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aftr_ooc2019-02-13 08:47 pm
lifeaftr_mods) wrote in aftr_ooc2019-02-13 08:47 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME ( 020 )
Test Drive Meme #20
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.
Due to the shortness of the month, both Reserves AND Applications will open on February 17th!
Two important notes:
Due to the shortness of the month, both Reserves AND Applications will open on February 17th!
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.
Hell's Fury Burns the Heart
Back in December, the island of Maati treated travelers to unique Trials, tailored to their own unique sins and vices. Of the seven possible trials for adventurers to undergo, the Trial of the Forgiving, the trial laser-focused to exploit those most predisposed to be wrathful and violent, was among the simplest. Unlike the other trials, there were very few puzzles and mazes. The Trial of the Forgiving was largely, in essence, a trial of temptation.
This Trial takes the shape of a stone-walled spiral, with trial-goers starting at the outermost point and working their way steadily to the exit at the center. The torches lining the hall as it stretches infinitely onward paints the walls with a warm amber tint, giving the entire place a much more welcoming ambiance than will eventually become evident.
Your task is simple: make it to the end in one piece. All you have to do is withstand the constant harassment from the very, very familiar faces that will stalk you throughout the entirety of this gauntlet. Each specter that appears will be one with which you hold a significant grievance - be it a personal antagonist, a long-standing nemesis, a foe you once faced, or even yourself, if your self-hatred runs that deep.
They want you to attack them. They want you to lash out. In part because all damage you attempt to deal to them will be rebounded back onto you - and whoever might be accompanying you - instead. A poorly-timed attack or well-placed insult might very well be enough to one-shot you, or your companions, into oblivion.
It's a good thing you have, potentially, innumerable chances. Every time you're struck down, you'll simply reappear at the very start of the Trial...and have to start making your way to the end all over again.
The Weakest Link
Once again, Mu has reformatted one of Maati's Trials for its own purposes. This one is based off of the Trial of the Trusting, which focused on building bonds and connections between its victi - er, between its trial-goers. For those prone to paranoia, distrust, or simply being emotionally closed off, this would be the challenge laid out to them: a sequence of puzzles and traps requiring teamwork and faith in one another, at least in the situational sense.
Fortunately - or, perhaps, unfortunately - things here are going to be a little simpler, though you'll still be waking in a tunnel lined with dark green stone, intermittently lit by the odd, irregularly spaced torch. This Trial will make its intentions quite clear from the beginning, for, you see, you're going to be waking up with a friend.
One that happens to be chained, that is. To you.
The path that is open to the pair of you is fairly linear. Its difficulty largely stems from the back that you'll be traversing it as a permanently linked pair. Obstacles present will always be surmountable as a team - switches and levers that might involve two people to reach, doors that require dual switches or buttons to be held down, puzzles that require passing of information between the both of you to expedite progress, and so on. There's also the matter of the Rarriers - ogre-like creatures of large stature and a territorial nature. Those under the keen gaze of a Rarrier will find them impossible to attack; their front hide is as tough as steel, and attacks tend to simply glance off. Their backs and sides are of a much more vulnerable nature, however. If only you could reach...or get someone else to do it for you.
Assuming you're not both sick of each other by the time you reach the exit, you'll be rewarded with the breaking of the cuffs that connect you, symbolizing that a friendship forged is stronger than any iron! Though, by the end...maybe "friendship" isn't the word we'd use.
Well Met
This place is hot, dry, and arid - but at least it's brightly lit! The peach-colored swell of dunes seems to be limitless, in nearly every direction, with the stretch of sand fading seemingly infinitely into the dark, purple line of the horizon. The sun overhead is relentless and sweltering; if you're the sort of person who needs to self-regulate, temperature wise, you might be in for a bit of a problem the longer you're stuck out here. Could be a rough time.
Fortunately for you, there's water. Very nearby, in fact. It's the only deviation from the sea of sand: a dark, circular blot that looks very, very much like a water well. As the only landmark in the vicinity, it seems at the very least worth checking out, right? The closer you get, the less it seems like it might be a mirage, or some other elaborate ruse. It looks like a perfectly normal, unassuming well.
Well mimics are native to the island of Monsun, and they're...well, they're exactly what they sound like. They favor dry, desert-like environments, and hunt by luring travelers and animals alike to the temptingly fresh waters they hold. Mu has been helpful enough to recreate one in vivid detail, just for you.
These creatures are largely tube-shaped animals, buried deep in the sandy earth. They suction fresh water from deep within the earth and hold it in the lowermost parts of themselves. The simple construct that travelers see - the circular, stone shape with the rope and bucket for hauling water - is, in fact, their mouth, carefully adapted to camouflage itself into something that seems perfectly serviceable. Once travelers attempt to grab hold of the rope or bucket, or even the rim of the well itself, they'll discover that the surfaces have all been slicked with a sticky substance that may very well take off a layer of your skin if you attempt to tear away without taking great care.
Once the well mimic has entrapped its prey, the "well" sprouts teeth around its stone rim, lining its rocky gullet all the way to the bottom, as well as a fat red tongue. Rope-like tentacles whip out to seize whatever poor soul has found themselves ensnared. If you don't manage to get free in time, you'll learn just how it feels to be digested over a period of twenty-four hours while your body is broken down into a squishy, delicious mulch for the mimic's consumption.
The best way to kill these creatures is by tricking it into swallowing something lethal - fire, poison, sharp weapons, whatever you have on hand. Well mimics are quite blind and hunt purely by touch, and will seize whatever touches them without any knowledge of what it is. And once it has one victim in hand, it's quite incapable of grabbing hold of another.
( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )
ii...........screAMS......
[There's about two seconds where his ability to process shorts out. When it returns it's to the cycling of what feels like every possible emotion under the goddamned sun, a frantic miasma of relief panic guilt dread regret grief terror and when it stops it stops on confusion because there's no way of knowing who's behind the helmet, who he's talking to, who he's currently - ]
[...handcuffed...to...]
[This complicates things. This complicates a situation that's been made fucking complicated by the presence of someone he was so certain he'd never see again but he thought he'd never be seeing C.T. again until he did so this is his fault for not mentally preparing for it.]
[He can only manage the one word, really, and it's honestly more of a wheeze when he issues it.]
...Maine?
(8
When the moment ends, it's with a nod. Yes, he's Maine. Then the big man gestures to himself — to his body, massive and heavily armored — and the movement needs no verbal translation:
"Obviously."
Who else would he be, Wash? ]
that tag came for my soul and im Mad about it
[It's hard to remember.]
[But the body language is all him. Yeah. Obviously.]
[He's trying not to do something that would sound - unhinged, like laughter, even if that's the bizarre urge that wells up inside him like a fresh cut and he's trying not to lose what is left of the sanity he nominally has.]
You, uh...you just get here?
https://media.giphy.com/media/tXTqLBYNf0N7W/giphy.gif
But Wash manages words and Maine accepts them, halting as they are. He grumbles ambivalently and nods; he's not sure where the hell "here" is, but he knows he just arrived. Can't remember how, but that doesn't seem important at the moment.
What's far more pressing is the chain strung between them. So Maine raises his left wrist — careful not to pull too hard; careful not to risk tugging Wash off-balance — and shakes his hand, letting the links clink against both each other and his armor. ]
Won't break.
[ His voice is deep, rough, and tinged with annoyance, but it's unmistakably his. ]
FUCK
[Maybe a foot or so of distance between them.]
[He can still speak. How early is...?]
[Do not look up at him, do not startle, do not signal in any way that this is shocking or surprising or even unnerving, that he can still speak. There's a heaviness wrapped around his throat, like a hand choking him out.]
[He talks around it.]
Don't suppose you found a key anywhere. [Levity, right? What a younger, saner version of him would've once bothered with.]
[Should he be pretending that he's who he was?]
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Because of course Maine's first instinct was to just break the damn chain. When that failed, he didn't even consider the option of unlocking it. How could a tiny key overcome what his armor-enhanced strength couldn't?
(There's more than one reason Maine never took an interest in picking locks. Lack of patience is one of them; a preference for brute force is another.)
So he sorts through ammo, more ammo, and even more ammo, searching in vain for a key. It might be faster if he used both hands, but he's still keeping his left within comfortable range of Wash. Their difference in height makes this chained-together business unwieldy enough; Maine doesn't want to risk a careless movement throwing his teammate off balance.
When his search yields nothing, Maine turns back to Wash and shakes his head. No key. ]
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used to be a friend used to be his best- and code that white-and-gold glaze as an enemy. A threat. The thing that would turn around and gut him alive.][Memory is a rope, always a rope, and always too tight. Feels like he's two inches away from himself, six inches, and C.T. is in his mind's eye, the crescent of her teeth: wake the fuck up.]
[He wakes the fuck up.]
[He checks whatever he has on hand. Kabar. A few mags. His sidearm. No battle rifle.]
Great. I guess we're supposed to be stuck together. [Speaks higher, straining not to indicate that any part of him is self-destructing in rewind. Some part of him always is. This isn't so different.]
[The care Maine takes to manage his size and height in comparison to Wash is like a knife in the guts.]
Stuck together, no way out. Well...one way out. Maybe.
[He peers down the dark green hallway, veined stone. Feels familiar. Feels like a Trial.]
[Great.]
Which would be forward.
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"Forward." Right. Maine turns his gaze from Wash to the hall stretched out before them, dark and lit by — fuck, is that fire? The big Freelancer grunts, unimpressed. It's effective, obviously, but it's primitive. Like the corridor is stretching back in time.
Could be a key at the end. Could be bones or little pieces of wood that they have to whittle into a key. That would fit with the whole torch-theme, Maine thinks. Either way, their choices are limited: they can stay surrounded by solid walls — how the fuck did they even get in here...? — or they can go down the hallway.
Put like that, there's really no choice at all.
Looking back to Wash, Maine nods in agreement and indicates with a tip of his head that they should start down the hall.
Another person might find themselves unceremoniously yanked along as Maine just took off. With Wash, however, Maine waits to move. There's no 'taking point' with so little chain between them; they'll have to advance side-by-side. So Maine will match his gait to Wash's and keep his left hand low, striving to keep them both as combat-ready as possible. ]
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[Think of a younger version of him: what would he manage, in this situation? He'd probably not stop talking, not lapse into difficult, uncertain silence. He could fill the quiet with words, hold a conversation that would sound one-sided to anyone else but wasn't, not really.]
[It feels like a sick, dishonest gesture: this purposeful attempt at regression to who he was, as if by emulating a man long-dead he could hold everything in place and keep the march of time from moving forward and that's all he can really ask for, a way to stop and stall the inevitable progression that leads Maine to where he eventually ends up.]
I think there's a good chance we're the most expensive things here. The most advanced, too. [He has to take two steps for every one of Maine's but he manages it. It's like muscle memory. It's like riding a bike. You don't forget you just need to re-remember.]
Everything here seems pretty low-tech.
[Obvious.]
[Like there's not already an elephant in the room. Scratch that - like there's not already a whole mess of them.]
Look, uh. This might sound...weird, but what's the last thing you remember? Of, you know. Before waking up here, I mean.
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At the question, Maine hums in thought. Wonders how best to put it. ]
Briefcase.
[ After Team B failed, it had fallen to Maine to retrieve their objective. He'd dropped down onto the hood of the program official's car. Hung on while the man skidded and swerved, then slammed the blade of the Brute Shot through the windshield and into the man's sternum. Wasn't hard to do: that weapon's fucking beautiful. Then he'd plucked the briefcase from the vehicle and been on his way.
"Nice work," Carolina had called it. He'd thanked her. He'd been proud. And then...
Then he'd found himself handcuffed to Wash.
Maine shakes his head, trying to brush aside the strange blankness between "now" and "before." Speaks, instead: ]
Retrieved.
[ That's what he was doing. That's the last thing he remembers; he's sure of it. ]
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[The beginning of the end, though of course they hadn't known that the end had started a long time before then, started with the acquisition of an Alpha A.I. and the facilitation of a Beta protocol and a million other variables that he only learned about after the fact.]
[He's not witnessing irony. He's not sure if there's a word for what this is other than dread. Some part of him doesn't protest to this, to be handcuffed to the unit heavy, as if that would be enough to just anchor him in the spot before he takes a full magazine to the throat and gets a burning man downloaded into his brain as if that could ever make up for it.]
Guess this whole mission's gone a little off the rails, huh? [Try for a laugh, a nervous huff, like a rookie who's in over his head and knows it. Like someone who's in power armor a few marks lower than the suit he's currently wearing.]
[Like someone who has no idea what's coming for him, for them both, and that they'll both end up spent shells in one way or another.]
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Maine trusts Wash, after all. Trusts him in a fight; trusts his opinion; trusts in their camaraderie. Why would Wash lie?
(Why would Sigma lie?)
Chalking any oddities up to nerves, Maine hums his agreement. Yeah, it's gone off the rails. Then he moves his left arm closer to Wash with the intention of elbowing him companionably. A brief moment of physical contact offered as reassurance. A silent declaration:
"We've got this."
An irregularity in the dimly lit path ahead marks the first obstacle. ]
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[So he'll stomach a little more guilt. He can handle it.]
[What's one more weight on his shoulders, right.]
[Don't stiffen, don't panic, don't lose your footing, do not indicate in any way that this kind of camaraderie is unusual or resurrecting memories long dead (as always) or that his instinct to whip around and try and put a knife in the meat of Maine's upper shoulder slams up against his ribcage with the stop-start of his heart (what are you some fucking animal) and he breathes out instead.]
[This tension is normal. They're still figuring out their bearings. It's an unfamiliar situation. Of course they'd be tense. Anyone would be tense.]
Yeah. Yeah, we'll figure it out.
[He squints just ahead, bracing himself for something unpleasant to be in their way.]
[But, no. It's just a pair of depressible buttons set in the floor, stone, spaced apart relatively evenly.]
That's...weird.
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With his head bowed, Maine examines the switch. Turns to look at the walls alongside it, searching for any sign of tiny holes where darts could fly out. (He's seen plenty of action movies. He knows how this shit works.) Nothing but smooth, dark green stone.
The big man hums in quiet consideration. Then he squats down to look at once of the switches more closely. It's an inherently vulnerable position, putting him off balance and placing his neck in easy range. But he's picked up on nothing but some nervous from Wash; he doesn't feel like he needs to be wary of his teammate. ]
No markings.
[ Nothing to indicate what the switch might do if pressed. ]
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[Still, nothing looms out of the dark to menace them while Maine's attention is on the floor.]
I vote we go around until we - oh.
[His eyes are adjusting to the murk, still, but squinting ahead, it looks as though there's some sort of barrier obstructing their progress. A wall, maybe - or a door that only opens when a certain number of switches are pressed.]
Is that a door or a wall?
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Standing up, Maine looks over his shoulder slightly to address Wash, unsurprised that his teammate fell back to watch his six. ]
Can push.
[ That'd be one way to find out.
(And naturally, Maine's first thought is to shove the obstacle rather than trying to find a trick to open it.) ]
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Might as well give it a shot. [Impossible strictures of their current set-up aside, Maine is also a force of nature on the battlefield. The tiny chance that it might be sufficient is a chance he's willing to take.]
[They've nothing to lose from trying, right?]
Don't think of trying to pick up my slack, big guy. [As if Maine wouldn't effectively be moving the entire thing on his own, with or without Wash's nominal help.]
sinuses have been murdering me, sorry for the wait
Maine's armor isn't as advanced as what his future-self would one day wear. He can't land on the hood of a Warthog and crush it beneath his feet. But it's still power armor. It still enhances his already ridiculous physical strength. He can still slam into a concrete pillar and send it flying with barely a running start.
So he approaches the door with an air of confidence. The sort of cocksure attitude born of never having suffered a crushing blow. (The attitude that would eventually vanish beneath raw fury after he was thrown down and shot nine times in the throat.) He sets gloved hands against the stone, braces himself, and pushes.
... And then he adjusts his hands and feet, puts his body weight into it, and pushes again. ]
...
[ With a grunt of displeasure, Maine shifts to put his shoulder against the damn thing before shoving yet again.
... Yeah, it's not moving. ]
no problem at all! i'll backtag forever tbh
[Nothing. Not even a groan, or the grind of stone on stone.]
Youuuu don't think...
[He glances back at the buttons, then at the barrier.]
I mean, that's got to be what those things are, right?
❤
Stupid fucking rock.
Finally relenting, Maine turns to join Wash in looking at the irregularities in the floor. What he'd thought might be primitive pressure switches. And then Maine sighs — "probably" — with an air of resignation. He really would've liked to be able to barrel through the obstacle.
Instead, Maine moves to join Wash in walking back to the buttons. They're too far apart for either Freelancer to hit both at once, but if they stretch their chain a bit, they should each be able to step on one. ]
(( ooc: quick question: do you know if church's player is cool with a maine? church wasn't listed on the last emp ad, so wanted to check to make sure! ))
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[The more he regards the buttons in conjunction with the wall, the more the entire set-up reads like an intentional one. Too many pieces set in a deliberate positions, and even a rudimentary understanding of video game mechanics suggests what the solution to this entire mess is. It just seems insulting, to put this obstacle in the way and make the solution so deceptively simple, and not even making use of either of their skillsets.]
[But maybe that's the point.]
[He sighs, and maneuvers himself so he's standing on one of the buttons. It depresses down into the ground with a slight rasping click, but there's enough room, barely for them to both push down the buttons at once.]
So this is the stupidest solution I can think of, so it's probably the right one. Right?
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[ It does indeed seem insulting. They're elite space marines brought to some unknown place through means that Maine can't seem to remember, and all they have to do is push buttons? It can't be that easy. They're Freelancers, dammit.
And yet, it is indeed That Easy.
The moment Maine grumbles and grudgingly steps on the other button, the stone doors slowly scrape open. And Maine, whose physical strength had come to no avail, glares all the more.
"Stupid."
Not said so much as growled, and likely incomprehensible to anyone but Wash. ]
i have received word that church player would be very down for this!!
[Wash would be more inclined to agree with that assessment - that it's a stupidly simple solution, that it's a borderline insulting layout for a test for a couple of specialized weapons ops - if he weren't used to the low-tech version of events that have been achingly characteristic of everything on the damn archipelago.]
[If it's a Trial, what's it testing? He'd venture teamwork. But Maine - from his point of view, from what he last remembers, it would be unthinkable to him that his teammate would be afraid of him, would look at him and think of all the possible ways he nearly took Wash apart.]
[On the border of realization of some kind of dawning realization he doesn't want to have, Wash does what he's best at and shoves the growing knot of dread and understanding into a little box in the corner of his mind, compartmentalizing it down and thrusting it back and back where he can safely ignore it until it has something useful to say.]
I'd say "I can't believe it," but there are a lot of things I shouldn't believe that seem to be happening.
[A low mutter of agreement couched in an unnerved prickle chasing down his spine.]
At least this means we can go forward.
great!! i've put in a reserve and will keep an eye open for apps :)
Blissfully unaware of the realization dogging Wash's thoughts, Maine grunts in agreement. This place is indeed pretty fucking unbelievable. Then he steps forward, half-expecting the damn doors to slide shut again the moment he moves. They don't, thankfully, and the two Freelancers can proceed.
It's only then, after they've already passed one test, that Maine speaks up with his own question: ]
Remember arriving?
[ Maine doesn't. Can't remember a thing. For some reason, the gap in his memory doesn't particularly bother him, but he's curious to know if Wash recalls more. ]
👀👀👀👀👀 YOU JUST MADE MY ENTIRE MONTH,
Yeah. Yeah, I do.
[His tone is impressively measured, considering how badly it feels it should shake.]
If you're ready to hear something weird, it was actually several months ago. Something like seven, eight months.
😁 💙
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