TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #1

Hello, and welcome to our very first test drive! 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 that Applications will open on July 24th, in preparation for the game’s official opening on August 3rd!

But first, two important notes!

1. The island of Mu 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.

Shipwrecked
The white sand of the beach ridges the island’s edge, even if the clear water soon becomes murky the further out you look across the horizon until the turquoise gleam of the tide disappears in a coil of surrounding fog. Indeed, your best prospects may very well be to strike out among the trees or the crags looming out over the foam-capped waves. There’s lumber to be found and made from the palm-like trees, potentially fruit or edible tubers of some kind if you forage about some. The further you travel, however, the more of your surroundings will reveal themselves in a steady unspooling of curiosities.

One corner of Mu’s current construct drops away into a sheer cliff, initially too dangerous to brave for all but the more daredevilish, but if one starts to scan the sharp rocks below, you might catch sight of what appears to be sodden planks of wood - a wreckage tossed up against the rocks. And a little further...a bobbing, shattered wreck of a lifeboat’s remains, potentially bearing supplies that might yet be salvageable.

Fashion what you can from the wood and stone around you or scavenge from the ruin of the land, if you like. But you can’t simply stand around and wait forever. It’s going to get dark sometime - and if a creature of unknown terror doesn’t catch you, the elements surely will.

Storytime

There’s a sense of camaraderie in this cove, you think. As the sun hangs low over the horizon, the world cast into orange hues, long shadows dispersed by roaring fires that dot across the beach.

That’s right, folks: it’s storytime.

There’s no one to preside over this meeting of the minds in Mu. Call it a vague recreation of things to come, if you like, some vaguely fatidic dreamlike state where you may find yourself drawn to the heat and company that awaits you by the fire. And from there, compelled to default to that old instinct that most of intelligent civilization has revered since they were advanced enough to paint geometric shapes on cave walls.

You tell a story.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy, a tale of woe and of personal loss. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing you’d break out after a few rounds of your alcoholic beverage of choice, clapping hands to your knees as you try to bite back your mirth long enough to spill the punchline. Perhaps it’s an adventure of some sort, some unbelievable rendition of your past exploits. The only common thread to be had, as those gathered around the fire share their tales, is the fundamental rule of a ritualistic sharing of stories such as this: its truth.

But how one chooses to define "truth" is, in its own way, another story entirely...

Dance, Sucker, Dance!
The beat of your heart in your chest is difficult to ignore. It judders with a pulsing, rhythmic quality. If you’re one of those that lacks a heart, the beat is still omnipresent and all-encompassing, until your entire body is unwittingly bobbing in time to a metronomic tune that seems ingrained into your very soul. It’s inescapable. You can’t seem to move unless it’s in time to the rhythm that’s now singing in every atom of your being.

But rest assured, you’re not alone in this musical curse. Everything, from the swaying trees to the waves against the beach, jumps in time to the music. And so do the monsters approaching you, that - wait a minute.

Monsters?

Oh, yes. Did we mention those?


It seems you’ve encountered the wrath of the Boogieman, who curses you to only dance to his infernal beat. If you wish to best him, you’ll have to either evade or destroy the blobs of greenish slime that serve as his minions, all in time to the hard beat of the tune in your head. Clear the radius of his curse or risk an open confrontation, if you dare. Don’t worry if you look foolish; chances are anyone else caught in the Boogieman’s thrall feels just the same.

Mu isn’t pulling any punches to start with. It is a flighty creation, after all, and seems to revel in displacing people into new and uncomfortable situations.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[hyperlit]

[He doesn't need a reason, but should not anyone? There had been one living creature in all the world, maybe two, who had expressed to the Drifter some manner of kindness, and they'd simply assumed that would be the most the world would impart. They'd used their token. They'd fulfilled their quota.

But the world does not function in predictable ways. That was their error.]

thank you.

[The first saptient creature that has not simply fled at the mere sight of them, and all they can do is critique him for bothering to do so? Another error on their part.]

[yallstupid]

[Thank you.

The words flicker to life on that little screen and Guzma feels heat rise to his face, searing the back of his neck. He can almost hear the sincerity laced into each letter, and he ducks his head a little with a scowl, though a smile does threaten to tug at the corners of his lips. Since when was the last time he heard anyone say that to a layabout like him? Say it, and really, truly mean it? He grumbles under his breath, leading the drifter toward the shade of a palm tree.]

Hey now, s'a little too soon for that - y'all's still not right yet, yeah? Dunno how much good I'll be able to do, but I can get some grub in you, at the least. I, uh...I-I mean, if you can...? [He's still not sure what this guy even is.] Y'gotta help me out a bit, though.

Can't do nothing if I know nothing.

[hyperlit]

[The Drifter bows their head solemnly. Of course. They will owe him now, and they've not many gearbits left - assuming he'll even accept that as currency - but they'll offer what is needed.]

$?

[yallstupid]

[The symbol confuses him for a moment, his face scrunching up in confusion, but once Guzma realizes, his eyes widen and he holds up his hand and shakes his head.]

Huh? Nah, man, nah! I don't want your--I meant you gotta tell what you are. Y'all's sick, yeah? And I don't think you're a human like me...or a pokemon. None I ever seen, anyway. But I can't fix you up something to eat, or help with whatever's bugging you if I don't know what I'm dealing with.

[Something nags at him to just give it up and go - Guzma did his part, and the thing's fine from here on out, but...well, now that his conscience has been stirred back to life, it's a rather loud and obnoxious thing.]

[hyperlit]

no cure.

[He's still offering to help. But they're the one in his debt, not the other way around. Surely there's something they can do to help him in turn.

And just what, exactly, is a pokemon? It probably doesn't matter much, in the grand scheme of things.]

i'm a drifter.

[A new line of text replaces the first, almost immediately:]

you helped me.
i help you?

[yallstupid]

[No cure. Those words are chilling, and Guzma feels something cold rake through the pit of his stomach. It's a sick, numbing feeling, and he's not at all fond of it. Sympathy? Pity? He doesn't even know this guy! Why does he even care?!]

...M'sorry.

[A drifter. That doesn't mean much to Guzma in ways of actual information, but it still paints a portrait of who this guy is, if not what. He can at least understand that much. But by now, it just doesn't seem right to ask for anything material, let alone a favor.]

Toldja I don't need nothing, but if you gotta pay me back...how 'bout a bit of company?

[hyperlit]

[A bit of company? Their company? When most see fit to get away from them as swiftly as possible? They're little more than an outsider, even in the town to which their fellow drifter had taken them.

How about a bit of company?]

with me?

[They almost add a long, long train of question marks for emphasis. It's a near thing.]

[yallstupid]

[Guzma blinks, tilting his head to one side. He can almost feel that long, unseen string of question marks there, it's a sense he's felt when people look for or enjoy his own company. He's not exactly the nicest or most well known person in Alola - outside of being a thug and a trouble-maker. No one actually, really likes him - why would they? He made a reputation for himself as being "destruction if human form" and all.

Still, he doesn't really want the little fella wandering off by themselves, especially not when they're ill. If he can get them something to eat, maybe find a good place to camp out and make them comfortable--

Again, his lesser half tells him that's too much work and why does he care, but Guzma sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, and shrugs.]

No one else here. [True, though.]

[hyperlit]

[No one else here. So, by elimination...yes. He means them. Willingly. There's no other creature on the face of the world that would, with a singular exception. Perhaps he's simply unfamiliar with who they are. With what they are capable of. With the fact that they're sickly and wrong, and the shade of their skin is too bring and unnerving.

There's a long moment as they process that, quietly. Then, finally, their dark eyes crease into half-moons, like a contented cat.]

ok.