aftr_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME ( 014 )

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TEST DRIVE MEME ( 014 )

Test Drive Meme #14

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 August 17th, and Applications on August 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.

One Magic Night
The waves are aglow. That might not be the first thing you notice when you wake, but it will probably draw your attention at some point: the way the sea foam glistens with an effervescent light as it rinses the beach in a crystalline, deep blue shimmer. Further out, lurid explosions of color ripple soundlessly beneath the waves - an underwater fireworks show. The atmosphere is peaceful, a blissed-out calm to suit the lazy lap of the surf-spray against the sand.

Maybe turning around will shed a little more light on the situation. What this is, in fact, is the echo of a celebration that was held on Ensō back in June. Torches and campfires crackle with a merry, companionable blaze, and there is food and drink in abundance - including some of the alcoholic persuasion, for those of you who are over the age of twenty-one.

There is, naturally, all sorts to do in a celebration like this. Friendly sparring matches have sprung up along the shoreline; beach cushions and blankets decorate the party site; coconut shells laden with bioluminscent body paint can be dipped into at will, if you fancy shining like a glowstick throughout the artificial night.

Just because you've got no idea how you got here doesn't mean you can't enjoy a good party while it lasts, right?

Growing Pains
The island you've ended up on today is very, very beautiful, particularly if you're a botanist: it's covered in flowers of all sorts. They grow in rich clumps, seemingly at odds with any sense of convention. Here, you can find common dandelions flowering alongside tropical strelitzias, snowdrops spangled beside water lilies. No matter the impossibility of it, despite the discrepancies of seasons and temperatures in which these specimens should be blooming, you'll find that nearly every species can be found represented, flowering in tandem. It's gorgeous. Breathtaking, even.

There's only one problem.

That problem being that the flowers are growing out of you as well.

As might be obvious, this is not exactly a pleasant sensation. There is, in fact, a full list of rather painful symptoms that has been very well-documented of late. All you have to worry about in particular, however, is what has caused these flowers to take root in you in the first place:

Lies.

Is there something you need to get off your chest? Some confession that's aching to be made? Some guilt or regret that you've repressed, that's been dragging you down for years?

Then you'd better get to it. Those flowers aren't leaving unless you spill. And if you'd rather not, well...they're more than happy to fertilize the earth with what's left of you.

Hoo Ha Ha
Stop us if you've heard this one: you and some stranger wake up on a boat. There are no landmasses in sight, and nothing as far as the eye can see but lapping waves and a peaceful, periwinkle, cloudless sky. It's good weather for sailing. Perfect, in fact. There's even a tight breeze that might helpfully guide you along.

The punchline, of course, is the fact that you're surrounded by sharks.

Sorry, did we say sharks? We meant tigersharks, of the most literal sort possible. Part fish and part feline, these dual-headed beasts are summarily more naturally carnivorous and more aggressive than your bog standard tigers or sharks. They're wickedly fast in the water, and just as lethal on land.

And they're currently trying to climb aboard; armed with four sharp-clawed legs, they're more than capable of doing exactly that unless you can fend them off.

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[The water washes in slow and lazy, stopping just a few inches away from a set of paws in the sand. A German Shepherd stands, relaxed and only a little bit damp from waking up so close to the water, ears pricked forward as he watches the colors swirl in the water. He's seen glowing water, but never this bright and never blue. It's...peaceful, to watch. That's something he isn't accustomed to. There are strange sights, smells, and sounds to be investigated, but for now you can find Dogmeat planting his butt in the sand and following the swirling colors in the surf with his nose.]

[Eventually, the smell of food and strange people is too much to resist. Dogmeat trots right into the thick of things, sniffing at people and plates like he has belonged here all along. An unattended plate of grilled fish is overturned and suspiciously clean (shiny, even) by the time he trots away from it.]

[It's more colorful and less tense than Diamond City. The atmosphere is one of joy and celebration rather than constant vigilance and fear. The guilt he feels for being transported so far from Preston Garvey in his time of need wanes quickly as he finds a coconut shell full of some kind of soup (whatever it is, it's delicious). After all, it's not like he came here intentionally. This was just the next chapter in his story. There would be another person who needed him. Garvey and the settlers would just have to hold their own for a bit.]

[Licking unfamilair spices from his lips and nose, this dog seems to be having the time of his life.]

Edited 2018-08-14 14:25 (UTC)

[Chip comes across Dogmeat in the middle of his, ah...inspection of some of the fish, a cup of spicy drink in their hands and glowing paint all over their face. They blink in surprise for a moment to see...an entirely normal dog. No magic, no weird bits attached, no hybridization with anything else.]

[Just a dog.]

[A very good dog.]

Ohmigosh--hey, hey boy, c'mere! [Chip immediately rushes forward to put a hand out to Dogmeat in that half-careful way that kids so often do, their face broken out into a giddy and utterly delighted grin.] 'Re you friendly? It's okay, buddy!

Edited 2018-08-15 05:44 (UTC)

[Dogmeat looks up, ears pricked forward with interest. Ah, there's his first contender for the "protecc" list. A child, so rare to see a healthy and living one alone in the Commonwealth. Truly this place is either careless or considered very safe. He's thinking the latter at the moment - you don't throw a party when your life is in danger, after all.]

[He doesn't have to sniff their hand to figure out they're no threat to him right now so he gives it a reassuring lick or two and wags his tail lazily as a promise that he's no threat either. Hm. This is no ordinary human - for one they do not taste like radiation and dust, for another, they have a strange underlying vibe. But for now, he'll reserve judgement. Maybe he can score some pets or treats, plus he has a little direction in this strange new land now.]

[Just as soon as Dogmeat has finished his licks Chip is already reaching up to scratch and rub behind his ears, laughing and getting on their knees to bury their hands in his fur. How long has it been since they got to play with a normal dog? Sure, Ammy is great and they love her, but you can't really play fetch with a god.]

Ohhhh, you're a good dog! A good, fluffy dog, yeah! D'you got a name, where's your owner? [Chip looks around for a moment, but when no people nearby seem to be paying special attention they switch to checking for a collar or any sort of nametag.]

[Ah, this level of affection is unfamiliar, but welcome.]

[Dogmeat's tail picks up speed and he pants excitedly, leaning into Chip's touch. It's so different from the brief scritches and pats he usually receives. So happy and unrestrained. Hopefully his eyes convey the promise he's just internally made to never take advantage of the openness he's being shown.]

[At the question, he lets out a soft whine. No owner, no. Mama Murphy said it best: You can't chain down a free spirit like that. Maybe he did, once upon a time. But even then, his relationship with his "owner" was open and built on mutual understanding. Two drifters that drifted together. And that's not to say Dogmeat isn't the most loyal dog in the Commonwealth - it's simply that his loyalties lie wherever they need to at the moment. He has a knack for finding people who need him.]

[There's no collar or tag to identify him. He can't remember who gave him the name "Dogmeat" anyway - it's a disposable title that his companions passed on to each other and tacked to him automatically. In other words: You get to name him, Chip!]

[Honestly, Dogmeat is welcome to take advantage just as much as he likes--if there's one thing Chip never gets tired of, it's showering animals with all the affection and love they can.]

[The whine and lack of tag on him makes Chip's expression fall. Poor thing, is he all on his own? They go from scratching behind his ears to petting down along the neck and shoulder, smoothing down any ruffled up fur.] 'Re you a stray, then? Poor buddy...hey, can I call you that? You wanna be Buddy?

[Maybe it's silly to ask a dog like that, but birds back home have responded and understood sometimes, and it just feels natural to Chip. Definitely easier than talking to people, that's for sure.]

[Buddy. Yeah, it has a nice ring to it! He's been called that in the past, just as a nickname, but he certainly wouldn't mind being called that now. Dogmeat plants his butt in the sand, tail wagging loosely. Yeah, Buddy was just fine with him.]

[The implication that he's a stray gives him a little pause. It gives him something to think about - ownership, what that might mean, what a lack of it meant...strange things for a dog to be contemplating. But he's always been a little more than just a dog, hasn't he? He's something just a tiny bit extra.]

[Dogmeat licks his nose and resumes panting.]

[Guzma is familiar with this place, now that he's witnessed it several times. The dream-like scapes often herald newcomers to the islands, though the memories can be as fleeting as a real dream, and faces and names blue together in the waking world, further marred by the time in between. What he is happy to notice, however, is the lack of flowers covering his body - seems Mu is a little more hospitable in that sense, or just brought him back to one of the more serene, and just downright fun, days spent on Enso.

Guzma remembers this, and his lips curl as all the fond memories come swimming back - the partying, the food, painting faces and fake tattoos on little Jormun kids with that fluorescent body paint (and stashing some for himself), feats of strength, music and song...it was great. He's just found one of the more large beach rugs, tempted to nestle himself in with a good amount of pillows and let the rolling sounds of waves, music, laughter, and the crackle of fires lull him into the first restful slumber he's had all week, but a wet, loud snuffling meanders his way.]

Wha--yo, hey! [He jerks up a bit, a little startled to find a...dog? It's certainly a dog, but none of the ones he recognizes, considering the breeds he knows are all pokemon. Th only one he likens Dogmeat to is--] ...Houndour. Huh.

[He flicks his wrist with a whistle, palm open for the mutt to sniff. Guzma's fond of bug types, yes, it's his favorite type...but. If he had to be totally honest, he has a soft spot for the skull dogs, given his whole aesthetic.]

[It's easy to be distracted by all the sights, sounds, and smells around him, but Dogmeat knows a good whistler when he hears one. It's a nice, assertive whistle. Even before he sees the man doing the whistling, he knows it's someone who can take care of themselves. And that intrigues him.]

[Guzma looks totally unlike anyone he's ever encountered before. The Commonwealth was a very...dusty, brown place. Such contrast and individuality would have made him a target there. But as Dogmeat sniffs at his palm (and sneezes into it, after inhaling some of the sand on his nose - enjoy your dog snot) he gets the impression that this man is a very unique, very unusual case. Given his confidence and the way he seems to own the space he occupies, Dogmeat makes an immediate decision to like Guzma.]

[He's his own man. Just like Dogmeat is his own dog.]

[And with that decision comes the planting of his butt in the sand with his tongue hanging out, wagging cheerfully. For good measure, Dogmeat demonstrates his talkative nature and barks once, as if to say "Hello! I like you!"]

[EW??? Guzma's nose scrunches up a little - because gross - and he hastily wipes the dog snot off on the thick rug under him. That's nasty, pup, but he doesn't exactly blame it.

Though it does solidify his love for bugs a whole lot more.]

[However, despite the grossed out look on his face, Guzma does reach back out for the doggo and begins to roughly scratch around the base of one ear with his large hands. He's used to roughhousing with his pokemon, so the touch is fond and affectionate, but there's a strength in how he digs his fingers into that coarse fur, tousles it a bit, and whaps those bat-like ears playfully.]

Sup, dog? You here all by yourself or y'all got an owner out there somewhere? [His second hand comes up on the opposite side, repeating the action as a grin begins to creep its way onto the man's face. Nanu and Ren can have their cats, he has always been far more fond of the canine variety for the more 'fuzzy' sort of pet, if he had to choose.] Dang, but you're funny looking... Not like any dog I know, but close 'nuff to a Houndour to make it count, yeah.

[Dogmeat whines softly at the question, even as he leans into the scritches. Plenty of friends, plenty of enemies. But an owner? Nah. It's not like that. Can't chain down a dog like him. Not anymore, anyway. And especially not here, somewhere that is clearly not the Commonwealth, where he knows nobody and nothing about anything yet.]

[Strange as it may sound, the roughness behind the gesture is appreciated. He can handle it - he's handled much, much worse - and he even roughhouses back by playfully chewing on the arm nearest his mouth. Dogmeat isn't biting down or anything, just sticking his open mouth all over Guzma's arm. Batting a big, clumsy paw over the other arm. Wagging up a storm.]

[Wherever this place is, it's got good people so far. Strong people. His kind of people.]

[Oh no, this big, precious, dumb mutt is exactly the kind of goofy fluffball that Guzma adores. His muscles tense only for a moment when the canine shoves his arm in its mouth, but he relaxes when he realizes it's just being playful and mouthy. Not like those shadowy dog-like monster when the sun went out... THis is a true to form Good Boy. Though, uh, he's going to have to thoroughly wash that arm free of all that drool...lovely.]

Hey now, Houndour, my arm ain't no stick. How 'bout you chew on a couple'a these while I find one, yeah? [Guzma reaches over his other side and drops a few rib bones in front of the dog. He's uh...not sure if it'll eat them - or even if it should - but it's all he has right now.

Until he can find something suitable to play fetch with this cute pupper.]

[Any arm is a stick if you believe, Guzma.]

[But the bones are interesting enough to get Dogmeat to relent and sniff at them. It's an unfamiliar scent - one not tainted by radiation and mutation, though he has no way to know that specifically. No point of reference for "clean" meat. But hot dang they taste good when he actually licks one in testing - and Dogmeat wastes no time in flopping down to indulge himself more heartily.]

[Even as he gnaws and savors the new flavor, he watches Guzma curiously. If Dogmeat had to make a comparison to something he was familiar with, he would probably call him a mercenary of some sort. Tough and confident, but not insane like a raider. Not heartless like a Gunner, but no goody-two-shoes Minuteman, either. So Merc it is, until further notice.]

[Pleased that the dog has taken his offering, Guzma lifts up from his spot and searches about for a good, sturdy stick. It's not that hard to find, thankfully, there's pieces of driftwood - bleached white and dry as a bone itself - gathered by the Jormun to use as kindling for the many small bonfires going around the shore. He whistles again for his new, furry friend and pats his thighs.

One wave of the stick in his hand and a bright smile on his face is clear enough - fancy a game of fetch, Fido? Guzma's got one hell of a throwing arm, and that's not just because he's a big, brawny ass motherfucker. Pokemon Trainers just know how to throw shit accurately, it just comes with the territory, really.]

C'mon, mutt, let's see how fast and far y'all can run, yeah? Go long!! [And he's chucking that stick with all his might.]

[Oh hell yeah!! Dogmeat is so good at fetch, ya boy doesn't even know. Granted usually when someone says "fetch" to him, they're asking him to find them some sweet loot, not retrieve a stick. But Guzma doesn't know about his special talent yet.]

[So the bones are abandoned with alarming speed as soon as the stick leaves his hand. The dog is on his feet and hauling tail across the sand within seconds. It takes a few bounds to get his footing in the shifting sand, but once he finds it, it's a long and steady stride carrying him across the beach.]

[It's one hell of a throw and he can respect that. He skids to a halt in front of the stick, kicking up sand as he does so, and grabs it in strong jaws. The run back is a little more relaxed, making sure he doesn't pick up so much speed that he has to skid again and cover Guzma with sand. Slowing to a trot, he drops the stick at Guzma's feet with a bark of self-approval, panting gleefully all the while. He thought that was pretty good; what about you, Merc?]

[Dang, this dog is sharp. Guzma looks absolutely tickled when the canine forgoes its meal and actually tears off running after the stick he's thrown for it. He laughs as it fumbles in the sand - that's cute - and waits for it to come back. He's expecting a fight to get the stick back, but it happily drops the object at his feet and expects another round. He's impressed - the mutt definitely belongs to someone out there, if it's so well trained.

He crouches down, giving this good, good dog a nice rubdown of scratches and pets, digging his meaty fingers into the nooks and crannies of its ears and just being so, so happy. Guzma is very clearly charmed by this pup, and he's got half a mind to take it home with him by the end of the ni--ah...wait.]

There's a good boy!! Dang, you better show up for real or I'm gonna be disappointed. Always wanted a Houndoom for my own. [He chuckles, picking up the stick again and waggling it. Another round, doggy? Guzma's got the endurance to toss that stick a few more times if you're ready to chase after it again.] Ready, boy?

[If that stick is flying, so is Dogmeat. Careful, Guzma...he'll play fetch until your arm falls off if that's what you wanna do.]

[Or rather, he would, if it weren't for the intriguing smell of something he has definitely never encountered before. A sweet smell, with hints of bitterness and that weird medicinal tang that accompanies things like homemade stimpaks and rad-x. Instead of skid-sliding into another sick stick grab, Dogmeat leaps over the spot it's landed in and heads for the treeline.]

[Yeah, that's about what he thought. A coconut sits half-buried in the dirt, top half slightly separated from the bottom. Leaves protrude from the crack between the two sections, leaves that Guzma might even recognize as medicinal.]

[He stands over the strange container and barks repeatedly, ears straight up and tail held in a steady neutral position.]

[Dogmeat found something.]

[Guzma's endurance is pretty high up there, Fido, he may have you panting pretty soon. Guzma's always wanted a Houndoom - they're perhaps his favorite pokemon that isn't a bug type - and he's pleased as heck to get to play with a canine that shares a similar enough look to its pre-evolved form that he's raring to go for a while. Besides, the wait between his throws is enough rest to at least get some of his breath back.

However, when the dog goes racing past the stick he's thrown, Guzma blinks, somewhat shocked, and stands up. Uh oh, did the dog spot something else that's he's ready to chase? Hopefully not any of the baby turtles that were scuttling about the shore months back, otherwise these dreamy versions of the Jormun were probably going to smack his nose with one of their clubs or sticks. Gotta avoid that... Guzma's already grown fond of this dog - and he'd rather not encourage them picking on little critters.]

Hey there, Houndour, what'cha got? [He's uh...he's definitely seen this plant before - his mom was a really good gardener, and even had pursued opening up a flower shop at one point, before...things happened. However, he's never developed the green thumb like his mom did. He may recognize it, but only on a base level. PLus, Guzma's been adverse to flowers since...yeah. A few weeks ago.] Hey, homie, don't go sniffing at any weird plants, yeah?

Lemme see here... [Idly, he scratches the dog behind the ear and looks at the herbs, wondering if they could be taken back with him.]

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TEST DRIVE MEME ( 014 )

Dogmeat | Fallout 4

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