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graveyardsmash2022-01-14 03:47 pm
ryslighelpers) wrote in graveyardsmash2022-01-14 03:47 pm
Entry tags:
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.
no subject
That doesn't make any sense.
[As much as Spike would also like to be mad, there are more pressing matters at hand. Without asking for Vicious's help, he swats at Vicious in a gesture to get him out of the way, and then starts trying to shove the gravekeeper's massive body into the hole behind him.]
I wasn't anywhere near here— or you, or her, or anyone— before... before I passed out, I guess.
[He pauses in his efforts to pant a little in pain and exhaustion, looking around at the graveyard again.]
And where the [huff, huff] where the hell is this anyway?
[He can't stop thinking about those sounds. What the hell is that?]
no subject
[Gesturing at the grave, and only just now realizing that the tombstone does, in fact, have his name on it. He squints, frowns, but otherwise chooses to continue on, only to be swatted at in a frustratingly familiar manner.
Jeez, fine, he'll move.
Vicious rounds the grave to the other side, keeping distance between them. The thought that Spike might decide to push him in next seems feasible enough; it's not like he's forgotten what their last interaction entailed. He rubs at his upper arms, huffing into the frigid air, watching the other man struggle to shove the monstrous man into the pit.
He'd offer to assist, but he learned a long time ago not to even bother asking if Spike needed help without his explicit indication. That particular point of contention didn't make much sense to Vicious, but it's much easier to just sit by and watch than to get his head bitten off.]
I'm sorry-- hold on. What do you mean you weren't-- [He tilts his head with an incredulous glare.] You survived that drop?
cw: emetophobia
[He's really beginning to wonder when the fuck this ride gets to end.
He continues shoving the guy into the grave, and when he manages to push the guy over, the strain overwhelms Spike with a sense of nausea. It's a quick, fluid motion, but Spike bends himself over that grave too and, well, loses the alcohol he'd pumped in his body before they'd gotten here. He's been doing too much for too long now to just carry on with that alcohol in his body and not expect anything to happen.
Which is a weird detail he's going to have to ignore for now. How would he still be so drunk and yet have had the time for Julia— or anyone— to halfway bury him? And why are the wounds in his shoulders still so fresh?]
Fucking shit.
no subject
[Spike's sudden alcoholic upheaval catches him off guard, having Vicious turning his head-- closely followed by his whole body-- to avoid having to witness whatever else comes out of him. It's not that he necessarily has a sympathetic stomach or anything, but he's pretty sure nothing would come out even if he did.
Yuck.]
Christ. Are you alr-- [No, he doesn't care if he's alright, dammit. He clears his throat, glancing back over his shoulder, knuckles curled against his lips.] --done?
no subject
He sits back on his knees, then, looking up at the sky, and taking in a deep breath.]
God, I wish I was dead.
[He's not that lucky, however.]
This isn't you? You're not connected to this at all?
no subject
[Vicious turns to face him again, jaw set half open, hands moving to his hips as he glares daggers across the mouth of the grave. His head tilts slowly in complete and utter disbelief. Does Spike even have eyes?]
Oh, yes, Spike, you caught me. [Ah, there's the ire. He spits the name, sneering and rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms once again. The human embodiment of indignation.]
I'm the mastermind. Teamed up with George Fucking Romero for the whole production! Just thought I'd roll around in mud and gore while I waited on you to wake up. Thought it'd be a nice fucking touch--
no subject
Who the fuck is George Romero?
no subject
[He sucks in a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth drawn in a straight line. How could he have forgotten what an idiot you are, Spike? It's one of your defining features!
Yes, he remembers that you didn't get to watch movies growing up, but damn you'd think you would have internalized at least one of his horror film infodumps--]It has to be Julia. [Her name is sour on his tongue. She will pay for this.]
Who else would have that just, on hand? They're not cheap. [Again, gesturing to his headstone.]
Did yours have one, as well?
no subject
He can't tell Vicious that.]
Yeah. Forgot about that.
Well, it was a shit plan, then.
[He starts to push himself to his feet, and once he's back upright, he starts walking toward Vicious.
..And past him. Just kind of limping off toward the graveyard gate.]
I'm getting out of here.
[No reason to stick around, no reason to subject each other to their own presences....]
no subject
[He opens his mouth to continue, but closes it abruptly once Spike starts towards him. His brows raise more the closer he gets, bewildered by his approach-- up until he realizes that there's no reason for his concern. Spike is just on his way... elsewhere?]
To where? We don't even know where we are-- [And the distance between them begins to grow again, Vicious remaining firmly in place as he watches the other man limp away. Fine for him, it's not like he needs Spike to figure out why they're here. If Julia is behind this, it's his own battle to fight, after all. He'll get to the bottom of this on his own.]
Asshole.
[Another roll of his eyes, and Vicious turns his back to him, peering down into the pit with a frown. The mass at the bottom of the hole is stirring, somehow, and Vicious isn't interested in sticking around to figure out why or how that could be possible. Nothing human would have been able to survive that kind of head trauma.
He turns on his heels and starts after Spike, his stride just slightly less pathetic than his former partner's, but still making it more difficult to catch up than he would be proud of admitting.]
Wherever we're going, I'd suggest we go faster? Perhaps?
no subject
The last thing Vicious says gets him to at least turn his head, and he does so in feigned shock.]
We? Oh, so it's we now?
no subject
[Yes, yes, he gets it, Spike hates him, he ruined his life, etc. Whatever. They're both at fault here and he will die on that hill. What he won't do, though, is die in this graveyard. Sorry Spike, but his natural inclination is still to at least warn you, whether or not you'll appreciate it or even bother to heed the warning. It's not his problem, after all...
Vicious tosses his head to glance behind them, noting the giant hands clawing at the mouth of his grave, the creature's head already coming into view. Shit.
Finally reaching him, he places a hand between Spike's shoulder blades and pushes as he walks, hopefully to encourage him to pick up the pace.]
If you want to fall behind and get mauled by the Undertaker, by all means, be my guest. If you don't, however, I'd suggest picking your feet up. We've got company.
no subject
Not again. Not this shit. Not this clown-motherfucker shit!
Spike's pace does pick up, and he looks at Vicious with raised brows and shoulders and a— right, actually, Vicious is running from this too. It connects that Vicious probably can't answer him even if he were to question.
One more look over his shoulder and Spike also reaches out to hurry Vicious, tapping at Vicious's arm as he begins to break out in a somewhat panicked jog. He looks not at Vicious now but at the gate ahead of them, eyes widening with alarm.]
no subject
Really, though, Vicious was just kidding about the Romero thing! He didn't think they were actually going to be living some Night of the Living Dead bullshit today!
He doesn't need visual confirmation from behind to know they were less than a hundred feet from fucked. Spike has actually started limp-jogging and the look on his face tells Vicious all he needs to know. Instinct tells him to stay behind Spike, to cover his back if the bellowing bastard behind them gets too close. One of them is more injured than the other, and honestly he wouldn't feel right letting Spike die under these circumstances. That particular privilege belongs to Vicious and Vicious alone, after all.
The gate is getting closer, but the thundering footsteps behind them are, too.]
Go, go, go--!
no subject
He pushes past the pain, pushing into that stride. They have to get away from whatever the fuck this guy is, and they have to do it now, have to get past that gate and see the world beyond the fog.
Lights diffuse in the fog in the distance, and he keeps his eyes on them like they're a lighthouse.
Their legs cross the gate like a finish line, and Spike takes in a deep breath of damp air, and the world begins to clear up further.
The city they are running into is not Tharsis. It is not any city on Mars. The streets are paved in a way Spike doesn't recognize, and plants shoot up between the cracks in the road beneath their feet.]
no subject
He doesn't have time to think about any of it too hard, though. He whips his head around toward the gate, reaching out for Spike preemptively to push him along again, but pauses when he realizes...
There is no one there. Nothing is following them.
Where... did the grave keeper go?]
What on earth...? He-- he was right behind us. You saw him too, right? It wasn't-- it wasn't just me.
[Please, he needs to make sure he's not gone completely off his rocker. It's been a rough several days, okay--]
no subject
[Pants Spike, just as confounded by the monstrous man's disappearance, whipping his head around to check— and then, finally, taking the moment to rest his hands on his knees and just breathe. Fuck, he's in pain, and fuck, this is weird.]
What the hell is— [huff, puff] going on?!
[And, as Spike looks around them, his pitch raises in exasperation.]
Where the hell is this place?!