attempting to inspect his fluffy curls.

Annoyed, Spike swats at them, not really attempting to hit very hard— but his motion knocks one of the figures off balance, and the pile of bugs in a man-suit goes tumbling to the ground, separating into a pile of bugs that seem to giggle as they skitter away. Spike jolts straight, letting out a yelp, and in his attempt to get himself as far away from these strange alien shapes, he backs up into another one of the bug-people. This time the cluster leaps to Spike's shoulder, and he once again shouts, shrugging them off and this time taking a much more clear path. Just when he thinks he's gotten away, though, he feels something on his leg, looking down just in time to see one of those bugs waving a greeting as it crawls up his leg.

The tired, frazzled, injured bounty hunter hops on his free leg, trying to shake the parasite (for which he has no frame of reference as a creature at all) off of him. When he's finally successful in flinging the bug feet away from him (with absolutely no care for if the damn thing hits anyone else) Spike notices that... no one else seems nearly as offended by this as he is. And that is all the more terrifying.]

What— what the fuck is that?!

[He practically demands, pointing at the skittering parasite— unsure how anyone else can be so calm. Of course, everyone else actually has a frame of reference for what kind of bugs those even are.]

one

[ikutachi]

[ Wakaba was more than happy to sneak out. Crouched behind gravestones, mentally glancing across each name as she goes past to find any familiar names. Sprinting is out of the question; her skin still stings across the ghost of burns. The edge of the forest is in range. She can leave.

But there's shouting. Someone else wasn't fast enough. A person needs help, so now it's suddenly her business.

The first glimpse Spike gets of her is probably not very reassuring. Some small schoolgirl covered in bloodstains, cowering behind a headstone with a bouquet of flowers she filched from some grave. It's thrown at the gravekeeper's head right when he goes to take a swing. ]

He said he doesn't want to! Leave him alone!

[ The schoolgirl also has a face on like she will absolutely suplex a gravekeeper. A foot taller than her. Somehow. Spike even gets the universal hand-shoo of "jfc run away you innocent moron". The shame will haunt him for eternity. ]

[humblecowboy]

[There's a lot of assumptions Spike can make in such a short amount of time, but neither he nor the gravekeeper are immune to the element of surprise. Both of them stare at Wakaba in confusion— though the gravekeeper admittedly seems way more aggressive about it— and try to process just what the hell this girl thinks she's doing.

The gravekeeper decides the annoyance is enough that he'll turn his attention to Wakaba, now, spitting out a curse and the beginning of a threat as he raises his shovel again. That gives Spike's braincells enough time to catch up, and he isn't about to watch this man body what he perceives as a little girl.

Spike uses the distraction, raising his arms for balance and spinning on his heel to kick the shovel out of the gravekeeper's hands, sending it spiraling into the grave, and knocking the gravekeeper off balance. The sharp move seems to aggravate Spike's prior injuries though, and he buckles, going down to his knees while the gravekeeper teeters on the edge of the grave.

...This, of course, leaves a very open and easy opportunity for either of them to just.... shove the man in.]

[ikutachi]

[ For a second, she looks about as surprised as the gravekeeper does, but for a vastly different reason. Good form despite how quickly he collapsed. Can probably hold himself fine otherwise - but not now obviously, he made an easier opening, stop thinking and move.

It's nowhere near as fluid as Spike, but she's across the distance in a blink. Grab one arm and the opposite collar, then kick his leg out forward. A textbook judo reap that yeets the guy right into the hole, ass over head.

...Is he dead? What if he broke his neck, she's never done that outside of training, aaaaaaaaaaaaashe should check if he's- wait, no, focus. Adrenaline is still working. A beat after, Spike is at eye level, offering him a shoulder. ] Do you need help moving?

[humblecowboy]

[When Wakaba makes her move, Spike watches, slightly impressed. He isn't afraid to comment on it, interjection a somewhat pained—]

Nice.

[Before turning his attention to her question. Does he need help? No, surely he's still full of enough alcohol to make it through the pain. So rather than answer immediately, Spike shoves himself up as straight as he can, which is still... Kind of slouched.]

Nope... Nah. Just— took a fall, recently.

[He kind of waves at his face as if to gesture for the fall, but it's not really a meaningful movement, and kind of just makes him look like an idiot. He also very clearly has taken more than just a fall, but from the front, Wakaba may not be able to see the bullet lodged in his shoulder blade.

He is completely unconcerned with the grave keeper now that the man seems to be unconscious in his little hole.]

Quick thinking there. Thanks.

[ikutachi]

[ The 'nice' gets a glance away, the most embarrassed "thank you" muttered under her breath, and then going silent when he stands.

It really is an idiot motion. He is absolutely not fine, but it's also absolutely him slamming the door shut on the conversation. A fist tightens. Wakaba has the expression of someone who doesn't believe him. But... Fine. Just this once. She won't. He gets filed under the justification that it'd be mutually assured destruction.

She rises slowly, gingerly stretching as she goes. ] Well. I hope it was a safe trip.

[ Jury's out on if it was a joke or not. The unconscious man gets one more glance - alive, and that's good enough - then the entire situation is written off as Resolved. ] But you're welcome. Glad I could help, sir.

[humblecowboy]

[It almost sounds bitter, but Spike can't help the huff of laughter that escapes him at Wakaba's joke. It's exactly the kind of comment he would make, so he can't actually be mad.]

Thanks.

[There's a million questions he should be asking literally anyone he can right now, such as where the fuck are we? but as the yelling has stopped and the sounds of their environment return, Spike decides to ask something that is only going to make him look like a crazy person.]

Hey, uh, listen, I know we should be getting out of here but if you could tell me one more thing, just— what is—

[he holds up a finger when a cricket again starts croaking nearby, though there's also the sounds of misty day frogs further away.]

Real quick, what the fuck is that sound?

[because right now it is fucking annoying—]

II

[ibalsamina]

[The bug does hit someone else, launched directly into the full-fledged monster who, for better or worse, happens to be standing nearby. At first glance, she is a woman of enviable, sophisticated beauty, but her limbs and nails both seem a touch too long, and she has insect-like features of her own: long antennae sprouting from her head, folded, translucent wings on her back, and skin that shimmers like the chitin of a beetle.

Of course, even being struck by the parasite seems not to perturb her. In fact, she only reacts by calmly, gently removing the creature from her person, setting it down on its insect-feet, and giving it an affectionate pat, looking very much like a doting mother checking in on her rambunctious child. Ultimately, she is more cross at Spike's language than anything else.]

Now, there's no need to be rude... I wonder, do you react to every creature that is new to you by shouting at it?

[She watches the creature skitter about with a fond smile.]

To answer your question, I believe they are simply called parasites... Oh, but don't let the name fool you. I assure you, it is an unfortunate misnomer. The darlings are perfectly harmless.

[humblecowboy]

[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?

[ibalsamina]

[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?

[humblecowboy]

Oh, so this is normal.

[Great! Great. Well, despite being a monster, Lusamine is still a pretty woman offering him some kind of kindness, and Spike simply cannot refuse. Also, he's less drunk than he was before, so the pain he's in is becoming more and more apparent. He nods Lusamine's way before starting to shuffle toward the bench, looking over his shoulder to ask—]

Don't suppose you could give me the rundown, maybe?

[ibalsamina]

By this world's standards, yes. Although, I suppose the parasites are not always so eager to personally welcome our new arrivals... [She had not been aware of their presence at all until a couple of months after her own arrival, after all.] Perhaps there is something particularly special about you, hm?

[This much is said with a disarming little laugh.]

I would be glad to. But first... Why don't you tell me how you got these injuries?

[humblecowboy]

[Spike looks down at himself, contemplating, and decides that actually it's probably fair to ask. That does not mean he gives a real answer, though.]

I ah, fell out a window.

[Not entirely untrue.]

I'll be fine.

[There is literally a bullet still lodged in his shoulder.]

I - please lmk if No Way Home spoilers are ok

[certaininequities]

[Norman looks up from his own mass of tangled thoughts when he hears the commotion from a few rows down. he looks around, then picks up a sizeable rock from the rubble of his upturned grave and lobs it in the gravedigger's direction. unfortunately, without the benefit of the Goblin serum, his throw is neither as strong or as true as he expected it to be, and the stone clatters uselessly off a grave a few feet away from the scuffle.

hopefully, it's still enough to get the gravekeeper's attention away from the tall, skinny man struggling with him. Norman tries to catch his eye in what scant window they have before he's noticed by the gravekeeper, too.]

100%!

[humblecowboy]

[The rock does distract the gravekeeper— and Spike, too, though only long enough so that he gets Norman's drift. While the gravekeeper is looking away, Spike rotates on his heel, delivering a swift and true kick to the gravekeeper's belly, knocking him into the hole he just came out of.

And now there's a yelling angry man in a pit, and Spike is crouched on the ground next to it, groaning in pain. There's probably not much time before the groundskeeper pulls himself out of there, so Spike starts shuffling Norman's way; after all, stranger or not, he's more of an ally than the man screaming obscenities from the grave.]

d ^_^ b

[certaininequities]

[Norman lets out a soft 'hah!' of vicarious triumph as Spike's foot connects, then nods and waves him over before casting around for a few more rocks. a moment later, he's glad he did, as the gravekeeper sits up, back to them, and looks around.

Norman aims his second shot off to one side purposefully this time, and the groundskeeper starts to try and haul himself out in that direction. the grave he's hiding behind is tall and broad, and not his own - plenty of room for two to hide behind, especially when one is as lanky as the fellow heading his way.

Once Spike is close enough to see, Norman flashes him an 'ok' hand signal with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. He can't ask after him aloud, but ... the guy didn't look like he was in great shape. To tell the truth, Norman didn't feel his best, either: after the antidote, he was feeling every kick and punch he'd taken at Ellis Island. They might need to try and sit it out here a minute longer while Spike caught his breath, before really making any sort of break for it...]

[humblecowboy]

[Luckily, Spike's been in enough situations like this to catch Norman's drift pretty easily, slinking over despite the pain he's in. He catches Norman's look, though, and waves his hand as if to wave it off and gesture for Norman to get moving as well; despite the fact there is literally a bullet in his shoulder, he is certain that he has been worse off than this.

That, and he is remarkably unarmed right now. If Mr. Graveskeeper happens to grab a gun, they're a it more fucked than before. So he looks around, catches sight of the graveyard's exit, and points to show Norman where it is.]

[certaininequities]

[Norman rolls his shoulders a little, quickly doing a mental inventory of his aches and pains. They're bad, sure, but not enough to keep him from getting to that gate. He can worry about finding a drugstore with painkillers and icepacks later. For now? They have to move.

He pushes up from the loose, damp ground and keeps as low as he can while he runs, hunkered down, flipping his dark purple hood up over his hair so he's harder to see in the night. The grass and earth are quieter than tarmac or rubble, and he hopes that will work in his favor, though he does almost stumble on a depression in the ground as he passes over a grave. He doesn't have time to look to see who he owes an apology to, but sends one out silently, anyway. His focus is in three places at once already: the gate, Spike, and the groundskeeper behind them with his ominous shovel...

God, even with a bullet in his shoulder, the other guy is faster than him. Norman grits his teeth and tries for a burst of speed, almost wishing he had the serum still in his veins. Almost. Another part of him knows that if the groundskeeper catches him and knocks him down again, drags him into that grave for good ... he'd deserve it.]

[humblecowboy]

[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!

i.

[irkeninvader]

[It's at that moment that a glob of mud splats directly into the gravedigger's face. A triumphant shout rings out:]

Ha-HA! Taste filth, dirt-keeper!

[The source of all this noise is much smaller than perhaps expected: what looks like a young boy around twelve or so, very short and looking wildly confident despite that. He scuttles over to Spike's side, moving more like an insect than a human, and paps at his shoulder impatiently.]

Get moving, before this imbecile recovers!

[humblecowboy]

[One thing Spike is not is mean to kids. That doesn't mean he can't be paralyzed with confusion when such a strange— and loud, did he mention loud?— kid is coming to his... defense.

Does alcohol give you hallucinations? It doesn't, right? And usually hallucinations don't have a feeling when they tap you on the shoulder. He thinks. Do they? Well now Spike is conflicted and— right, there is a task at hand.]

Oh— right. Shit, Uh—

[With little more hesitation, Spike attempts to usher this kid along with him, admonishing as he picks up his pace—]

What the heck are you doing, anyway? That guy's like, ten times your size!

[irkeninvader]

[Despite his stature, the kid in question is surprisingly agile - he scampers right along, more or less keeping pace with the lanky grown man he's chosen to ally himself with. Though he is breathing much more quickly, too. Little lungs gotta work hard.]

H-- How dare you!
He may be tall, but he is nothing I cannot handle!

[Apparently height is a bit of a sore spot. Zim points accusingly at Spike, as he continues.]

You are tall and yet you needed my assistance to escape! Clearly, you humans don't correlate height and greatness!

[humblecowboy]

[Spike's lips draw into a line, but he nods to the side as if conceding that this weird ass kid does have a bit of a point.]

Greatness and risk are two different things!

[he argues, despite his mental concession. Because he always argues.

Looking over his shoulder, he takes in the gait of the now muddier grave keeper, and makes a few decisions. He is taller than this kid, at least, and can use his own weight to throw the grave keeper's around a little bit.]

Hey, stick to the side!

[Spike warns Zim, but doesn't really give him much time before he spins and ducks down, aiming a kick toward the pursuer's feet, and curling up in hopes the grave keeper will simply tumble over him. He's lucky enough that it works, sending the grave keeper sprawling forward onto the ground with his arms just inches from poor Zim. Of course, he is now on the ground, leaving Zim with much more of a chance to place distance between them— and Spike wastes no time with a few well placed steps over the gravekeeper's back and head to run over him.]

Alright, let's— go!

[irkeninvader]

[The warning is appreciated: it gives Zim enough time to make a confused, indignant "eh?!" noise before the action goes down. Immediately, he scrambles out of the way, a little scream punctuating the gravekeeper's fall, but in the end, he's on the ground and Zim is unharmed. With a growly grumbling under his breath, Zim scrabbles up over the fallen human, scampering along his back and hopping off to keep sprinting after his new ally. Combat experience is a plus in any new minion.]

Well done, human! Exactly the maneuver I would have chosen!

[Sure it is.]

I knew you weren't as useless as you appeared! ZIM can see potential even in pathetic Earth-creatures!!

[Are these really compliments...? He's certainly saying them like they are, his tone incredibly boastful. Despite becoming increasingly out of breath, trying to yell and run at the same time.]

Though - I admit - I am unfamiliar with this territory! Where - [he gulps in air, presses one hand to his side and hisses something to himself before continuing:] where are we going?

[humblecowboy]

[Fortunately, Spike's taken a lot of smack-talk in his life. He's... definitely not as used to being on this end, but it's fine.

This kid is just really weird. What's up with this alien roleplay??]

I— I have no idea,

[Spike admits, panting all the same, not bothering to look back this time; as long as they keep going forward, he's sure they'll make it out of the grave digger's reach. But hey, while they're being loud and announcing annoying but relevant inconveniences, Spike will answer with an informative complaint;]

This doesn't look like Tharsis to me!