TEST DRIVE MEME ( 013 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #13

Hello, and welcome to LifeAftr! We’re pleased that you’re expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.

Remember that Reserves will open on July 17th, and Applications on July 24th!

Two important notes:

1. LifeAftr's test drives take place on the island of Mu, which exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences, largely in the form of test drive reward items.

Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat
When you wake, it's to the bucking of tumultuous ocean waves and the heavy sluice of rain. The boat you've found yourself on was probably seaworthy at some point, but it's been wind-battered and weatherbeaten to the point where it's begun, quite steadily, to sink into the choppy waves. Looks like you're all in the same, sinking vessel. To make matters worse, it seems that the storm itself has a nasty sense of humor. It seems almost intuitive in its attempts to toss you from your footing on the deck and into the frothing waters below. Gusts of powerful wind try to tear you from the mast if you climb it, and the boat rocks perilously to try and tip you into the churning waves. Oh, and did we mention the lightning? Because there's lightning, and it seems to have a personal interest in incinerating your pitifully wooden little boat on the spot.

That doesn't mean you're completely helpless. There is an island in sight, one that resembles the waking land of Ensō, albeit somewhat far off, its silhouette fuzzy and indistinct from the curtains of rain. But if you can make it...

Well, anywhere's got to be better than here, right?

Gibbon No Quarter
It's been a year since the first adventurers were initially drawn to Mu's shores, and then, later, to Ensō's. And so, in celebration, the dream-island has cribbed only the best bits of the previous year for prospective explorers to sample on their way in.

Take now, for instance. You'll find yourself in a cage of all things, with the pound of drums and excited hoots of hungry simians to greet you upon waking. This particular breed of monkeys was once unique to Ensō, before travelers were forced to more or less thoroughly exterminate them. Devilishly smart and naturally inventive, gun monkeys are so named for their trademark weaponry - coconut guns, naturally - and their generally cunning capacity to craft tools out of very rudimentary resources. And oh, right - they're also very carnivorous. They've set up a smoking bonfire in the center of the jungle clearing that makes up their temporary home, and if you don't figure out a way to come out of your cage (have you been doing just fine, perhaps?), then you're going to be next on the menu.

Think fast, or work with whoever's nearby, and you might have a chance. Or you could always call for help. That always works out, right?

To Be Continued
Stories, stories, stories. Anyone who's hung around the block for any length of time can tell you, dear newcomers, that those little things are of the utmost importance in this neck of the woods. There's no mistaking the purpose behind this inviting scene - log seats set up around a roaring campfire, and even a packet or two of marshmallows if you're feeling hungry.

It almost might be enough to distract you from the fact that there's no fuel for said fire. And what's more, the darkness surrounding the woodland backdrop is so impenetrable that you may as well be an isolated blot of warmth in an otherwise unforgiving void. And within that void, if you listen close, you might hear something - a snarling, an indistinct rumble of massive jaws parting, hungrily, in search of something alive. If that flame burns out...well, something out there isn't fond of fire, and that's the only thing keeping it from claiming everyone seated here for its own enjoyment. But the good news is that there's a very easy way to keep this fire blazing well through the danger. Can you tell where this is going?

It's stories, of course. Regale us with tales of your past exploits, or with fairytales or nursery rhymes you remember from your childhood. Relay your tales of triumph and of grief, of laughter and of agony, of anything you can possibly imagine. As long as a story of some sort is being told, the fire will burn merrily onward, and the blanket of all-consuming darkness will be kept at bay.

Just try not to embellish too much. If your story is too vague, if it is more lies than it is something genuine, the fire might start to gutter dangerously low as a consequence. And that beast, whatever it is - oh, it's hungry.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

Comments

Luke fon Fabre | Tales of the Abyss

[dupelicate]

1. (DON'T) ROCK THE BOAT

[Everything hits at once.

Luke's eyes open, and his senses, still rousing from whatever dropped them into the sleep, are roundly assaulted. Sea, salt, storm, wet—as if to punctuate the point, a spray of ocean chooses just that moment to belt him across the face with the head of a wave. Gasping, wet, and shivering, he casts his eyes around the deck, attempting to make out the other figures around him.

Everything was wrong. This was wrong. Even if something had happened—if everything had failed—this wasn't even a possible scenario.

Was it?

Stubbornly, he struggles to his feet as much as he can, calling out against the wind:]

Tear? Guy?

Jade?

Anyone!

[It was all wrong.]

2. MONKEY SEE (MONKEY DON'T)

[It's been practically one ridiculous thing after another—but trapped in a cage by grinning, meat-eating monkeys? There was limits to what Luke's (in)dignity could tolerate.

Swordless (and weaponless in general), his frustration vacillates between kicking the wooden bars, and hurling insults at his captors.]

Hey, bananabrain! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Why don't you let me out, and I'll tell you what I think of your accommadation!

[Each sentence is punctuated by a spirited attack on the cage—making some slow progress with each blow.]

3. I (DON'T) WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER

[Stories are swapped back and forth, and for the most part, Luke just listens, strangely silent, zoning out on his own seat. He's got a couple of marshmallows between his fingers, but not doing much else.

It's not until there's a beat, then another, of silence, eyes drawing in on his own presence, that he jerks up, blinking, an abashed look creeping over his face.]

Uh.

What are these?

[He holds up his hands, giving the marshmallows a squeeze for effect.

The fire sputters.

This might take a little time.]

1!!!!

[hyperlit]

[The wind tears at their cloak and very nearly wrenches the Drifter off balance several times. Their progress is slow and painful but nonetheless quite deliberate as they plow across the deck of the boat, barely seaworthy as they suspect it is.]

[They do not like the water, the lashing rain. They hear it: a loud voice, calling out into the wind. Largely a fruitless endeavor. The Drifter cannot speak, and cannot very well answer back. Not verbally.]

[The rain drenches the crimson of their cloak a dark and bloody black, but the stripe of bright blue skin peeking out from beneath their helm is unmistakable.]

[A hand catches Luke's shoulder - dark, gloved, the tips slightly pointed, as though possibly clawed beneath the fabric. Their eyes shine out from the cobalt of their skin, beetle-black and wet-dark.]

[Hey there.]

HELLO

[dupelicate]

[At the touch, Luke jumps involuntarily, whipping around to see who found him--

--only to discover it's no one he knows. Stranger still, unless the color is a trick of the light, they may not even be human. It's a long moment before he realises he's been holding his breath, the storm whipping between the two of them.

He manages to find his voice, to ask the only question he can muster:]

Where am I?

8D

[hyperlit]

[First problem: speaking is not a thing that the Drifter does. It is not, actually, generally a thing they're capable of, really. The object hovering at their shoulder is dark green and the rough size and shape of a soda can, but very assuredly not that at all - particularly when it issues a line of text in the air, superimposed on a translucent pink HUD.]

[They can only hope that the storm isn't so intense that the other party won't be able to read it through the sluice of rain.]

boat

[So helpful! Isn't that helpful?]

[dupelicate]

[Between the lightening flashes and the bucking deck, Luke barely makes out the floating can—some kind of fontech?—before it shoots out its beam of--



--text. Already poised to leap out of its way, he's caught off-guard by its innocent, non-violent nature, and thrown back to his hands and knees, staring up at the Drifter. The content of the message only serves to add irritated insult to injury.]

I know that! I mean, where is this boat right now? Kimlasca? Malkuth?

[There's a nanosecond pause before he blurts out an addendum:]

And don't say sea!

2/2

[dupelicate]

--Or ocean!

[hyperlit]

[They don't recognize either of those names, unfortunately. Don't say sea or ocean, he says, even if the answer would be...accurate.]

[The Drifter's eyes narrow into ink-dark slits, the sole indication of their mild perturbance over those seemingly quite arbitrary stipulations.]

ensō

[So, no, not Kimlasca or Malkuth. Somewhere new entirely. They're presuming it's Ensō, anyway; they're not actually close enough to the incipient landmass to be altogether sure.]

[dupelicate]

[Any perturb on the Drifter's part is either lost on, or ignored by Luke, his own feelings on the situation clearly taking precedence. So when the singular answer appears in the air, his brow knits in frustration and impatience.]

What do you mean, "ensō"?! That doesn't make any sense!

Fine, where on Auldrant are we?

[hyperlit]

[A slow, even blink, as the Drifter contemplates this. This is likely a poor time to engage in an interrogation, but it's clear that they're not going to get anywhere if they don't try to make him understand.]

[And try to understand themself, as well.]

define: auldrant?

[SPEAK ENGLISH, SON. Does this blue motherfucker look like they know what "Auldrant" is?]

[dupelicate]

[As he stares at the answer in front of him, it's as if the noise and motion around him has faded away into white noise. "Define: Auldrant?"]

You don't know?

It's... here. This whole planet.

[The waves crash, sloshing a new flood of saltwater across the deck, but Luke pays it little mind, eyes not leaving the Drifter's face. The seed of doubt unfurls its new leaves.]

Isn't it?

[hyperlit]

[They consider that for the moment. They're personally of the mind that if it were the whole planet, they probably would have heard it by now. Wouldn't they? Yes, they think they would.]

no

[AND WE'RE MOVING RIGHT ALONG PAST THAT SMOKING BOMBSHELL]

[The Drifter instead points to the distant landmass, almost sternly - as if to say Obviously Not You Absolute Fucking Walnut.]

islands
must get there

3

[hotshot_momma]

A kind of candy. Better toasted than raw. Pass me a stick, I'll peel it, then you've got a skewer to toast it.

[This woman... no, probably a girl... flicks open a knife, looking up at Luke, deliberately expressionless. The knife is no threat. Not to Luke.]

Never run into a marshmallow before?

[dupelicate]

[Luke's heard jerks to the voice, and answers, fumbling both words and actions as he gropes around his perch for a suitable stick. Holding it out, he offers:]

Uh,

[Pauses, and shakes his head.]

No. I've never even seen one. Are they from a marsh?

[hotshot_momma]

Originally? God, I... don't even know. I assume it used to be made from a reed and sugar, but...

[She starts shaving bark off that stick, making a point at the end. Thinking. Frowning.]

Well. Didn't use to think about it. As far as I knew, they came in a bag, from a store.

While we're at it, ever run across chocolate? Graham crackers?

[dupelicate]

[Attempting to follow her thought process answers nearly zero questions. Originally? In a bag?? His face screws up in doubt of a pile of the sticky minipillows in a bag—or edible—but voicing this concern is sidelined by the girl's questions. His face brightens up.]

Chocolate, yeah, of course! No idea what kind of cracker flavor graham is, though, sorry.

all of this is true, and also, I'm so sorry

[hotshot_momma]

[...She grins. Ribald. This will end in a bawdy joke, you have been warned.]

Way I heard it, Graham crackers were first made by the eponymous religious nutter - no pun intended - who wanted them to be the Most Boring Flavor of cracker. Bland stuff that's the bare minimum energy you need. So that Graham could avoid his flock getting... distracted. Let's say.

And where I'm from, teenagers at summer camp toasted marshmallows over a fire, used them to melt chocolate between his Thou Shalt Not Sin crackers, and then sneak off to each others tents before the counselors can find them.

[She starts to assemble a smore.]

That part's optional, of course, and that wasn't an offer. I'm just tickled that No Fun Allowed Graham's Crackers completely and utterly fucking failed at what they were supposed to do.

2

[thermalwind]

[They took his gear except for his armor. But in an insult, or what they think is one they tossed the black bayard, a white and black U shaped item, back at him. It's Mu. But he doesn't like what this might mean.

He's kept his temper. He has sat in the back of the cage with his legs folded under him and his eyes shut.]

They're not going to let you out. They're probably goading you so you'll wear yourself out and do their work for them.