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

Maka Albarn | Soul Eater (anime)

[the_word_is]

[ CLIFFJUMPER ]

[It's a dream. It's a dream and well, things are okay. The sun is weird, a blaze of light in the blue, blue sky, and Maka sits on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the sheer drop down to impossibly turquoise water. She's already mapped out her descent, the series of jumps and tumbles and shoulder-jarring grabs that will get her to the wreckage with the minimum of damage (even though she almost feels like if she jumps she'll just fly) and she'll take that route soon enough.

But right now... right now it's just nice, it's just quiet, it's just a little dreamy break from the stress of a world gone pre-apocalyptic.]

[ STORYTIME ]

[The girl sitting by the fire doesn't have any stories to share (she's a little shy, a little nervous about stories that aren't in books) but she's listening, sitting on her long black coat, knees tucked to her chest (feet carefully positioned to avoid any embarrassing upskirt incidents), green eyes wide and expression intensely focused on any and all storytellers. This kid's a nerd and is totally caught up in the hypnotic surreality of the day and the fire and the deep-as-instinct experience of sharing experiences.

She'll listen for as long as there's someone to listen to, despite the exhaustion that comes from a day of long and sunny adventures.]

[ LET'S DANCE ]

[A survival knife from the cliffside wreckage makes a serviceable glaive once tied to the end of a long stick, and Maka may be a scythemeister but she can survive with any polearm.

There's an unfamiliar beat in her soul, her heart pumping to a rhythm that's nothing like a piano's jazzy tune and it trips her up at first, her own internal pace thrown off completely by her opponent's ability and she stumbles over her own feet for a second (enough of a second that she gets slime all over her boots).

Count it out, pretend you know how to dance. Feel the beat of the SOUL.]

Stand down, or I'll take you out. [She says, voice ringing with the solid confidence of someone who can and has and will fight to her opponent's quick death but is choosing to offer a chance to give up instead.]

[madnest]

It can't hear you!

[A cha-sha slide to the left and a cha-cha slide to the right. Somebody's having a good time with the Boogieman. She is the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen. Or she would be, if she knew some ABBA.]

Let's take out this dancefloor instead.

[An attempt to hip bump one of the smaller slimes is made, but its result is just green goop splattered all over her. It hasn't tried to hurt her, so she obviously isn't trying to attack it.

It just wants to have fun. And she's totally vibing with it.]

[the_word_is]

[The older girl is just having too much fun for the situation, which Maka interprets as a bad thing. There's no way she's going to fall for that (not just because she's a bad dancer).]

Don't let it get to your head! [Maka admonishes, swinging her improvised weapon in a graceful arc and slicing through a slime.

Despite her own warning, her own movements sync up to the rhythm and pulse fairly easily, and without realizing it she's a little bit more flashy than she needs to be, spinning and sliding around her opponents.]

Cliffs

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Maka will likely hear the soft footsteps of someone coming up to stand beside her before she hears the voice- Muffet isn't stomping around carelessly, but she's not making any attempt to sneak around, either. Under the circumstances, just walking up normally seemed like the safest option, lest she risk startling this stranger.]

It is a truly lovely view, isn't it?

[the_word_is]

[Maka doesn't turn around, which is probably for the best (she's had some pretty bad recent experiences with spiders).]

Yeah, it is. The sky's really beautiful today.

[prettypurpleparlor]

Mm. We didn't see it often where I came from- not at all for years, really. I've gotten a bit more used to it now, but it always surprises me how vividly blue it can get.

[the_word_is]

Oh? [And now she does look back, a glance over her shoulder that turns into a moment of sort of frozen confusion. But... well, this spider is clearly not Arachne or dressed in any kind of Arachnophobia uniform, and she hasn't attacked her yet, so it's probably okay to not switch instantly into fighting mode.]

Wh-where are you from? [The stammer comes from confusion and trying to sort out what's going on more than any kind of fear. "Where are you from?" is way less offensive than "what are you?".]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet notices the hesitation, and appreciates the politeness- depressingly few humans seem to bother with being courteous while nervous.]

Mt. Ebott- until recently I would have said the Underground but, happily, my people have been able to rejoin humanity on the surface.

[the_word_is]

That.... [sounds fake but okay.] That sounds really nice. Do you and humans... get along all right?

[prettypurpleparlor]

These days, yes- there's always the occasional less accepting types, but overall we coexist quite well. My bakery certainly seems to get plenty of customers from both species, at least.

The history is... substantially less pleasant, but most of it happened a few thousand years ago so it's rather distant to someone like me, who hasn't lived through it.

STORYTIME

[justribbing]

[ She's probably not the only one reticent to sharing any stories -- there's a guy, though, a guy who ended up telling a pretty long story that turned out to be more of a comedic anecdote. Something about the cheerful misadventures of a hapless postman in a world where fridges kept things hot and everyone shopped at their local landfill.

Guy won a couple chuckles here and there, and that was plenty. Turns out that guy is plopping himself down nearby, without ever making a sound on his approach -- or maybe while others were preoccupied with something else.

In any case, turns out this guy is a skeleton -- not that it'd alarm a girl like Maka, huh? ]

Oh man, so it is you. [ There it is. The kind of grin given like one expects you to remember something or someone you might not; Death City's populous enough that mistakes like this aren't totally uncommon. Maybe. ]

ur my one tag before work and i have zero icons that arent madness icons

[the_word_is]

[Death City is a boarding school town, the sort of place where teens and preteens realize that "no parents" means "no fashion rules" just as much as it means "no laws against minors buying spray paint and applying it to the sides of every building" and "the dorm fire alarm going off at 3am again because someone forgot popcorn on the stove". And no fashion rules means that Maka stands out, not because of anything absurd she wears but because she's really plain for a DC kid. So plain it loops around to being instantly recognizable as "that plain girl I haven't really talked to before".

All that is to say that no, Maka doesn't usually get mistaken for someone else. Especially not by somethingone as recognizable as a comedian skeleton man. There aren't many of those in Death City, despite the general theme of the aesthetic. Magical cats? Sure. Zombies? Well you can't just let a good teacher stay dead. Skeletons? Nah bro put that thing back where it came from.

But she already sat for his story and laughed at at least one appropriate time, so his appearance doesn't really concern her. And the recognition doesn't really tip her off to any oddity either, not in this dreamy sort of world where anything can happen.]

Yeah.

I liked your story.

[justribbing]

[ Maka's never been 'plain' to Sans. Hell, he might not be able to remember the specific circumstances that lead to their friendship, but she's been a lot more than what's summarized by the word 'plain'.

Only plain thing here is that the polite indifference he sees isn't anything more or less than a lack of recognition. Of that, he's pretty sure.

He chuckles, which could be taken for laughing off the compliment. ]

Thanks. So, uh, don't suppose you got any stories about whatever boat landed us here, huh?

[the_word_is]

[Right. That's... a good question and probably an important one, but it's hard to worry about it.

It probably is something she should be worried about. Right, Maka, wake up and focus on your situation.]

No... and I haven't heard anyone else say anything about it either.

... I don't actually remember how I got here.

[justribbing]

[ What's it matter? Maybe she wakes up, maybe he doesn't. Although there's little point to trying to do anything about something that feels like he shouldn't concern himself with the inconsistencies, Sans is already the least inclined to do anything, even when it might make all the difference.

He's just along for the ride, and might as well have a good time while it lasts. Watching Maka try to think this one through, he rolls his shoulders in a shrug. ]

Eh. No biggie, me neither.

Hey, who knows? Maybe it'll come back to us.

[ He considers re-introducing himself. She doesn't know him, which is both a weird relief and kind of... twinges, like he's lost something he might not get back. Kid's probably better off, if he's honest. ]

I'm Sans.

Storytime

[yallstupid]

[At first, Guzma was much the same as Maka, slouched on his own bleach-white driftwood log, scowling and listening to others weave their tales. He hoped for a little bit of information, something to piece together the gaping holes of what and where this place is, and who everyone here is supposed to be. He's seen people that aren't even people, creatures he assumed to be pokemon that are something else entirely. Worst of all, the reality that he's without three of his very own is very prominent and makes his anxious and upset.

Still, the distraction of a good story is hard to resist, and even he's lured by the crackle of the fire to tell a tale from his world. It's pretty well known now, even in Alola, though the story was told and takes place in Kanto...he's almost certain the people here won't know it. Too many of them don't even seem to know what a pokemon is.]

Hey, I got one. Listen up, y'all - gonna have to explain a few things first 'fore I start... Any of you know what a pokeball is? [He reaches into his hoodie's pocket to fish out one of his, preparing for the answer he already knows.]

[the_word_is]

[Maka, seated in the front row, shakes her head. She's still letting herself get caught up in the feeling of a dream (she's good at that, good at just letting herself be swept away when she wants to be) and so while she's interested and curious about all these stories, she's not worried yet.]

[yallstupid]

[Of course not. Heaving a small sigh, Guzma pulls out a tiny sphere from a pocket inside his hoodie, clicking the middle button to enlarge it so it fits inside his palm.]

This here's a pokeball - or, uh, Ultra Ball to be more clear, bu that ain't important. A-Anyway, these thingamajigs are real important tech where I come from, yeah? They used to contain pokemon - creatures what we use to battle, for companionship, and other things. When they're hurt, tired, or if'n we go someplace real dangerous...these things keep 'em safe n'sound, yeah? Dunno how 'xactly, but they convert a pokemon's physical body into data, so they can actually, y'know, fit in there comfortably. Durable as all heck, too...

S'what we all been told.

[the_word_is]

[Maka leans forward, focused and more intensely curious than she was before, the dreamy feeling sort of slipping away in the face of something completely weird and totally cool (actually cool, not pseudo-cool).]

What is it made of? Do you know how people figured out how to make them? Is there a pokemon in there? What kind of pokemon is it? Do you fight with the pokemon or do they fight each other? [Maka pls he was trying to tell a story.]

If they aren't actually as durable as people thought they were, what happens to the pokemon inside if it breaks?

[yallstupid]

[Oh, here we go - Guzma gets a few of these types when he tells stories to the younger grunts (and even some of the older ones still, that are too curious and nosy for their own good; or just impatient), and his reaction is just the same as it always is. Guzma wrinkles his nose, that grin turning down into a deep scowl as he leans back and crosses his arms.]

Girl, do I look like I make pokeballs for a living?! [He snorts, rubbing a hand through the shorter, black hair by his neck with a slow roll of his shoulders.] All I know is way back when they used to make 'em from Apricorns, but now it's all new tech that I don't right know much about, a'ight? And if'n y'all shut your trap, and let me tell my story, maybe some'a those other questions will be answered, yeah?

cliffs

[gempathic]

[ Steven would know those pigtails anywhere. Which kind of tends to happen when you were roomies with a person for a while out there in CRAU-land. He's plenty familiar with the concept of people not remembering things when they come back.

But if he's the one who came back and he remembers, does the caution still apply? Only time will tell. So he pulls up a seat in the vicinity, unprompted, settling just a little bit farther back from the edge of the cliff. ]

Heyyyyyy, Maka! Pretty great view from here, huh?

[ Truly, so casual and cool. ]

[the_word_is]

[Those CRAU friendships, man. Some of the best that anyone could ever have.

Maka doesn't know about the power of CRAU yet, but the dreamy unreality of the setting means she's not surprised or concerned when someone calls her name.]

Yeah, it is! [She says brightly, half turning to look back at Steven.] I can't remember the last time I saw a sky this blue.

[gempathic]

[ He'll take it as a good sign, worthy of optimism. On dream islands, you win some and you lose some, and things are generally pretty vaguely defined overall. ]

I don't think I can, either. The sky's usually pretty nice back home, but I think it's kinda... softer? [ Steven shrugs. ] Maybe that's just how it goes between worlds.

[the_word_is]

Yeah, it's... [She pauses, actually studying the sky, trying to quantify something and explain the weirdness.]

I think the clouds are softer here? Like they're fluffier or something. [She laughs, a little embarrassed or nervous or something at not being able to exactly explain the difference.] And I don't know what the hell's wrong with the sun.

[gempathic]

The sun?

[ Steven's first instinct is to immediately try to stare at the sun to check it for inconsistencies. This fails horribly. Within ten seconds, he's rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. ]

It looks okay to me! I had to look away about as fast as I usually do.