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aftr_ooc2019-03-16 08:47 pm
lifeaftr_mods) wrote in aftr_ooc2019-03-16 08:47 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME ( 021 )
Test Drive Meme #21
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.
In conjunction with our monthly Test Drive Meme, Reserves are now open! Applications will open on March 24th!
Two important notes:
In conjunction with our monthly Test Drive Meme, Reserves are now open! Applications will open on March 24th!
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.
Come to Ink Of It
Mu is a strange land, and one that seems to take a conscious interest in the activities conducted upon the waking world. This month, its fixation takes an almost childish delight in emulating the ink-spattered wars and hazing that have occured on Ensō's shores - which is to say, Mu would absolutely enjoy a charming little game of Splatoon.
When you wake, it's in a labyrinth of soft, stonelike material that manages to be the rough consistency of foam. If you take the time to inspect it, you'll discover that it's as good at cushioning blows as it is serving as adequate cover...and it appears to have been shaped into plenty of buildings and barricades, threaded throughout the cavernous room in which you've found yourself. In fact, the whole place looks very much like a battlefield of some kind.
Do keep in mind, however, that battle cries may be a double-edged sword in this scenario. Unless you wanted green teeth.
I AM THE SHADOW, THE TRUE
...SHELF
What's more trouble than the true manifestation of all your darkest fears, desires, and secrets? The manifestation of all of the above that's just - not very well-made. In order for a shadow, a true self, to appear, one really should know themself somewhat consciously. Of course, this also applies true to the world in which they're standing; an effort Mu is willing to make, but not quite hitting the mark.And by "not quite hitting the mark," we mean egregiously.
Unlike ordinary Shadows, a "Shadow" cannot be accepted and dissipate as one would hope. Respite from these garish versions of who you really are will come only upon waking. So until then, enjoy attempting to explain just what, precisely, is dogging your every step, and probably refusing to shut up all the while. Though granted, if they share any of your powers - grossly magnified or otherwise - you might be grappling with them in far more ways than one.
A Bug's Eye View
The lush, verdant shores and the peaceful population of newly-arrived island of Cahypdo have been noticeably present on the minds of the islanders lately. Mu has shifted to reflect those thoughts, but as with many things Mu reflects, things have become a little...skewed. For, you see, the native inhabitants of Cahypdo are the Roaka, and as tree-people, they tower over much of the current inhabitants. They range from six to twelve feet in height, generally, but it seems that their heights have left a....very marked impression.
Trees are dizzying heights to be scaled the same way a mountain might. Blades of grass and colourful flowers you might once have trodden on without a second thought are like a forest unto themselves. And the fields of crops you might have known from the waking world, like sweetcorn, peas, and tomatoes? Even a single ear of corn or a solitary tomato is now a much, much larger obstacle.
Just pray you don't run into any of the native creatures here, as even ordinary beasts can become potential dangers when they're all the size of giants relative to you, and can stamp you to jelly without so much as a second glance. Snaplings might regard you as a tasty little snack, tigerlilies might think you make for a fun little toy, and worst of all, the native Cahypdo entities known as hydrac, warped hybrids of sharks and dragons, might very well decide that you'd be a fine addition to their hoards.
There's a lot to look out for, when you're this small and the world is this big.
( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )
Hornet | Hollow Knight
[She's not really one for games.
This was styled to be fun, of course, but if anyone was going to take something as fun as being given a water gun filled with paint, and the instructions to go turn the town into what looks like a drunken arts and crafts project, and make it into something way too serious... It's... it's going to be her.
She's here to win.
Everything is going to be red, and anyone who has some other, more inferior color preferences in regards to how this town should look is going to be subject to a double barreled, high pressured crimson rebuttal, probably in the face.
Good luck hitting her, the bug practically a blur of constant motion, leaping easily from roof to foam roof, perfectly happy to rain brilliant scarlet retribution down upon the rabble.
git gud]
A Bugs Eye View
[Perhaps this was just inevitable, all things considered. Not that she'd be privy to the joke.
The landscape was strange, the terrain sprawling, massive, but taken easily in stride. Clambering over roots the size of buildings, trudging around fruit and vegetables she could feed herself for weeks with. She'd hardly move, nor hold herself like a stranger in a strange land, it could be understandable if someone mistook her for having been here a long, long time.
She'd seen many odd things within the tunnels of Hallownest after all, and while this world was certainly lovely, striking even, it wasn't nearly enough to induce any overwhelming sense of awe.
Things to do, and all, not enough time in the world to stand around and be overtaken with the raw majesty of nature.]
thINK fast
Too bad there are far, far more than one.
An enormous web is suspended between two of the foamy buildings, intended to catch anyone not wise enough to keep an eye on where they're going. The downside of moving fast, perhaps - missing subtle differences in the atmosphere until it's too late. The web's threads may be this and nearly invisible, but like any web, they grip and hold firm. If caught, Hornet won't be moving easily, and the more she thrashes, the more stuck she'll become...and possibly alert the maker of this web.
And its master, of course, who has no problems with shooting a fish in a barrel. Or, in this case, a fly in a web.]
oh gracious heavens god i suck at ink puns
Only to find her way blocked again. And again. And again. Time after time, trying to stay just shy of any combatants on the ground while dodging webs, she missed a gossamer trap by scant inches, once even choosing to highlight one's netting in brilliant red. Alas, while she might be quick, nimble and clever, she was not perfect.
A slipped hand, a misplaced step, and she'd soon find herself irrevocably tangled in the sticky silk of one more goddamn web. She knew better than to thrash too much, instead hunting about as calmly as she could for a way to reach for and loose her needle, in an effort to cut away the strands before whatever had laid them behind caught wise to her presence here.
Not interested in a one sided fight against an unknown foe, nope.]
LMFAO i just know a lot of nerds
[The voice comes from on high, a strange creature to Hornet, perhaps, given his appearance is truly foreign to the young bug. The creature beside the male, however, is probably one she'd at least recognize - a spider of some sort, though far brighter in color. Guzma holds a paint gun aimed at her, finger still poised on the trigger though he seems not yet ready to taint her scarlet cloak with purple just yet. Oh no, he's played the game of cat and mouse for too long, and he's here to air out his frustrations and gloat a little.
And maybe even get a better look at her...hm. Definitely resembles a little someone he knows...]
Tch, you're quick, you flighty li'l Fletchling...can't even count how long my girl here's been tracking and tryin'a box you in. Gotta hand it you you though, y'all lasted the longest out'a near everyone, so-- [He shoulders his gun a moment and offers her a small bit of applause before taking the paintgun back into his arms.] Here's to you, sweetheart.
Don't take it personal. [And he fires.]
i'll admit my nerd-pun cred is very shabby, not enough time playing Undertale
Still, she'd count him among the oddest of beings she'd seen. Was this a difference scenario, she'd have spent a little more time pondering upon just what kind of creature he happened to be.
As it stood right now though, she was a little more keen on taking advantage of his need to preen.
It'd look like nothing more than fruitless struggling, one hand still clasping her gun, the other hidden beneath her cloak, pitch black eyes locked right on him, and his Weaver friend. No words, no snappy commentary back, perhaps quite like a little someone he knew.
It was only when he hefted his gun again after his short applause that the machinations of her seemingly futile attempts to get free were made clear.
That is, in fact, her needle in hand, and yes, that purple paint blast is going to be ruining the wall, rather than her cloak, as the spider silk is sliced swiftly asunder, and she falls from the webbing and fucking books it.
Not to flee him, but just to find somewhere that's not covered in goddamn webs, so she can give an appropriate, red tinted retort.
Don't worry though, she totally has constructive critique, in the shape of two quick blasts of red from her gun as she flings her needle towards a better vantage point]
You talk too much, and act too little.
[Smug?
Smug]
...it's probably a testament that all my pun-lord friends are big into UT, yeah
The moment Hornet frees herself and darts off, Guzma wastes no time in trying to locate her. Using his vantage point, he squats down and whistles for Ariados to go on the hunt. Seek and capture, and he'll hopefully catch up. But he's not going to just sit here and wait, either, there's still other players in this game, and standing around is bound to get him targeted by the masses. He shoulders his gun and descends from the tower, sliding down the ladder the last few yards before his feet smack into the ground.]
Funny! [He calls out, hoping his voice will echo enough to where Hornet's ran off to.] Thought I'd be a gent and do the talking for both of us!! Figures y'all are diff'rent than them other folk like yourself, yeah? Heh heh...
[His voice dips back into a dark whisper, as he pumps his gun to build up the pressure inside, for a longer range of fire when needed.] But that just makes it more interesting for me.
[You haven't won yet, girly.]
UT makes pun-lords of mere mortals
Ariados is going to find itself on the business end of an ink gun, more than just once or twice, now. Clever, making her split her attention between two allied targets!
But now that just means that two creatures are going to be going home with a face full of red paint, she's decided.
He calls into the air, and, while certainly nowhere near to being within arms reach, the voice that answers might still be unsettlingly close, out of sight though she might be]
You have spoken with many bugs?
[The wording, she paid close attention to. There was something in the implication of 'talking' used in relation to 'different'.]
Most are talkative.
Though simply perhaps, not with you.
this was toby fox's plan all along
Down below, Guzma tries to keep up, being slower than both bugs, but tenacious as all get out. His endurance can trump most other people...probably because he's competitive and stubborn. He may be big and clunky looking, but he's...shockingly good on his feet. He vaults over low obstacles easily, pulls himself up over walls and platforms swiftly, and...hm. Seems he's pretty well adjusted to narrow alleys and escaping a chase, or doing the chasing. Once a thug, always a thug.]
Wouldn't call myself a bug-type Trainer if'n I didn't talk to a few, hm? [He calls out, trying to fire after Hornet, but his aim with a gun is far worse than his Pokemon's with her own attacks. He's not practiced enough with a firearm, considering they don't...exactly have a surplus of weapons in his world, let alone firearms.] But I gotta say, y'all is the most catty outta the two what look like you.
[He whistles sharply, and Ariados jerks suddenly, shooting a thick and sticky web at Hornet, while Guzma tries to shoot her as well. You can't dodge everything, especially not in mid-air. Or so he hopes.]
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It doesn't quite remind them of Hallownest. Even as tiny as they were, things were still within the reach of a nail blow; not quite made for their size, but close enough.
They catch a glimpse of red, and at first they think it's the Drifter, or maybe even Grimm (his cloak is black and scarlet, after all). But that flash in the greenery is the wrong colour.
Or, in some ways, the right colour. It's something they looked for, back in the past (and it feels like so long ago).
What else can they do? They follow it.
Through the undergrowth, the same steps and actions as they took a lifetime ago, they chase that familiar flutter of colour. They don't bother to hide, only to pursue.
If it's an enemy, or a trap, they can handle it. If it's not--
They try not to hope too hard for if it's not. ]
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Right into the oversized greenery, like some scarlet phantom.
Only for there to be a rustle in some lower hanging twigs.
She'd doubled back. Of course she did, peering down at the little shape below her with no small amount of... what would almost appear to be shock.]
... Little Ghost?
[Perhaps more apt a term now, of all times, from what recent memory dredged up.]
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They come to a standstill only when they can't see her at all, any more. There's a rustling high above them - it could be an animal, it could be some kind of monster, it could --
They look up, catching sight of her at last.
They can't help but reach up at the sound of her voice, even though it's impossible to reach her from where they are.
After a moment of stretching their hand out, they seem to realise how silly it looks to do that, and drop it again, tucking their cloak more tightly around them in a furtive, almost embarrassed movement.
But they keep that seemingly-empty stare on her. ]
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It was silly to reach.
She could easily jump down to them.
It was an effortless move, landing with casual, exquisite ease not but a few feet from the Knight, hesitating in closing the gap so quickly. She knew, after all, what she'd seen on the floor of the Temple of the Black Egg. There would be no other Knights, after them, she was sure of this.
But this wasn't a different vessel, she knew what the little ghost, her little ghost, looked like.]
... Even now, you still linger in my dreams...?
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(They had always wondered what happened after.)
...They nod, after a moment. Yes.
This is a dream, and she is here, and so are they.
They extend their hand, from under their cloak, and-- stop.
Their body language suggests hesitance, and something like fear; some dreams simply vanish or stop or transform into something else entirely when they are touched, after all.
They don't want to break it. They don't want to do something wrong. And even if she is real enough to touch, she had never asked or wanted for affection, so it would be wrong to force it on her.
All sorts of thoughts running through their head. They just keep their hand there, outstretched, paralyzed with sudden indecision. ]
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So many things still left to say, to tell them. Inconsequential now, they were forever beyond needing her assistance anymore.
But there was perhaps at least one thing, lingering yet, that mattered.
They hesitated, and for a moment, she scrutinized every inch of them, looking for any possible flaw. A single difference, a single mistake that might suggest that she wasn't truly looking upon The Knight, as she'd known them.
Frozen there, the both of them, before slowly, with only the barest hint of uncertainty, she bridged the divide between them, the tips of her fingers resting atop their hand.]
.... Even in dreams, I'll not be banished so easily.
[Aware, it seemed, as to what might be causing their indecision.]
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But in the end, it's a simple thing. A question voicelessly asked, an answer given.
Maybe, if they had been the same person they were at the start of this journey, they would have left it at their brief contact. If it hadn't been a year and more, if so many things hadn't happened, they would have been content in their ever-present stoicism.
But they're not.
Something in them seems to crack at that touch, and before they really grasp what they're doing they practically throw themselves at her in a hug. It's childish and clumsy, and they should probably be more mature than this, more like the vessel who had taken responsibility for an entire kingdom's fate, but--
This is a dream, so they're allowed, maybe. This is a dream, so it's fine.
It's like another emptiness has opened up in them again.
They missed her. They didn't even realise how much. ]
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No attack, of course, was coming from this. No, just a little body clinging to her, no different than any other child. She stayed frozen for a moment, staring down at them, before she'd allow herself to move. To bring her hands down to their shoulders, the back of their head. To slowly, if perhaps a touch awkwardly, reciprocate.
Not to humor though, as that strange feeling bubbled over and tried to drag her to her knees.
Missed you. She was distantly surprised she stayed upright.]
You've... done so well, little ghost. I'd not the time to tell you-
[They'd been gone before she had the chance]
I- we... owe you so much.
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It's not for them, they might have thought once (and part of them still thinks that). No words or comfort for a discarded vessel, trudging numbly through the ashes of a dead kingdom, stained with regrets and essence and blood; only what must be done to correct the mistakes of the past, and bring about the end.
(In some ways, they are a ghost, just as she's named them to be. A ghost of the past, never meant to live, haunting the ruins of a place that never knew they existed.)
"I owe you so much."
Replying to that would require them to let go, and they don't want to let go.
Instead, they shake their head, insistent.
She doesn't owe them anything. Didn't she save them and herself and Hallownest, too, in the end? Without her, all their efforts would have been in vain. Without her, they would have had no choice but to become the next vessel, to repeat that terrible cycle anew.
They'd already known what they were giving up, breaking the mask that contained them for good. It's one thing to know in abstract what it means, to quietly mourn for the life they'd never have again.
It's another thing entirely to know what the cost did to someone else.
(In the end, they're just as terrible in some ways. They gained her trust, they witnessed her vulnerability, and then they left her.
If there's anything they have wanted to say the most, it is only this:
I'm sorry.)
They're starting to tremble. They don't know how to stop. ]
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i.
[They're a red-flash blur shooting purple paint at whatever moves, and they've a speed to rival hers but lack a fortitude to match it. They're fragile, and overshooting their target is common. An utter lack of self-preservation as they dash headlong toward a wall, opening fire at a bright red shape, is what sends them slamming straight into one of the walls with an almighty crash.]
[They get up almost at once, apparently to resume shooting at her. The collision doesn't seem to have shaken them any.]
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Good luck with that, looks like they were just as fast on their feet as she was. Clumsy, to fling themselves into a wall, but considering how quickly they'd gotten to their feet, it didn't look like it hampered them much at all.
Definitely worth not underestimating.
Globs of purple fly past her face and she's off and away again, taking the high ground as she tries to pepper her nameless opponent with red.
Shoot at her, will they?]
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[But their shots aren't perfect; they're unaccustomed to firing upon someone who is as fast as they, and perhaps even more agile.]
[They're not about to just give up, though. Not for anything.]
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She'll clash.
But also definitely will be obviously the loser and that's just unacceptable.
They may not have perfect accuracy, but they're certainly accurate enough; she's getting quite the workout up there, diving under, dodging over, purple spattering the wall mere seconds behind her as she paints the street below her. No good trying to aim right at them, was what she was quickly learning. No, no, they're far too fast for that, it was honestly quite impressive.
Try then, a few steps before.
That hail of red's getting budged up a few feet or so, look out.]
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[But there's no reason that, if she's going to use their weapon, they shouldn't too.]
[The Drifter's hard light blade springs to life with a bright cyan hum in one hand, their gun still held at the ready in the other.]
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The introduction of the strangers weapon was an interesting turn of events.
Hanging from her weapon, braced against a wall, she took a moment to take aim, squeezing off a volley of shots from her perch.
No need to make this a close quarters affair.]
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[Namely: they slam their blade into the soft wall and use it to hold themself in place while they fire upon her in turn.]
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Nice jump.
Compliments for later though, the purple blast would fire into very recently vacated space, the very barest edges of her cloak now misted purple. At this rate she might start developing a sheen of paint similar to theirs.
Onwards and away, trying to gain more space between herself and them in order to actually turn and fire, way too close right now. She can't afford to waste precious seconds when it was clear, they weren't about to spare her any time here.
Frankly, she'd be insulted if it was anything less.]
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